brr1

He bit his lip listlessly as he sat in the back of the towncar. She sat next to him, the middle seat separating them. She was staring out the window.

“Are you nervous?” He ventured, blinking once or twice.

“No.” She replied, “No, not at all.”

“Well…that’s good.” He said, “I’m looking forward to this.”

“At least one of us is.”

“What about you?” He asked, “It’s your party.”

She shrugged, “I couldn’t care less about the party. The party is just the fluff – for me, it’s about the art. That’s where we differ.”

He just nodded concretely – she was right. He kept to ihmself until the limo pulled up to the brightly light SoHo studio. The exterior looked like a glass box, large paned windows and right white light. He could see the reflection of the studio in her eyes. Her eyes twinkled with anticipation and excitement; his barely flickered.

“You go ahead in.” He urged her as the driver stopped the car along the curb and opened the door on her side. “I just need to check my voice mail.”

She nodded and rolled her eyes, getting out of the towncar as gracefully as she knew how. He took his beloved cell phone from the pocket of his tux jacket and dialed his voicemail.

As he waited for his messages, he looked out the window at what was going inside the gallery. She had a glass of champagne in her hand as she chatted amicably with a group of patrons.

He had several new messages, none of which he deemed important enough to call back right that second. He switched his phone to vibrate mode, slid it back in his inner pocket, and licked his lips before stepping out of the car onto the sidewalk.

He didn’t like wearing a tux; in fact, he hated it. But, unluckily for him, this exhibition happened to be black tie so he didn’t have a choice.

He walked inside and was glad no one paid any attention to him. He made his way over to her and placed his hands on her hips. She smiled and introduced him to the group of people she had been talking with.

The group dispersed and he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or nervous to have a single moment alone with her. “Everything looks amazing, Anna. I can't wait to look at everything.”

She nodded, “Yeah. You finally get to see what I've been obsessively working on for the past year.”

“I’m proud of you,” he offered. “I am.”

“Thanks.” She said, sounding as if it didn’t mean anything to her anyway. “Oh, there’s Cameron Hirsch. I’ll be right back.”

Before he could even mutter an okay, she was gone, her four-inch heels barely making an echo on the concrete floor that was painted a vibrant blue.

He made his way over to a piece that had caught his eye.

“Don't you love it?” A voice said beside him passionately.

He turned to his right, “Something about it…”

She cocked her head to the side as she admired the photograph. “It’s so capturing. The look on this woman’s face – you feel everything she is feeling, yet you feel nothing at all; a cross between complete compassion and severe apathy. In a way, I suppose this woman – whatever she is feeling or going through – isn't trying to connect with us but she is and she doesn’t know it.” She smiled warmly, tearing her brown eyes away from the photo too look at him, “That probably doesn’t make any sense whatsoever. But do you know what I mean?”

He just looked at her, astonished. “I understand completely what you're saying. She’s not trying to let us in, yet she is. I remember this woman…I definitely remember her.”

“You know this woman?”

“I know the artist.” He clarified, “I happened to be there when she shot this photo.”

The woman turned to him, “Do you know Anna Kett well?”

He nodded, “I've know her for a year or so.”

The woman nodded, taking his answer for what it was. “I admire her work – I think she’s brilliant. I have some of her photos hanging in my apartment. Her ability to capture things that we all see, but in a way that takes such skill and such a keen eye for something unusual; I think it’s absolutely brilliant. Her use of lighting is like nothing else I’ve ever seen. I've never seen work like this in my entire life.”

“Are you into just photo or everything?” He asked softly, looking at the photo in front of him.

“Well, my parents are major art collectors, so I suppose my love of art stemmed from that. I do love photography – the way some one can capture a thought or a feeling, I think it’s beautiful. Paintings bore me, to tell the truth. The way these photos are executed…they're magnificent.”

He just wanted to listen to her speak; she was so eloquent, so well read. He didn’t know any one who spoke so eloquently or acted so graceful.

“Do you see how caught up I get?” She smiled.

He grinned, “That’s okay. You're just passionate about the work.”

She nodded, “That’s one way of putting it, I suppose. Are you a collector?”

