Chapter Twenty-Four #2
The four women exchange amused looks—I’m definitely not imagining it. I glance at Scarlett, who meets my eyes and frowns.
I scoop up a forkful of my chorizo hash. “Yes, I’m doing a series of paintings that are going to be displayed in Lumen.”
“Such a cool break,” Jane says. “It really helps to be Māori at times like that, right?”
Scarlett stops with her fork halfway to her mouth. I stiffen. “It’s nothing to do with being Māori.”
“Oh come on,” Jane says in a teasing voice, “it’s obvious that Lumen wants to up its diversity quota. Add to that the fact that you’re painting a rich white guy in a demeaning position and it’s a win-win for Beaumont.”
“I still can’t believe he bid a million dollars for you,” Lou says. “That must have felt amazing.”
I can’t think what to say, and put down my fork.
“Bit hypocritical, though, painting that picture of him after he paid all that money for you,” Jane says. “Was that Genevieve’s idea, or yours?”
“It wasn’t like that.” But I’m embarrassed, because Jane is right.
With everything that’s happened, I’d forgotten that he bid all that money for me.
And how have I repaid him? By agreeing to a commission that has humiliated him.
By pressuring him into a relationship he didn’t want that now threatens to embarrass him even more.
He didn’t ask for any of this. I mean obviously, he could have said no and turned me away.
But I know I’ve pushed him and led him on, and suddenly I’m ashamed.
It’s also impossible to shake the feeling that there’s a grain of truth in the suggestion that me being Māori is connected to Genevieve’s interest in me.
It does feel tougher sometimes, being a woman and being Māori, and I was glad of the attention and the commission, but I don’t like feeling manipulated.
“We’re only jealous,” Anna says. “I mean, you’ve landed a huge opportunity for your work and the gorgeous Spencer in one fell swoop.” Her eyes gleam. “Come on, spill the beans… is he as generously endowed as the rumors say? And did he get what he paid for?” She giggles, and the others grin.
My face burns. They’re implying that he paid for sex with me. Oh my God, he got it, too. Normally I’d make some witty retort, but I’m flustered, and I can’t think what to say.
Scarlett clears her throat. “So tell me about Emerge. Marama told me the group helps aspiring artists?”
She draws the others’ eyes back to her, and they start telling her about their plans for the initiative.
I have a few more mouthfuls of the hash, but my stomach churns uneasily, and in the end I lay down my fork with the rest uneaten.
I feel miserable and unhappy, and embarrassed that I brought Scarlett to meet these women, implying they were friends when they’re clearly not.
Scarlett is listening to the others talk, but she glances at her phone and brings up a text, then rolls her eyes.
“Ah, dammit.” She huffs a sigh and gives me an apologetic glance.
“I’m so sorry, my sister says they’ve had an incident at Kahukura and they need me back there urgently.
” She smiles at the others. “I’m sorry to have to cut this short, but it was great to meet you all. ”
“Of course,” Jane says, and Lou adds, “It’s a shame, but we understand.”
Scarlett and I rise and say our goodbyes and go over to pay for our meals. Then we head outside and cross the road to my car.
“Did you really get a text?” I ask her as we open the doors.
She blows a raspberry. “No. But I didn’t really want to stay after they were so rude to you.
” We get into the Alfa, and she clips in her seat belt.
“Was I wrong to do that?” she asks, suddenly concerned.
“I mean, I know they’re your friends—I hope I didn’t make things awkward.
I just felt that they weren’t being very nice to you, and you didn’t deserve to be spoken to like that. ”
I swallow hard. Then, without warning, I put my face in my hands and burst into tears.
“Oh no!” She hurriedly unclips herself and moves forward to rub my arm. “Hey, it’s okay.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry,” I squeak, pressing my fingers to my lips. “I think I’m so upset because deep down I wonder if they were right.”
“Oh bullshit. They shouldn’t have upset you like that, it was totally uncalled for. You got that commission purely on your own merit.”
“But Spencer…”
She gives me a pitying look. “Don’t listen to them. He’s a grown up and more than able to handle himself.”
