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The song for this chapter is "Comptine d'un autre été, l'après-midi" by Yan Tiersen www*youtube*com/watch?v=H2-1u8xvk54
The photo for the chapter is of the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art: i50*tinypic*com/2nhovbm*jpg
Here are a few links for the chapter:
The Exhibition: www*sfmoma*org/exhib_events/exhibitions/410
The Painting: Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec's, In the Salon: The Divan, ca. 1892-93. goo*gl/DHWgt
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their
respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The
author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media
franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Our beta's are karenec, LJ Summers, and jakeward. They are phenomenal and we deeply appreciate them.
This may be the chapter we wrote, and re-wrote the most.
Chapter Eight: Fascination
A large poster on a stand highlighted the title of the exhibition. I glanced quickly at the title, The Steins Collect: Matisse, Picasso, and the Parisian Avant-Garde, and moved eagerly into the room, excited to see the pieces. I made my way to the first painting on the wall; James followed me more slowly as I immersed myself in the piece by Toulouse-Lautrec.
"It's extraordinary," I murmured. "So different from his earlier works."
James made a non-committal sound of agreement. I continued to stare at it a while longer, taking in the vibrant color of the woman in the foreground against the more muted colors in the back.
I slowly moved to the next piece, studying it with equal fascination. I felt James shift restlessly beside me and I glanced over at him. He looked bored and I wondered why he had agreed to come with me to the museum if he wasn't interested in the art. I tried to move more quickly to appease him, but as always, I found myself enraptured with certain pieces, noticing the wild brushstrokes of Cezanne and the electric colors of Matisse. James sighed and I stopped and turned to him.
I placed my hand on his forearm. "Why don't you go get us some wine," I suggested, gesturing to the bar across the room.
"Of course."
I turned back to the piece I had been studying and a moment later I heard someone call out my name.
"Bella."
My head snapped up and I stared at Edward in shock, my pulse racing at the sight of him. Whether from shock, or something else, I wasn't sure.
"Edward? What are you doing here?"
He gave me an amused smile. "I'm a curator here."
"Oh, of course." I shook my head. I did remember him saying that at one point. I had been trying so hard to get Edward out of my head, and yet I'd somehow ended up at the very museum he worked at.
"Did you get the flowers?" he asked.
"They were beautiful," I admitted.
"But it doesn't change anything," I added, my tone slightly bitter. One gesture after a meaningless one-night stand wasn't going to convince me that I should see him again. Although, I could tell Edward wasn't like the other guys I'd hooked up with, he had a way of getting under my skin, leaving me feeling unsettled.
He gave me a long quizzical look. "You know, I'm trying to figure you out, but I don't understand what makes you tick."
"There's nothing to understand," I replied.
"Are you seriously telling me that you're happy?"
"Very." I gave him a level look, trying to put on my most convincing face. He didn't look convinced. A strange expression crossed his face; I could tell he was processing something but was choosing his words carefully.
He leaned forward and lowered his voice. In a seductive tone, he said, "Don't you remember the way I made you feel? The night we spent in your bed, trembling and shaking in each other's arms. The way you came on my tongue."
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, far more affected by his words than I wanted to be. "I remember," I said softly.
"Then why are you here on a date with another man?"
"Because I want to be," I said snidely, refusing to yield.
Things with Edward had been a complete disaster that I had no intention of repeating. I had invited James in the hope that spending an evening out rather than going back to the bars or back to my apartment would be good for me. I wasn't ready to move on from Riley, but I hoped that getting out and being social would make me less lonely. Riley was gone and he wasn't returning to San Francisco, I had to accept that. I made the decision to push Riley away so as not to hold him back. I knew Riley would have stayed for me and given up his dream, but living with the fear of him one day resenting me because of it just wasn't something I could take.
"Then where's the lucky man?" Edward asked in a clipped tone.
