CHAPTER 58 COMMON Grief
October 27, 2012
“Liam!” I shouted from my room as I finished packing my purse to leave for the Beaumont Gallery opening. Nina had horrible period cramps and couldn’t make it, so Liam was coming with me instead. We planned to pick up some takeout afterward and have dinner at their place. Initially, I’d invited Lily because I hadn’t seen her in a while, but Joel needed to stay a few more days in LA for a role he was auditioning for, and she wanted to stay with him. “I don’t want to be late!”
“Fuck off!” Liam shouted.
“Excuse me?” I shouted back, marching toward the living room, fuming. I stood in front of the TV and crossed my arms at my chest.
“Shit, Red. You thought I was talking to you?” He grabbed the remote and turned the TV off. “I would never! I meant the referee.” He shot up from the sofa and brushed a hand over his dress pants. “He was being an arse the whole match!”
“Whatever, let’s go,” I said, turning on my heel and walking toward the front door. Liam followed me, and when I opened the door, he pushed it back closed with his palm. “Liam, seriously—”
“What’s going on?” he asked, cutting me off as I silently stared at the door. “We’re not leaving until you tell me why you’re acting this way.”
“It’s nothing.” I turned to look at him with exasperation. “I hate being late, and traffic is going to be crazy at this hour.”
“Come on, Red.” Liam cocked his head to the side. “We both know that’s not it.”
“Fine.” I leaned back against the door and let my head bump against it as I looked up to take a deep breath. “My dad might be at the event tonight,” I sighed. “I sent the invitation to his assistant, and she didn’t tell me if he would be going or not because I didn’t dare ask.”
“It’ll be fine either way,” he said reassuringly. “I promise.”
“I haven’t seen or talked to him since the night of the gala, and I don’t know if I’m ready to do that today.”
“I won’t leave your side unless you ask me to, okay?” He dipped his chin and squeezed my shoulder. “And if being mean to me helps you blow off some steam, you can keep doing it on our way there.” He wiggled his brows.
I couldn’t help smiling, but it quickly melted away. “I’m sorry,” I said, pulling the door open with a frown and stepping out. “I’m just stressed about it.”
“Worry naught, milady,” Liam replied, curtseying low and waving an elegant hand as I locked the door. That got me, and I let out a breathy chuckle.
As the elevator took us down to the lobby and Liam complained about the referee’s apparent preference for the opposing team on the rugby match he was watching, I texted William.
Me:OMW to the gallery opening I told you about. Wish you were here. I miss you.
I put my phone away, not expecting an answer anytime soon. I knew William was busy flying or about to fly somewhere. It was hard to keep track of his whereabouts these days, with the press tour almost coming to an end. At least I had seen him for three days during the New York premiere in September. It had been the wildest red carpet event I had ever attended. More production, twice the fans, a bigger theater, and a longer red carpet. The movie was incredible, and William and the rest of the cast did a fantastic job. No wonder it was receiving high praise from film critics and important media outlets.
We arrived at the impressive Beaumont Galerie in SoHo to find we were among the first to arrive. People were starting to shuffle in, and a photographer immediately asked to take our picture, and we agreed.
“Thanks, mate,” Liam said to the photographer as we walked away.
The gallery was pristine. All white walls, grey, polished concrete floors, and black industrial ceilings with movable lighting rails all around. They added a French touch to the gallery with the Louis XV flat benches made with ornate black wood and upholstered with black velvet.
My phone buzzed inside my purse, and I hoped it was William.
W.S.: I miss you too. Just four more weeks till Thanksgiving.
A server carrying a golden tray with several flutes of champagne approached us and offered us a glass. We accepted it, and before we took a sip, Liam said, “Cheers to facing the music and letting our hearts lead the way.”
My brows arched with endearment. It reminded me of Caleb’s letter and how he ended it with Let the heart lead the way. It was as if Caleb himself had sent Liam my way. His friendship was so special to me and had come at the most opportune time. “Cheers.” We clinked glasses and took a sip. Liam was right. Whatever happened tonight, if my father showed up or not, I needed to face it head-on.
“Good evening,” Louis said, approaching us as we looked at some of the modern pieces at the front. “Simone got caught up chatting with someone she had just greeted. I’m glad to see you could make it.” I introduced Louis and Liam, who congratulated him on the gallery after they shook hands. “There’s something I want to show you before I get too caught up with the event.”
Louis called on Simone, who joined us in following him wherever he wanted to lead us after the pleasantries were exchanged.
We entered a room at the far end to the left, where large-scale prints of various renowned photographers were exhibited on the walls. The photographers’ names and descriptions were adhered to the wall in cut-out black vinyl lettering next to each photograph.
