A Different Blue(138)

through me, and I spun on him. His face was like granite, his eyes icy, his jaw clenched. His

arms were crossed and his stance was wide, almost as if he were bracing himself for my comeback.

“What do you mean, Wilson? What am I starting again?” I kept my voice low and contained, but

inside I was quaking.

“You know exactly what I mean, Blue.” Wilson's voice was harsh and his words clipped.

“Oh, I see,” I whispered. And I did. It was written all over his face. Revulsion. He didn't

see a glamorous woman on her way to a classy exhibit. He saw a tawdry teenager with a sordid

past all dressed up for a night on the corner.

“I'm reverting to my slutty ways. That must be it.” I raised one thin eyebrow disdainfully and

held it there, waiting for him to correct me. He just glared back and was silent.

I pivoted in disgust and yanked the front door open.

“Blue!”

I didn't turn, but I paused, waiting for an apology.

“I'm not going to watch you destroy yourself. If this is the road you want to go down, I won't

come after you.” Wilson's voice was hard, almost unrecognizable.

I shook my head, unable to speak. Where had this come from? What had I done to make him go all

parental and self-righteous on me? I wanted to scream at him, scratch his eyes out, and tell him

what a jerk he was being. But I didn't want to be that girl anymore. In spite of what he

thought, I wasn't that girl anymore. So I turned and leveled a look at him.

“I guess the dye is cast . . . huh?”

I turned and walked out of the building, my spine stiff, but my chin quivering. If he watched me

leave, I didn't know. I looked neither to the right nor left, but drove away looking straight

forward. I did not cry. I did not curse. I just drove, stone-faced, to the hotel.

[page]Tiffa had told me to go to valet parking and I did, refusing to be embarrassed by my dumpy

old truck. I stepped out of it like I was royalty and dropped my keys in the valet's hand with a

comment to make sure he didn't “scratch my baby.” The man was good at his job, and he didn't

even bat an eye. I was grateful for his ability to hide his real feelings and vowed that tonight

I would hide mine just as well. It was a talent I had let get rusty.

I swept through the door and asked the first official looking person I saw where I could find

the art exhibit. He directed me to the elevators and instructed me to get off on the gallery

floor, marked with a G next to the button. Panic bubbled up in my chest, and for a moment I

considered leaving. Just kicking off my heels and heading for the door. I gritted my teeth and

stepped onto the elevator, along with several other people in formal attire. I stared at myself

in the mirror, trying not to see what Wilson had seen. My pleasure in my appearance had been

crushed into tiny, vicious shards. My reflection stared back at me defiantly. My eyes looked too

big in my face, and the pink in my cheeks had been leached out with the joy I no longer felt.

What had I been thinking?

Tiffa descended on me as soon as I stepped out of the elevator. The room beyond was soft with

strategic lighting and carefully placed art. A huge painting of a weeping face took center

stage. The tears were so lifelike they shimmered wetly in the lights.

“Blue! You look wonderful! Smashing! Where is Darcy?” Tiffa looked beyond me to the elevator