Duplicity. Part 21

She patted my back and pulled away to kiss my cheek. "Still no news?" The concern in her expression knotted my stomach, and I shook my head, unable to say the answer out loud. "She'll come around, Fin. I just know she will."

I shook my head. "I honestly don't think so, Liss. I think it's really over."

"Let's go for lunch, eh? We can talk."

I nodded my agreement and grabbed my jacket. Fiona gave me a pitiful smile as we left the building. It was sweet that everyone was being so understanding, but in all honesty, I was sick of everyone walking on eggsh.e.l.ls around me. Relations.h.i.+ps ended all the time. Why mine was the hot topic, I'd never know.

As we walked along Princes Street amongst the hustle and bustle of the lunchtime rush, I remembered times when Star and I had walked the same street late at night. We'd held hands and chatted easily as we watched the pa.s.sing trams and taxi cabs. Regardless of the number of people around me on the street, I had never felt so d.a.m.n lonely.

Elise stopped at the end of one of the side streets and pulled my arm. We quickly arrived on Rose Street, and she tugged me into a small cafe where there was one table free.

She gestured to a chair. "Sit. I'll get you a coffee."

Too miserable to argue about who was paying, I did as she had ordered and sat at the table by the window. A girl with tattoos pa.s.sed by outside, and my heart leapt. Just as she was level with me, she glanced at me through the gla.s.s. Of course, it wasn't Star. She was thousands of miles away in New f.u.c.king York.

The clunk of a coffee cup being placed before me pulled me back to Elise, and I smiled warmly at her. "Thanks for this, Liss."

She shrugged. "It's just coffee."

"You know what I mean. You being here for me. I appreciate it."

She responded with a sad smile. "I know you do. And what are friends for if not when we're in need of a hug and chat, eh?"

"Doesn't it feel weird? You know, you coming up from London, leaving your boyfriend behind for the weekend just so you can console your d.i.c.khead of an ex?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Rand happens to be a very understanding man. And he knows how important you are to me."

I fell silent for a while, lost in my thoughts once again. "What the h.e.l.l am I going to do, Liss?"

She huffed and tilted her head to one side. "Well, the way I see it, you have two options. One, you forget about her and move on. You have lots of groupies vying for your attention now you're a local rock G.o.d."

I scrunched my face, irked by her description of my hobby. "And two?"

"Two, you get your a.r.s.e on a plane and fly out to New York to tell her she made a mistake by leaving. That you love her to pieces and can't live without her."

I closed my eyes and let my head roll back. "But work...the band..." She nipped the skin of my forearm and I cried out whilst glaring at her. "Ow! What was that for?"

"Because, Fin Hunter, you're a t.i.t. You don't even want to be a b.l.o.o.d.y lawyer. You never have. And the band has no gigs for a month whilst Nate and his wife go to Australia. You told me all this, remember? So, what the h.e.l.l are you waiting for? Why are you making excuses?" Of course, she was right, and I hated her for it. But only briefly.

I held up my hands. "Okay, okay. You've got a point. But...what if she tells me to f.u.c.k off?"

Leaning across the table and clutching my hand, she gazed at me with heartfelt sincerity. "You won't know if you don't try. And if she does tell you to f.u.c.k off then have a few days to get everything out of your system in the Big Apple and come home with a clear head."

G.o.d, she made it sound so f.u.c.king easy. So why was my gut telling me it wouldn't be?

Alasdair steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them. "I think Elise is right, Fin. But I also think you need to be careful. From what you said, her parting letter was very cold. Perhaps she has moved on. I just don't want you going all the way out there to get hurt, son."

"I know and I appreciate that, Da-oh s.h.i.+t." My hands covered my mouth. "Sorry. I mean Alasdair. s.h.i.+t. That just slipped out." I held my hands up in some form of surrender as my cheeks almost spontaneously combusted with embarra.s.sment.

Alasdair's eyes were fixed on mine, his eyebrows raised. A low chuckle erupted from his chest and his cheeks also coloured. "That's okay. I did call you son. I think you can be forgiven. Not that there's anything to forgive. I'm glad you feel able to talk to me as a friend as well as an employer. And...well, I do look on you as a son of sorts."

