The Absence of Olivia(66)

Still, it was very thoughtful of him to send the flowers. He knew how much it would mean to me. In moments like that I couldn’t regret the way my life had played out. Devon was a good man. He just wasn’t it for me.

I sighed and put the card back, then bent and smelled the flowers. It had worked. I was slightly less frantic than I had been five minutes ago. Mission accomplished. My eyes flitted to the hanger on the back of the door, which held my dress for the show. This show, my very own gallery show, was what I’d been working toward since I left my life behind two years ago. In my mind there’d been only two places I could go to make my dream a reality: New York City or Los Angeles. I’d done my research and decided LA was a safer choice. Plus, the weather was warmer.

So, I’d packed up my whole life, selling everything I couldn’t take with me, and left for California. I’d spent the last two years focused on my craft, working tirelessly to make it as a photographer in one of the toughest cities in the country.

About eight months before, I had submitted a few photos to the Kontinent Awards. It was a fine arts series of four photos, all of which I’d taken on a hazy summer morning. Wildfires were running rampant through southern California. One morning, instead of evacuating as I’d been told, I grabbed a model, put her in a red gauzy dress, and placed her precariously close to smoke and flames.

When I was taking the photos, I knew they were special, but I had no idea they would launch my career. I’d won the award for my category and the images had become, in the world of photography, famous. Suddenly, I was selling photographs for more than I was used to making in a month. I invested in myself and started looking for a place to open my own gallery. Tonight was my inaugural show. I was beyond nervous. I wanted the show to go well, but more than that, I wanted to be taken seriously. I wanted to be recognized as an artist.

I slipped the red dress out of the garment bag, freshly steamed from the tailor, and it looked magnificent. I wanted to look professional, yet still young and fresh. I’d just turned thirty, and I was trying to embrace the ‘Thirty and Flirty’ mantra. My twenties were definitely something I wanted to leave behind, so I was looking forward to the next decade with exuberance. I locked my door and undressed, then slipped the silk dress over my head, loving the feeling of the material sliding down my skin, which I’d had buffed, primed, and polished in anticipation of this event.

I was, possibly, in the best shape of my life. I’d never taken such good care of my body than I had since I moved there. I was stronger in many ways, but my body was reaping the benefits of the gym I’d joined and all the hiking I did to get my shots. I also did small things to take care of myself. My nails were polished, my hair was highlighted, and I’d developed a habit of waxing. I was smooth everywhere and something about that always exhilarated me. And it was, indeed, just for me. I’d not been with a man since I had moved there.

I’d barely slipped on my black stiletto heeled shoes when I heard a small knock at my door.

“Come in,” I called out, smoothing the fabric of my dress down my thighs, pulling on the hem where it lay only a few inches above my knees.

“Hey, famous photographer lady.”

I turned at the excited declaration and saw Shelby standing in my doorway, an enormous smile on her face.

“Oh, my God! Shelby!” I cried, rushing toward her. “What in the world are you doing here?” I wrapped my arms around her, not believing she was actually standing in front of me.

“You said you were having your first show, so, of course I came! I’ll get to tell everyone how I knew you when!”

“I can’t believe you came all the way to LA for a gallery show.” It had been a while since anyone had done something that nice for me.

“Well, I’ll be honest, I can’t afford to buy anything because you’re so famous, your prints are selling for an arm and a leg, but I’m here to show my support.”

I leaned in and hugged her again. “Thank you,” I whispered.

I’d made a small group of friends in LA. Lainey was my neighbor and lived in the townhouse next to mine. She’d introduced me to her friends and, luckily for me, I had fit right in. They were all in their early thirties, single, and trying to do the responsible, working adult thing. I’d made some great connections with some models in the city, using them for my shoots, building relationships with them, but Shelby was more than just a model to me. She’d helped me through some tough times and I was thrilled she was here. I couldn’t wait to introduce her to my LA friends.

“I’ll let you finish getting ready and see you out there,” she said with a smile before she gave me another quick hug and disappeared. I took in a deep breath and let it out. Something about having a familiar and friendly face there made me feel better, a little more relaxed, as if I could actually pull the show off.



An hour later, I could hear voices filling the gallery space. Lots of voices. I’d done a lot of legwork for this show, trying to make sure that anyone and everyone was invited. Editors from prominent magazines and newspapers had given me indications they’d be attending, other photographers whose endorsement could mean a lot to me, so many people who could be right in the other room. I almost couldn’t bring myself to leave my office. But eventually, when I was sure there wasn’t a hair out of place, I took a deep breath and walked out of my safe office and into the gallery.