Intaglio: The Snake and the Coins (34 page)

As expected, the
fire exit was propped open with a half of a brick.  It had been the
doorstop for as long as Ava and her father had lived in the building and its
gouged side was as familiar to her as the photographs lining the apartment
walls.  A black band of night was visible beyond.  Pulse racing, Ava
touched the edge of the partially-opened door but halted, nervous about
interrupting.  She could hear two voices – Cole and then her father –
talking in quiet tones. 

For a moment,
Ava closed her eyes, letting her attention drift outward, fear and hope
mingling.  Her father was using that quiet, mellow tone he was known
for.  She smiled despite herself.  This was Oliver at his most
persuasive.

“...but why
else
come back again, Cole?  Why be born again if not to learn from our
mistakes?  What would be the point?” 

Ava leaned
closer, ears straining to hear Cole’s muttered response.  

“I honestly don’t
know if there is a point,” Cole responded, “if there is anything after you die
at all... I guess I always kind of figured this was it
.
  You live
and then you die.
  End game.
”

It made her sad;
the finality of his statement.  She froze as her father started speaking
again.

“Well, that’s as
good a theory as any,” Oliver said with a chuckle, and his voice changed
slightly...
challenge under the charm
.  “But the thing is, Cole, if
this really is your
only
chance to live, then there’s no dress
rehearsal, right?  So we should all stop pissing around and get out there
and
really
live
.”

Cole laughed –
it was an easy, happy sound, not stressed at all – and with that, Ava 
stepped onto the fire escape.   Almost in unison, the two men glanced
up at her from where they sat together, side by side, on the metal grated step.

“Mind if I
interrupt?” Ava asked with a smirk.

Oliver smiled as
Cole stood up.

“Not at all, not
at all,” her father answered, lifting the cigarette to his mouth and inhaling,
“just shooting the breeze.”

Ava shook her
head.

“Uh-huh... Heard
enough to know you’re lying.”

Cole and her
father both grinned, and Cole’s hand reached out, hovering. Ava caught the
indecision.  He dropped it to Oliver’s shoulder with a wry grin.

“You always like
this?”

Oliver glanced
up at him, winking.

“Nah, I really
let loose once you get to know me.”

For the briefest
moment, Oliver caught Ava’s gaze and she knew that everything was fine. 
She couldn’t explain
how
she knew, she just did.  Held tight by her
father’s eyes, her racing heart calmed, worry fading.

“We should
probably get going, Dad.  Suzanne and Chim are already at the Crown, and
it’s probably going to be packed tonight.”

Oliver lifted
his hand, turning away from the two of them to stare out into the darkness.

“Be good, you
two,” he said, his grin translated through the lilt of his words.

Ava smirked,
pulling Cole into the building alongside her.

“I always am,”
she shouted as the door closed against the brick doorstop, but not before her
father’s disbelieving laughter chased her words.

: : : : : : : :
: :

The Crown and
Sceptre was packed by the time they arrived, and as the night wore on, it got
worse.  Suzanne and Chim had reserved their booth, of course, and the four
of them laughed and joked together, drinking and telling stories and
celebrating the end of a great year.  The bar – both sections of it – was
doing good business tonight.  University students made up the main bar,
but there was a private function in the back room.  Sometime after eleven,
Kip Chambers, Raya Simpson and a number of people Ava didn’t recognize walked
through the bustling club to the private section at the back.  Kip didn’t
stop to talk, but he waved as he passed. 

Ava nodded, then
turned back to discover that Cole had been watching the interaction, a scowl on
his face.

They hadn’t
talked about the arrest since the night they’d joked about it with Chim and
Suzanne, but she knew Chambers and Simpson’s part in the events infuriated
Cole.  As they sat drinking, Simpson’s presence nearby became an unspoken
irritant for Ava.  Though Cole still sat next to her, laughing and
talking, the tone of the evening had changed.  Her humiliation and terror
at being arrested transformed into a cloak of righteous indignation.  She
fumed that Raya would even come here.

