Chapter 18
On Sunday morning, from the back seat on the drive home from church, Meri asked Char’s advice on what to wear to a football game.
“Since when do you care about football?”
“Since Mark asked her to go see the Forty-niners,” filled in Savvy.
“Awww, that’s so sweet!”
“Char, you’re the athlete in the family. What do people wear?”
“It’s a football game.” Char gestured with the hand that wasn’t on the steering wheel. She glanced at Meri through the rearview mirror. “You can wear anything you like.”
“But I’m going to meet Mark’s friends. People who eat brats.”
“Brats?” repeated Char. Jeanne never served brats.
“Flats, definitely,” said Savvy. “Do you have any sneakers?”
The infinitely pragmatic Savvy had been a gem when Meri told them about the broken business deal. She could have scolded. But both her sisters understood. Especially Char, who had resisted using even her first name on her children’s foundation until Dr. Simon, her mentor, convinced her to do otherwise.
“I think I have some Adidas somewhere, still in their box.”
In her walk-in closet, Meri swept hanger after hanger of plastic-sheathed garments along the rod. Past the Marc Jacobs satin suit with the armholes cut so high she could barely move, the spaghetti-strapped Prada that showed beaucoup skin in the back. The lacey Bottega. The vintage Cavalli caftan. All beautiful, but none of them right for a football game. And her everyday clothes screamed artist. Which was fine, most days. But not today. Today she was determined to look like a typical fan. Suddenly she realized what she needed was one of those team jerseys. Where did you even buy one of those? Oh well. Too late for that.
She left the closet, opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of black velour sweatpants from Stella McCartney. Parfait.
Meri was happy to get back to the busy co-op, early Sunday afternoon. As much as she was looking forward to the company of Mark and friends, she’d always been most comfortable at her workbench.
She propped open the door to her atelier and settled down at her bench hook. While her hands were busy, her mind was free to wander.
In the absence of her family, Meri had always found refuge in her art. But sometimes she’d gone overboard, like the times in college when she’d gotten so lonely that she’d reached out for the nearest warm body to fill the void. Now she lived in perpetual fear that someone would discover the extent of her recklessness.
She entertained a flurry of browsers, and then, just as she sat back down and wedged her ring mandrel into a steadying vise, a barrage of arrogant voices, somehow distinct from those of the other tones ricocheting through the hall, brought her fingers to a sharp standstill and a tiny furrow to her brow. Her head tilted a centimeter, like a blind person straining to hear. And suddenly her heart started pounding in her throat in an instinctual fight-or-flight reaction.
She held her breath, hoping the voices would pass her by. How was it that she could isolate those speech inflections—those particular footsteps—over all the other men, women, and children traipsing through the co-op?
Closer now. Two males, one female. Familiar—but not friendly.
Last June’s ugly declaration came back to haunt her for the umpteenth time. “Everybody knows she’ll never be a real jeweler.” One of the voices belonged to the person who’d uttered those words.
Meri braced herself just in time to see Rainn passing her atelier, accompanied by two guys with boxes in their arms.
No, my god. Austin and Dylan.
It had to happen sooner or later. She had to run into Rainn now that they shared space in the same co-op. At least Rainn had no inkling that she’d been overheard in the ladies’ room at the Gates reception. But never in her worst nightmare would Meri have imagined she’d meet her in the company of those two.
Rainn spoke first. “Hey. Heard you just moved in. Sweet sign.” She nodded toward the GILTY ARTISANAL JEWELERS emblem above her head. Even if she’d wanted to, Rainn was too height-challenged to reach it, to flick it back and forth—one of Meri’s favorite little pleasures. That gave Meri some cheap satisfaction.
“Thanks.” Maybe if Meri spoke as few words as possible, Austin and Dylan wouldn’t realize it was she and keep walking.
“Working on a Sunday, I see. Guess some things never change.”
Meri smiled tightly. “Have to be here anyway for the public. Might as well spend my time usefully.”
She thanked her lucky stars as first Dylan, then Austin continued on their way.
But something must’ve piqued Austin’s curiosity. Just when Meri thought the coast was clear, he took a step backward, catching Meri’s eye. A sly smile bloomed across his thin, drawn face. “Well, would you looky here. Hey, Dyl! Come on back here. Look who I found.”
Meri’s heart sank to her feet.
Dylan stuck his head into the opening of her doorway, flooding her with revulsion. Get out of my space.
“Wha—is that who I think it is?”
“What’s new?” Meri managed to chirp. Calm. Must. Stay. Calm. She couldn’t let them know how badly they flustered her.
Rainn lit up, believing the question was directed toward her, and Meri recalled that Rottweiler grin of hers. Until the day of the Purchase Prize award, it had never affected her. Now she saw how perfectly it reflected the personality of its owner.
Rainn tossed her ebony mane. “My Día de los Muertos line’s been picked up by a major outlet, starting in spring.” She nodded toward the boxes in Austin and Dylan’s arms. “I just got a shipment of new equipment. Doing a few upgrades.”
“Oh,” said Meri, stupidly. Chief of NASA here. In spite of some niggling instinct to the contrary, she had to ask. “Which one?”
Rainn’s grin expanded to Big Bad Wolf dimensions. “Harrington’s.” The silver barbell centered in her tongue flashed on the first syllable. With her eyes, it formed the lower point of a treacherous Bermuda triangle in her deeply tan complexion.
Rainn watched with obvious pride and pleasure as her words sank in. She shifted her armload of packages. “Most of my clay and gems will get shipped straight to the artisans who’re doing the grunt work. No way could I fill all my orders alone. All I have to do is make the molds and my ‘people’ will—well, you know. It’s like they taught us at Gates—oh, wait.” Her brow scrunched together in exaggerated, mock confusion. “If you’re here, then you can’t be”—she pointed south with her chin, toward San Francisco and college—“there. What happened? Did you give up on your degree?”
