The Persistence of Memory

Chapter Five

Nervously, I shift in the chair and look around Nicole's office to distract myself. There's a white leather sofa behind me, over which hangs a colourful Jackson Pollok print which I recognise as summertime 9A. Dali and Pollok were the only artists I could recognise at a distance, or at all. I guess I'd try my luck at Picasso too if someone put a gun to my head. In any case, apart from a contemporary flower arrangement by the door, and the Pollok print, the office is sparse and clinical. Very cold. Very Nicole.

"Mr Foley? Hi, it's Sasha from the Weston, so sorry to disturb you." She chirps as I tense on the chair. "I have a Mrs Alford with me just now, whom you met last night I believe? Yes. She was interested in talking to you about one of your pieces and was looking for a contact number for you but obviously, we don't give them out without express permission from the artist." Silence. Then she giggles and nods. "Yes, she's with me now." Longer silence. I'm clenching my bum so tight it's beginning to go numb. Sasha's eyes light up and she nods. "Oh, I don't know. Let me ask her." She lowers the handset and covers it with her hand. "He says he's free now if you'd like to speak with him in person? At his studio."

I feel my mouth drop open. I also feel that familiar clenching in my stomach and thighs.

"Now?" I stammer. "As in right now?" She nods, pleased with herself. I look at my watch for absolutely no reason other than I'm terrified that my face will give something away. Something pathetic and desperate. I don't have to be at Dr Cohens until 3 pm. Finally, I look up and nod. "Now is fine. Yes." My voice is certainly not solid.

"Now is perfect," Sasha says to Aidan. She nods and looks back at the computer and reads out an address to him, which he must confirm because she nods again. "Oh, you too. Hopefully, see you soon. Take care." She's grinning like a fool when she hangs up and returns her focus to me. "God that accent is so..." she giggles, "I don't know. Hot."

When I don't agree out loud she seems to realise the height of her unprofessionalism and resumes a serious air. I smile politely and stand up from the ridiculous chair. Sasha scribbles down the address on a white business card and hands it to me.

"There you go."

"Thank you so much." I smile as I take the card. Are my hands shaking? Seriously?

"He sounded really surprised. He's so humble. Such a lovely guy. We all have such a crush on him down here." Who the hell was 'we all' exactly? Her and Nicole? Clearly, Sasha could be professional for short periods of less than a minute and a half. "It's in the village. You can take the Canarsie line, and then change at 12th and take any of the Manhattan lines," she offers.

"Oh, I think I'll take a ca - taxi. I still haven't mastered the subway here. I have the London tube memorised. Only room for one up here." I tap my temple and smile at her. "And thank you for doing that. I'll call Nicole back and tell her I got it sorted."

She walks me out and goes over to the where a group of stylish people are moving toward the video installation which is at this very moment showing the infamous shed.

Out on the Brooklyn pavement, it's a few minutes before I spot a taxi. Having only just mastered the art of waving one down in this city, I step onto the road between two parked cars and do my wave come nazi salute and it screeches to a stop. Inside the stifling hot death trap, I read out the address and he pulls off at speed as I buckle myself in. The taxi smells of diesel and sweat and it doesn't help the uneasiness swirling around my stomach whatsoever. I was going to see him. When I stepped out of this thing it would be at Aidan Foley's studio.

Then and only then do I realise something. God knows how it took me so long quite frankly. Self-denial? I want more than to just see Aidan Foley again. I want Aidan Foley. I hadn't felt this pathetic over a guy in my life. Not even Oliver. I'm a teenage girl with a crush. I'm in serious bloody trouble.