On The Dotted Line (12 page)

The
man knew how to use her words against her. “For someone who seems to hate his
father’s plan, you are doing the same thing.”

“You
may want to look ahead to the next couple of weeks. We have several dinners.” His
expression remained the same, no doubt the exact one he used when he won a deal.

“What
else is in the contract?” The meeting was over for her at least and she stood.

“I
thought you read it, but I have an extra copy if you need to review the terms
of our agreement.”

“I’m
fine. I just need to get back to my store.” She backed up. Where did her life
go? He couldn’t take over everything, but he did, right down to her store and
her Saturday nights.

“I
will take you back. Maybe we can grab some lunch.” He seemed to rise from his
chair like an otherworldly demon.

Again
she opened the book and glanced down at the day. With a breath, she turned it toward
him. “Looks like I’m free today.”

“Nothing
is ever free.” He leaned on the desk.

Her
breath quickened, she needed some fresh air and turned. “I am learning that.”

“Willow.”
His voice teased her.

“I
think I’ll pass on lunch.” She peeked over her shoulder. “I need to get back to
work.”

“Don’t
forget this.” He held the envelope with the money out to her. “I’ll see you
tonight.”

The
envelope. All she needed to do was walk away, not touch it, pack up her, Nan
and Jeb and bolt. As she told him, she had nothing to lose.

She
balled her hand in a fist. Of course, if she left she would welch on a
contract, her vows, and Jade. The way things were going, she and Nan would
never have a home, and they would be on the streets...again. “How could I
forget?” She took the money and left.

Randolph
practically sprinted down the hall to his suite with the papers to get Willow
her insurance, and a bottle of wine. Maybe he was a bit hard on her, and he
needed to make it up. He already made reservations at one of his favorite
restaurants. Actually, his secretary made them, and soon Willow would be doing
the same.

He
opened the door to an empty room, not the kind of empty where someone had been
there before him, but a cold empty, devoid of life, or the energy Willow
mentioned.

He
glanced at his watch and slid his phone out of his pocket and dialed his
missing wife. After the fourth ring he hung up, and with his presents still in
hand, went to Nan’s suite.

Music
permeated from inside her room, New Age music, the kind he would hear in a spa
with wind chimes and such. Willow must have joined her. He knocked softly on
the door.

Right
before he went to knock again, Nan opened the door.

“Good
evening.” He grinned at his sort of mother-in-law dressed in a bright red muumuu
with palm trees and little Jeb who trotted up to him. Before the puffball scuffed
his shoes, he bent down and scooped him up, wincing when Jeb licked him.

“Same
to you.” She backed up and motioned for him to join her.

The
scent of spicy incense hit him and he entered to find Nan had done a little
decorating in the room, complete with some candles, flowers, stones and pieces
of fabric draped over the lights to give the room an ethereal dark quality. Willow
only put her lotion in the nightstand drawer. “How are you?” In search of his
wife, he tried to see into the closet and bath area.

“Is
that what you wanted to know?”

“I’m
just looking for Willow.” He put Jeb down, crossed his arms and waited for her
to produce his spouse.

She
moved in front of him, blocking his view. “She’s not here.”

“Didn’t
she come home with you?” The muscles in his neck tensed.

Nan
walked over to her armoire. “No, was it my turn to babysit her?”

“We’re
supposed to be together in the evenings.”

“Did
you have a work event tonight?” She returned and held a small brown paper bag
out to him.

“No,
not tonight.” A glance inside the bag revealed little lumpy cubes of something.

She
shook the bag. “Eat one.”

“We
haven’t had dinner yet.” Still, he reached in took a piece and popped it in his
mouth.

Apricot
and vanilla filled his mouth, creating a sweet, chewy treat. Really chewy,
extremely chewy, he prayed he didn’t crack a crown chewy.

Nan
gave him a one-sided smile. “Good?”

The
confection was worse than a caramel but he managed a nod.

“I
make that candy out of dried apricots. Apricots stones are thought by some to
be medicinal, but they also contain high levels of cyanide. It used to be
thought apricots were an aphrodisiac, but today dried apricots are used mostly
to relieve constipation.” She narrowed her eyes.

He
continued to chew with his mouth closed. At the moment he could only pray she
didn’t put any of the pits in the candy.

“It
is my understanding that she only has to be with you for sleeping unless you
have an engagement.” She stepped toward him and took his chin in her hand. “Everyone
at one time or another needs some time alone to clean out their system.”

At
last the candy softened, he finished chewing, swallowed and opened his mouth.

“Do
you know what I called that candy when Willow was little?” She tightened her
grip on him.

He
waited, eager to hear a story about when his wife was little. His preliminary
searches found nothing after about the age of ten and her mother passing away.

She
pulled him down. “I called it ‘Be quiet and think.’“ She laughed and put the
bag in his hand. “Give her some when you run out to find her.”

“Who
said I was going to run after her?” He didn’t need to retrieve her, she would
return, her contract specified it. It might be nice to have an evening to
decompress alone, though his wife should have informed him of her whereabouts.

She
patted his shoulder. “Then give her some when you meet her in bed later.”

“I
must get going. There’s some work I need to attend to.” He smiled, but crumpled
the bag in his fist.

She
waved. “I’m going to go cook with Chef.”

“Have
a good night.” He turned on his heel and left, glancing in the direction of their
wing and then toward the stairs. In an attempt to answering questions about
Willow’s absence to his parents, or sitting alone in his suite, he decided to
heed Nan’s advice and take some time alone to clean out his system.

