Something Is

Alice wanted out. The room was hot. She felt as though she couldn’t breathe; that there wasn’t enough oxygen in there for the number of people the organisers had crammed in. She hated launches. She hated the poseurs, the liggers, the bullshitters.

She looked at them all, milling around with their glasses of wine, taking canapés from the dishes carried by circulating catering staff, swapping empty glasses for full ones.

Alice tried to maintain a bland expression on her face as yet another sweaty-faced art appreciator talked to her chest. He was incapable of getting her name right, even though it was there, emblazoned on her badge. He kept on calling her Alicia. As though Alice was too mundane, or lacked a certain something.

Magda was watching her from the other side of the room. Magda was desperate for a reason to fire her. Hence the importance of maintaining her composure as this damp individual with the face like bread pudding talked on at her chest and called her Alicia.

Suddenly, Alice was swept into another conversation with one of the Trustees. This Trustee was the current head of the Board. Perma-tanned to an almost radioactive shade of orange, she was currently trying too hard with a man half her age. He was still older than Alice, though, and uncomfortable in his suit. He kept pushing one hand through his hair, as though he couldn’t quite understand what he was doing there.

The Trustee was pronouncing Alice’s name wrong at the same time as she was singing Alice’s praises to the man who had accompanied her and helped to rid Alice of the sweaty doughboy. Alice, according to the Trustee, was the gallery’s most prized possession.

“Other than the works of art, of course,” she laughed, clearly believing that the sound coming from her mouth could be considered tinkling and delightful.

Alice smiled politely. The man looked at her and smiled apologetically. The Trustee caught sight of Magda across the room and waved.

“I must just have a word with Magda,” she said to Alice and the man.

When she was gone, Alice looked at the man properly. His face was soft, clean shaven. Most importantly, it was dry. Even in the heat of this room, even in the discomfort of wearing a suit, he hadn’t broken into a sweat. Alice smiled at him.

“I didn’t catch your name,” she said.

“We weren’t really introduced,” he replied. He held out a hand, into which Alice put her own and felt it grasped, firmly. His hand was dry and warm. “I’m James,” he said.

“I’m Alice,” Alice told him.

James raised his eyebrows. “Alice? I thought – “

Alice cut him off. “No, my name is Alice. Really.”

He smiled. “Sore point?”

She smiled back. “You could say that. Most of the people I work with or have to deal with can’t seem to believe that I have such a utilitarian name. It’s almost as though they need more vowels, or syllables, or at least for it to sound Germanic if it’s going to be short.”

“You think Alice is a utilitarian name?” he asked her.

Alice blushed. She didn’t know why, but she thought it might have something to do with the way he raised his eyebrows at her. His surprise at her opinion seemed genuine. Alice wasn’t used to people being guileless at events such as this one.

“My grandmother was called Alice,” James continued. “It makes me think of rosewater and peppermints.”

“You’re an artist, aren’t you?” Alice asked him.

He laughed. “You can tell that just from my description of my grandmother?”

“No,” said Alice. “From the way you went a bit misty as you were saying it.”

He laughed again. “You’re very blunt, you know,” he said.

“It’s a quality that goes with my utilitarian name,” Alice replied. “I don’t smell of rosewater or peppermints.”

“You’re right,” said James. “You smell of lily of the valley and jasmine.”

Alice had no comeback. She hated it when she was stumped for a response. She looked away from him, as though she was looking around the room to check if someone else was there.

“Who are you looking for?” he asked her.

She turned back to him. “Nobody,” she said.

“Oh. It just seemed like – never mind.”

“Like what?”

“Well, like you were hoping someone would come to your rescue, or something.”

“Oh.” Alice looked away again. Her eyes landed on David. “Shit,” she said. “Oh fucking shit.”

James followed her line of sight, looking across the room at David himself.

“Do you know David?” he asked.

Alice stood stock still, rooted to the spot, oblivious to everything going on around her. She didn’t even hear James’ question. Everything was moving slowly. Even sound was travelling slowly. The edges of her vision started to crowd in on her, reducing her world to a small square in front of her eyes; a small square that was filled by David. The square drew in on itself, and soon Alice couldn’t see anything. The room was black and she had the sensation of falling. It seemed to take forever, this fall through the blackness, but eventually she landed and opened her eyes to find herself crumpled in a heap on the floor.

