Ruin Me Read online

  “Move it lower,” Inez said.

  A few years before Inez started working for her, Anna had a British gallery manager who specialized in nineteenth-century art. She wasn’t a good fit and hadn’t lasted very long, but she told Anna that the Royal Academy had artists paint according to the perspective of viewers on the floor. Anna had repeated this tidbit of information to Inez on more than one occasion.

  “Like this?” one of the interns said.

  “I said lower, not left.”

  “That painting is meant to be hung very high.”

  Inez turned around, surprised to find Anna standing in the back of the room.

  “I thought you were meeting with the Roths.” She knew that Anna was counting on the huge collectors to come in for some of Brandt’s work.

  “I need to see you in my office.”

  “Just … prop the canvas against the wall for now.” Inez told the interns, who were red-faced and trembly in Anna’s presence.

  Anna closed the door to her office. She was slightly red-faced and trembly herself.

  “Why are you back so soon?”

  “The Roths want a studio visit before they commit to buying.”

  That was not, in itself, unusual. But Inez knew it wasn’t what Anna wanted to hear.

  “We’re going to have to red dot this whole damn show,” Anna said, referring to the practice of stickering paintings that hadn’t sold just to make the show appear to be a success. It was a trick of the trade that Anna had not resorted to in her entire two-decade career. Inez started reassuring Anna that it wouldn’t come to that, but Anna cut her off:

  “The Roths are the least of my problems at the moment,” she said, lighting a cigarette. She inhaled deeply. “As you know, Lulu caught Brandt. … in flagrante delicto.”

  Inez nodded.

  “Lulu mentioned that you gave her a sympathetic ear last night. I’m very appreciative of that. Now, Brandt is an imbecile, but he’s an imbecile we’re invested in. I perhaps expressed this indelicately to Lulu this morning, and she stormed out of here. Now she’s holed up at that apartment in the Village.”

  “She just needs some time to chill. She’ll come around.” Or not, if Inez had any luck at all.

  “I could accept that, but apparently she’s with undesirable company.”

  Inez felt challenged by Anna’s vagueness.

  Undesirable company.

  Who or what did Anna find undesirable? Inez ran through a mental catalogue of everything causing Anna recent aggravation. It was a long list, but one thing did stand out.

  “She’s with GoST?” she asked, unbelieving.

  Anna rounded her shoulders at the sound of his name.

  “I believe so. And since you clearly said something she found empathetic and helpful last night, I need you to go over there and talk some sense into her.”

  Inez wanted to scream. She’d succeeded in driving Lulu away from the gallery, and now she was the one who had to drag her back? “Like I said, she might need some time to lick her wounds.”

  “And she can have some time. Some alone time. Get that scum out of her apartment.”

  As little interest as she had in being dispatched to deal with Lulu’s adolescent heartbreak, she had to admit she was intrigued by the prospect of seeing this GoST character. “I’ll leave right now.”

  “Wait just a minute,” Anna said. “Get Brandt on the phone. Put him on speaker.”

  Inez hesitated. Brant had been texting her all day. Where did you go last night? Do you have any idea how fucked I am? Call me ASAP. Oddly, she had not heard from Bianca.

  If she called him on speaker, god only knew what he’d say when he answered.

  “Maybe it would be better if you called him.”

  “Don’t play games, Inez. Brandt won’t answer my call. He’s probably too ashamed. Or fearful. But he shouldn’t be afraid of me—he should be afraid of the press getting wind of this. I’ll look like a fool if I’m running around town propping up an artist who’s unfaithful to my own daughter. So get him on the phone. And let me do the talking.”

  Anna was right. Brandt and Lulu’s scandalous breakup would look bad for the gallery. For her own professional security, she needed to marginalize Lulu. And it was working. She just had to keep it from getting too messy—and too public.

  Inez dialed up Brandt, and he answered on the first ring.

  “You’re on speakerphone and I’m with Anna,” Inez said in a rush.

  Anna shot her a withering look for failing to let her speak first. “Brandt, I know there’s been a bit of drama over there,” Anna said. “So this is what you’re going to do. In one hour, Inez is going text you. And then you’re to go to Lulu’s apartment and beg, grovel, and show her some goddamn tears. Fix this, and then call after you do.”

  “Okay,” Brandt said, agreeing without argument.

  Inez was torn. Now that Brandt and Lulu were apart, she wanted to keep it that way. But she had to be a diplomat here. Lulu had to walk away, but she had to do it without being so angry that she would spite the gallery in the process. She also had to make sure that idiot Brandt was discreet with women until after the show.

  Anna finished with the call and handed the phone back to Inez. “Make sure Lulu is in the right frame of mind for Brandt’s visit. I think she trusts you, Inez. I’ve seen you talk clients into parting with millions of dollars. I’m sure you can convince my daughter to turn a blind eye to one minor indiscretion.”

  “Maybe she’s better off without him,” Inez said.

  “Oh, without a doubt. But after the show.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  The intercom buzzes, and for a fleeting moment I think it’s Rory coming back. Just as quickly, reality sets in.

