Page 42 of Love ad Lib
He threw open the door as his sister stepped backwards, giggling. A man followed her.
‘Motherfucker!’ Henry yelled, as he launched himself at James, pushing him away from his sister.
‘Henry!’ she cried.
But the red mist had descended, plunging him into a lava pit of rage. He punched James’s face.
James staggered back, raising his own fists.
‘Can’t accept defeat, Foxy?’ he taunted.
Henry didn’t bother trying to land another blow, rugby-tackling James to the floor.
‘Henry, stop!’ Summer screamed.
Sitting astride James, Henry punched him again. ‘That’s for stealing my clients.’ He landed another punch. ‘That’s for Elizabeth.’ He drew his arm back. ‘And this one is for evenlookingat my sister.’
But before his fist could descend, he was pulled back and lifted off James, his arms pinned in place by the office security guards.
James staggered to his feet, holding a bloody nose.
‘Henry!’
He spun around to see Lorna Ferguson looking at him, her face white.
‘My office. Now.’
* * *
During a British summer,rain was more likely than sun. Good for plants, but not good for Libby as she walked the five miles from Claire’s home in St. John’s Wood to Shoreditch, for Lucas’s show.
Lucas had told her to wear black and white, but half of her clothes had been ruined. She would have washed and dried them, but the building inspectors said they could be contaminated and dangerous, so she threw them out. Now, her lucky dress was being splashed by buses she couldn’t afford to take and she was running late.
Out of breath, she finally reached Balbis and pushed the large black door open. On the other side, a woman stood with a clipboard.
‘Hi, I’m Libby Fletcher.’
The woman looked down her list, then to Libby’s clothes. ‘You’re down as waiting staff.’
She drew herself up. ‘I’m Lucas’s friend.’
‘Are you one of his models?’
Models?‘No, I’m here to support him. He asked me to help serve drinks.’
The woman sniffed. ‘It won’t be appropriate dressed like that. Just go on in. You can leave your coat and umbrella over there.’
Libby hung her coat on a rail, put her brolly in a bucket, smoothed her hair and straightened her shoulders. This was it!
The gallery was situated in an old warehouse with a high ceiling and brick walls painted white. The place was packed. Just as in her dream, most of the people were women, thoroughbreds compared to her. She couldn’t see Lucas.
Her focus shifted to the paintings. Each one was about a foot square. They were mounted at the same height, running at eye level around the space. In the middle of the room was a temporary square structure, accommodating more of his art.
Libby blinked.
Every painting was of a vagina.
Two women holding champagne glasses stood in front of her. ‘Have you found yours yet?’ one asked.
