Beneath Beautiful (21 page)

“Oh, great. I'll set it up and text you with the time and place. Okay?”

“Sure,” Cassie replied, in a monotone. “I'll look forward to it.”

After all, things couldn't get much worse. May as well add Plum into the mix.

C
assie consoled herself by taking the subway anyway, to the New York Public Library. It seemed the only the only place to go at this point. The British Library was like her second home, and she was sure she could have made her way around the permanent galleries blindfolded. It was where she always went when she felt at a loss, and for some reason, ogling treasures such as Jane Austen's writing desk, the original version of
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
and Charles Dickens's handwritten copy of
Nicholas Nickleby
never failed to lift her spirits, even if it was just a little. Not to mention the fact that they always had excellent cake at their café.

She spent a few hours touring the current exhibitions and simply sitting down and watching people, which helped to allay her fears somewhat. It was always a meditative experience, spending time in one of the great libraries of the world. Always calm. Always collected. Panic was something that needed to be checked at the door.

She was about to go searching for lunch, when the text came, her phone vibrating silently in her pocket. Thinking it was Marianne with a time and place that she would need to meet Plum, she pulled her phone out rather reluctantly, only to find it wasn't Marianne at all, but James.

Don't want to mess you around, but are you busy? Need to go over to The Met and stare thoughtfully at some of Mr. Callahan's work. Thought you might like to come.

Despite the fact that she was sitting down, his words made Cassie feel slightly dizzy as her worlds collided once more. She considered his request for a moment before replying. She wanted to see James, but knew it was unwise to involve anything to do with Cameron. Still, James had got his interview now. She may as well go.

Sounds good. Meet you there in an hour?

“I
had no idea they'd acquired this piece.” Cassie paused in front of the sculpture. “It's my absolute favourite. I could look at it all day.”

“You've seen it before?” James drew up beside her, looking on.

Cassie nodded. “Yes, in London. At an exhibition.”

The sculpture was comprised of an old cast-iron claw-foot bath with a woman inside, submerged in water (actually made of polyester resin, fiberglass and silicone, according to the plaque). There was something about it that Cassie connected with. The ripples on the surface and the few bubbles suggested she had just dove down, and her closed lids and slightly puffed out cheeks said no one was watching. It was all about her. Cassie's own eyes flicked over to James for a moment before returning to the sculpture once more. “There's a lot of his art I don't connect with, but this . . .”

James considered the work. “Why this one?”

Cassie thought about his question before responding. “I suppose because everyone's done it, haven't they? Shut the world out. Or tried to.” As she said the words, she recognised it felt like a good idea right now.

“And which pieces don't you connect with?” James queried.

“You're not going to use any of this for your feature, are you?” Cassie glanced at him once more, and as she did so, caught sight of his lips, and thought about that awkward shared kiss they'd had upon meeting on the steps of The Met—one of those kisses that landed somewhere between cheek and lips, everyone unsure of what was going on between them.

“No, it's fine,” James answered. “I'm only here to try and cement my thoughts before I do a final draft. See if I can come up with anything else to add.”

“Okay then.” Cassie nodded, still captured by the woman in the bathtub who would never rise. “That series of women—the prostitutes from the red light district in Amsterdam. It just does nothing for me. Their dull eyes give me the shivers.”

“Maybe it does do something for you, then?” James pointed out. “If you think they have dull eyes?”

Cassie shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe I just think Cameron Callahan needs to go to rehab for sex addiction.” She didn't think this, but there were plenty who did.

James laughed at this.

“Do you have a favourite?” Cassie shifted her weight as they continued to contemplate the sculpture.

“Sure,” James teased. “The red light girls with their dull eyes do it for me every time.”

Cassie threw him a look.

“Okay, so I'm joking. No, the one I really like—how can I describe it—she's completely naked. Has her back to the viewer and is stretched out on the floor, held up by one elbow . . .”

“Oh, I know,” Cassie snapped her fingers. “Hair in a braid, falling down to one side. Yes, I know it. It's beautiful. It's very . . . private, if that makes any sense. She's in her own world, isn't she?” The more she remembered the piece, the more she hoped that was what her piece would turn out like. If it turned out at all.

James nodded. “I thought that was my favourite, and then I found a new one yesterday, at his studio.”

“Really?” Cassie said, slowly. “What was it like?” She knew it couldn't be hers, but the crossing of the two worlds once more felt a little too close to home.

“A woman sitting on a chair. A large woman. Just . . . her skin. It was amazing. Truly amazing. It's going to be an amazing exhibition. That was too many amazings, wasn't it?”

Cassie smiled. “Something tells me he'll be pleased with your feature.”

“I'm so lucky I got the interview. I still can't believe it. All that time and then . . .
bam
. . . it happens. Just like that.”

Cassie found the courage to look at James properly now, thinking to herself that it might very well be the last time she ever saw him. Despite the fact that she'd pushed for his interview, he was obviously going to be angry that she'd lied to him, or hadn't told him the whole truth, as would Alys.

“I'm not that surprised now about all the stuffing around, though,” James continued.

It took Cassie a moment or two to register his words. “Sorry?” she said. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” James explained. “It looks like he really has been crazy busy trying to fit that last piece into the exhibition. I thought they might have been fobbing me off, but it seems to be true. And, to be fair, it sounds like it's going to be extraordinary. I don't know if I'm supposed to say,” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “but he sort of hinted it might even have an electronic element, which is a first for him.”

Of course, this caught Cassie's attention. “Really?” she replied. “Did he say anything else? An electronic element that does what, exactly?”