“I did. I was ready to go out on my own.” Meri was amazed at how normal her voice sounded, given her inner turmoil.
“Mmm.” Rainn made a pitying face. “Sorry. I mean, good luck with that. I mean, whatever.” She shrugged, regaining her superior air. “Gotta bounce. Lots to do.”
With that she disappeared after Dylan, who had already moved on.
Austin hung behind a few steps. “Hey,” he said conspiratorially. “If your gig here doesn’t work out, give us a call. Dyl and I got our own little production company now, right here in Vallejo. If you ever need to make a few bucks on the side, we can always use an actress as talented as you. You were a natural.”
Meri smiled drolly and lowered her voice before replying. “That was a long time ago.”
“Not really.” He shrugged. “No matter how much time goes by, you know what they say: ‘video is forever.’ Sometimes me and Dyl play back that one scene just for kicks. Dude! That was smokin’.” He barked out a salacious laugh. With any luck at all, Rainn was already out of earshot.
Meri’s composure held up just long enough for her to flash a tight smile and waggle her fingers, signaling the conversation was over. But as soon as Austin was out of sight, her head fell back, her eyes closed, and she realized she was perspiring.
Rainn still had Austin and Dylan schlepping her stuff around for her, just like in the old days. Until now, Meri had hoped that maybe, just maybe, the recollection of the film had faded away. But now the futility of that hope sank in. He and Dylan and Rainn were probably howling over it this very moment.
Meri swiveled forty-five degrees on her little stool to where her laptop sat.
Her fingertips flew across the keys until Rainn’s most current designs appeared. At first glance, not much had changed since summer, the last time Meri had checked, out of mere curiosity, what her fellow students at Gates were up to. Rainn had always been interested in biomorphic designs . . . skulls and bones and fossils. Dark with a touch of darker. That was Rainn.
Only now did Meri notice the black gemstone, burnish set into the reverse of one of Rainn’s pendants. Is that obsidian? She typed some more, searching for the accompanying description. The Día de los Muertos Collection is highlighted by a faceted black obsidian, used since ancient times for arrowheads and spear points, burnish set into every piece.
Indignant, Meri scrolled down the page, skimming over more text and visuals as she went. Had Rainn seen Meri’s work? Was she aware of the peridot Meri used as her signature? She had to be. Meri’s site had been published long enough. She studied Rainn’s page again, more carefully this time. Rainn’s explanation of the Vedic philosophy of gemology was lifted right off of Meri’s site. The only thing Rainn had done differently was utilize obsidian rather than peridot. Arrowheads? Spear points? Meri huffed to herself. How appropriate for sticking it to somebody!
Then she backpedaled. It wasn’t in her nature to accuse without justification. She wasn’t the only jeweler in the world who incorporated hidden stones. It was an ancient practice, originating in India, though not something they’d been taught in school. The Gates curriculum was confined strictly to the art, science, and business of jewelry-making. Meri had delved into the esoteric stuff on her own. She’d been after a way to imbue her pieces with a deeper meaning, to make them unique and special. To take an ordinary piece of ornamentation to a higher plane, transforming it into a highly personal amulet.
But the timing left little doubt in Meri’s mind: Rainn had had the audacity to flat-out copy her. And now, apparently, both of their lines were going to be carried by the same store. The Gilty and Día de los Muertos lines would be in direct competition for any customer who was looking specifically for a piece of jewelry with a burnish set gemstone on the inside, even if the stone’s meanings diverged.
Meri rose from her stool and began to pace, hands on her hips.
Why hadn’t Mark told her he was buying Rainn’s line, too? Why had she had to hear it from her archenemy? She forced herself to belly breathe the way she’d learned to do in yoga class, to push down the panic rising in her throat. Mark didn’t know about her history with Rainn. He may not even realize they knew each other at all.
But Rainn had seen Mark in her atelier. And now Rainn was going to be working with him! Closely. And not for a little while, either. Even though Mark and Meri’s business-related conversations were on hold, she had already learned enough to know that, going forward, there would typically be meetings and phone calls and God knew what else between any vendor and her merchandiser.
Would Rainn tell Mark about Meri’s little foray into acting, if she thought it would give her a business edge? Maybe if Meri had kept her head instead of freaking out when Mark had first called her Merlot, he would have filled her in. Even if he hadn’t confessed to looking at Rainn’s work, their talks would certainly have progressed farther than they had now. Humiliation filled her as she recalled tearing up her purchase orders. That had been so unprofessional of her. Were the contracts still binding, or had she blown it—her big break? When was she going to grow up instead of acting like a rejected eight-year-old? It was a wonder Mark hadn’t already washed his hands of her.
And now, she’d slept with him.
Old habits die hard.
But wait—no. It was the old Merlot who’d carelessly slept around.
What she’d done with Mark was make love.
She didn’t know how to feel or what to think. She didn’t know where to put any of this. All she knew was that suddenly she couldn’t face spending the day with him. She wanted to run as fast and as far as she could, away from people who could hurt and deceive her. Some primal urge to abandon him before he abandoned her welled up inside until it filled every cell of her being.
He’d be arriving in a matter of minutes to pick her up for the game. She had to get out of there. She grabbed her things, stuffed them into her bag, and rushed out the door. Her hand shook so badly she could barely get the key in the lock.
She hurried down the hallway toward the exit, gave the heavy glass door a shove, and pulled up short so she didn’t slam right into Mark and Rainn, locked in an embrace.