I look at her gentle eyes, thinking about how crushed he looked on the beach, how unlike his usual self. “I’m not sure that he is.”
“What do you mean?”
“He didn’t want to get involved with me.” It’s the first time I’ve admitted to anyone that we’re having a… what? Fling? Affair?
She frowns. “I can’t imagine Spencer being pushed into anything he didn’t want to do.”
“You might be surprised.” I think of how I took off my clothes in the studio and wince. He’s only human. What guy was going to turn down such an offer when it’s handed to him on a plate?
“Look, I do have mixed feelings about him,” she says carefully, “but it’s clear to me that he’s a good man deep down.
I haven’t asked you about what’s been going on because I didn’t want to pry.
I mean, I’ve seen the headlines, but I figured you’d tell me when you were ready, and I didn’t want you to feel awkward because I’m dating his son.
But… do you want to talk about it? Is it just a fling or is it more than that? ”
“He doesn’t want more. But… I’m pregnant.” Tears pour down my face.
Her eyebrows slowly rise, and her mouth opens. “Oh, sweetie,” she says, and she puts her arms around me.
I cry for a while, unable to stop the floods of tears. When they finally slow, I move back and brush a hand tiredly over my face. “I’m sorry, I think it’s the baby hormones,” I joke weakly.
“Of course, it’s not a problem at all. Have you told him?”
I nod. “He said he’ll support me financially, but he doesn’t want to be involved.”
She exhales. It’s every woman’s worst nightmare, I guess.
“Well, fuck him,” she says fiercely. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
I give a short laugh, dig out a tissue, and start drying my face.
“What are you going to do?” she asks. “Are you going to keep it?”
I wipe away the smudged mascara, then tuck the tissue back into my bag. “I’m not sure yet. I’m still thinking about it. I’m only a few days late.”
“Well, if you do decide to visit the clinic and want someone to come with you, you know I’ll do it.”
“That means a lot, thank you.” I take a shaky breath and blow it out slowly. “It’s a horrible decision to have to make.”
“I understand. We’ve had a few women at the refuge who’ve been in the same position. I mean, obviously, there’s no abuse here, but it’s still a difficult decision to make.”
I study my hands in my lap. I feel ashamed as I think about the fact that there are women who’ve been forced into my position.
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t my choice, but Spencer hardly forced himself on me.
It was just a mistake, or bad luck. Once again, I think about the fact that I’ve always thought of children as a blessing.
“Would it be terrible if I kept it?” I murmur.
Her expression softens. “Of course not.”
“I’d have to hide the fact that he’s the father. Say I had a one-night stand or something.”
She nods. “I understand. I won’t tell anyone, not even Orson, I swear.”
“You’re so sweet. So much more a friend than those women will ever be. I’m never going back there again.”
“They were just jealous.”
“Maybe, but women should come together to support each other, not to bring each other down.” I start the engine. “Come on, let’s get home. So much for introducing you to the city lifestyle! I think you’re better off in the Village.”
“Me too,” she says fervently.
I drive us to the terminal, and we take the ferry back to Waiheke. I drop Scarlett off at Kahukura, exchanging hugs with her and promising to call, then drive slowly back to the house.
There are a few cars out the front, so I know Mum must be holding one of her groups. I go around the back and let myself in the sliding door that leads to the studio. I have a coffee machine in there, and I make myself one, then take it over to the window where I paint and put it on the table.
I look at the half-finished painting on the easel, the atua wāhine pushing down the wolf, pick up the canvas, and put it to one side. I go over to the blank canvases, choose one, and bring it back to the easel.
I stand back and study it, planning out a new scene in my head while I sip my coffee.
It’s time I made my own decisions about my life, and stopped letting others control or manipulate me.
It’s time I stopped being a pawn in Genevieve’s revenge.
My art is my own. I have to be true to myself and paint from my heart.
What’s the point in doing this exhibition and getting exposure when I’m just doing someone else’s bidding?
My art has always been about exploring my truths and beliefs, not anyone else’s.
Thoughtfully, I pick up a piece of charcoal and start sketching.