Beneath Beautiful (20 page)

During their next session, Cassie attempted to brush away Cameron's seeming clinical disinterest with excuses, telling herself he was caught up in his work. It was confusing after what had passed between them inside Plum's installation, and what he had told her—that he was constantly thinking of them sleeping together—but Cassie shook off her feelings, telling herself they needed to get down to business if the sculpture was to come together in time. She bore the long day well, without complaint, and without goading him into telling her more of his thoughts, though she wanted to hear them desperately.

A few hours into their session on Tuesday, however, Cassie had to admit to herself that all was most certainly not right. Cameron had again been circling her incessantly, tweaking this and that, and pretty much getting nowhere. Something was undeniably wrong now. She could feel it. The energy in the room had definitely changed from when they had first started working together. It had depleted. Drained. And now she watched Cameron with wary eyes, wondering how she had been so sure of her power within this situation the other night.

She didn't know what to do. Who to ask for help. Where to turn. How did she fix this? Was it fixable? She had no idea.

Another half hour passed, and Cassie glanced up as Cameron moved quickly across the room yet again, to the large computer screen in the opposite corner. It had been set up this morning, but hadn't been there days before. He'd been obsessed with it all day.

“What are you looking at over there?” Cassie finally had to ask.

When Cameron didn't answer immediately, she became even more curious, got up, and went over to look for herself. When she finally saw the enlarged, grainy image on the screen, she gasped. “You took photos of me? In
Père Lachaise
?” Her eyes sought his.

Cameron looked caught out. “In an artistic way, rather than a perverted way, I assure you.”

Cassie leaned over and stared at the photo again for a moment. “I don't get it.”

“What?” Cameron came over behind her to look at the photo as well.

Cassie stood up, crossing her arms. “Why even bother to approach me, then? I mean, if you have the photo and you're able to source everything I've ever owned, what do you need me for?”

“Are you serious?” He looked at her as if she were crazy.

“Yes, I'm serious.”

Cameron shook his head slightly. “I'm surprised you think you're nothing more than your belongings and how you sit.”

“I don't think that,” Cassie countered, though the truth was she was questioning all that had passed between them in Plum's installation. Had she gotten their relationship all wrong from the very start?

“Well, that's what you just told me.”

“No, I didn't.”

Cameron paused for a moment, giving her an assessing look. “What are we actually arguing about? Or doesn't it matter?”

“We're . . .” Cassie stuttered, realising he was right. She was looking to pick a fight. “Arguing about your pervy photo-taking in cemeteries,” she said, triumphantly.

Cameron inclined his head. “Granted, it's probably not the wisest thing to do . . .”

“No.”

He sighed. “Look, Cassie, I think we've reached a standstill.”

“What?” Cassie froze, fear gripping every cell in her body. “What do you mean? You're not going to finish the sculpture?”

“No, of course I don't mean that. I just mean we're starting to get on each other's nerves today.”

“I . . .” Cassie couldn't argue with this. As her eyes searched the room wildly for an answer, she knew she needed to do something. She needed to act. Now. She stepped forward then and grabbed the front of Cameron's shirt, drawing him toward her until he was on top of her, looking down from above. “I need to know what to do.” As soon as the words exited her mouth, she realised it was the worst thing she possibly could have said, and pulled him further to her again before he could turn away. “What do you want from me?” she asked him, her face before his, tears in her eyes. “I don't know what you want from me.”

Cameron's eyes read concern. “Only yourself, Cassie. I've never asked you for anything more than that.”

It was true. But what was also true was that this was the one thing she felt was slipping through her fingers faster than sand right now. Herself. Who that was, she had no earthly idea anymore.

Defeated, Cassie let her hands drop from Cameron's shirt, though he didn't step back immediately, instead carefully using his thumb once more to wipe away the glistening tears that she hadn't been able to hold back. The fact was, he'd lost interest in her. He had less than a week. There was no time for breaks. For pausing. If he didn't meet his deadline, the sculpture wouldn't be going in the new exhibition. And if it didn't go in the new exhibition, undoubtedly it wouldn't be quite right for the next one. It was now or never.

“You need some time out. You know it. We both do,” he continued. “It seems there's an interview I have to do, so Marianne says. And as you know, what Marianne says, goes. I'll do it this afternoon, and get it out of the way. Give us some space.”

Space? Wasn't that what people had when things were all over? Cassie could barely look at him on hearing this.

So James was going to get his interview after all. She was pleased for him, even if it did mean he'd most likely forget all about her and go rushing back to London, leaving her with only the memories of her wanton rooftop behavior to keep her company. Though the truth was, after he found out about her and Cameron and all the secrets she'd been keeping, he'd probably never speak to her again anyway, so she'd lose him either way.

“I guess that's it for today then.” She stood in the middle of the pink room, feeling altogether small and insignificant. After a moment or two, he made his way back to his computer screen. There, he scrutinized the image—her image—once more.

“So, bye . . .” Cassie finally said.

“Mmm . . . see you tomorrow,” Cameron replied.

He didn't look up.

D
ismissed, Cassie left the studio, and aimlessly made her way slowly back to Alys's apartment. There, she sat at Alys's small table, in the quiet, and attempted to find a way forward once more with her writing. She got nowhere fast. All Cassie could see were those two paths—more
Badger and Hare
, or the manuscript that stank. She brewed some coffee and drank two cups as she stared at her laptop. This, of course, didn't help matters at all, and she was soon jittery as well as lost.

