Heart Doctors Collection by Carly Keene

Author:Carly Keene
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2020-03-23T04:00:00+00:00

FIVE: Never Seen Anything Like You

Maddox

So now it’s the day of the reception and I’m a little late, having had to work on updating some charts before getting a shower and dashing over to Art Factory. I’ve got my best suit on—navy, with gray shirt and silver tie. Polished shoes, fresh haircut and shave, the works. It should make me feel better about myself, but all it does is remind me of the girl I don’t have, who told me I was much better-looking out of my clothes. I sigh and pull open the door of the gallery.

The space inside is full of colleagues dressed up. There’s Finlay looking cranky in his suit, and Nicole from reception in plum lace, very yummy. There’s Deena McLean in blue with her EMT guy, who towers over everybody. Jack Mellon and his new squeeze (blonde, looks anorexic). Alison Sadler, our intern, is shimmering around the place in a green sequin thing that makes the most of her long legs.

I look around the room once again: no tall woman with glorious long dark hair. Nobody who’s raided Stevie Nicks’s closet. No goddesses.

I sigh, and go join the line at the buffet. It seems I’ve missed some of the speeches, which is okay; I hate speeches. There’s no assigned seating, so I find a chair at a table full of radiology techs and chat while I chew. The girls look good dressed up, but they just look like girls, nobody super special. I excuse myself to get another plate, this time concentrating on the gingered pork dumplings, and this time I sit with a table of nurses, both male and female. It is always advisable to make nice with the nurses. They save my ass six times a day, plus they are awesome people.

After my fourth plate of appetizers and my fourth table of colleague chat, I’m ready for wedding cake, but there’s no sign that anyone is ready to cut it yet. The sound system is still playing quiet pop music oldies in the background, stuff like the Temptations and Carole King.

So I get up and start perusing the art on the walls. Near the front of the room is a display of large white statue things, but they’re not statues of people. They’re very abstract, rounded but full of odd lines, and I find myself wanting to run my hands over each one of them. I’m fascinated. The labels underneath say the titles of the pieces (Abstract Form I, Sloped Figure IV, weird arty shit like that) and the artist, Rachel Bonner.

Huh. Noah’s sister, I presume. Interesting.

There’s a voice behind my shoulder, a woman. “What do you think?”

“I like them. Especially that one.” I point to one sculpture that makes me think of a breast.

“Yeah, the guys seem to like that one.” The woman behind me sounds amused.

I shrug. “I don’t know art. I just know what I like. I’d like to buy that one.”

“Looks like it’s sold,” the woman says. “See the pink sticker on the card?”

“Oh.

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