Chapter3
1951 Words
“Diane Smith.”
“Uhmm…” the secretary looked up. “You do not have an appointment.”
“Oh, yes, I do.” She fibbed. “I managed the art display for the gala.”
The girl behind the glass squinted. “That can’t be. I don’t think I have seen you here before. And I know everyone who worked on that gala.”
Her tone was accusatory and Diane battled with her heart, but it was too late. She could not possibly try honesty now. She had already started off with a lie.
It was clear Diane was not used to this life. Before Cancer snatched away her father, even after she had spent every dime she had saved on medication, Diane had been a quiet broad who taught an art school in the mornings and gardened in the evenings.
Diane’s wistful eyes wandered to the closed door that shielded the lying, thieving man from her.
“Don’t think about it,” the secretary warned in a tone that proved that she meant every word.
“I really have to see him,” Diane resorted to pleading.
“Well, then, book an appointment,” her quarry threw out the solution like she was talking to a toddler. Of course, Diane knew she could book one, but she also knew Mr. Jones would rather smear his face with horse dung than meet her, at least not willingly.
After she had foolishly stalked out of the gala, all of her paintings were purchased, every single piece, but she had not gotten a dime. And it had been a month.
“I am scheduled to leave the country within the hour,” she resorted to more lies.
“I really cannot help you, Miss Smith.”
Diane released a sad sigh and turned back to the door.
“I will call security,” the secretary added a new layer to her threat, so Diane rolled her eyes and marched away, whispering expletives.
She should have known better than to come to the dinner table of rich snobs without a long spoon. She had been lackadaisical enough to not demand a written statement of their agreement. But she could not bring herself to chicken out and allow him to make away with what she was owed.
She was already by the door when she suddenly turned and charged towards the door she had been eyeing.
“Don’t you dare!” the under-paid guard dog yelled.
But she did dare. She barged into the office and the greedy, white-haired man behind the table looked up at his uninvited guest in shock.
“Did I startle you?” She asked without remorse.
“I apologize. I tried to stop her…” the secretary pleaded, but Mr. Jones' attention did not shift from the lady he had ripped off.
“What do you want?!” he demanded, as the answer to that question was a mystery.
“You sold my paintings…” Diane began.
“They were for sale!”
“Well, when am I going to get paid?”
“Here,” Mr. Jones shrugged and tossed a few bills into the air. They fell at her feet and Diane’s quick eyes swiftly summed them up to a hundred dollars.
“What?!” she exclaimed. “Don’t you play games with me! I heard from other artists at the gala. Someone paid thousands of dollars for my paintings.”
“Oh, did they?! Well, that would be their word against mine, wouldn’t it?” Mr. Jones’ smile widened.
Diane felt her anger boil within her. She considered throwing a heavy object at him, but she didn't mind going to jail.
She felt like a silly little teenager who had just been bullied for lunch, and she wanted to cry, so she rushed out of his office, past the scared secretary who was still ringing for security, and out to her Chevy in front.
It was here, between its plush seats, her water works broke, and she burst into sad tears.
She had played a little game and lost everything. She had tried to roam the street with the big dogs while ensuring she continued to have a roof over her head and food on her plate, but had run off with bite wounds.
Father was right, she realized. Humans were evil and the only way to escape the evil of most humans was to escape said humans.
She started up her Chevy and pulled out of the parking lot. What was she to do now? She had to take another job as her salary from the art school could barely fuel her car and feed her stomach.
She had two months to go, and she would be out on the streets. She could also find a smaller apartment, but she didn’t have any faith there.
Why had she left that dastardly gala, in the first place? Just as she reminisced, his face popped in her head.
Matthew 0’Brien.
She had allowed his snarky question to push her into something rash. She should have known better. She should have stood there and taken it like a lady. Now, she had lost it all.
Someone had paid thousands for her paintings. But who? She wondered.
She drove to the art school and parked at her usual spot in the parking lot. There would be no more attempts to dabble into the affairs of those with stronger economic power than her. Life was a race, anyway, she would simply run it.
There was a strange luxury car in the parking lot that made her brows crease in a frown. This was a public school. They only got visitors from privileged humans during elections.
She grabbed the new easel at the back of her Chevy and made her way into the school and towards the small office that was hers. She opened the door with her elbow and what she saw had her flinging the board to the floor.