‘This is my
bar!’
a
dark part of Ava’s mind growled.

An hour later,
the party was reaching its peak.  Several friends slid into the booth
along with them, leaving Ava pressed tightly between Cole and Chim. 
Drinking games took the place of toasts; shooters replacing jugs of beer. 
It was fun, but Ava was overheated, and sometime past midnight, she excused
herself to find  the bathroom. 

Ava was washing
her hands in the crowded washroom when Raya Simpson's haughty face greeted her
in the mirror.  Ava’s alcohol-fueled anger erupted in a flash-flood. 
Spinning around, Ava stormed forward, ready to confront Kip’s agent. Simpson
had already stepped out of the bathroom, her tall form disappearing into the crowd,
headed to the back of the club.

“Fucking bitch,”
Ava hissed, staggering as she followed.

“Simpson!” Ava
shouted, reaching the door separating the club's rooms.

Raya glanced
over her shoulder, moving a little quicker as she stepped through the press of
bodies.  Ava followed.  She knew she wasn’t supposed to be going in
the private back room of the bar, but she no longer cared.  It was past
midnight and there was no bouncer to turn her away. 

 “I’m
talking to YOU, Raya!” Ava bellowed, stepping into the crowd.  The music
was painfully loud and her words blended into the pulsing beat. 

“Simpson!” 
Ava roared again, anger blossoming inside of her chest, burning away the last
of her inhibitions. 
Ava wanted the woman to be scared
.  Raya
moved faster, her eyes darting back in worry every few seconds.

Ava was pushing
past a group of semi-familiar people  – regulars from the professional art
scene – when someone grabbed her arm, dragging her sideways.  Her mind was
fogged from the lines of shooters she’d done, but she was alert enough to
recognize who it was.

“Goddamnit,
Kip!” Ava snapped, tugging to get away, “let GO!  That bitch owes me a
fucking apology!”

Cole had been waiting
for Ava for almost fifteen minutes when he finally decided to look for
her.  He wandered through the bar, asking regulars if they’d seen
her.  One of the waitresses coming out of the private room at the back
provided the answer.  Ava was in the New Year’s party for the Art Gallery
staff.  With a shrug, the woman nodded toward the door.

“Go on in,
Cole,” she muttered wearily, “no one cares at this point.”

As he stepped
through, Cole’s eyes scanned the crowd.  The smaller space was even more
crowded than out front.   The place was standing room only, and he
forced his way through, sidestepping couples wrapped around each other in New
Year’s abandon.

Cole was about
to head over the other way when someone touched his arm.  It was Raya
Simpson, white-faced and wide-eyed.

“You’re Ava
Brooks’ friend, aren’t you?” she shouted.  Her voice was raised, but still
barely audible over the pulsing beat of club music. 

“Yeah,” Cole
yelled, leaning in as he struggled to hear her.

Raya cupped her
hand around her mouth, answering.

“I got the
panels today, but can you give Ava the cheque?”

Cole paused,
forcing himself to recall the numbers he saw on the page that day in the
kitchen.  He didn’t trust this woman. 

“Sure,” Cole
answered.  “Need the breakdown?”

He was lying, of
course, but he had an approximate memory of the offer (well enough to know if
she was skimming).  Simpson shook her head tersely.

“I um… I just…
here,” she said, her words muted by the cacophony of the bar.  She reached
for her chequebook and retrieved a pen from inside her purse.  Her face
was puckered and annoyed... but there was something else there, too. 
Fear
.

“Look,” she
shouted.  “I know Ava doesn’t want to hear it, but I’m actually sorry the
whole thing with the police got out of hand,” Raya continued filling out the
cheque, leaving Cole struggling to pick up her words.  “It was a filming
decision that
Kip and I
made months ago.  But, given what
happened...” her eyes flickered to the far side of the room, “...it’ll probably
be better if Ava isn’t part of the rest of the film in the summer.”