“Oh, no.” He said bashfully, “No. Just here to support Anna.”

She nodded understandingly, sipping her champagne, “She’s worth supporting.”

“I think so.” He agreed, taking a sip of his champagne, “It’s nice to finally see what she’s been working so furiously on for the past year. I guess everything leads up to this for an artist?”

“Pretty much,” She said, “Is this your first exhibition?”

“No.” He said softly, “This would just be the first exhibition where my girlfriend happened to be the artist.”

“Ahh. I see.” She smiled, tucked a piece of dark brown hair behind her ear, “Were you nervous for her?”

“Yeah, actually. More nervous for her than she actually was for herself.” He smiled, “But I guess that’s how it goes with these artists – she’s crazy about her work. Very devoted.”

“You can tell by the quality of the photos.” She commented, “Her work is exquisite. You must be so proud.”

“I am.” He confirmed, “I definitely am.”

“It’s such a lovely night for an opening.” She said, “It’s so nice to look outside and not see rain.”

He nodded; it had been raining for the past two weeks. He’d been going crazy pent up in the loft with Anna while she worked day in and day out on her exhibition. “I know what you mean.”

She smiled at him. She had the perfect smile and his heart almost melted for her.

“Darling,” a voice came as a man put his hands on the hips of the perfect stranger, “there’s some one I want you to meet.”

The woman smiled sweetly at him, “It was lovely talking to you.”

“Same here.” He said. He didn’t like how he was immediately sweet on her; that freaked him out.

He took one last glance at the riveting photo before going over to find Anna. He linked fingers with her and she tossed him a genuine smile.

“These are amazing.” He whispered in her ear, “Aren't you so proud of yourself?”

She nodded, “I am. I feel accomplished.”

“You should.” He told her, “You're an artistic genius.”

She laughed softly and kissed him on the cheek, “Whatever you say.”

“I can't believe I’m going back to LA on Tuesday.”

“Do you really have to go?”

He nodded sadly, “Just for the weekend. I’ll be back on Tuesday morning. It’s my best friend’s birthday, I promised I’d go.”

“Well…a promise is a promise.” She smiled, kissing him on the cheek.

“Are we over our proverbial bump in the road, Anna?”

“Are we?”

He sighed, “I’d like for us to be.”

She cocked her head to the side, “Now is barely the time to be talking about this.”

“I know.” He accepted, “We’ll discuss this later.”

“Okay.” She said, “Now that the exhibition is finally over with we can go back to the way things were.”

“Good.” He said simply, “Because I love you and I don't want this to end.”

“Neither do I.” She replied, “Did I tell you that you look quite handsome in your tuxedo?”

He cracked a charming smile, “No, but thank you. You look quite beautiful in your gown. You're the belle of the ball and we haven't even been here for an hour.”

She smiled and put her arms around his neck, “Why are you so charming?”

He shrugged, “I honestly don't know.”

“I should go and network.” She sighed regretfully, “Enjoy yourself, okay? Have a nice time tonight.”

He nodded as she pulled away from him, “Would you hate me if I stepped out for a minute or two?”

She shook her head and smiled, kissing him on the tip of the nose before they parted ways. He exited the gallery and walked a little bit down the block for cell phone reception.

He looked over his shoulder and saw that inside the gallery Anna was talking closely with a tall, dark haired man. He was whispering in her ear. He frowned and bit his lip, trying to convince himself that maybe the room was loud (it wasn’t) and he had to lean in close for her to hear him.

Yeah, right.

He scrolled through his phone book and arrived at the right number a second later. He hit send and waited. All he got was the voicemail – he snapped the phone shut and slid it back in the inner breast pocket of his Armani tux jacket.

He debated whether or not to go back inside; she was obviously chatting cozily with her tall, dark haired stranger man, and besides Anna he didn’t know a soul in the room. The art crowd wasn’t really his scene, anyway. If he did hail a cab and ride off into the night, he was pretty sure Anna wouldn’t even realize he hadn’t come back inside.

He walked down to the next corner to hail a cab. Riding in cabs was something he’d never gotten used to; it was usually limos or towncars for him.

He looked out the window while bright lights passed him in a messy blur as the cab headed for what he called home.