Graceful Ashes (20 page)

Chapter Twenty

“It’s been four days and you’re just now telling me that you practically dry humped Hendrix in the lobby the other night?” Clara stood in the doorway of her bathroom mumbling through a mouthful of toothpaste.

What better time to spring the news of my encounter with Hendrix on Clara than when she’s brushing her teeth? There’s less chance of her flipping her shit because she can’t fully talk, right?

Wrong.

Dry humping?
Clara always took the smallest instances and turned them into something bigger, more dramatic. Her choice of words was one you could never ignore. “Yeah, but I didn’t dry hump him.”

She pointed her toothbrush in my direction. “But you wanted to, right?”

“Clara!” I scoffed, trying to hide my laughter. “In all seriousness, what the hell should I do?” I flopped back against her mattress with my arms spread wide.

The sound of the sink running let me know she was rinsing her mouth and toothbrush out so I stared up at the ceiling until she was done. The running water shut off and a few moments later Clara’s face hovered over mine as she leaned over the bed.

“First, you need to get your ass up and change. Second, go with your gut because it never fails you. Third, if he’s changed, I don’t see what the problem would be if you gave him another shot. You deserve happiness, and even as fucked up as he was back then, he made you happy. Oddly and confusingly happy.”

She had a point.

When it was only me and Hendrix, things were great. Yes, he had secrets and his job wasn’t one that many would smile upon, but he had a way of making me feel differently than anyone else had.

“Wait, why do I need to change my clothes?” I sat up once her face disappeared from above me. “I thought we were staying in and vegging out on your couch this time.”

Clara peeked at me over her shoulder as she pulled the second drawer on her dresser open. “Yeah, about that…” She snickered. “A guy I work with gave me two tickets to the opening of that new art studio downtown. Des Cendres, I believe is the name of it. Not sure what that means, but I know it’s French.”

“From the ashes,” I whispered.

Clara spun, her eyebrows furrowed. “How did you know that?”

I shrugged. “I took French in high school.”

“Well, look at you miss smarty pants.”

“Hardy, har, har.” I slipped off the bed to see why Clara was still rummaging through an open drawer. The drawer was packed full of clothes. Not in any particular order either. Shirts, skirts, tank tops, and leggings were all jam packed into that same drawer as if she didn’t have any other space to put them.

“What’s all of this?” I picked up a plaid skirt with my index finger then dropped it back into the messy pile.

“Clothes I can’t quite get rid of.”

“Okay…what exactly are you looking for?” I watched as she continued to dig through the drawer.

“Here it is!” She pulled the item of clothing free from the pile with a victorious smile on her face. “This would look perfect on you!”

Clara held out a black and white skirt with large hand drawn looking roses covering it.

“What makes you think that?”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, put the damn thing on and let me see it already.” She pushed it against my chest as I laughed at her annoyance.

I slipped into the bathroom and changed. The deep purple lace shirt I had on would match, especially with the black tank top peaking through the lacey material. The vanity mirror was too high to see myself wearing the skirt, which gave me no choice but to let Clara to see me in it first. 

“I knew that damn skirt would look great on you! Now you need a pair of black stockings and some killer shoes to finish out your outfit.” She squealed as she dug through another drawer for some stockings and tossed them at me on her way to the closet in search for shoes.

“Why do I feel like you’re dressing me for a date?”

“Because you’re a weirdo and always think I’m dressing you for a date, when in reality I like making you my own personal Barbie doll.” She shrugged, extending a pair of patent leather black heels in my direction.

“You’re strange.”

“And you love me.” She smiled widely.

I slipped into the heels. “Holy crap these are comfortable.” I walked over to the floor length mirror to check myself out.

“The best money I’ve invested in a pair of shoes.”

“That’s for sure.” I danced a little jig.

Clara erupted with laughter as she changed for the night ahead of us.

The cabbie stopped directly in front of Des Cendres, thanks to Clara that is. She’d shown a little more cleavage and slipped him a fake number. In this part of town, most of the driver’s wouldn’t drop you in front of a building that had heavy traffic due to the amount of time it’d take them to slip back onto the road. Gotta love hectic traffic on a Saturday night, right?

The sign on the art studio captivated me, not because it was over the top or elaborate, but because the simple thick black font on a white lighted background got the point across. There was a small line outside which surprised me. I wasn’t expecting us to be attending a showing at a new gallery where more than a handful of people would show up. Whoever the artist on display was, they had to be someone special. I was excited to find out just who it was.

Clara skipped the line.

“What are you doing?”

She shot me a look as if I was dumb as hell for asking her that. “I know the owner.” She shrugged.

“You do not.” I laughed.

“Come on.” She waved me forward as we stepped up to the man seated at the door.

“This is totally not going to work.” I mumbled.

She only gave me a sly smile in return.

“Excuse me, sir.”

She batted her eyelashes a little more than usual, obviously trying to make the bulky guy feel like she was flirting with him. If it had been me, I would’ve seen right through her antics. But most men don’t think with their upper brain.

“How can I help you, darlin’?” His eyes explored the length of her body.

