Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
“The night isn’t over yet.”
“I think she’s feeling the pressure. Mum’s here. Brin and El. Heather and Archer are coming later, too. All we’re missing is Whit and his lot, but they’re still on holiday. And Daniel, who’s in Thailand and doesn’t seem to have any plans of coming home.”
“That’s good, though, right? Family support?”
“Double-edged sword,” she answers with a sigh. “They mean well, but sometimes Lavender takes innocuous stuff to heart. She pretends she doesn’t, that she’s super tough, but she’s a tender soul under that spiky hedgehog stuff.”
Tender isn’t a word most people would conjure up when they think of Lavender, but Primrose is on the money. Her attitude is a defense mechanism. You’ve just got to pay attention a little harder to spot those little chinks in her armor. For me, it’s the way she is with Daisy. It’s also apparent in smaller things, like the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not looking. The tactile touches that seem less and less like pretend every day.
“What do you think the issue is? Why things aren’t selling, I mean.” I turn back to the warrior-worrier. “This one is pretty good.”
“This one’s great. But some of the pieces are a bit…” She makes a weighing motion with her hand. “The assemblages are good—there’s been interest in one or two of those. But did you see the metal sculpture pride of place on the way in?”
“Can’t say I did.”
“I’m not sure how.” She slides me a brief glance. “I’d placed it somewhere else but when I popped home to get changed, it had mysteriously made its way to the front of the gallery. It’s certainly…” She taps her index finger against her chin. “Confronting.”
“I guess I should go take a look.”
“Prepare yourself. It looks like a giant metal vagina.”
I chuckle at Primrose’s deadpan delivery. “I think I would’ve noticed that.”
“What’s worse is what the piece is called.”
My mind goes several places, but it wouldn’t do to offer any of them up. “I can tell you’re just dying to tell me,” I answer instead.
“Episiotomy.” She pulls a face. “I didn’t know what it was, and I’m not glad I asked. Ignorance is sometimes bliss. And the opposite of that makes a girl wince.”
I try not to laugh, but her face is moving like rubber.
“Polly said it brought tears to her eyes, and I’m not sure she meant it as a compliment. Poor Lavender,” she adds with a sigh. “But don’t tell her I said that.”
“Show no weakness, right?”
She nods. “This business is just so tough, you know?”
I make a noise of understanding.
“I don’t know how she does it. First, she has to find an artist she thinks will be commercially viable, then she has to pick pieces and reject others without stepping on tender toes. Artists can be very temperamental. As in half temper and half mental.”
“I’m sure.”
“She paints walls on rotation and largely decides how to display the pieces. Prices them. Sells them. She does the hiring and firing, the day-to-day bookkeeping, manages the inventory, and arranges packing up the stuff when it sells—and when it doesn’t. She arranges couriers and insurance, and takes care of the website and advertising. She’ll even wash the bathroom! And for what? For nights like tonight when the tire kickers turn up in force to drink the wine and fill up on nibblies before they bugger off to the pub.”
“You love your sister very much.”
“Of course I do,” she says, turning to me sharply and eyeing me as though I’d asked a stupid question. “We all love each other. It’s just the sheer number of us makes things seem odd. There’s seven times the love. Also, seven times the trouble. Seven times the opinions, and seven times the shit throwing.” She turns back to the artwork, consternation still knitting her brows.
“Think you can ring this one up for me without letting Lavender know?”
“Aw, that’s so sweet! But you know it’s not just her pocket you’re lining because fifty percent—”
I wave away whatever she’s about to say next. “I’m not doing her a favor. I can see this in the reception of a new hotel.”
“What about the metal piece? Fancy buying that?”
“I’m not sure vaginas are the vibe we’re going for in our hotels.”
“You don’t own any of those Japanese love hotels then, I suppose.”
I laugh.
“You could tell people it’s a shark’s jaw,” she suggests pleasantly.
“Good try, but no.”
“Fine. Fine. Don’t help a poor student’s commission.” Her eyes widen as I produce my credit card from my wallet.
“Ohh, fancy.” Taking it from my hand, she pretends to be flushed, fanning her face with it. “Whit has one of these, but his belongs to the bank. The bank he owns.”
“But I hear he doesn’t have his own private jet.”
“I’ll remember you do next time I book a holiday.” She jauntily turns on the ball of her foot and bounces off.