The Numbers Game (18 page)

            “Hang on a
bit,” she said, as a looming monument came into view. “You’re taking me to the
art gallery, right?”

            Jasper
didn’t say anything in response. He just sat there in the driver’s seat,
gliding his car through the traffic, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.
Still the famous building drew closer and closer. It was as huge and grand looking
as the White House, all columns and stone and by the time they hovered under it,
it looked more like a slightly foreboding parent.

            “Gosh I
don’t think I’ve ever gone with you here,” Serena mumbled, dumbstruck.

            That very concept
was baffling to her right now. It was like not going to the movies with a film
buff, never visiting the library with a bookworm, never going disco dancing
with a techno freak. Up till now, she thought she knew Jasper through and
through (pre-world travel that is) but the truth was she didn’t. Sure Serena
had been titillated by the whole struggling artist persona as a starry-eyed
girl but the persona doesn’t make a person. To put it bluntly, Serena had
ignored a major chunk of Jasper: that part unfortunately being his core.

            “I have something
to show you here,” Jasper said, after purchasing the tickets.

            Serena
nodded and followed him down the wide corridor, past all the French and Italian
greats. This must be good, she thought, given that he was barely waiting for
her. Just as Serena started worrying about possible sweat patches forming on
her dress from all the brisk walking, Jasper stopped outside another big open
room.

            “Oh it’s a
special exhibition.” Serena said, reading the gold jilted notice board. “They’re
featuring national artists.”

            “The best
one from all fifty states,” Jasper confirmed, “from here they select a finalist
who will go on to represent the US in the International Art Festival.”

            “Ooh… well
why don’t we try and find what the cat dragged in California,” Serena said,
pulling Jasper by the arm. “I put my money on a tan naked bust lying in the sun
and sand.”

            “I’m sorry
to disappoint you but you would be wrong,” a man standing beside the sign informed
her.

             Serena
looked up at him and instantly discerned he was one of the museum people. The
name badge sort of gave it away.

            “I was
joking you know,” she replied coolly, trying to retain some sophistication in
front of Jasper. Ordinarily she hated people who stuck their nose where it
didn’t belong. “But since you are an expert, why don’t you escort me to our
beautiful state’s entrant.”

            “Maybe Mr.
Mason would prefer to do the honor. Evening again Jasper,” the museum attendant
said tipping his hat.

            “How does
he know your name?” Serena whispered, as this time Jasper took hold of her
elbow. He was leading her towards a mob of people gathered at the back of the
room, obviously flocking a painting she couldn’t see.

            “Serena,
you forget that I’m an art major, I come here almost every other week.”

            “So you
and Bob are on first name basis,” she stated wryly, as they waited for the
throng to melt away. It was taking quite a while. “Let me guess, Mr. California won first prize.”

            “He did
indeed,” Jasper replied. “Here.” He gently edged his way forward, bringing
Serena along with him. They got a lot of dirty looks, giving that pushing inside
at art galleries was a big no-no but so what? Serena felt like shouting ‘live a
little’.

            The
painting was worth everyone hating them for a while. Taken from a bird’s eye
view, it showed a crowd of wretched people, running towards a distant sea. In
their eyes, Serena saw pain like she’d never known – desperation and terror
mixed with an inkling of hope. It was hard to tell what they were running from,
giving that behind them were mountains and forests but it couldn’t have been anything
good. As long as they kept moving forward, towards the sea, everything would be
all right they seemed to be thinking. But the fact was the sea was miles away
and the people looked so thin and deathly, like they might never make it. It
almost made Serena want to cry.

            “Gosh,” she
said, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Not many paintings make me feel so
emotional. Does it say what it’s called?”

            Jasper
pointed to the brass plate situated at the base of the frame. Serena moved in
closer, given she was secretly a bit short-sighted and all. This time she
experienced genuine surprise.

Never Lose Sight of
the Sea by Jasper Mason

            “Oh my gosh
Jasper, you painted this, you painted this!” Serena exclaimed, bringing her
hand to her mouth. “How? Why? When? And you never told me?”

            All the
while, Jasper was beaming during Serena’s outburst. 

            “I thought
you said you stopped painting,” she said accusingly. 

            Just as if
she’d discovered her own mother had written Pride and Prejudice or her dad
directed Pulp Fiction, her pride and joy was mixed with anger. Anger because
this painting was not the work of an amateur but someone who‘d labored and
toiled over it every day and Serena had never known. She knew Jasper painted
but she’d never known how good he had turned out to be.

            “I never
said I stopped painting,” Jasper said, “I just said I stopped making it pay the
bills because it never did.”

            “I’m sure
it will now,” Serena murmured. If she were a billionaire, she wouldn’t hesitate
handing over a million or two to have Never Lose Sight of the Sea showcased in
her living room.

            “Even if
it doesn’t, I’m not fussed. Because the one thing it does do is feed the soul.”

            Serena
looked back at Jasper and sighed.

            Now that
was something she’d hadn’t consciously done for a while: fed her heart or soul.
Good thing it was nearly dinnertime.

At week four Markie
was two down, eight to go.

            “Not
exactly a fast worker but at least you’ve off to a start,” Rick acknowledged.

            Thanks a
lot dimwit, Markie felt like saying back; his best friend was by now an expert
in making him feel like a racehorse stuck in the mud. Obviously in the game of
scoring, not many would be putting their best bucks on him. Markie and Rick
were eating TV dinners in front of the box again - lasagna for Markie and
chicken fillet with stringy plastic-looking veggies for Rick, yet another one
of the insipid rituals which made up his post-Serena life. Work, dinner,
sports, sleep. Lately Rick had even taken to crashing out on Markie’s couch,
just so he didn’t have to drive home at night.