“I don't really know.” James's forehead wrinkled, and Cassie felt a tug of affection for him. Alys was right. She did like him. A lot. “He mentioned the word 'layers' as well. But that was about it. He's super secretive about his work, that's for sure.”

“So I've heard.” Cassie nodded, all the time wondering whether maybe she'd been wrong to think the piece was in jeopardy. Certainly James seemed to think Cameron was still excited by it. But an electronic piece? And with layers? She didn't know what to make of these two terms.

Another feeling took hold, however. Cassie knew then that she had been right all along. There was most definitely something Cameron wasn't telling her.

And she had no idea at all how to find out what it was.

C
assie sat, toying with a pot of tea and a slice of pumpkin cheesecake on the marble-topped table of the French-inspired café she had chosen, and thought about James's parting words to her.

They'd said their goodbyes on the stairs of The Met once more—kissing awkwardly again, though on the lips this time. Cassie had turned to go when James had reached out at the last second and grabbed her hand, drawing her back up the stairs to him.

“You need to stop,” he'd told her, and Cassie's body had chilled further in the cold of the air outside. Did he know after all? “You need to stop being embarrassed about the other night.”

Her heart had kicked back in then, along with her discomfort.

James's hands, just below her shoulders now, turned her slowly around to face him completely. “I can see you've been thinking about it. I don't get it. What's the problem? Trust me, it's not like I didn't have a good time. Do I look unhappy?”

“I . . .” Cassie began, but then realised she didn't honestly know what her problem was. Why
was
she embarrassed? Something in her—something real and true that she couldn't ignore—had wanted James. She'd simply acted upon what her body wanted. For once in her life she hadn't paused to over-think things, to complicate things, to weigh things up and ask for the advice of others, or to consider what society might think about her actions. She'd been authentic. Exactly like Jo had wished she had been, but hadn't given herself that chance. And doing so had been thrilling and horrifying all at once. And, yes, it had been unlike her, as Alys had pointed out, but James was right—there was nothing to be embarrassed about. It was only in hindsight, over-thinking everything again, that she felt flushed and awkward. She needed to let that go. She had done nothing wrong, or shameful. Just responsive.

“Maybe if we practised a little more . . .” James tried and Cassie couldn't help but laugh.

“I'd like that,” she said, gamely. “And, obviously, if the other night was anything to go by, it wouldn't take up too much of your time.”

James had laughed as well at that. “I'll hold you to it.”

He brought her to him and kissed her again. Properly this time. Deeply, and like no one was watching. She had been surprised to find how her body responded to him—eager for more. Not only in a sexual way, but an intellectual way. She saw then that Cameron had been clouding her judgment. “Double entendre intended,” he'd added before letting her go, which made her laugh again.

Savoring another smooth bite of her pumpkin cheesecake, Cassie smiled a secret smile to herself, remembering the exchange. James had been right. She needed to let her embarrassment about the situation go, and own her actions. In fact, when she allowed herself to examine what had happened that night, she found she was almost proud of herself—for a split second in time she'd been free. She hadn't worried about what anyone thought, or might say. It had been about her. Only about her. And James had been happy for her to revel in that. One thing was for sure, she thought with a slight widening of her eyes—Cameron Callahan was some kind of influence. For good, or for bad, though, she wasn't entirely sure.

J
ust when Cassie was beginning to think she'd gotten lucky, and that Plum was too busy for that drink tonight, the text came in from Marianne. The address she gave was in SoHo, and despite the fact that Marianne said Plum would send a car for her, Cassie, uneasy about the situation, told her it was fine, that she was already out and she'd get a cab herself to meet for their pre-dinner drink (thankfully, Plum had dinner plans, which worked just fine for Cassie).

Having no idea what to wear, she ended up in a slightly odd combination of black skinny jeans, high black ankle boots, a black silver-studded stretch shirt and clutch. She threw Alys's black cape over the top again as she left. She wasn't going to be cold for Plum Tarasov's sake.

On entering the bar, Cassie had to refrain from rolling her eyes. At any other time, she would have thought it looked amazing—it was like a proper Victorian parlor, all lush red velvet, high-backed chairs, oil portraits, flocked wallpaper and dim, gas-like lighting. It was the color that made her feel ill, however. Red. Burgundy, vermillion carmine, crimson, flame, ruby, scarlet, rust. Everywhere she looked was red. And there, sitting at the bar in the midst of it all, was Plum, blood-red lipstick and all.

The woman had issues, that was for sure.

Cassie's first instinct was to bolt, but she talked herself out of doing so smartly. She'd wanted to do that far too much lately, and anyway, it would get her nowhere. Plum obviously had something to say, and she wouldn't rest until she'd said it. Best to get it over and done with. Quickly.

Thus, Cassie squared her shoulders and walked over to Plum, taking a seat on the stool beside her. She tried her very best to hide the fact her heart was racing.

“Plum.” She nodded.

Plum stifled a laugh. “How terribly formal of you. Here.” She motioned to the bartender, who immediately brought Cassie over a cocktail. Red. Of course. “Let's get this party started.”

The drink having been passed to her by the bartender himself, Cassie was slightly less worried that Plum might have put something into it.

“Cheers.” Plum held out her glass, and after another moment's hesitation, Cassie followed suit.

The drink itself slid down her throat, beautifully warm. “What is it?” she asked as she resettled her glass on the bar.

“Vanilla vodka, cherry juice, and lime. It's good, isn't it?”

Behind her, a sudden flash made Cassie, already on edge, whip around. A group of girls sat at a table opposite the bar and were obviously intent on making the most of their evening out, taking photo after photo of their spectacular drinks on their phones.