His words touched my heart, but I had to remain on task. "So tell me honestly. Do you think I'd be making a colossal mistake going out there?"

He shook his head. "No, no. I think it's a good idea. Perhaps this way your questions will be answered one way or another, and you'll be able to move on either with or without Star in your life. But at least you'll know. There's a lot to be said for closure."

"And are you happy with me taking the two weeks off? I mean, I may be back sooner but-"

"Fin, it's absolutely fine. Go get some flights booked and get some b.l.o.o.d.y food, will you? You're looking very pale and gaunt lately. Colette would have my guts for garters if she thought for a second I hadn't at least tried to make you eat something."

I grinned wide as my heart thudded in my chest at the prospect of the journey I was about to embark upon. "I promise I'll eat tonight."

"Good. Now b.u.g.g.e.r off and get some work done. You're slacking." He winked and I laughed for the first time in what seemed like months. I knew he was only jesting considering I had worked late every single night since I received Star's letter. It was better to be occupied and too busy to think than to sit at home wallowing in whiskey and self-pity.

Star Standing in The Napier Gallery in New York surrounded by walls adorned with my own work never got any less surreal. So far, the exhibition had attracted lots of attention in its month-long run to date, and I'd sold several of the larger pieces. The one that hurt the most was the original enlargement of the Edinburgh Castle shot that Fin had loved so much. Seeing that leave to go to its new home had left me in the back office in floods of tears. Marcus, the gallery director, had been concerned, but I'd managed to convince him that letting any of my pieces go would be emotional. Thankfully, he'd bought my lame a.s.s excuse, although he must have thought I was a total flake.

I was relieved that the shot of the Forbes Hunter gravestone was still hanging in the gallery, and I vowed that if it didn't sell within the next week, I was going to request that it be marked as 'not for sale'. Each time I thought about the times Fin and I had walked through the Old Calton Burial Ground, a deep sadness washed over me. The fractured stonework resembled the state of my heart, but the memory of the day I took the photo was one I treasured. It was a day I'd been able to show Fin the side of Edinburgh that I loved. But I wondered if any of the experiences we had shared had meant anything to him.

They had certainly left their imprint on my heart.

New York was an astounding city. Everything was on such a grand scale compared to my hometown in the USA and to Edinburgh. The volume of traffic and the general cacophony of noise that greeted me when I was out walking around the bustling streets was almost at deafening proportions. In many ways, it resembled the TV shows I'd seen. Yellow cabs and subway vents, food carts, and doormen standing proudly outside the more exclusive hotels. It was a melting pot of faiths and languages, but it made me realise how much I missed the Scottish accents of Edinburgh. I missed them so much that my heart skipped whenever I heard one.

I'd had plenty of opportunities to go around the city with my camera. In fact, it accompanied me everywhere. But I didn't want to capture the usual tourist sights. While I appreciated the value of the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, and Times Square, I wanted to photograph the real people. Just everyday folks going about their normal lives.

I'd been chatting to an old guy called Carlos, who worked a hot dog stand on the corner of East 8th and University Place. I'd gotten some beautiful shots of his friendly, gap-toothed grin as he served his faithful, regular customers. Instead of me paying him in some way for allowing me to take his picture, he had insisted on giving me free hot dogs the three times I had been to see him, telling me I was too darn skinny. I'd bought him a Yankees baseball cap as a thank you. The old one he wore looked real tired, and his face had lit up when I presented the new one I had bought for him. He had immediately pulled it on and posed for another photograph.

I'd shot some great images of performers in Central Park, who were playing very alternative music considering the crowd that gathered. They were a group of younger guys, maybe in their late teens. A guitarist, a singer, a violinist, and a guy playing a single drum but somehow making it sound like a full kit. I sat on the gra.s.s, munching on a dog from Carlos' stand and listening, head back, eyes closed, facing toward the sun. Suddenly, the opening bars of "Strange and Beautiful" caught my attention and I gasped. I opened my eyes, my gaze darting around the area as my heart thudded at my ribs.

s.h.i.+t. Is Fin here? Please let Fin be here. What would I say if he was?

