If I Were You Read Online Free PDF Page A

children’s hospital. Surely, with such an
event, Rebecca will be at the helm. 
    Tapping my nails on the wooden table, I consider my options.
If I can’t reach Rebecca before the show, I’ll attend the event. Silently, I
laugh at myself. Who am I kidding? I’m going to see Ricco Alvarez, even if I have
to eat Ramen noodles for two weeks to do so, and since the tickets are a
hundred dollars a pop, I will. But I never, ever splurge. I bite my bottom lip
and fret, and then before I can stop myself, click on the "buy
tickets" button and claim one of the last available tickets. I won’t be
able to get a refund if I reach Rebecca before then, but I’ll just have to
rough it. I can’t stop the smile from sliding onto my lips. It will be torture
to have to meet Ricco Alvarez. I feel better with a plan. Now, if I can just
get through to Ella and hear she is okay, I might actually sleep tonight.
     
    ***
     
    Wednesday evening arrives and Rebecca is still "not
in" per the Allure staff. So, I am off to the Alvarez event, but my
excitement over the showing has been doused quite effectively by the feeling
something is really wrong. The entire situation makes me anxious, and while I
would have preferred some moral support, as in a friend to join me at the
night’s event, I had dismissed the idea. I wasn’t about to try and explain why
I was hunting down Rebecca Mason, whom I didn’t know, and who I feared had met
an untimely…something. I’m not going to even let my mind elaborate on that
thought. And I won’t justify my worry by letting anyone else read Rebecca’s
private thoughts.
    I pull my car into a parking spot several blocks away from
the gallery, by both necessity and preference. The chilly evening wind lifts
off the nearby ocean, blowing loose strands of my long hair astray with it.
Goosebumps form on my arms and I gather my cream-colored shawl over my matching
simple but elegant knee-length sheath dress. Okay, Ella’s dress and shawl
actually, but we were always borrowing each other’s clothes. As a formality,
I’d have asked if she minded, but I still can’t get her phone to ring through.
I click my lock into place and slide my keys into the dainty, cream-colored
shoulder purse that I’d bought on the pier last summer.
    I inhale the air, embracing the sounds and sights, the
action of the SoMa Art District, bustling with people enjoying the stores,
museums, and array of art galleries. I don’t come down here often. I just
can’t. It reminds me of those dreams I’ve never chased. It’s been too long
though, I realize, nearly a year since I’ve enjoyed the market street scene.
The architecture, ranging from newly developed shiny glass structures to old
warehouses converted into home and work spaces, was as much art as the
sculptures and drawings on the concrete walls of the random buildings. I feel
something special here. I feel alive here. It’s what I feel when I leave that I
dislike. 
    Bringing the gallery into view, I pause to watch a group of
elegantly dressed visitors pour through its double glass doors lined in shiny
silver for the black-tie affair. Artsy swirls of red letters, displayed above
the entry, spell "ALLURE."
    Nerves flutter in my stomach, though I can’t say why. I love
the contemporary art Allure specializes in, love their mix of local, new
artists who I can discover, as well as the established names whose work I
already appreciate. Nerves are ridiculous. I’m uncomfortable in this world, but
then, this isn’t my world. It’s Rebecca’s, and Rebecca is the real reason I’m
here.
    A glance at my dainty, handmade, gold wristwatch, also
bought at the pier, confirms I have plenty of time to spare. It is seven
forty-five, fifteen minutes until Alvarez will be unveiling a new painting that
will be displayed in the gallery and up for silent auction through the end of
the week. Oh how I’d love to have an Alvarez original, but they don’t come cheap.
Still, a girl can dream.
    Excitement