James was crouched beside her and a circle of art critics, buyers and blaggers had formed itself around her.

“Are you okay?” James asked her. “I think you fainted.”

“It happens,” Alice said, trying to sit up. It seemed such a long way from the floor to an upright position, but she managed it.

“You really banged your head when you went down,” James told her. “Can you feel it?”

Alice put a hand to the back of her head. It was tender and she could already feel a lump beginning to form.

James started to help her up. He placed one hand under her elbow and the other around her waist, and pulled her to a standing position.

“Come on,” he said. “Come outside for some air. It’s far too hot in here.”

He walked her across the room. As they passed her, Magda said, “Don’t be so bloody melodramatic, Alicia.” She looked at James. “I’m so sorry about my assistant, Mr. McGuire.”

“It isn’t a problem, Ms. Halarewicz, really.”

Once they were outside and James had Alice safely propped up against the low wall in front of the gallery, Alice looked at him.

“You’re The artist,” she said. “This is your launch.”

He laughed. “I’m exhibiting, yes.”

Alice blushed again. “Shit,” she said. “I didn’t realise.”

“You didn’t realise or you’d have fainted sooner?” James asked.

Alice closed her eyes, feeling dizzy again. “Something like that,” she said.

James rested against the wall, next to her, mirroring her body position. They leaned there for a while in silence, bottoms against the top edge of the wall; hands either side of their hips, gripping the wall edge; legs stretched out in front of them.

“Don’t you have to be in there, meeting people?” Alice asked, nodding her head in the direction of the building behind them.

“I expect so,” James said. “I think I’m expected to give a short speech about the work in the exhibition as well.”

“You should go back in, then,” Alice told him.

He didn’t reply. He just carried on leaning against the wall, staring down at his feet, which were crossed over each other at the ankle.

His shoes were dark brown leather. It was a light summer evening, and Alice could see that they went well with his dark brown suit.

“You don’t see many men wearing dark brown suits,” she said.

“You don’t see me wearing any suit that often,” he replied.

Alice reached out a hand and touched the fabric at the cuff of his jacket sleeve. It was a light wool, soft under her fingers. There were four buttons running along the fake slit.

“I’ve never understood what this was about,” she said, holding the fake slit by its edge.

She looked up to find James looking at her. She smiled and tugged his sleeve slightly before relinquishing her grip.

“Sorry,” she said. “Force of habit. I have this need to touch fabrics, to find out what they feel like.”

“I see,” was all he said, still looking at her.

Magda came out of the gallery behind them. “Are you feeling okay now, Alicia? We need Mr. McGuire back. He has an exhibition to open, in case it had slipped your mind.”

“Are you feeling alright?” James asked her.

Alice nodded. She stood up. “Come on,” she said. “I’d better let you get back to your adoring public.”

He led the way up the steps to the door and joined Magda there. Magda glared at Alice and swept James McGuire away into the building. Alice took her time in following them.

She took a position at the back of the main exhibition room, near the door. It was cooler there, and she was out of sight of most of the people in attendance.

“That was very dramatic,” said a voice in her ear. She didn’t have to look to know that it was David.

“Shock at seeing you again,” she said under her breath and over her shoulder.

“How gratifying,” he murmured back at her. “And how expert of you to get the artist’s attention.”

“Fuck off, David,” she whispered. It came out almost hisslike, except none of the letters were right for sibilance.

“Steady on, love, or I’ll think you still care.”

David moved off somewhere else, further away from the door, but still behind her, still out of her line of vision.

James had just finished speaking. She hadn’t paid any attention to what he had said. She didn’t expect they would be conversing again. Magda would see to that.

Instead, Alice busied herself with directing people around the gallery, answering questions about their summer programme of events based on the exhibition of the artist’s work. She managed to avoid David. As the evening drew to a close, she realised that he had left.

“So how do you know him?” a voice said, as she was shaking hands with someone on their way out.

“How do I know who?” she replied without turning to see who had spoken.

“Goodnight, thank you for coming,” she said to a couple as they passed through the door beside her and on out into the night.

“David. The man who made you faint. The man who was winding you up while I was giving my little speech.”