It took me a few seconds to realize that Louis’s portrait I’d taken when he was crying was displayed on one of the walls. I’d sent him the files for free after he insisted on paying for them. It’d been a pleasure photographing him, and there was no way I would’ve charged him for them.
“Jesus Christ.” I rushed toward the print, leaving all composure behind as I heard Louis and Simone’s delighted laughs behind me. I pressed a hand to my chest and then pointed at the print beside me with a nervous smile that morphed into trembling lips. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. I faced the print and inspected it, completely blown away by its quality. The texture of his skin and the lighting against the black backdrop contrasted beautifully.
“We love photography and have been pushing more photographic exhibits in our European galleries in recent years,” Simone explained. “I fell in love with this portrait and knew we had to show it today.”
“It’s an honor to see the portrait displayed here,” I said, shaking my head with shock. “Thank you so much.”
“Thank you,” Louis replied, taking a step forward and looking at the portrait’s caption. I leaned in to read it:
BILLIE MURPHY
Portrait 001 of “COMMON: Grief — A Series.”
Exhibit to be presented at the Beaumont Galerie Paris
in February 2013.
I almost choked on my saliva.
“If you don’t like the name, we can change it,” Louis said with a grin. “But consider this a formal invitation to participate in an exhibit at our Paris gallery where you would have full creative control and support from our senior curator.”
A shrill scream blasted inside my head.
“I-I love everything about this idea.”
“We love it, too,” Simone said. “We genuinely believe in your talent and feel like touching on the subject of grief for the exhibit would be very fitting for us personally, to you, and to the public as well. But we can discuss the details at a later date if you’re interested in us making you a formal offer. We think February would be a good month for us in terms of scheduling, and we’re hoping it works for you, too.”
“February works,” I said, trying not to let an excited whimper escape my throat. “It would give me enough time to work on the concept, photograph more people, and finish the project on time.”
Someone who appeared to be a gallery employee called out to Louis from the room’s entrance.
“The ceremony is about to start,” Simone said, touching my arm. “But we’re glad you’re interested in the project.”
“Of course,” I said, still stunned by the news. “Thank you so much for the opportunity.”
They turned around and walked away, and I held on to Liam’s arm for balance and grasped it with force. “Is this real? Was that real?”
“It’s all real, Red,” he said with an excited laugh. “Your work will be exhibited in Paris.”
Making sure the Beaumonts were out of earshot, I turned to Liam and squealed. But then I panicked. Working on a project like this was demanding and time-consuming. My full-time job at the magazine, plus working with Abigail, left me with little time to spare. It would be intense, but I had to make it work.
“Where did you go?” Liam waved a hand in front of my face and whistled.
“I’m here,” I said with a laugh. “Just freaking out.”
Liam was about to say something else when two women approached us. “Hi, Liam!” they said in unison. They seemed to be in their early 30s. “Could we take a photo with you?”
“Absolutely,” Liam said with a smirk, taking a few steps to stand beside them. One of them extended her arm and snapped a selfie.
“Do you want me to take your photo?” I asked.
“Oh! You’re William Sj?berg’s girlfriend, aren’t you?” one of them asked, taking her hand to her mouth. “Can you stand for the selfie, too?”
“I am.” I smiled. “Of course.” No one ever asked me for a photo. Usually, with William present, I became invisible to the fans who spotted him, and I was perfectly fine with it.
The other woman snapped the selfie, and then I took another photo of the three of them.
“Save that photo, ladies,” Liam sang. “Billie here is en route to becoming a famous photographer.”
“Oh, don’t listen to him.” I felt my face warming up into a flush as Liam pointed at Louis’s portrait and told them it was mine. The two women approached the print to take a closer look at it while Liam and I walked back to the main gallery room to witness the opening ceremony.
I quickly spotted Abigail and approached her to say hello.
“Louis told me he’s already talked to you about the exhibit proposal in Paris,” she said, pushing her glasses higher up the bridge of her nose. “I’m proud of you, Billie. You’re going to do great.”
“Thank you,” I replied. “I’m still wrapping my head around it.”
“They loved your work.” Abigail pressed her lips into a small smile. She wasn’t the most effusive person, but that small smile was enough to show me her approval. “As do I.” She sipped her champagne and said, “Oh, and before I forget. The interview scheduled for Monday will be conducted on a private flight to Europe. Becca knows you won’t be showing up at the office for a couple of days. You’ll have to pack your equipment and build a set on the plane. But I’ll email you the details tomorrow.” She turned around and walked away to join the two other people she arrived with, leaving me standing there with a question mark on my forehead.