"He went to get me a glass of wine." Edward's eyes lingered on me for a moment longer, seemingly waiting for my exterior to crack. Suddenly, he pulled away and looked over at the piece I'd been studying.
"Hmm...so, what do you think?"
"Of the piece?"
"The entire collection."
I relaxed, glad that the focus of our conversation moved away from our night together and to something less intense. "I love it."
"Do you have a favorite of the artists?"
"Matisse, I think."
"I could tell. You spent twice as long looking at his work as Picasso's."
"Yes." Suddenly, his words hit me and I quickly asked, "Wait, you were watching me?"
"I found your reactions interesting. You liked Cezanne's Dancers as well."
"I did," I admitted, sheepishly.
He leaned in and spoke softly in my ear. "Bella, I saw you with the guy you brought. He wasn't even into the show. All he did was stare at your ass, check his watch, and roll his eyes. You can do better than a guy like that."
Instantly my mind drifted to Riley. I knew I could do better—had done better—but that was all lost now. The familiar feeling of the walls closing in and the air rushing from my lungs began to creep over me. I couldn't allow myself to fall apart in front of everyone. "Not here, not now... later. When I'm alone."
"I suppose you are referring to yourself, but what makes you so special?" I asked sharply. "For all you know, James is perfect for me."
"Why can't he just let it go?" I wondered.
"You admitted that Friday night was amazing," he said with a hint of smugness to his voice.
I shrugged, irritated by his need to remind me. "I admitted that I remembered what we did, that's all. You're not the only guy I've brought home, Edward. Regardless, I'm with James tonight and what we do or don't do is none of your business." Though I knew nothing was going to happen between James and me tonight, Edward's cockiness made me want to taunt him.
I saw a flash of something cross his face, but it passed so quickly I wasn't sure what it was. Frustration, maybe?
"You know, James has quite the imagination in the bedroom," I goaded him. It was a lie of course, but Edward didn't know that.
"But it won't be him you'll be thinking about. You'll be thinking of me," he promised, throwing it right back. His hand grazed my forearm and I shivered. "No one will satisfy you the way I did. I bet you'll have to picture me to even get off... Call me," he said, turning to walk off.
Smug bastard. "Goodbye, Edward."
"Bella," he replied dismissively.
He glanced at his watch and made his way over to the front of the room. Determined to put him entirely out of my mind, I once again turned to the art, trying to focus on reading the place card next to the painting, but Edward, his words, and his closeness were still invading my thoughts.
A throat clearing at the podium caught my attention and I looked to see a tall, middle-aged woman at the microphone getting ready to speak.
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention? Now that you've had some time to explore the collection, I'd like to welcome our speaker for the evening. As curator here for five years, he has brought a wealth of knowledge to this museum and particularly this collection. It is the culmination of his four years of work in, conjunction with Janet Bishop, curator of painting and sculpture,here at the San Francisco Museum Of Modern Art; Cécile Debray, curator of historical collections at the Musée National d'Art Moderne, in Paris; Rebecca Rabinow, associate curator of 19th century, modern, and contemporary art at The Metropolitan Museum of Art; and Gary Tinterow, Engelhard Chairman, Department of 19th century, Modern, and Contemporary Art also of The Metropolitan Museum of Art." She paused for effect. "I present Edward Cullen!"
A smattering of applause broke out across the room and I robotically joined in. I'd no idea Edward was giving a speech tonight and I couldn't help staring at him as he made his way over to the podium. I'd been so irritated by Lauren the other day when she'd handed me the invitation to this event, that I hadn't taken the time to read it over thoroughly. If I had, no doubt I would have seen Edward's name listed on the invitation.
I was always eager to attend events at the museum, so other than a quick glance at the date and time, I hadn't even read it. I'd attended a number of exhibitions here for before, and the speakers were always dynamic and interesting. I had a feeling Edward would be no exception.
"Thank you for the warm welcome, Diana. This special exhibition is something I have been dreaming about putting together since I was an art student first exploring the world of modern art. My colleagues and I have worked tirelessly to bring these works to the Bay Area. So before I begin, please show your appreciation for their dedication and passion for the arts."