  He’s ignoring my texts. I knew they were useless even as I sent them. The only thing left to do is to go after him, try to explain. But he could be anywhere.

  The door buzzes again.

  “Who is it?” I ask, heart pounding.

  “Inez. Let me up.”

  My mental state drops off a cliff. I lean my back against the door, wondering if she will just go away if I ignore her.

  Reluctantly, I buzz her inside.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She’s dressed in black skinny jeans and a plum-colored silk blouse. Her five-inch heels, open-toed stilettos, reveal nail polish that perfectly matches the blouse. As always, her makeup is dramatic and flawless.

  “You look like shit,” she says, glancing around the room sharply. I know she’s never been here before, but she seems pretty interested in a space that just isn’t all that interesting. She walks to the kitchen, then peeks into my bedroom.

  “Seriously, Inez. What are you doing?”

  She eyes the closed door to Niffer’s bedroom. And that’s when I realize my mother sent her to do her dirty work.

  “He’s already gone,” I say.

  “Are you fucking that guy?”

  “What? No! No. Absolutely not.”

  “You can tell me,” Inez says. “I mean, it’s not like Brandt doesn’t deserve it.”

  I shake my head. “I barely know him.” I feel myself tear up when I say it. I don’t know him, but I was getting there. Until I blew it by not telling him the truth when I had the chance.

  She sits on the chair that Rory pulled next to the couch.

  “I’m not going to lie,” she says. “Your mother sent me to check on you.”

  “Yeah, I figured.”

  “I thought you were wrecked over what happened with Brandt last night, but today you’ve got some other dude here. What’s that all about?”

  My stomach seizes up in a knot.

  “It’s such a mess,” I say, choking on a sob. I cover my face.

  “So you are fucking that guy.”

  “No—I’m not.” We just kissed. I can’t believe it.

  “What’s his deal? Your mom thinks he’s trying to get her attention.”

  I shake my head. “H
e doesn’t want her attention. At least, not the way she thinks. He has no interest in being part of the art establishment.”

  Inez nods. She gets it. “So who is he?”

  “I don’t really know. No one knows, no one’s going to know because that’s the way he wants it. But I’m telling you, the guy is a fucking genius. He’s the next Banksy. Except he’s more talented.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If he doesn’t want to go commercial, what does he want with you?”

  “Nothing,” I say, crying harder. “Absolutely nothing.”

  Inez sits back in her chair, crossing her arms and looking at me like I’m speaking in code. “So what do you want with him? Because someone has to want something or why would you be hanging out?”

  I shrug. “Like I said, I think he’s brilliant. I have a compulsion to be around his art. I can’t explain it.”

  “What about being around Brandt’s art?”

  I don’t know how I feel about Brandt. When I caught him with that woman last night, for a split second it felt like the end of the world. But since Rory showed up at my door, I’ve barely thought about Brandt. And the pain of Rory leaving is worse than what I felt at the sight of Brandt cheating on me.

  “I can’t think about this right now,” I say.

  “You’re going to have to think about it. He’s on his way over here.”

  The words were barely out of her mouth when the intercom buzzed.

  *** ***

  Damian Damian had a rule: no sleeping with male models. They tended not to be gay or bisexual as much as they were career-sexual. Climbers, climbers, climbers—every last one of them. But Troy Alden was so beautiful, Damian had made an exception.

  Now he regretted it. Yes, the sex had been phenomenal. But here they were at a lovely brunch at Café Gitane, and the lanky-limbed blond was texting away as if he was oblivious to the fact that he had company—highly esteemed company.

  Damian did not like to think of himself as intolerant. But this was simply not acceptable.

  Making things worse, Troy was smiling, almost laughing with delight at whatever information he was getting on his phone. There was only one thing Damian hated more than social climbing models and texting at a restaurant table: not being in the know.

  “Rude much?” said Damian.

  Troy looked up, startled.

  “Oh, man, you’re going to love this,” he said.

  “I’d better.”

  “My roommate told me she was blowing Brandt Penn last night and his girlfriend walked in on them.”

  Damian dropped his fork. “Give me that,” he said, snatching Troy’s phone. Before Troy could protest he scrolled through the text exchange with Bianca True.

  He could only pray that Page Six didn’t have word of this yet. Even if they did, he would get an exclusive quote on the situation. His fingers shook as he reached for his own phone and dialed Inez.

  The call went straight to voice mail. He shot off a quick text: I will not be painting a pretty picture of Brandt Penn in my story about him cheating on Lulu Sterling. Call me back ASAP if you would like to comment. Post going up within the hour.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  I refuse to let Brandt into the building.

  “Can we just talk for a minute?” he says through the intercom.

  “No. Leave me alone.”

  I feel completely battered. I should have checked into a hotel under a fake name, like a celebrity.

  “You’re not going to hear him out?” Inez asks.

  “No.”

  “Well, can’t say I didn’t try.” Inez stands up and pulls her bag onto her shoulder. Her phone pings and she pulls it out on her way to the door. Then she stops in her tracks.

  “Oh my fucking god. No.” She dials and presses the phone to her ear, waving me to the intercom. “Get Brandt up here right now.”