There was a man in her office, standing by her table, staring at a stack of paintings by her students. And before he turned his face to regard her, she already knew who it was.
*
Matthew turned to her and his brown eyes relaxed in relief.
“You are a pretty good painter,” he admitted. “But you must be a lousy teacher.”
Diane’s vocal cords had lost their ability to produce words, so she merely stood there, her eyes wide, staring at him.
“Don’t tell me there’s a ghost behind me,” Matthew said, but did not turn around to confirm his safety. His words had the desired effect, though when she jerked.
“W-what…? H-how…?
“You are Diane. Diane Smith? It wasn’t hard tracing your name. All I had to do was ask around.”
“But…”
“Look, I hate waiting, but your paintings were a good enough distraction. Now, if you don’t mind, get your tongue from the cat, so I can get out of here.”
Diane blinked. “Those are not mine. They are my students,” she explained.
“Hm!” He looked back at them. “Even better.”
Diane counted to five then snatched her fallen easel and marched to her table, trying to rebuild her composure.
“My apologies. You shocked me back there.”
“Understandable. I am used to being ogled.”
The giggle left her throat before she realized it was not a joke. It was at this point the dregs of her anger returned. She had had enough of these arrogant humans. And to think he was the reason she had lost everything in the first place. Now he had traced her here. Diane toyed with the idea of throwing him out.
“What do you want?!” she spat.
If her change in attitude surprised him, he did not show it.
“I need more paintings.”
“More paintings?!” she frowned. “You haven’t purchased any before?”
His sudden confusion was all Diane needed to sum everything up and even wrap it with a tiny bow.
“It was you!” She yelled.
Matthew’s frown deepened. “You would have to be more explicit with your accusations.”
“You were the mystery man who bought my paintings!”
“True,” he nodded. “Only there was nothing mysterious about it. I signed the check with my name.”
“I did not get that check,” she reported immediately. “Mr. Jones stole it from me.”
“Well, too bad. Do you have more paintings?”
Diane was taken aback. Did he care?! Well, of course he didn’t.
“Unfortunately, I do not have any. The paintings at the gala were all I had left.”
Matthew looked disappointed as he turned away, and she could see her rent turning away with him.
“But I can get you some within a month.”
“I am leaving the country,” he replied.
“Within a week?”
“My plane leaves tomorrow morning.”
Her eyes widened. “Tomorrow morning?!”
He shrugged.
“Wait!”
He stopped this time, his hand on the door handle.
“I can get you a painting before your plane leaves tomorrow.”
“You can get me a painting before 9am tomorrow?” he swiveled around to regard her.
Diane hesitated then nodded. It was the first time she would see surprise etched on his face so visibly.
“Pray tell, what kind of weak painting would that be?”
“Oh, it will be great!” She darted around the table, charged with the need to convince. “It would be a lot of work but I will get it done. I will stay up all night and I will have it by your door, so you can have a glimpse before you leave for the airport.”
“It is supposed to be a gift. I will be taking it with me,” he explained.
“Oh, then I will have it wrapped ready to go! Deal?”
It was the longest stare down Diane had ever been involved in, in her life. She held her breath as he held her gaze, as if waiting for her to c***k.
“No,” he said at last.
No?! He said No?!
“Oh!” Diane blinked. She could not hide the disappointment in her eyes. But, unfortunately, her disappointment was not the only thing she couldn’t shield away. The lone tear drifted like a disbanded traitor, down her cheeks, and she smacked it off before it arrived at the bridge of her nose. But it was too late. He had seen it.
Diane watched his eyes search hers, then she stilled her sensitive heart, waiting for the stinging remark she expected to follow.
“You are broke,” Matthew said as if on cue.
But it was not a question but a statement of fact, stated in a voice that couldn’t be one of mockery either. In fact, he sounded even more surprised at the sudden realization.
“What happened? You certainly did not look like you needed money at the Gala.”
“I was broke at the Gala,” she corrected.
“You fell into hard times?”
Diane almost let out a bitter snort. “I did tell you my father died. Cancer. His medication was quite expensive.”
“Cancer? That’s not enough to render someone penniless. Except…”
“I was never rich,” she helped him state the obvious.
His frown deepened. “But your neckpiece…”
- Writer