Polite applause followed and he allowed it to die down before he continued. "Tonight I would like to speak on the origins of the modern art movement. We will begin with the Steins and how they were an integral part of the birth of modern art." He cleared his throat and folded his hands on the podium before looking up at the crowd.
As Edward began his speech, I listened intently. He was clearly passionate about the history as well as the individual pieces themselves. He started out telling us about the history of each artist and how they became household names in in the art world.
He paused for a moment and his eyes swept the crowd. Cool, calm, and collected. His voice was strong and clear and carried through the room. My earlier irritation with him disappeared as I listened to his speech. I found myself mesmerized, hanging on his every word. Art had always been a passion of mine and I was fairly knowledgeable about art history. Edward's speech was informative and it was abundantly clear how much he loved the subject. His voice and demeanor were incredibly compelling.
I felt someone beside me but couldn't tear my eyes away from Edward to even acknowledge James as he thrust a glass of chilled wine into my hand. I nodded absently at him and sipped it as I listened. Edward detailed the history of the Stein family and the way their personal lives had influenced their art collection. His voice was sure and strong, and he looked relaxed and comfortable as he spoke. His eyes met mine for a brief moment and then he looked away.
Edward took a sip of water from the glass on the podium and then concluded his speech. "I hope you will take the time this evening to study the works we have on display here and read the accompanying text. Return in the coming months to appreciate the work again and again, because without these pieces and the dedicated enthusiasm of the Stein Family, Modern Art as we know it today would not exist."
When Edward's speech concluded, I applauded as enthusiastically as I could without spilling my wine. His eyes met mine and the corner of his mouth lifted in a little smile. A number of people swarmed the podium immediately, breaking my visual connection with him, and I tore my eyes away from his and turned to James.
"What did you think?" I asked, not expecting much of a reaction from him but hoping he would at least seem more interested.
He shrugged indifferently. "I don't really like modern art that much."
"We didn't have to come here tonight," I said. "We could have set up a date for another time so we could go elsewhere else."
"I wanted to see you tonight." James leaned in to speak in my ear and I jumped when his tongue reached out to touch it; I flinched and pulled away from him. I thought back to earlier in the week when I had first seen the invitation, suddenly wishing I'd never invited him in the first place. He seemed uncomfortable at the museum and he was definitely coming on too strong.
Lauren entered my office and tossed the mail on my desk. "Here ya go."
Without looking at her I said, "Thank you, Lauren."
She lingered and eyed the pile she had dropped for a second. Turning my eyes up to her from the deposition I was working on she looked at me and said, "There's an invitation to some exhibit at the museum in there."
Internally rolling my eyes, Lauren's stupidity exasperated me. Meeting her eyes, I asked, "An exhibit? Do you mean an exhibition?"
"Yeah, I guess. What's the difference?"
"Well, exhibit is usually used as a verb, for example 'to exhibit a painting;' exhibition is the name for the showing of a collection of paintings."
A completely daft look swept across her face. I knew she really didn't care either way. "Umm... yeah, whatever. You're invited to something this week."
I glanced down at the invitation. There had been several articles discussing the upcoming show and I was very interested in seeing it. I had planned to call James that evening to make plans with him for the upcoming weekend, so this was the perfect opportunity. I could get to know him better and hopefully spend time doing something we both enjoyed. I picked up the phone to dial his number.
"James Martin speaking."
"Um, hi. This is Bella Swan... we met the other night at the Fifth Floor Restaurant?"
"Bella? Oh, right, Bella, yes. How are you?"
"I'm doing well, thank you. How are you?"
"I'm good. To what do I owe this pleasure?" I could hear noise in the background and could tell he was moving around. Rather than draw our conversation out, I kept it short.
"Well, I got an invitation to an exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art, and I wanted to know if you would you like to join me on Friday evening?"
