Prayer for the Dead (Revenants in Purgatory) Page 8

  ...

  When Saturday arrived, I was a ball of stress. I tore through my closet, trying to decide what to wear. When I asked Devon what the dress code should be for the night, he responded with “Casual-Sexy”. What the hell does that even mean? I wasn’t sure if he was serious or messing with me. Knowing Devon, it could have gone either way but regardless, it was the code stuck in my mind. Casual-sexy. I kept repeating it as I flipped through all my clothes again, with a very large pile of discarded items growing on the floor. I considered calling to cancel, based on my lack of wardrobe, when I reached the back of my closet. There, on the last hanger, was a pair of black, leather pants.

  I yanked them off the hanger and held them up to myself, kicking one leg out in front. They definitely fell into the ‘sexy’ category. I threw the pants on the bed and dug through the pile on the floor, looking for the red camisole top and black cardigan I tossed in there a few minutes before.

  When I located all the pieces, I dropped my robe on the floor and changed. The leather was stiff, since I had only worn the pants one other time, but otherwise comfortable. I surveyed myself in the full-length mirror. The outfit still needed a little boost of sexy and I opted to go with black heels. I stole another peek at myself and thought I didn’t look so bad. Actually, I looked pretty good.

  However, when Devon arrived, I had a better understanding of how “casual sexy” was meant to look. He wore a fitted, dark grey turtleneck and black dress pants. His black hair looked soft and shiny. His skin was smooth, showing no sign of stubble. Metrosexual pain in my ass! The very sight of him made me slouch. He must have noticed the look of disdain spreading across my face.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “Damn it, Devon. You look better than I do.”

  “What are you talking about?” He looked me up and down. “You look gorgeous, as always.”

  “You are such a liar,” I said, as I pulled the door shut behind me. “One of these days, I need to get fashion tips from you.”

  “I think you do just fine on your own.” He got a little smirk on his face before he continued, “And you know, if I wasn’t such a gentleman, I could tell you what clothes not to wear.”

  “None of them?”

  He laughed, wrapping his arm around my shoulders “Great minds, Liv. Great minds.”

  Once we were at the gallery, it was pretty much as expected. The pretentious vibe was overwhelming. Yuppies milled about with drinks in hand, but not really paying all that much attention to the art. They were more interested in talking about how fabulous they were. As I wandered around the room, I overheard snippets of conversations consisting of summer homes, investment portfolios, and tax write offs. The sad part about it was—the art was actually incredible.

  I was admiring a rather large piece titled Mourning Inamorata. It was a very dark, abstract painting and Jackson Pollock in flavor. I tilted my head this way and that, admiring it from different angles. Something about the particular piece appealed to me. It radiated tones of happiness, longing, wanting, and sadness. It seemed to contradict itself in a hauntingly beautiful sense. I had never been moved by a piece of art before. As a matter of fact, if anyone asked me how I felt about any of the other pieces in the show, the best I could have come up with would have been, “They sure are pretty.”

  In the midst of my love affair, a pretty blonde woman slinked up next to me. She held a champagne flute, with the tips of her perfectly manicured nails. Her backless black dress was cut in a very low “V”, almost reaching her belly button. It seemed to be defying the laws of gravity and I wondered how in the hell it stayed on her slender frame. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a very high ponytail, accentuating her perfect cheekbones and radiant blue eyes. She was stunning.

  “Beautiful piece, wouldn’t you say?” Her voice had a soothing melody to it. I nodded as she turned to me, smiling, with her hand extended. “I’m Katarina Everett.”

  Since I was standing in the middle of Everett Gallery, I figured it was a safe assumption she was the proprietor of the establishment.

  “Olivia Brennan.” I shook her hand in return. I was in the middle of complimenting the gallery when she crinkled her nose and got a strange look in her eyes. I couldn’t smell anything but wondered if it was my perfume. Had I put on too much or, worse yet, not enough? Before I could obsess on it too much, Devon returned with champagne in hand. The strange look on Katarina’s face melted away and she lit up at the mere sight of him.