  I look at her like she’s crazy.

  She goes for my intercom and presses the button. “Stay right there Brandt. We’re coming down.”

  “I’m not dealing with this now, Inez. Just go back to my mother and tell her to leave me alone. …”

  But Inez isn’t hearing me. She’s talking furiously into her phone.

  “I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but that’s absolutely untrue. In fact, I’m with Brandt and Lulu right now and they can tell you for themselves that your story is bullshit. We’re just leaving a restaurant. I’ll call you back.”

  She’s pulling me by the arm.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “Don’t even ask me fucking how, but Damian Damian found out about what happened with you and Brandt last night. I know you don’t care about the gallery right now, but you should care about not being humiliated. So suck it up and follow my lead.”

  We go quickly down the stairs. I’m not ready to see Brandt. The image of him with that woman rushes back to me, and it hurts all over again.

  He’s standing on the bottom step to the building. His blue eyes are bright with contrition, searching my face for some way to connect. I look at the ground.

  “Listen up,” Inez says. She fills him in. He is suitably mortified. Inez gets Damian back on the phone and puts him on speaker.

  “Damian, I’ve got Lulu and Brandt here. They’re happy to report that their relationship has never been better, and you got dealt some bad information.”

  She thrusts the phone at me. I hesitate for only a few seconds.

  “Hi, Damian, it’s Lulu. I don’t know what you heard but there’s nothing going on. Brandt and I have never been better.”

  I can’t look at Brandt or Inez. The only thing that keeps me talking is the thought of what happened last night going viral online.

  Inez takes the phone and hands it to Brandt.

  “Hey, man, it’s all good here. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “I’m tracking this story, people,” Damian says. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice … and it will be that much worse when I publish it.”

  He hangs up. Inez shakes her head and puts her phone into her bag.

  I feel Brandt looking at me, but I avoid meeting his gaze. Sitting in my apartment, I somehow hadn’t felt the pain of him cheating on me so strongly. Now that I’m standing close to him, I feel like he’s still mine. And I can’t believe that it can be over just like that.

  “Frankly, I don’t give a shit what you two do with your love lives,” Inez says. “But you better sit down and talk about how to keep it from being messy.” With that, she turns and leaves us standing awkwardly alone on the sidewalk.

  “What happened to your cheek?” he says, looking at my bruise with concern. I can’t reconcile the guy I’m seeing in front of me with the person I walked in on last night.

  “Nothing,” I say, putting my hand over it.

  “If you don’t want me to come upstairs, will you at least sit down with me at Starbucks for a few minutes? We have to talk, Lu.”

  The Starbucks on Greenwich had been a big meeting spot for us when we first got together. It’s also the place where I first told Niffer about him. She was doing the walk of shame, and I couldn’t even wait for her to make it back to our apartment to talk, so we met at Starbucks and sat at a window table for half the day.

  I hesitate to taint the place by going there now, creating bad memories. But it’s the closest option.

  “Fine. But just for a few minutes,” I say, quietly, the image of him and that woman running on repeat through my brain.

  We walk in silence, a wide berth between us. Every second with him sinks me lower emotionally.

  Starbucks is crowded. I tell him I don’t want coffee and he says he doesn’t either but that he’s going to order something anyway. I sit down to wait.

  Brandt brings me a coffee. With a little whole milk and a Splenda on the side. I don’t need a reminder that he knows me well.

  We look at each other across the small table. My mother on
ce told me that the person who speaks first loses. She was talking about business negotiations, but it seems like the only way to get through this conversation.

  “I am so sorry, Lulu,” he says, reaching for my hand. I pull back so he can’t touch me.

  “I don’t get it,” I say, biting my lip to stave off tears.

  “I know this is no excuse, but I was really coked up. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “You think that makes it better?”

  “No,” he says, looking as upset as I feel. Maybe more.

  “Who was she?”

  “Nobody. Some model.”

  Groupie whore, I think.

  “When did you start doing so much coke?”

  “Things are really stressful right now. I was trying to let off steam.”

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that,” I say, looking down at my coffee.

  “I know it’s not an excuse for what I did. And it will never happen again. You gotta forgive me, Lu. I need you.”

  He needs me, but does he love me? And do I love him?

  Sophomore year, I took a philosophy class. The one thing that sticks in my mind is a quote from Benedict Spinoza: “Substitute the word need for love and I will show you love in its true dimensions.” At the time, I dismissed it as overly cynical. Now I realize the seventeenth-century philosopher was on to something.

  I know my mother wants me to be “adult” and not let this ruin my relationship. Niffer would tell me he’s unworthy of me and to tell him to fuck off. But neither of these voices in my head mean anything compared to the realization that I simply want Rory more than I want Brandt. Maybe if he hadn’t cheated on me, I’d ignore that want—I’d tell myself it’s crazy and inappropriate and going nowhere. But now that the things that are supposed to be right feel so wrong, I can’t ignore the wrong thing that feels so right.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore.”

  “What? You can’t be serious. It was a mistake, Lu. One mistake.”

  “It’s not that. At least, it’s not only that.”