When she could finally take her fidgeting no longer, she grabbed the essentials, including a piece of paper and a pen, and headed out. Her laptop wasn't going to give her all the answers, unfortunately. It was no magic 8-Ball.

Cassie headed for Central Park and tried to walk through her problems, though found she was short on ability to focus. It was becoming more and more clear to her that she hadn't worked in some time. She'd always been the kind of writer who wrote something every day. The fact that she hadn't written anything at all for weeks now, other than the odd Facebook post, was beginning to worry her.

She walked for a while and tried to forget, admiring the quickly turning leaves, and scuffing her way through the ones that had already fallen. Finally, she sat down upon a free bench and brought out her paper and pen. Sometimes you had to go right back to basics to nut things out. Now, Cassie tried to. She wrote down any and all book ideas she'd had in the past few years, however awful, however bland. Even without any quality control, she didn't have a lot on her piece of paper. And two of them involved more cute animals, which, to be truthful, made her feel slightly sick to her stomach. There were no other adult ideas, other than the one that was a waste of hard drive space and that she had already sent her agent.

There was nothing for it. Either she needed a better, different idea, or to look at starring in a new and exciting role in the fast food industry.

And all the time there was the dull ache in the pit of her stomach, knowing that the sculpture might not happen either.

A text gave her a moment's distraction and Cassie fumbled for her phone in her coat pocket. It was James.

Can't believe it. Interview in half an hour. No time to look over questions. Going to his studio now. Tell Alys for me.

Cassie smiled as she read his words and texted back.

So happy for you. You'll be brilliant. Good luck!

As she pressed
send
, she sniffed back some tears, though she had no idea what they were for. Was she happy for James, completely losing the plot about work, worried about the sculpture, or a combination of all three? She really didn't know. Exhaling loudly, Cassie stood up and shoved everything back in her coat pockets.

The only thing she could do at this point was to keep on walking. One foot in front of the other.

C
assie stopped on the way back to Alys's apartment and picked up a few things for dinner. After sharing some pasta and a bottle of wine and starting in on a box of Lindt balls, which Cassie found always made life a little brighter, the pair sat back in their chairs at the small dining room table.

“Now,” Alys said, nibbling her way around a chocolate. “This is a little more normal for you.”

Cassie finally cracked a smile as her phone beeped, telling her she had a message. Alys's beeped at the same time, also.

“Do you think it's James?” Alys sat forward on her chair. Cassie had told her the news as soon as she'd got home. “I really want to know it all went off okay. Oh, and that Cameron Callahan hasn't chained him up somewhere, or similar.”

“I'll check.” Cassie retrieved her phone from her bag, beside the table. “It is James!” She looked up with a smile upon reading the text. “Here.” She passed her phone over to Alys so she could see for herself.

Alys read his words aloud. “Interview amazing. Can’t describe it. Better than I ever dreamed. Know exactly what to write. Need to get it down fast. Going to pull an all-nighter.” Her voice rose with excitement as each sentence passed her lips.

After Alys handed her phone back, Cassie began her reply.

Don't worry about our catch up tomorrow afternoon. Just write and sleep. Happy for you!

His reply came winging back.

Knew another crazy writer would understand.

When Cassie finally looked up from her phone, it was with a broad smile on her face. She was met with Alys's enquiring gaze. “You really do fancy him, don't you?”

“I'm just . . . happy for him,” Cassie said warily, as Alys got up and started to clear the table.

“That's good then,” she said, casually, continuing to stack plates.

“What do you mean by that?” Cassie took the bait, her eyes tracking her friend across the room to the kitchen.

Alys placed the plates on the kitchen bench and turned around with a grin. “Well, from the noises I heard at the party the other night, now everyone's got something they wanted, haven't they?”

C
assie was starting down the steps to the subway when the call came from Marianne. “Cassie?” she said, “It's Marianne. I haven't caught you too late, have I?”

“No . . .” Cassie ran the few steps up again and took shelter from the foot traffic in a doorway.

“Don't worry about coming in this morning. Cameron says he has everything he needs at this point.”

Cassie's body immediately stiffened. So it was true. There really was something wrong. She hadn't been imagining the worst yesterday. He was pulling away, further and further away with each hour that passed. “Is . . . is everything all right?” she finally managed to speak.

“Everything's fine,” Marianne told her, a little too quickly for Cassie's liking.

“Is Cameron there?” Cassie asked. She needed to hear it from Cameron himself.

“Actually, he's just outside my door . . . Cameron!” Marianne called out. “Cassie for you.”

Cassie heard the cordless phone being passed over. “Hello,” Cameron said, smoothly. “And what can I do for you?”

“I don't know.” Cassie paused for a moment. “You tell me. Is there anything I should know about?”

“No. Not that I know of.” Cameron sounded fine, though maybe a little distracted. “I've been busy . . . thinking through things. Sometimes a small pause is required. To hone in on the finer details, you know.”

“Right,” Cassie answered. “Okay, then. I thought maybe I should just . . . check.”

“Yes, well . . . Hang on, Marianne's clicking her fingers at me. I think she wants you back. Here you go.” He lost no time in passing Cassie back to Marianne.

“Cassie,” she said, grappling with the phone.

“Yes?”

“There is one thing.”

“Yes?” Cassie said quickly. Finally, was someone going to tell her what the deal was here?

“Plum called. Again. She would really like to have that drink I mentioned. Tonight, if possible.”

Plum Tarasov? Again? That was what Marianne had to tell her? Disappointed, Cassie gave a defeated shrug. “Fine. I'll do it.”