“Look at you with the fancy job,” Liam teased, and I rolled my eyes at him. Louis started talking on the microphone, so the chatters around the gallery ceased, sending a cold chill down my spine, and that’s when I saw my dad walking in.
After the ceremony, more champagne was distributed, and we all raised our glasses to toast and celebrate with the Beaumonts.
“He’s here,” I whispered to Liam. “My dad.”
“Do you want to leave, or?”
“No.” I adjusted my purse’s chain strap on my shoulder. “I don’t know. Oh, shit, he’s coming. Shit, shit, shit.”
“Act natural,” Liam said through a smile, pretending to laugh about a joke I clearly did not make.
“What are we, extras in a movie?” I could feel my father’s presence growing stronger the closer he got. He was one hell of a charismatic man. He walked through the crowd wearing the brightest smile that even I was having trouble figuring out if it was authentic or not. He was that good. But deep down, I hoped that it was real, that he was happy, and changed, and at peace with his past.
I didn’t want to be mad at him, but my ego had me in a chokehold, telling me how dare I even think about forgiving him for all that he had done and all the lies and omissions. But the moment he stepped in front of me and said, “Hey, kiddo,” my resolve to stay mad at him forever faltered.
His smile was warm, but up close, his gaze was still glum. He greeted Liam and thanked me for relaying the invitation. We engaged in comfortable small talk, which led to him telling us about the Beaumonts and the day they met. He shared having met their son, Arnaud, and how awful it was to learn about his tragic passing.
“I don’t think I’d have any will left to live if I ever found myself in their position,” my dad said, locking his gaze with mine.
“Well, I’m here, and there’s no need to think that way.” I wanted so badly to hug him, to tell him we should leave everything in the past, that I had lied when I told him I didn’t know how to forgive him because I did know how. I’d done it a thousand times. But it seemed too soon, too fast, and a dark part of me wanted to punish him a while longer, to have him suffer a little more to make sure he’d truly learned from his mistakes. And even I cringed at my own train of thought because what kind of divine deity did I think I was to demand penance and sacrifice in exchange for forgiveness? God, these thoughts were paralyzing me.
He was my father, and I loved him, even if it meant putting my pride aside to admit it to myself and, eventually, to him.
“Have you seen your daughter’s portrait?” Liam asked my father when he realized I was on the verge of malfunctioning like a glitchy robot that had been left out in the rain all day.
“What portrait?” he replied, looking at me.
We guided him to the room where the portrait was, and I explained how Louis had been interviewed for the magazine and how I had taken this portrait before shooting the final one for Abigail’s column. I didn’t leave out the Beaumonts’ offer to do an exhibit in their Paris gallery.
“I’m so proud of you, kiddo.” The look of satisfaction on my father’s face was priceless.
The words warmed my heart and a genuine smile tugged at my lips.
“Dad?” The word came out too soft. I even doubted if he’d listened, but he had. He was staring back at me with expectation, his brow slightly wrinkled. “Can we just … start over? Leave the past in the past?”
“We already have, kiddo.” He took a step forward and embraced me, and for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to rest my cheek against his chest and let him hold me. Let him be the loving, supporting father I knew he could be.
“I think I should go look for Louis to congratulate him,” he said, breaking off the embrace and looking down at the floor as if to settle his emotions. “Are you free next week for lunch?”
“I am.” No tears came, enough had been shed. All I felt was peace. “Call me.”
“I will,” he replied.
“I think it’s time for us to leave, too. We need to go check in on Nina.”
“Before you go,” my dad added, pulling out an envelope from his jacket pocket and handing it over to me. “Your mother never got to make a will because she was too young to even think about making one before she died, but she loved that apartment. And as much as I regret selling it, I’m glad William was the buyer, and that you get to keep living in it.” He looked at the floor but smiled before lifting his gaze to meet mine again. “This belongs to you.”
He took a step forward, and without warning, he threw his arms around me and pulled me in for a tender embrace. “Let me know the time and date of your exhibit, kiddo, and I will be the first to arrive.” He kissed my cheek and walked away.
Liam and I got in the car, and as Aaron drove us to Nina’s favorite taco place, Liam said, “If you don’t open that envelope, I will.”
I dangled the envelope in front of him like a carrot to a rabbit. “How long will it take you to text Tobias once you see what’s inside?” I teased.
“Well, it depends on how juicy and gossip-worthy the contents are.” He tried plucking the envelope from my grasp as we both laughed, but I was quicker than him.
I finally tore it open, but my laughter dissolved into an audible gasp when I saw the check for the astounding sum of 1.2 million dollars written to my name. It was juicy, all right.
“You are definitely going to want to text Tobias after you see this.”