            “Not sure
why that would bother you,” Rick mumbled, “Seeing as you aren’t bringing home
any ladies just yet.”

            Yep that
was the difference between guys and girls. A bloke could tell it like it was to
his friends while girls, they skirted around the edges. Markie had seen it
happen plenty of times between Serena and Tabitha. His take on Tabitha was that
she was an eccentric trollop (not a good combination) just a bit too obsessed
with his best friend. Serena on the other hand saw it from a different
perspective: Tabitha had had numerous flings because a broken childhood left
her with commitment issues. She was nice and meant well ‘deep down’ but in the
meantime used riotous behavior and heavy humor to cover the pain she felt
inside.

            That
psychoanalytical babble didn’t really make sense to Markie. Sure you could use
the past and bad parenting as excuses for less-than-mature conduct when you were
sixteen, eighteen or even twenty. But at twenty-eight? Wasn’t a bystander
inclined to say pull the other one by this stage? Markie understood some women
lost it when they found themselves old and still single. He had noticed it over
the past month in particular, as he plunged back into the ‘sleazing’ game that
women weren’t what they used to be. Look at Serena, when Markie met her she was
the epitome of grace and playing it cool. It took him an entire year to track
her down and when he did it was obvious Serena had not spent any time waiting
by the mailbox. Back in the olden days a man did all the chasing and along with
it went a real sense of thrill stemming from ancient hunting and gathering
tactics. The harder the chase, the better one felt when they nestled down with
their kill.

            So what
was it like nowadays? Firstly it was as if men could have their pick of the
fruit. If they wanted blueberries then they got their blueberries, if they
wanted cherries then just as soon they wished it, it was in their hands. The
media had screwed up women to the extent that as long as a man appeared nice
and caring then it made her prepared to commit for the long ride (even if he
changed personalities along the way). This was the reason why Markie was scared
of the whole new game. Really, he could have anyone, ANYONE he wanted but the
problem with this was that he didn’t want just anyone. Markie needed time to
decipher the good from the bad - the last thing he wanted was a stalker in his
bed or someone who pinpricked holes into condoms. What was the point of having
even the most beautiful woman if she just plopped into your lap - remember no
chase, no thrill.

            There was
a distinct impression out there that women needed men while men didn’t need
women. But it wasn’t true…men also had feelings, a heart and love to give, just
as much as the fairer sex.

            “Remind me
again why I wanted to break up with Serena,” Markie asked Rick, while lugging
down a beer. When Serena was here, he never consumed fizzy alcohol on a daily
basis. He was a wine man but he couldn’t very well pull out those special
glasses in front of Rick without looking like a wanker.

            “Because
you wanted to have a last taste of freedom, remember,” Rick replied, cocking
his feet up on the coffee table.

            Oh that’s
right, freedom. Three months ago that sounded like a slice of heaven but now
all it left was a sour taste in his mouth. Maybe the grass
wasn’t
greener on the other side.

            “Having
doubts are we?”

            “I don’t
know man.” Markie clasped his hands behind his head.        “It’s just I
thought it would be different. More exciting, more crazy but…”

            “You miss
Serena.”

            “Every now
and then.” That in itself was a big admission; Markie didn’t need to say more.

            Like crazy
he missed Serena; he missed her laugh, her skin, and her female touch. But he’d
made this bed and now he had to lie in it alone. Markie wondered what Serena
was up to in the meantime. Was she happy, sad, resigned or celebrating? The
fact he couldn’t say bothered him. No, she had to be missing him; after five strong
years of loyal loving it had to be a shock to both their systems to go without.
Not just each other’s companionship either.

            Oh feck,
Markie shifted for the umpteenth time in his seat. Maybe it would help if he
heard her voice. Yeah, yeah, that way he could decipher where Serena was
sitting on the emotional scale. A low-pitched voice would be a good thing, and
it would be bad news the higher it got. Markie reached for the phone.

            “Who are
you calling?” Rick asked, “Because if its pizza, I want mine pan style super
supreme.”

            “Sure,
super supreme,” he said, tapping in Tabitha’s number. His only confidence came
from knowing she didn’t have caller ID.   “Keep your voice down, I can’t hear
the dial tone for crap.”

            Ring,
ring…ring, ring. After a dozen or so such rings with no interruption, the line
finally flicked to message bank. “Hello,” Tabitha’s voice shrilled alongside some
other high-pitched party princess. Christ, it was Serena! And her voice was
high, as high as a kite.

           
T: “Unfortunately
we girls aren’t available at the moment.”

            S: “No,
we’re too busy out painting the town red.” (Insert lots of laughter)

            T: “But if
you’d like to a message…”

            S: “We’ll
return your call when and if we feel like it.”(More mocking laughter included
here)

     Markie slammed it
down before it got to the “beep, beep, beep” part of things. Bloody hell; make
that a double bloody hell! This was not what he expected, not at all. Serena
was supposed to be in, distressed but coping, persevering but with a bit of
dignity still intact.

            “No
pizza?” Rick inquired.

            “Nup, I
just lost my appetite.”

            How much
longer was it until the house swap again?

“So did you kiss him?”
Tabitha wanted to know.

            “If I said
no would you believe me?”