The Persistence of Memory

Chapter Twelve

"Aidan," I hear from somewhere behind me.

I turn around to face not Nicole, but her attractive assistant who's name has escaped me. It's the same one who called me that day to tell me Eloise wanted to talk with me.

She sashays toward me, long dark hair skirting down her shoulders and bare arms. She's the sort of woman you see in women's magazines holding expensive handbags at the opening of exclusive members-only clubs.

"Isn't it amazing? We thought we were going to have to turn people away." She glances around the bustling gallery.

"Yeah, wasn't expecting to see another soul here today, to be honest." I run a hand over my face and mouth, as I try and decide whether any of these people are actually enjoying my stuff. Mainly they look confused. Better than bored. Nicole's assistant hits my arm playfully, smiling a glorious white smile at me.

"Are you insane? We've had a steady stream every day since you opened. Lot's of it word of mouth, mainly. People love your work, Aidan."

"If you say so," I smile.

She frowns, but there's warmth in it. "I do say so. The kind of emotion you put into a photo of a broken building or a cloudy sky is just jaw-dropping. I've never seen a photographer be able to capture that kind of feeling in architecture shots," she tells me with a soft tilt of her mouth. She sounds sincere at least. But then, they all do.

"Thank you," I smile, wishing I could at least remember her fucking name. "Listen, I'm actually here to speak to Nicole. She's expecting me I think. Think you could manoeuvre me in the right direction?"

She smiles back and nods before taking hold of my elbow to steer me toward the back of the gallery. A few heads turn in my direction as we move through the place, and just as we reach the back someone actually asks for my autograph.

Confused, I shrug and take the thing she wants me to sign. As I turn it to get a quick look at what it is, everything suddenly makes sense.

The reason the place is so busy and how this girl even knows who I am. The magazine is folded open to a picture of me looking veritably pissed off at whoever is taking the picture. Beside the photo is the article written by the pretty french journalist from Descript. I'd totally forgotten it was out today.

After signing the magazine but refusing a selfie, I let Nicole's assistant direct me through a low-ceilinged corridor behind the main wall of the gallery to Nicole's office. Because the walls are glass, I can see she's on the phone and whomever she's talking to is at least partially funny because she's laughing loudly. I stand behind her assistant as she knocks on the door and waves at Nicole through the glass. Nicole stands and waves me inside and her assistant opens the door onto Nicole's voice swooning down the phone. It makes my ears burn.

"Stop it. Ok, yes, see you later. Yes! Okay, I really do have to go. Okay, Bye." She's still laughing as she replaces the receiver. "Thanks, Sasha, Aidan, soo great to see you," she drawls as she flounces around the desk toward me.

She places her hands on my shoulders and kisses me on both cheeks, the overwhelming scent of her perfume teasing the faint echoes of the mild hangover I'd managed to ignore all morning. As she moves away I take a seat in the designer chair opposite her desk and turn to smile my thanks at who I now know to be Sasha. She gives me that look and smiles, before slipping silently out of the room.

"So, I read your article in Descript this morning," Nicole says with a nod. Her expression is sort of sad, pitiful. Great. "Incredibly revealing Aidan. Really."

"Is it? I haven't read it yet. Probably all lies," I smile, stroking a hand over my beard. "Glad it seems to be helping your numbers though." I gesture my head toward the Gallery.