The Lonely Hearts Club

Chapter 65: Vivienne (Bree)

The Art Gallery officially looks like a Halloween Wonderland.

I've done a pretty good job if I do say so myself.

"This looks amazing Bree!" Vivienne gushes, walking away from her TV house shows to properly look at all the decorations.

"Thank you," I say, cheeks warm with pride.

"So glad you're here instead of that other incompetent worker—sorry sorry, I know it's unprofessional and I'm not allowed to bag out my old workers but Bree honey, this girl was dreadful!"

"I hope I can be better," I say, because what the fuck am I supposed to say to that?

An old man walks into the gallery and waves politely at us before tucking his arms behind his back and staring at paintings.

"That's Jerry," she tells me. "He's got a bad memory so he comes in every day to look at every single one of the paintings again, he also always forgets he donates to us every time as well!" She chuckles. "He's my favorite person that comes in, he doesn't even mind when I watch my house shows!"

I can't help but look at Jerry and wonder what his life was like. I wonder if he found love. If he accomplished the goals he wanted to accomplish.

I wonder if one day I'll grow old and someone young will look at me and wonder the same thing. Will I even accomplish anything?

I decide to busy myself and look at some spooky paintings off online art marketplaces and catalogs on the slow and clunky computer at the front desk.

Vivienne is lounging lazily, chewing the end of a pencil as she watches house shoes, writing things down every once in a while.

"Drat!" She yells and both Jerry and I look at her in disbelief.

"Don't worry," she tells me. "When people come in—well, aside from Jerry—I always switch channels to the classical jazz one."

I look around for a spare notebook or pen so I can write down the ID numbers of a few artworks, but there's none on the desk.

It's probably out the back.

I leave the counter and find myself back in the storage room, rummaging through more boxes.

"OW!" Vivienne suddenly screams. "OWWWWWWWWWWWW!"

Oh no.

I rush back out into the front foyer to see Vivienne on the ground, holding her leg.

Jerry is pretending not to see her.

"What happened?" I ask.

"I accidentally scratched my leg on the edge of the chair!" She weeps.

"Would you like me to help?" I ask.

"Yes," she sobs. "I can't look!"

She lifts her hands off her leg and I wince, the cut is expansive and dripping blood. Vivienne slowly looks down at her hands and screams when she sees the blood.

"It's okay," I tell her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I'll fix this."

She weeps as I try to find the first aid kit. It's in the stuffy little kitchen overflowing with dirty coffee cups. The first aid kid is incredibly basic, but it'll do. I also find some clean tea towels under the sink and run them under cool water.

Why do I find myself always tending to people's injuries?

I stem the bleeding with the damp towel, clean the area, and wrap a bandage around it.

Then, I run back into the kitchen and get another clean towel, wetting it before cleaning Vivienne's stained hands.

"You're an angel Bree," she says. "Thank you, there's no way that other incompetent worker would-"