"Friday evening, hmm, sure." The noise in the background got louder and I knew he probably needed to go. We made plans to meet there at the museum and I spent the next few days looking forward to seeing James again.
James nuzzled my temple, breaking me from my thoughts, and said, "You look really hot tonight." I had made an extra effort to dress up for the event, wearing a black knee-length sheath dress with a wrap detail at the waist, and sky-high black stilettos.
"Thank you," I said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. I had been getting a strange vibe from him all evening and didn't like the fact that he had agreed to go to the museum even though he clearly seemed to be completely uninterested in art. I didn't want someone who was just going to humor me. I looked up to see Edward's eyes on me, a frown marring his brow even as he nodded and looked down to listen with apparent attentiveness to the person speaking to him.
"What do you say we get out of here?" James asked.
"I'm sorry; I had hoped to look around a bit more. Just thirty more minutes?" I requested.
James furrowed his brow but nodded, following me over to Matisse's Femme au chapeau. He kept his fingers locked around my upper arm and I shifted uncomfortably. An older man passed by us, accidentally brushing against me, and James scowled at the man. When he tightened his grip, I wiggled my elbow from his grasp, and made a pretense of digging around in my bag for my phone. I checked it and was just about to slip it back into my bag when a vibration against my hip startled me. James looked down, fished his own phone from his pocket, and opened it.
"James Martin speaking."
He listened for a moment and then stepped away from me, pressing the phone to his chest for a moment.
"I'm sorry, Bella, I need to take this call. I will be back in just a few," he said with slight urgency.
I nodded and he excused himself before I turned back to the Matisse painting to study it. "Why did I take James to the museum tonight?" I wondered. Had I known that Edward would be here, even subconsciously? Thinking back to our conversation in my apartment, I remembered him telling me he was a curator at the art museum. Even if it hadn't been a conscious decision, I had to have known that there was a good chance he would be here. Did I hope he would be? Clearly, James had no interest in the art. Had I been subconsciously hoping to run into Edward again? I sighed and continued to the next piece, trying to push Edward from my thoughts. I was here with James and there was no reason we couldn't salvage the rest of the evening.
I spent a little while longer looking at the canvases before I realized that it had been at least twenty minutes since James had left to take the phone call. Thinking that perhaps something was wrong, I made my way to the lobby to look for him, but he was nowhere to be found. I hesitated for a moment before walking outside; perhaps he had taken the call out there. There were several people smoking and talking loudly. I made my way around the side of the building, wondering if he had gone somewhere quieter to finish his call. Instead, in an alcove tucked into the side of the building, I saw a couple in a passionate embrace.
The man's mouth was buried in the curve of the woman's neck, and her narrow white thigh curved around his hip, his hand gripping it tightly. Although they were in the shadows, I could see them in the light of the streetlamp. It took me a moment to realize that his hips were thrusting against her body and I could see the flash of the buckle of his belt as it moved, undone and bouncing against his thigh. I blinked in surprise, realizing that he was fucking her. I stared transfixed for a moment, until he lifted his head from her neck and threw his head back. The details all came swirling together at once: blond hair, chiseled jaw, blue shirt. My brain slowly caught up and with a gasp, I realized it was James. My date was with some redhead, fucking against the building in the middle of our date.
A surprised laugh bubbled out of me and I clapped my hand over my mouth and turned, walking away as quickly as I could. I made it to the fountain across the street, and sank down on the concrete edge; the hysterical laughter finally spilling out of me. I laughed until I felt sick, the situation so ludicrous I couldn't even begin to comprehend it. "Is this really what my life has come to? And why don't I care?" I wondered. Why didn't I feel the least bit hurt or betrayed by James?