“My friend and I should be on the list you got there.” She motioned toward his clipboard with her index finger. “It’s pretty cold out here tonight; we’d hate to get sick waiting for our turn to enter.”

Clara was laying it on thick.

“I’d hate that for you too.” The guy smiled a knowing smile. “What’s your name sweetheart?”

“Clara Stevens and Zoey Fisher.”

We watched as the man searched the list, which didn’t take as long as I thought it would, before his eyes rose back to Clara’s. “Have a good night.” He waved us toward the entrance.

“How in the hell…”

“I told you I know the owner.”

She shrugged again like that tad bit of information wasn’t anything special.

“I thought you were lying.”

Clara placed a hand on her chest and dropped her jaw. “I would never lie to you, Zoey.”

“And I’m the next candidate for president.” I laughed.

“I had no idea!” She beamed. “We need to start on your campaign STAT then.”

I playfully smacked her arm. “Oh, shut your mouth. You know I’m joking.”

“Can I take your coats, ladies?”

A gentleman, who looked barely over the age of eighteen, if that, held out his hand.

“Sure.”

“Thank you.” I smiled politely as we handed over our coats.

The buzz around the room was amazing. At least forty people moved throughout the place, which was definitely large for a new gallery opening. But what instantly captivated my attention was a large lone canvas hanging on a rustic brick wall whose white paint had been chipped away over the years. I moved closer, waiting my turn to step forward and see the canvas in its entirety.

From where I was standing, I could already see the pain and heartache that had been poured into the piece. I absolutely had to have this piece. The group in front of me took no time admiring it before moving along so I stepped forward and clutched my chest. Instantly, I felt the emotions the artist was portraying as I took in the bottom of the canvas that looked to have been burned, leaving ragged edges and ashy lines that turned into painted flames raging to the top of the canvas. The vibrant hues of orange, yellow, and red made the flames seem all too real…all too familiar.

Tears rimmed my eyes as they landed on the faint charcoaled phoenix rising from the fire. The wings, constructed from ceramic looking pieces, projected from the two-dimensional plane literally spreading off the canvas and bringing the beautiful bird to life. Charcoal grey, black, and deep blue swirled together to show the phoenix starting a new life after the massacre of the flames had taken its previous one. Fabric was used to create ashes floating along the top of the canvas, some with bright orange and red embers still burning at their tips. The entire piece was breathtaking and hit home for me. Much like me, that phoenix was learning to live again after a tragedy. Whoever had created the work of art had to know firsthand what beginning again felt like.

“What do you think?”

I smiled to myself as his words wrapped around my already emotional heart. He stood next to me and I turned to take him in. His hair styled with mousse to make his growing curls lay perfectly, a light shadow of scruff manicured across his jaw, and a black suit with a crisp white shirt rounded out the new version of Hendrix standing beside me.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” I ignored his question.

His eyebrows pulled together with confusion. “Really?”

“Well, I guess I should’ve known you would come to an art showing, unless you’ve given up on art altogether.” I rambled, hoping I didn’t sound as much like a fool to him as I did to my own ears.

Hendrix demeanor changed. “Clara didn’t tell you.”

I was surprised he stated instead of asked. “Tell me what?”

He chuckled as he ran a hand down the back of his neck and dropped his eyes to the hardwood floor. “This is
my
studio. I gave Clara the tickets in hopes you’d come.”

I flinched at his confession. Des Cendres was
his
? And Clara knew? She had brought me on purpose, not because she had received tickets from some guy she worked with, but from Hendrix. She was playing the fixer-upper without giving me a heads up. I was going to kill her.

I glanced around looking for Clara, but she was nowhere in sight, most likely on purpose. My hands were clammy from the unexpected news and Hendrix’s presence. I took a deep breath. Spending time at Hendrix’s opening night wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

I scanned the pieces closest to me before my gaze landed on the phoenix and flames once again. No nametag was attached to the piece, which I found odd.

“What’s this one called?” I nodded at the canvas as I crossed my arms over my chest.

Hendrix cleared his throat and turned to face the piece. “Begin Again.”

“How come there isn’t a name tag?”

“I don’t name my pieces usually. If you notice none of them have name plates.” He motioned to the pieces closest to us. “I want the art to speak for itself. So each person who views a piece can make their own interpretation revolving around their own connection to what is being portrayed without being influenced by my personal connection.”

He was a genius not only with his art but also with his words.

“It’s breathtakingly beautiful.” My voice was raw.

“It’s about us.”

“What?” My head whipped around in his direction.

“This piece.” Hendrix faced me. “I created this after I knew you most likely weren’t coming back. That you were gone from my life, rising from the ashes of what I did to you and learning to build a new life; much like that phoenix.”

I blinked to try and push away my tears, only to have a couple race down my cheek. “You didn’t force me to be anyone that I didn’t choose to be back then, Hendrix. I was the reason I lost everything I had worked for my entire life, not you. Yes, you made it easier for me to rebel, but I was second guessing my life before you came barreling into it. You and your reckless ways were the missing pieces I needed to destroy my own life. Don’t hold yourself accountable for something I did.”