Warhol's Prophecy

‘I had to see you,’ he said. ‘I wanted to speak to you.’

She didn’t answer, merely stood there, the keys to the Astra still in her hand.

‘Did you get my flowers?’ he asked.

She nodded.

Silence.

Awkward, unwieldy silence.

They were like two strangers. Two people who had just met and were struggling for words.

Hailey knew she couldn’t ignore him this time. Not face to face.

‘I’ve tried calling you,’ he said. ‘I left messages with your secretary. I just assumed she hadn’t passed them to you.’

‘I’ve been busy,’ she told him.

‘I know that. I know you’re busy. I just wanted to make sure you got the flowers. I couldn’t call you at home. I wouldn’t want your husband to get the wrong idea.’ He shrugged.

Another silence.

They both began to speak simultaneously.

‘Go on,’ he said, smiling.

‘Adam, I don’t know what to say to you,’ she muttered, every word a struggle.

‘Look . . . what happened at my house the other day. I’m sorry, I—’

She cut him short.

‘Yes, I’m sorry too. I think things got out of hand.’ She was fiddling nervously with her car keys. ‘I should never have got myself into that situation.’

He nodded.

‘We all make mistakes,’ he said, the understanding tone in his voice not helping her.

‘I think it would be best if you didn’t ring me again,’ Hailey said flatly.

He looked bemused.

‘And no more flowers, eh?’ she continued.

‘But I just wanted to say sorry. To check how you were,’ he protested. ‘I didn’t want to embarrass you.’

‘I think you got the wrong message at your place.’

‘Meaning what?’

‘What happened, or nearly happened, between us, it shouldn’t have done.’

‘You said you wanted it.’

‘You picked up the wrong signals.’

‘Do you blame me? You asked me to take you back to my house. I didn’t suggest it.’

‘Let’s just leave it, Adam,’ she snapped, turning towards her car and sliding the key into the door.

‘Hailey, I’m sorry if I’ve done anything wrong.’

‘Don’t call me again, please.’

‘Why are you being so hostile? You were the one who started it.’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘You invited me for lunch. You were the one who asked to go back to my house. You led me on.’

‘I asked you to have lunch with me in the first place to say thanks for finding Becky. That was all. The rest of it should never have happened.’

‘Nothing did happen,’ he reminded her.

‘Look, Adam, if I didn’t do the job I did, you wouldn’t want to know me anyway.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You couldn’t make it as an artist, so you thought I could give you some help. You asked me to show some of your work to Waterhole.’

‘You volunteered to do that. I never asked you.’

‘You didn’t want me,’ she said scathingly. ‘You wanted what I could give you.’

‘That’s not true and you know it.’

‘Do I? I don’t know you, Adam. How do I know you didn’t have some ulterior motive for wanting to get close to me?’

‘I can’t believe you’re saying this. I found your little girl, and I brought her back to you. I didn’t know what you did for a living that day. I didn’t care. It didn’t matter then, and it doesn’t matter now. That day I saw a little girl who was lost and frightened and in danger, and I helped her. I didn’t expect a reward for finding her and bringing her back to you. I just did what any decent person would have done.’

‘And I thanked you for it.’

‘I appreciate that. You bought me lunch. You didn’t have to – it was very kind. I thought we were becoming friends. And that’s all.’

‘So you’re trying to tell me you never wanted anything else? You didn’t want to sleep with me?’

‘Hailey, you’re a very attractive woman. I’d have to be stupid not to want to sleep with you. But that wasn’t why I wanted to get to know you.’

‘You knew I was married.’

‘And you were the one who told me you were unhappy. You told me your husband had had an affair. You told me all the details of your life, and all I did was listen.’

‘I’ve got to go,’ she said sharply, pulling open the driver’s door.

‘At least take this,’ he said, and she could see that he was holding something fairly large and square in his hand.

It was the portrait of Becky.

‘I can’t,’ she said flatly.

‘Please, Hailey. Take it for Becky. I did it for her.’

She slid behind the wheel and started the engine.

‘Don’t call me again, Adam,’ she snapped.

‘The painting,’ he insisted.

‘You keep it.’

‘What have I done that was so wrong?’ he wanted to know.

He grasped the door, as if to open it.

She glared at him and he withdrew his hand quickly.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘But please take this.’ Again he pushed the painting towards her.

She shook her head.

He smiled thinly. ‘OK, then,’ he said quietly. ‘Say hello to Becky for me, will you?’

No answer.

‘Hailey. I promise I’ll still remember you, even when I’m famous,’ he offered, his smile fading. He swallowed hard.

‘Goodbye, Adam,’ she said, looking at him briefly.

He opened his mouth to respond, but then realized it was pointless. He took a step back as she guided the car away from him.

‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured as it moved further away.

Hailey glanced in her rear-view mirror, and saw him trudging back towards his own car.

Happy now?

She swallowed hard and pressed her foot down on the accelerator, anxious to be away from this scene of confrontation.

A little hard on him, weren’t you?

She switched on the radio and turned the volume up as far as it would go.

The first drops of rain began to spatter the windscreen.