"He is just a means to an end," I reminded myself. "A bandage on a wound that would never heal." The sob that ripped from my throat caught me by surprise. The laughter became tears and I felt my head drop as my fingers found the edge of the fountain, the hard corner biting into my palms as I struggled to calm myself. Oh God, what was wrong with me? Where was the mask of the strong, confident woman who made her way through the day? The woman I thought I was becoming again. I felt like it all was slowly crumbling, revealing the real me underneath the facade I had built. I wasn't strong or confident at all. I was an exhausted, frightened mess. I felt an overwhelming need for Riley, for our life, and for that piece of me that was missing since he left. I wanted him beside me to comfort me, to take me in his arms and tell me he still loved me. I was inexplicably angry with Alec for forcing my hand and making me stay here in San Francisco when I could have been in D.C. with Riley, in his bed, in his life, where I belonged. I closed my eyes, feeling the pain wash over me in a tidal wave of grief.
Slowly, as the sobs eventually subsided, I became aware of the sound of the trickling water from the fountain. I turned a little, wiping away the tears on my cheeks and dipped my fingers into the cool pool of water, feeling it flow through my fingers, seeking the quiet peace it brought me. I drew in a final, deep, shuddering breath and closed my eyes, trying to center myself again.
"Bella?" A worried voice broke through the fog of my mind and I looked up through tear-soaked eyes to see Edward standing in front of me.
"Edward?" I choked out. He was the last person I wanted to see. His sympathetic smile made me want to fall to pieces again.
He knelt in front of me and took my hand. "Are you hurt?" he asked, his eyes raking over me as if expecting to see some visible injury on my body.
I shook my head and wiped at a tear that escaped. "No, I just..." I tried to pull my hand away from his but his grip remained firm. "I..." I tried to continue, the words stuck in my throat.
His other hand moved to my upper arm, his palm brushing against my skin. "Talk to me, tell me what's wrong."
I shook my head, unable to speak at all. I felt as though if let out the words that were locked inside my head and heart, I would break. I shook my head again and his fingers moved to my cheek, softly caressing it.
"What do you need?" His tone was soft and comforting.
His tender touch was too much and a sob burst out of me. I lurched forward, falling into his arms and he cradled me there, his strong embrace reassuring. His fingers brushed down my spine as he held my body tightly against him and I shuddered. I felt my tears wet the shoulder of his suit and he began to sway, just a little, gently rocking me. "Shh, you're okay. Don't cry."
I couldn't even draw in breath but he held my shuddering body until there were no more tears. Eventually, I pulled away and he sat back on his heels and took my hand again.
I refused to meet his eyes, embarrassed that I had broken down in front of him. He released a breath and stood up, brushing the dust from his knees. I winced, knowing how uncomfortable it must have been for him to stay in that position so long. He took a seat beside me and his thumb rubbed against the back of my hand.
"What happened, Bella?"
"I... it was James."
"Did he do something?"
I quickly jumped in to stop his thoughts. "No. He got a phone call and when he didn't come back, I went outside and saw him fucking some redhead. I... I was just so surprised I couldn't stop my reaction."
"You were that upset at seeing him with someone else?" he asked cautiously.
"No." I shook my head dismissively. "I was just completely bewildered by everything and at first, it came out as laughter, but then I started crying. I just feel so overwhelmed." I rubbed my hand over my forehead, upset by my reactions.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.
I shook my head 'no.'
"Let's go get some coffee, then," he said softly. He helped me stand and put his hand on my lower back and steered me gently toward the sidewalk.
End Notes: Please let us know what you think about the chapter! Even if you haven't reviewed before, we'd love to hear from you. We promise to reply back! See you next Thursday with the next chapter.
Discordia's Note: Kherisma and our team of betas decided that including Edward's speech in the chapter made it drag and that it wasn't really necessary. They have a point. But I dearly love the article on the SFMOMA's website, and if you're an art history nerd like I am, or you're curious to read what Edward would have given as his speech, please check out the "Behind the Scenes at the Birth of Modern Art: Matisse, Picasso, and the Steins" article here.
www*sfmoma*org/exhib_events/exhibitions/details/stein_meet#behindthescenes
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