  They greeted with one kiss on each cheek. He complimented her on another great show, and her smile spread wide. She seemed very pleased by the turn out for the artist, Mr. Covington.

  I silently scoffed at the artist’s name. Mr. Covington. Like, seriously? His art was good but, god... how pretentious could one get? Even though I chuckled inwardly about it, I found myself once again lost in Mr. Covington’s masterpiece before me. So much so, I almost completely tuned out Devon and Katarina’s conversation. His arm slung around my shoulder brought me back to the fold.

  “Looks like my date wants to take this one home.” He emphasized the word ‘date’ with a playful nudge of his hip. Returning the jest, I nudged him back and we both smiled but, when my eyes met Katarina’s, I shivered. The woman, who had been warm to me only moments before, became very cold, her blue eyes turned to ice.

  “Mmmm.” was all she said. All the melody was gone from her voice. I wondered what caused the sudden frost. As soon as Devon moved his arm, it became obvious. Little Miss Frost-Bite became all sunshine and rainbows again. Her eyes may have well been green, as transparent as her behavior had been.

  I eavesdropped on their conversation but mostly lost myself in the painting again. Katarina was going on about Mr. Covington, who also happened to be her boyfriend. It really bothered me she already had someone at home, yet she was getting territorial and jealous over Devon. Everything about that rubbed me the wrong way. She strutted away after a few more kisses to Devon’s cheeks. Off to tend to her patrons and peddle some prestige and notoriety.

  I slowly sipped my champagne, still completely distracted by the painting, until Devon poked me in the ribs, causing me to jump.

  “Stop visually molesting the painting, Liv. You’re going to make it uncomfortable.”

  “I can’t help it... it’s so beautiful. I feel very drawn to it. Have you ever had that happen with a piece of art?”

  “Mmm, no,” he said, sipping his champagne, “but I’ve always said you were weird, so it doesn’t surprise me you would be. Why don’t you buy it, if you love it that much?”

  I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but when I leaned forward to check out the price tag, I burst into laughter. “Right, I’ll get on that, just as soon as I come up with an extra six thousand dollars.”

  ...

  We left the gallery around ten and decided to grab a bite to eat. In the cab, I tormented Devon, just to pass the time. “Sooo, Devon...”

  “Yes, Olivia?”

  “I think Katarina likes you. I think she wants to kiss you and have your babies.” It was a rare occasion that Devon blushed, but he did just that.

  “Why do you think I invited you along to run goober patrol?”

  I couldn’t contain my shock. Katarina was the goober? I thought she was a phony bitch, but she was a smokin’ hot, phony bitch. I placed my hand on Devon’s forehead. He gave me a questioning glance, and I pressed the back of my hand to his cheek. I grabbed his wrist and held my finger to his pulse. Since I wasn’t wearing a watch, I just stared at my own wrist for a few seconds. Next, I placed my hands on either side of his face and, with my thumbs, pulled down his lower eyelids.

  “Liv, what the hell are you doing?”

  “I’m checking to see what the hell is wrong with you. How many fingers am I holding up?” He slapped my hand away, without answering. The correct answer was two. “Did you get a good look at that woman? How can you not want that? She’s beauty personified.”

&n
bsp; “She is that, but I don’t know, I just don’t feel any chemistry there, ya know?” I shrugged. He may not have thought there was any chemistry there but, judging by her flirtatious behavior, she certainly did. “Besides, she’s with someone and, even if they broke up, I’m not about hooking up with a woman on the rebound.”

  I couldn’t fault him there, but I also thought it might be better for everyone if he was up front and honest with her, rather than pretending that I was his “date”. Regardless, I kept that opinion to myself.

  Chapter 10

  Due to the big birthday shindig being only two weeks away, I was awake at an ungodly hour. I guess seven AM isn’t technically an ungodly hour, but it is if you’re getting ready to go shopping. I tried to put a positive spin on the whole thing, seeing it as just a day of Portia and I hanging without the boys around. But nothing could convince me it was going to be anywhere near the vicinity of fun. We were going to the designer stores and, that alone, twisted knots in my belly.