As the singer began to deliver the very words that Fin had used to steal my heart, I clambered to my feet and began to walk back toward my plush Upper East Side apartment. It was a good thing I had grown familiar with the city as my vision was blurred with tears. My appet.i.te ebbed away, and I dumped the hot dog in the nearest garbage can as I swiped at the damp trails on my cheeks. Of course he wasn't there. He would never be there. His letter had made it patently clear how he felt about me. And I could never forgive him for the things he had said. Even if he came and apologised.

Which he wouldn't.

I had to give up and move on. Jeez, how many times had I had that conversation with myself? I was like a d.a.m.n broken record.

Zara from the gallery had asked me to go out for drinks after work on several occasions, but I had always avoided it. I wasn't ready to socialise. But my reaction to hearing that song made me realise I was living in the past.

Next time she asked, I would force myself to go.

Fin I had always hated flying. Not so much because of the fear-although I admit that did play a wee part-but more because of the hours of time it afforded me in my own head. Thinking was such a dangerous pastime. I should've been using the time wisely to plan what I would say to Star once I was face to face with her again, but alas, my brain chose to torture me with conjured mental images of her slamming the door in my face. It was a very real possibility. One I hoped beyond hope wouldn't come to fruition.

I stuck my ear-buds in and listened to the tracks I had loaded up especially for the flight. The problem was that every single song reminded me of Star. It hadn't been my intention to load up my iPod in this way, but regardless of that fact, every time I hit forward I was greeted with something that struck a chord inside me.

Eventually, I gave up and tried to sleep instead.

The plane landed in JFK and I was off there as fast as my feet would carry me, and as fast as the throngs of people with the same idea would allow. It was almost midnight, and I just wanted to crash. My stomach protested its emptiness, but eating was the last thing on my mind. I figured the sooner I got to sleep, the sooner I could go to the gallery and tell Star how I felt.

After going through customs and grabbing my bag from baggage claim, I made my way outside into the chilly New York night air and hailed a yellow cab.

One pulled up right away, and I clambered inside.

"Hi. Plaza Hotel, please."

"Sure thing, boss," came the gruff voice with the strong Bronx accent. I smiled to myself about the fact that I had walked into a cliche of my own imagining.

We darted through the brightly lit streets of New York City, and I watched the myriad shops and businesses whizzing by. As we pa.s.sed the Napier Gallery, my heart jumped into my throat. The thought that I was pa.s.sing by the place where Star spent much of her time filled me with a variety of emotions. Pride, fear, regret but most of all hope. I had to cling on to that.

It was all I had left.

The cab eventually drew up to the curb outside the stunning, multi-storey Plaza Hotel building, where it glowed like a beacon on Fifth Avenue. A beacon provided to me by a very insistent Alasdair, who a.s.sured me it was Colette's treat, not his. As I glanced up at the structure, I could see the hue of many room lights where the occupants had left their drapes ajar. Knowing I would soon be in one of the plush rooms made me relax a little. I paid the driver and grabbed my bag.

Once I had checked in and been shown to my room, I dropped my bag on the floor at the end of the bed and stripped out of my clothes. I gave myself no time to check out the luxurious suite. I needed to wash the grime of the day from my skin before bed.

Standing underneath the powerful jets of hot water and coc.o.o.ned in a blanket of steam, I closed my eyes and relaxed. A sense of relief that I was at least in the same city as the woman I loved washed over me, and my anxiety began to leave my body and run down the drain with the water.

Sleep didn't come readily, and by the time I decided to get out of bed, I had to make peace with the notion that I wouldn't look great for my first meeting with Star in months. Although, maybe seeing the evidence of my lack of sleep would make her realise I was seriously missing her.

I hoped so.

I ordered bacon, eggs, and fresh orange juice to be delivered to my room, and when it arrived, I sat at the small table by the window and almost vacuumed the food off the plate. My appet.i.te was back. The sharp, refres.h.i.+ng tang of citrus awoke my taste buds, meaning I thoroughly enjoyed devouring the rest of the food on my plate.

I was refuelled and ready to go. A kaleidoscope of b.u.t.terflies had taken flight inside me, and my palms were slick with sweat, but I made my way down in the elevator and left my luxurious surroundings, stepping out onto the hectic streets of New York City. The kindly doorman dressed in a long coat and a top hat hailed a cab for me, and I clambered in, almost losing my balance. I had never been so b.l.o.o.d.y nervous. Walking out on stage to perform was a walk in the park compared to how I felt right then.

