The Numbers Game (52 page)

            Care for
another truth while she was doing the confessing, frank thing?

            Serena
never, ever expected to undergo such a grueling, eye-opener of a transformation
during their break. Remember, three months ago she was just a girl who visited
a fortune teller.  And n case you don’t already know - people who visit
mystics, they are wishful thinkers, eternal optimists, who believe and hope
life will give them what they deserve. That’s all Serena was paying for that
day, for the gold-hooped, shawl-wearing woman to tell her exactly what she
wanted to hear.

But it
didn’t turn out that way.

            It was of
course Jasper who screwed her up in the end. Who proved to her that the heart
was indeed big enough to squeeze in one, two, maybe even three loves at a time.
Now if they were living in some African polygamous village this probably
wouldn’t be a problem. Serena could have her cake and eat it too, for
breakfast, lunch and even at dinner if she wished. But such practices were
frowned upon in San Francisco, damn they were frowned upon in most of western
civilization. Hence, the only alternative: Serena needed to make a choice.

            This was
where her problem lay. Had Serena herself instigated a bit of eenie-meenie-minie-moe
and landed on Jasper (boy’s scout, you’re out) then all would be well. But it
hadn’t quite panned out that way. In reality Jasper was out of the competition not
due to personal choice but his rejection of her. Even if Serena wanted him that
option didn’t exist anymore.

            So she
resumed her happy life in the company of Markie. It was lovely, especially
having someone to snuggle close to late at night. Not to mention massage your
feet when you got home.  They were taking it one step at a time, or should she
rephrase that by saying Serena was taking it one step at a time. Markie looked
like he needed no time at all to confirm that Serena was indeed his cherished
little angel.

            “I love
you,” he would tell or message her a million times a day. “Really, I am so
absolutely in love with you. With you I’m the happiest man in the world.”

            Funny, she
didn’t even need to do anything special to incite this sort of heartfelt
display. Serena could be grumpy, PMS-ing, as tired as a bat and Markie would
still embrace her with open arms. She wished she could say it was the same
towards him. But sometimes it was a struggle.

            “Oh well,
what did I expect? I’m swamped with packing, making new contacts in LA, on top
of working the twelve hours days….something has to give.” Serena sighed into
the telephone.

            “I thought
you wrapped up last Saturday night?” said Tabitha, who was probably getting her
feet massaged right now by her own knight in shining armor.

            “Delays,
of course. Cindy got a colony of pimples no foundation in the world could cover
up.”

            “So party
on this Saturday night instead?”

            “Fingers
crossed. We’re booked for our flight next Tuesday afternoon, aren’t we?”

            “Yes!”
Tabitha burst. “I’m so excited. Can you believe it? Me, you, Markie and Rick in
LA., living just around the corner from each other. I heard Markie bought
Johnny Depp’s old place. Is it true?”

            “Sort of;
it used to belong to some other guy from 21 Jump Street.”

            “Oh that
is so cool! You don’t sound nearly as excited as you should be though. Is everything
okay; between you and Markie that is?”

            “Sure.”
Serena paused. Now was not the time to start talking about second doubts.
“There’s just one thing I need to sort out before I leave for LA. You know, a
girl has gotta tie up all her loose ends.”

            “Well tie
them in a hurry. You can’t go and begin a new life in a new city carrying some
fancy burden from the past.”

            “Don’t think
I don’t know that Tabitha,” Serena sighed. She stopped at the hall mirror and
stared at the alien reflection of a woman holding a cordless phone in hand. Was
that her? It couldn’t be. The woman was way too old looking, with surplus wrinkles
closing in on what used to be quite a sparkling set of eyes.

            “You poor
thing,” Serena sympathized with the woman in the mirror, while Tabitha tattled
on about swimsuits.  “I know where you’ve been, and I recognize the only
possible cause for this. You too have been ravaged by the hands of an
unrequited love.”

            So proud
of this astute insight, Serena reached over to pat the woman on the back. She
was eager to comfort her but something stopped her in her tracks. Maybe it was
how her fingers splayed across the glass, touching the sad, old woman’s hands,
whose stretched fingers were reaching for her too.

            Sometimes
the person we recognized the least was the one staring right back at us in the
mirror.

What Serena was about
to do next would be considered by some to be either very smart or very foolish.
Or did one sometimes need to do something foolish in order to be smart?

            All Serena
knew was that she had one unfinished task to complete and it was possibly best
kept secret. For while Markie might be all open-minded and eager to distribute
his love for her twenty four/seven, chances were he’d go on strike if the
following came to light.

            Fact is:
no boyfriend EVER wants his girlfriend to contact an ex, especially one with
whom she has unfinished business. Fact two: Worse yet is the ex he knows
nothing about.
Unless he never does find out…

            It was a
risk Serena was willing to take. Or should she say
had
to take. If she
didn’t the alternative was that maybe five, ten or even twenty years down the
track Jasper might walk back into her life, ask her for a second chance and
Serena would crumble at the knees because of “what could’ve been.” Because
their silly journey was abruptly cut, their road plastered with temporary
detour signs. And the crumbling wouldn’t be because she was weak, but rather
because she was strong, because she had lasted that long without ever reading
or writing out the last chapter of their story.  

            For some
reason Jasper disappearing the way he did would never be enough for Serena to
hate him – not when she had given him good reason to disappear. It’d never be
enough that she loved Markie and Markie loved her, not when there was
unfinished business residing with another. Now it was just a matter of tracking
Jasper down.