  Since it was a milestone birthday for Portia, I was able to convince her that the party should be for her alone. The suggestion made her happy because, although she won’t admit it, I think she likes being the center of attention. Besides, it made me happy since I’d be receiving nobody’s attention. It worked out perfectly! But that didn’t change the fact that she wanted us both to look extra fancy. Even though I was going to be contentedly ignored, I still had to do it in designer threads.

  By nine AM, we were already outside a boutique, waiting for it to open. By eleven, Portia had an armful of bags and I had nada. Well, that’s not true. I had the experience of a nasty sales girl asking me if I would be more comfortable shopping at Wal-Mart. Yeah, I’ll keep that one in my back pocket for a day when I’m feeling really low and shitty about myself, so I can relive the humiliation all over again. That’ll be fun.

  Sales bitch aside, I was frustrated and grouchy, but then a dress in the window of one of the boutiques caught my eye. It was the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. Unfortunately, it was far too formal and expensive for our purposes, but that didn’t stop me from petting the glass as I gawked at it.

  We took a brief break to grab a bite to eat at one of the ridiculously overpriced, tiny-portion serving, bistros then it was back to pounding the pavement in search of the perfect outfit. I was in such a designer, stress-induced haze that I hadn’t even recognized where we were, until we breezed right past the door of a place I knew.

  I yanked Portia to a stop. “We should go in here.”

  “Why?”

  “I wanna show you something, c’mon.” I tugged on her sleeve until she followed.

  The place was dead silent when we walked in. To be honest, it was kind of creepy, as if we walked in a morgue rather than an art gallery. We strolled around for a few minutes, while I tried to find the painting I was after, but I was striking out on my own. A young sales associate breezed by and asked if we were in need of any help.

  “I’m looking for Mourning Inamorata, by Mr. Covington.”

  “Oh yes, lovely piece but, unfortunately, it sold yesterday.”

  My heart sank as a strange thought went through my head... I’ll never see it again. I don’t know why, but that made me very sad. It was really ridiculous when I thought about it, but there I was, pouting in the middle of the gallery anyway.

  The sales girl wandered away, leaving me to mope around behind Portia while she looked at some of the other work on display. Then I saw my favorite ice queen. I don’t know if it was because I was grumpy from a day of belittling sales clerks and ill-fitting clothing, or because the painting sold, but I decided to give myself a little laugh.

  I nudged Portia lightly and leaned in, keeping my voice low. “Hey, remember I told you about that chick I met the night Devon dragged me to that exhibit down here?”

  “Sure, the chick who wants to have his babies.”

  “That’s her.” I nodded in Katarina’s direction.

  Portia’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of her head. “She’s the goober?”

  “The one and only, according to Devon.” Portia pulled some gum from her purse, handing me a stick that I eloquently shoved in my mouth. “And I’m pretty sure she hates me.”

  “No, how could she hate you? She doesn’t even know you.”

  “Don’t think so? Watch this, follow me.”

  Katarina was talking to the young sales associate who had offered to help us earlier. The girl wasn’t looking Katarina in the eyes and, unless my own were deceiving me, she even appeared to be cowering in her boss’ presence. Somehow, I didn’t find that all too surprising. The young woman wandered away and I saw my opportunity, quickly swooping in and plastering on the friendliest expression I could muster.

  “Excuse me, Miss Everette, Katarina right?”

  “Yes?”

  I reached out my hand. “Hi, I don’t know if you remember me. We met the night of the exhibit for Mr. Covington.”

  “Oh yes, remind me of your name again.” She was smiling, sunshine and rainbows.

  “Olivia Brennan.” I could see she was still having trouble remembering me, but I knew a simple name drop would change that. “I was here with Devon Chandler.”

  “Of course.” The smile slid right off her face, her mouth pursing into a tight, thin line. She looked me up and down, sizing me up. Given the nasty look when she caught sight of my Converse sneakers, I think it was a safe assumption to say she wasn’t impressed.

