The Other Kind of Roommate

No movement, no noise...

Beth swallowed the bile rising against her tongue. It slowed her down in asking him too readily, "Can I help?"

"I'm not sure. I hate to cause an inconvenience and I wouldn't dream of putting you out, but it's rather pressing." So began the long-form British for 'I know damn well how you're pitching in and your exhibit's cut unless you do'. "I have to accommodate everyone to the best of what's available and very little is."

"Terry," she said, "spill it."

"It's Edison." The old man with the moustache made of money. "My great supporter, and the wallet behind the gallery's bank account." Terry often also mused 'a self-stylized eccentric' when he felt too proper to call the guy 'a twat'. "He's done it. He's bloody gone and done it – that... twat brought in his submission." Terry did not, apparently, feel too proper right now. "It's big. Massive! I can't fit it where I expressly said it had to fit. And I can't chop the vile thing from the show! Edison will take offence."

"Hobbyists," she sympathized. "They're worse when they're snotty and rich."

"He's imposing. Even a saint can be a bastard when they've got their hands on your crap." She heard him rub his forehead and groan a mild note of despair. "It's like you and that neighbour of yours, isn't it? Beautiful leaves may flow downstream, but so will a torrent of piss."

Sure! Something like that.

"What are you going to do?"

"What I am forced to do is clear the area for this alleged model of sexual spirituality," he explained. "Pop Passion's been axed. Edison already bought the space from Devan."

Beth choked when Terry gave her the price tag. Devan's glittery scribbles scored that much? Real estate was a serious market in this industry...

"He wants to buy my spot next," she realized. "My centre stage." After she'd starved for it!

"No, no. I wouldn't put the eyesore anywhere near the front. It has its place of glory in the west room. That's as far as it'll go." Oh. Good. Although if Edison paid so much to steal Devan's cramped corner... "It's Elated Islands." Oh God. "Jessica has to go somewhere! She's said to ring you in case you're willing to –" Don't say it, you limey jerk. "– share."

"Ooh. Ah... I dunno." Beth tsk-tsked. "I'd love to – you know, for Jessica – but I've got nine canvasses. They're a tight fit." They would be, shortly after she got past the little snag of only having almost seven. "You understand, right?"

"Beth, she leapt to help you last summer when Edison trotted up then," he wheedled. "You said you would pay her back. I heard you. And it would really save my ass, which I might have mentioned is on the line with playing host to a crippled human-half bug statue." The rest sounded like Terry ranting to himself: "What is he thinking? Why use paper-mâché? The left tit sags!"

"I don't know..."

"Bethany," he wailed, "I'm begging you! Elated Islands is on the bloody pamphlet. I can't reprint them on this short of notice. You'll still have the majority wall!"

"Nine paintings' worth?"

"Six. Six if the sixth is a small one. Five."

Unbelievable!

"Why," she demanded, "can't Edison buy her out?"

"Obviously I tried arranging that." British for 'I totally didn't even think of it'. "We both know Jess isn't in this for the money."