There it
was.  The stab in the back.

“What the
fuck?!” Cole yelled, pushing closer.  Simpson stepped back, eyes
narrowing.  “You’re backing out on her on that?” he snarled.  “How
the hell was YOUR fucked-up publicity stunt
Ava’s
fault?”

Raya Simpson's
lips pursing like she was going to whistle.  The music was a beating
heart, the bass rattling glasses on the tables.

“That’s not what
I meant,” Raya retorted.  “I just figured, with how things went, Ava
wouldn’t want—” She blew out a sharp breath, ripping the half-written cheque
out of the book, and crumpling it.  “Fuck it,” she growled as she went
back to writing.  “Here!” she snapped.  “That’ll
more
than
cover what Ava would’ve made.”  Her eyes slid away again.  “I’m just…
DONE!  Take it or leave it.  I don’t have time for this!”

Cole’s eyes
dropped to the numbers and his heart lurched.  He remembered the original
offer was... and this was more than twice that.  Without a word, he double-checked
the signature and date, just to be sure. He folded it in half, placing it into
his pocket with shaky fingers.

“I’ll pass it
along,” Cole said.

“Good,” Raya
barked.  “While you’re at it, why don’t you get Ava to
stop
hanging
off my boyfriend
.”

Cole coughed,
feeling like he’d been punched in the gut.  He followed Simpson’s gaze to
a couple on the far side of the room.  A blonde woman stood against the
wall, talking animatedly to a brown-haired man, her hands gesturing in broad
circles.  It was Ava and she wasn’t happy – Cole could see that at
once.  It was the man’s posture that bothered him. 

Kip Chambers had
one shoulder against the wall and he leaned down,  moving into her space.
He was close enough to kiss her if he wanted.  One of his hands rested
against the wall; as Cole watched, he reached out, brushing against Ava’s arm.

“What the
fuck?!” Cole growled.  Simpson’s claw-like hand was on his arm in an
instant, her eyes cold.

“Just get her
out of here,” she sneered, “I don’t want another scene.”

Cole grimaced
and stepped into the milling crowd.

“You’ve got it.”

: : : : : : : :
: :

“Look Kip,” Ava
slurred, “I don’t what it’s s’posed to mean – prob’ly nothing.  It was a
painting – alright?  Nothin’ else to it.” 

Kip loomed closer,
his body blocking her view of the room.

“But you told me
that you paint from your dreams...”

He trailed off
and Ava flashed to the snake and the coins, then the image of the winged
painting that threw her so much.  She really
did
need to talk to her
dad sometime, maybe have him read her tea leaves.

“I do shit like
that all the time,” she growled, irritated, “but it doesn’t mean—”

“What if it DOES
mean something,” he argued, leaning closer.  “What if it means
something about you...
about us?”

“Fuck this,” she
snapped, the embers of her temper flaring, “there's no connection between us,
d’you get that?  It’s a fucked-up painting, nothing else!”

She pushed off
from the wall, stepping out of Kip’s way and slamming directly into Cole. 
He’d been standing two steps away, and in a split-second of sobriety, Ava
understood
exactly
what he’d just seen. Every muscle in his body was
tensed and furious.  His hands were rolled into tight fists, jaw clenched,
stance wide, ready to throw the first punch.

“Shit!” Ava
groaned, putting her hands against his chest.  “Cole, it’s not how it
looks.”

He turned on
her, eyes glittering like ice.

“What exactly
does it
look like,
Ava?” he ground out.

For a moment
something wavered inside her.  It was the control of her temper she’d
worked on for years.  The balance her father had encouraged; the ability
to look at both sides of a situation
before
reacting. 

With Cole’s
accusation, it was gone.

“You know what,”
Ava barked, her face flushing with alcohol and indignation, “I don’t owe you a
fucking explanation. BACK OFF!”