  “This is my friend, Portia. We were just passing by and thought we’d stop in.”

  “Mmm. It’s nice to see you again, but I’m very busy and must get back to work.” Her jaw was clenched so tight, I was sure if we didn’t leave soon, she’d crush her own teeth to dust. There was absolutely nothing friendly about her dismissal as she turned her back on us and walked away.

  “Alrighty, bye-bye then,” I called after her.

  Portia barely contained her laughter until it exploded, the moment we hit the street, “Ho-oo-ooly shit, that woman hates you. I mean like Ha-A-ates you.”

  “I told you.” I laughed.

  “Damn, I don’t think I’ve met a colder woman in all my life. No wonder Devon doesn’t want to have babies with her; he’s probably worried she’d eat them.”

  Even though what I had done was completely immature and childish, it gave me that little extra pep to get through the rest of the afternoon. I even managed to buy a dress and some shoes to match. The idea that a woman like Katarina could be jealous of me must have made me a bit smug for the rest of the day, because no ill-fitting dress or sales bitch was able to bring me down.

  Chapter 11

  I was absolutely exhausted after shopping with Portia all day. That night I was sitting around watching television with Tore, when there was a knock at the door. Since we were both feeling lazy, neither of us moved. The knock came again and we slowly glanced at each other. I stuck my fist out at him. He did the same.

  One, two, three... shoot!

  Smiling smugly, I snuggled back down into the couch. Tore always thought I’d choose rock and tried to outsmart me by choosing paper, but I never did. You’d think he would’ve figured that out by now.

  Muffled voices gave a quick exchange before Tore hollered over his shoulder at me, “Hey, there’s a package here and the guy says only you can sign for it.”

  I hadn’t ordered anything lately. I couldn’t fathom what could be so important that only I could sign. Anyway, don’t they just usually leave it in front of your door with the welcome mat haphazardly flopped over the top? As if someone would just walk by thinking, I need to get me one of them lumpy welcome mats, and have no inclination to steal the “carefully” hidden package.

  I pulled the door open wide to reveal a young man wearing a white button down with a grey tie and black slacks. He was the most professional looking delivery driver I had ever seen. Taking in his attire, a terrible thought crossed my mind. My birthday was coming up, he had a package only I cou
ld sign for, and Portia loved to see me turn red.

  I peeked my head out further into the hall “So, where’s the package?” I questioned suspiciously.

  He handed me a clipboard. “It’s in my truck, but I need you to sign here first, ma’am.”

  My suspicion grew. “Why didn’t you just bring it up now?”

  “Company policy, ma’am. We have to be sure the recipient is home before the package can leave the safety of the truck.”

  “Right, the safety of the truck,” I repeated, as I dotted the I’s in my name, handing the clipboard back over.

  “All right, thank you, ma’am. I’ll bring that right up for you.”

  “I’m sure you will.” I nodded, walking back into the apartment. Tore followed me, leaving the door cracked so the driver could get back in. I flopped back down on the couch to wait for the inevitable bumping bass and the young man to bust in, swinging his shirt around his head.

  Five minutes later, there was a soft knock. I sighed before yelling, “Come in.”

  The door pushed all the way open and, much to my surprise, there was no bumping bass. The young man was still fully clothed, pushing a dolly with a large, flat, wood crate perched atop. Tore and I glanced at each other in confusion.

  “Where would you like this, Miss Brennan?”

  I wasn’t really expecting there to be an actual package, so I didn’t know how to answer. Instead, I stared at him blankly. Luckily, Tore helped me out by moving the coffee table out of the way, allowing our delivery-man to set it down in the middle of the living room.

  I popped up and walked around it. There was no postmark, return address, store stamp, or anything to indicate who the mystery crate had come from. The driver wished us a good evening and made a quick exit. I hadn’t even thought to ask who he worked for. Tore and I knelt before the crate. Whatever it was, the lid was nailed down tightly. Tore started yanking on it, to no avail.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to open it.”