“Oh,” she said. “David. I just – know him.”

“Good to see you tonight,” she said to the Trustee, who gripped her hand and questioned her on her health before effusively thanking James for everything.

Magda walked over to them. “Thanks, Alicia, you can go now. I’ll finish up here.” She paused and looked Alice up and down. “You should probably get your head looked at, or something.”

Alice laughed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” she said to Magda. “Nice to meet you,” she said to James as she headed through the door.

“My pleasure,” he replied. “I’m sure I’ll see you again, sometime.” But Alice was gone, without hearing his goodbye. She wanted to get out of that place and back to the house. She wanted a cool drink, sitting on the back doorstep, barefoot and with her skirt hitched up around her knees, feeling the breeze against her legs.

The phone rang as she let herself into the house. She let the answering machine get it, while she kicked her shoes off and looked through her mail from that morning.

“Alice, it’s David. Call me when you get this.”

The phone clicked off, and the answering machine thanked the dead air for calling. To get rid of the five second beep which let her know she had a message, Alice went through the rigmarole of pretending she wanted to listen to the message in order to delete it.

She picked up the phone handset and carried it through to the kitchen. She unlocked the back door and opened it to let some air into the house.

She fixed herself a drink and took it and the phone to the doorstep. Once she was settled, with her skirt hitched up, she dialled the familiar number.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“To talk to you,” David said.

“What about?” Alice asked.

“Art,” David said.

“What do you want to know?”

“Is he good? Anything of any worth? Is that space still as insecure as it always was? The usual.”

“I thought I told you last time that I’m not doing this any more.”

“Alice. Dear. I know what you said. And I’ve left you alone for five years. I think it’s time again, don’t you?”

Alice let the question hang in the air. She counted to fifteen and, as she heard him draw breath to ask her another question, she hung up on him.

She placed the phone down on the kitchen floor beside her and took a couple of sips of her drink. The night air was quite still and there wasn’t as much of a breeze against her legs as she would have liked. She took another couple of sips of her drink.

The phone beside her began to ring. She picked it up from the floor, putting her drink down in the space it vacated.

She pressed the talk button and waited for him to speak.

“Alice. Can’t we just discuss the possibilities? It needn’t be anything too large. Just something that you think will appreciate enough over time to make the effort worthwhile.”

Alice let the silence from her end continue.

“You do think he’s good enough, don’t you?”

Alice picked up her drink again and put the phone back on the floor. She heard David’s voice say something else. It sounded tinny and remote.

She felt a sudden desire for a cigarette. She didn’t know if she had any in the house. It had been a couple of years since she had smoked, and anything that had managed to hide itself and survive the purge would be disgustingly stale by now. She toyed with the idea of leaving the phone connected for David to burble on into the silence of the house, while she nipped to the corner shop for a packet of 20 Marlboro Lights.

She’d fainted once tonight, though. She didn’t want to add insult to injury by having a whitey on the doorstep because it was so long since she’d smoked anything.

She heard David’s tinny voice say, “Are you there?” so she picked up the phone again.

“Yes, I’m here,” she said. “But I’m not listening.”

“You’re not going to help?”

“Nope.” She drank from her glass and swallowed. “Like I told you last time, I’m not interested in this any more. It’s not worth it. It bores me.”

On the other end of the phone, it was David’s turn to be silent. She let the silence ride until she heard the click of David’s receiver going down and the buzz of a disconnected line.

She was done with that business now. If anyone was going to benefit from the acquisition of work by a little known artist, it was going to be her, and she had better ways of doing it now than by outright theft.

David’s presence that night had been an unexpected boon. She had no doubt at all now that there would be a follow up meeting between her and Mr. James McGuire; or that there would be more meetings after that, until the painting she knew he was going to make his money off was eventually in her possession.

She pressed the talk button again to disconnect the call completely and finished her drink. She needed to be clear headed in the morning. There was a chance that James McGuire might not even stay away for a day.

The phone rang again at four in the morning. It was Magda. Alice knew instantly what David had done. Impatient and dissatisfied with her response, he had broken into the gallery that night and taken as many of the paintings as he could get away with before the police arrived.

Magda wanted Alice to go straight to the gallery and help to identify which of the paintings were missing.

“Have you told the artist?” Alice asked.