The hustle and bustle of New York was greater than that of Edinburgh, hands down. The skysc.r.a.pers surrounding the roads afforded a little shelter from the sweltering sun, but I was still sweating.

The cab pulled up outside the Napier Gallery, and I paid the driver before climbing out onto the crowded sidewalk. I glanced up at the stark, modern exterior of the building that housed everything that meant something in my life, and I wiped my palms down my jeans.

This was it.

My heart hammered in my chest, and I suddenly saw stars dancing before my eyes. Panic began to mount, and I swallowed hard before inhaling what I hoped was a calming breath. Nope. I realised nothing was going to calm me. I just had to bite the bullet.

I pushed through the door and was greeted by a pretty, pet.i.te brunette in a sharp skirt suit. "Good morning, sir. Welcome to the Napier Gallery, New York. Is there anything I can help you with?"

Her scripted patter came out in a formulaic rush, and I smiled, trying to gather my thoughts. "Erm...yes. Yes, I was hoping to speak with Star Mendoza, please."

"Miss Mendoza isn't in the gallery today. She's taking a well-earned break."

Aww, f.u.c.k it. "Ah, okay. Is there a way I can find her? Or contact her?"

The woman narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "And who might you be?"

"My name is Fin Hunter. I'm a...erm...a friend."

Her eyes widened and she opened and closed her mouth several times as her cheeks coloured pink. "Oh. You're Fin Hunter."

I frowned and nodded. "That's what I said."

"I really don't know if I should give you her address. She's a friend, and I don't... She's trying to get over you."

I crumpled my brow. "Trying? What if I don't want her to get over me? What if I want her to know how I feel, and that I've travelled all this way to tell her I love her?"

She visibly melted. "Well, when you put it like that, I guess... Maybe I should call her first and check it's okay for you to go to her apartment. I really don't think-"

I held up my hands. "Look, I know it's probably not company policy and all that, but the way things were left between us is just so unfinished. I need to see her. I have to tell her."

The woman closed her eyes for a moment, clearly toying with the idea of giving me Star's address, but her eyes jolted open as someone walked in through the gallery doors.

"Oh, s.h.i.+t." As the brunette's eyes widened, I spun around to see why she had reacted in that way, and my breath caught.

"Fin?" The colour drained from Star's face and she leaned on the wall as if to steady herself.

The brunette interjected. "Star. I was just about to call you."

Star shook her head and kept her eyes focused on me. "It's...it's okay, Zara. I know him. This is Fin." Her words came out in a breathy whisper and her eyelids fluttered.

"Yeah, he said who he was. I didn't want to give him your address in case you didn't want to see him."

Star moved her focus onto Zara and her eyes filled with panic, but I stood there like a f.u.c.king moron whilst they talked about me as if I wasn't even in the room. Anger and pain began to surface from deep within me as it dawned on me. She wasn't happy to see me, so perhaps the letter had been intended as a final goodbye after all. Maybe I should have stayed in Edinburgh.

I stepped into her line of sight to interrupt the dialogue between the two women. "Star, can we go somewhere to talk? Please?"

Her attention snapped back to me again and she nodded before turning and walking back out through the door. I didn't bother to thank Zara. Instead, I followed Star out into the street.

"Star! Slow down!" I called after her as she strode away from me.

She stopped and turned to face me. Her eyes burned with rage. "What the f.u.c.k are you doing here, Fin?"

I came to a halt before her. "I had to see you. I had to tell you-"

"I think you told me enough, don't you?"

Hang on. It's me who should be p.i.s.sed off here. That f.u.c.king letter had all but finished me off. And she's angry? "I couldn't leave things how they were, Star. I had to come here to see if-"

"To see if you'd hurt me enough? Or maybe to see if I can actually survive without you maybe? Yeah, well you have and I can, so you can go home now." She turned and began to pick up speed once more.

What the f.u.c.k? "Star, please. I just want to talk." I jogged until I was level with her.

"Oh, so now you want to talk? Writing not good enough anymore, huh?"

Confusion clouded my mind. She was the one into letter writing. I'd never favoured it as a way of communication. "Writing's okay for some things, yes. But not for this."