            The last
Serena heard Jasper had won that major award in Vienna, meaning he wasn’t a
poor boy anymore (if $50,000 made any difference). Not that this changed
anything at all. A friendly call put through to the art gallery also informed
her that Jasper was done visiting every bloody exotic city in Europe (think
Florence, Paris, Amsterdam, and Zagreb) and hence was due to fly home any day
now to his celebratory party at the gallery.

            The day
also happened to be tonight.

            “It will
be a big do, journalists, media folk, the whole shenanigans. Have you reserved
a ticket, ma’am?” the receptionist asked her.

            “No, no I
haven’t,” mumbled Serena. “Do you need to have a ticket? Um, and if so are
there any left?”

            “That
depends; do you work for any media publication, local or national?”

            “Actually
I’m a freelance.” Serena crossed her fingers behind her back. “Currently
profiling up-and-coming artists. I’d be honored if you could somehow snag me a
spot at the event.”

            “No
problem, you just need to bring along your media pass. If I could get your name
please.”

            “It’s….” Damn,
what was she supposed to do now? Forging a copy wasn’t an option given Serena
didn’t even know what a media pass looked like. Then it hit her like a ton of
bricks. Of course, why didn’t she think of it immediately?

            “My name
is Tabitha, Tabitha Parker. So what time does this thing start again?”

            “Okay
Tabitha, it starts at seven-thirty sharp. Be there with your bells on.”

            “Oh I
will,” Serena promised. “With bells and whistles too.”

            Seven-thirty
didn’t give her the most time to steal Tabitha’s rarely-used media pass away from
her. But it was enough. Especially since the unsuspecting lass would never even
know it was missing.

Getting the pass was
easier than Serena thought. All it required was asking Tabitha for an
appreciative look at the newly inserted Rick photos in her wallet, a drop on
the floor, the swipe of a card and the girl was none the wiser. Sneaking away
from Markie for the night, now that was different matter. 

            “But I had
something extra special planned for us,” Markie sulked, as if he’d just been
told he couldn’t go to the fun fair.

            “Really? I
thought we were just laying low which was why I made plans with Champagne and Violet.”

            “So cancel
them. For me.” Markie bent down and buried his puppy-dog mope into Serena’s
lap. “What I have planned is inherently more important.”

            “I wish I
could but I can’t, the girls are counting on me,” Serena insisted, lifting his
head back up and kissing Markie on the forehead.  “But don’t worry, in a week
you get to have me all to yourself. And who knows when I’ll be going out on a
girl’s night again.”

            “Fine,
fine. I’ll let you off the hook this time. But try not to stay out too late; an
empty bed is a cold one.”

            “I
promise,” Serena said. And she meant it. What she had planned for Jasper couldn’t
possibly take very long.

The art
gallery receptionist wasn’t lying when she said the event would be ridiculously
extravagant.

            It was. At
the very least it was an occasion fit for a king: lots of fancy food, upmarket
decorations, and lights flashing non-stop from the paparazzo’s bulbs. Serena
did her best to hide among the throng while maintaining one eye on constant
surveillance duty. Where was that Jasper? One would think the events people
would have built him a throne to sit on, or at the very least constructed a
stage. Not one of the promotional posters gracing the gallery’s walls had
included a picture of the acclaimed artist so Serena figured she wasn’t the
only person struggling to work out what all the fuss was about.

            Tired of
getting squashed by the mass, Serena (a.k.a Tabitha, who had no problem getting
in with Tabitha’s badge despite the long dark blonde versus short black hair
discrepancy) grabbed another glass of champagne from a wandering waiter and
exited the claustrophobic room. Ah, now that’s better. She could finally
breathe. So far no Jasper, but maybe it was best if she waited for all the
commotion to die down. She took another peek at her watch. Good, nine o’clock,
not long before people start dispersing along with the supply of sushi rolls
and assorted Dim Sims, spring roll and curry puffs.

            To pass the
time, Serena wandered down the wide long corridors, taking in the Renaissance
paintings. Each one had the same effect that Jasper’s award winner had on her a
few months back. They took her to a time and place, sometimes many centuries
old, where her current thoughts and feelings seemed trivial. So what if she was
only 99% confident in her love for Markie: here were women in paintings who
survived on two slices of stale bread a day, women who toiled to keep
themselves and their children alive. Love dilemmas could apparently wait when
your higher needs had not yet been met.

            As she
neared the end of corridor, Serena was both surprised and sad to have her
momentary meditation interrupted by a burst of chatter. It was coming from the
far room, outside which stood another one of the gallery’s staff, hands clasped
behind his back. She hadn’t even realized she wasn’t alone.

            “Excuse
me, what’s going on in there?” she asked the rigid-looking gentleman, pointing
to the room.

            “Tsk,
tsk,” he shook his head in response. “You’re either very late or very lost,” he
replied, nodding at Serena’s media pass which hung from a red cord around her
neck.

            “Late
for…?”

            “The press
conference, of course.” He smiled, opened the door and ushered Serena in.

            She
couldn’t have possibly known this was the last place in the world she’d want to
be.

            Gathered
near the front of the room, some twenty feet away from Serena, were a bunch of
scary-looking vultures feeding off the head table and more essentially – the
star of the night, Jasper. Even if the art gallery worker hadn’t said the magic
words – press conference – she would’ve known what she was dealing with.
Journalists were infamous for never leaving home without their staples - in the
form of notebook, Dictaphone and writing utensils (usually with a spare tucked
behind the ear).