“Don’t be so fucking stupid, Alicia. Of course I fucking well haven’t told him.”

Magda hung up and Alice dressed. When she reached the gallery she was surprised to see James was present.

“Hi,” he said. “I had this feeling we’d see each other again soon.” He laughed. “I didn’t think it would be because someone pinched some of my work, though.”

“You’re very chipper about it,” Alice said.

He winked at Alice and patted her on the hip. “There’s no such thing as bad publicity,” he said.

Alice frowned at him, and then went to find Magda.

She was in the main exhibition room with two police officers. “There was no damage,” she was explaining. “No broken window, no smashed in door. Nothing.”

“So someone must have got in with a key,” suggested one of the officers.

“It would seem that way,” Magda said.

“We’ll need to question all the key holders, just as part of the procedure. And take finger prints from everyone who works here,” said the same officer, the older of the two.

“Fine, fine, yes. Whatever you need to do,” said Magda, waving a hand dismissively as she caught sight of Alice and started in her direction.

“We’ll probably start with you, Ms. Hararawich,” said the younger officer.

“Halarewicz,” said Magda. “Fine. This is my assistant, Alicia Home.”

“Alice Hulme,” corrected Alice, in the direction of the police. To Magda she said, “Do you know that James McGuire is out there?”

“Yes,” said Magda, impatiently. “The police contacted him.”

“He doesn’t seem that concerned,” said Alice.

“Well, I don’t know,” said Magda. “Some people take bad news differently to others, Alicia. We’re not all the type who faint at the sight of an ex-boyfriend.”

With that Magda whisked off into the other room to talk to James and try to limit the damage from the point of view of the gallery.

Alice smiled at the police officers. “I suppose you’d like to interview me,” she said.

It didn’t take long, and Alice made a promise to go to the station later in the day and have her prints taken, so that they could be eliminated from among those that were bound to be found on the remaining paintings and around the gallery.

It was almost time to start work and Alice felt as though she’d had no sleep at all.

“Go home,” Magda said. “We’ll count it as lieu time. Both of us. You’ll be next to useless if you stay.”

James was still there.

“Can I give you a lift home?” he asked, seeing her yawn.

“Oh, thanks, but I’m in my car.”

“Yes, but you’ve had next to no sleep, I imagine. It can’t be safe for you to drive.”

“I think I’ll manage,” Alice told him. “It’s not too far. Thanks for the offer, though.”

“Maybe we could go for a drink later, or something,” James said to her, walking with her from the gallery to where her car was parked on the street outside.

“Oh,” Alice said. “Well, that’s sweet of you, but I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Are you sure?” James asked, good naturedly, holding open her car door for her as she got into the car.

Alice smiled up at him from the driver’s seat. “Yes, I’m sure,” she said.

“Okay, then,” he replied cheerily and shut the door of the car, just as she started the engine.

He waved as she drove off, and Alice thought that he was far too happy for a man who had just had a fair proportion of his work stolen from his first large scale exhibition.

Alice had got out of the car and was looking for her house keys when her mobile phone began to ring.

“Hello?” she said.

“Alice, it’s James. I got your number from David. I hope you don’t mind.”

Alice didn’t say anything, but she thought plenty.

“Listen, you seem like the decent sort, so I hope you don’t go all silly on me now.”

Alice maintained her silence.

“If you open the boot of your car, you’ll find all of the stolen paintings. David said that you’ve done this sort of thing before.”

Alice’s silence changed from suspicious to incredulous in a split second.

“He’s coming round later to collect them. I was supposed to get you out of the way by taking you for a drink, but clearly you’re more than able to resist my charms.” He laughed. “Anyway. If you leave them where they are, then David can just pick them up as planned, and you don’t need to worry about any of this. Is that okay?”

Alice still didn’t speak. Incredulous was changing to resignation. No matter what she did or said, she was beginning to realise that she would never be rid of David now. He had got his claws into her life and, save for moving away, changing career, changing her name, there was little she could do about it.

“Alice? Are you still there?”

“Yes, James. I’m still here.” She paused. “Since it seems I don’t have any choice in the matter, and since it will probably make life easier for all of us if I’m not here when David comes round, what time do you want to go for that drink?”

© J R Hargreaves October 2006