He
tossed the candy on a side table and raced out of the house, thankful to get
his car before one of the staff parked it in the garage and took off.

He
continued his drive past the upscale boutiques and bistros. Once the flashing
lights of the vintage clubs like the Whiskey A Go Go reflected in his
windshield, the vibe of the entire street changed, Hollywood happened. At the
edge, between the wealth and the real, stood the gallery.

He
made his last couple of turns and pulled into the alley behind the gallery,
coasting slowly past Willow’s store which appeared without any flicker of light
or life inside. Technically she wasn’t gone, didn’t breach her contract, but he
shuddered all the same. He parked outside her shop and walked to the gallery,
letting himself inside and allowing the fumes of paint, clay and canvas to
overtake him.

“Have
you come looking for a job?” Slate came over and shook his hand. “Come to the
back, I have a surprise for you.”

“Why
do you ask that?” Randolph followed, glancing at the blank walls of the
gallery, Slate must be preparing for his next show. His mind wandered to
Willow. Where the hell did she go? She could have called, texted, left a note, told
Nan where she went, anything. Her actions were deliberate.

“The
last I saw of you, you were with Willow after you were left at the altar and about
to lose all your money.”

He
opened his mouth to tell Slate he had it all taken care of. At least he thought
he did, but his wife was missing and he didn’t know her all that well, couldn’t
even find anything about her online. The woman could have disappeared with a ring
worth seven figures and while he was out searching for her, she was picking up
Nan and her fur ball and hightailing it out of LA.

“Randolph?”
Slate waved his hand in front of him.

Ring.
His wedding ring. Damn! He shoved his hand in his pocket, wanting to dig his
nails through the fabric at abiding by his wife’s wishes to keep his marriage
secret when he didn’t know her whereabouts. If she decided to disappear, he
swore he would use every last dollar at the bank to find her and watch her
spend her life making his universe in balance again. “You know, everything in
life can be negotiated. Life is nothing but a big business deal.”

“Exactly
the words I would expect to come from the banker of Beverly Hills.”

Worse
than nails on a chalkboard or even finding a hair in his food, Randolph
shuddered at the all too familiar voice coming from the gallery storeroom. Ignoring
the intrusion, he turned to Slate.

“Guess
what, Argyle Brink is here and he wants in on the co-op idea.” Slate pushed him
toward the storeroom.

Sick
curiosity and the need for distraction alone made him walk over the threshold.

“Your
timing is perfect.” With the flourish of a gaudy Las Vegas performer, Argyle
bowed, taking much longer than necessary to straighten up. Boasting a large
smile, he motioned to some sort of strange playhouse created out of
crisscrossing pieces of wood.

“He
made this for you.” Slate rubbed his hands together. “He is Jade’s inspiration
and teacher.”

Randolph
crossed his arms. Years of being around money mongers told him that Jade paid
for every lesson. However, unlike Jade who lived the lifestyle only part time,
Argyle was a living, breathing art exhibit twenty-four hours a day and had
gained some notoriety on a couple reality shows. Randolph had met him several
times, and even with his fondness for art, he couldn’t appreciate Argyle’s
exhibits. With dark hair and a tall frame, Argyle had the looks and the
attitude of an actor, not an artist.

“Everything
worthwhile starts as a mess.” Argyle’s voice boomed through the space, and he
walked around the sticks. “Only when people come together for the greater good,
for a unified cause, can an idea be born.”

With
his mouth open he watched Argyle reach into a tall black cylinder and pull out
panels as if he were delivering a baby.

“Every
entity must offer something. Creativity.” Argyle attached a panel with paints
and brushes and other art supplies onto the wood.

Slate
elbowed him. “Wait for it.”

“Knowledge.”
The man fit a panel with a three-dimensional brain on the structure.

Randolph
leaned back on his heels as the over-the top artist continued building.

“Collaboration.”
A panel with a bunch of images of people fit in the mix. “And lastly, but most
important, funding.”

Slate
pointed.

Argyle
placed a roof tiled with golden coins on top. “When all these facets come
together you have a gem.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an
oversized diamond shaped stone and fit it into the panel with all the people
and opened the makeshift door. A golden light glowed from within. “You have an
artistic co-op.”

Slate
went into a round of applause. “We’re going to be exhibiting some of Argyle’s
pieces including this prosperity structure. He’ll also build more during his
show.”

“Perhaps
he needs to get a factory to start making pieces for him.” Randolph swallowed
down his own laugh. “The real money is selling to the masses.”

“No
one will ever be able to say you’re not always looking out for the bottom line.”
Argyle joined them.

“What
do you think of the co-op idea?” Slate asked.

Randolph
looked between the men and then down to his phone. Still nothing from his ‘wife.‘
“Why don’t you explain it to me?”

“I
am envisioning a place where artists come together, share expenses, ideas,
marketing, and pool their knowledge.” Argyle continued to use his performance persona.

“There
are government grants for such entities. What do you need me for?” Randolph
asked the obvious.

“Never
trust people who simply give money away.” Argyle narrowed his eyes and lowered
his voice. “We want our project to be a business, not a charity.”

“We
really want to meet with you about our financial options,” Slate interjected.

“What
collateral do you bring to the table?” He went into business mode, the same
stance he should have taken with his spouse. At 12:01 he would act.

“I
am my own collateral. I know everyone, directors, producers, if they are in the
industry they want Argyle.”

In
truth, Randolph barely paid attention as the men spoke. “I need some time to
think about it.”

Argyle
lifted his chin, but Slate shook his head. “We wouldn’t want a finance man who
made snap decisions.”

“In
my business you need to make sure we get a return on investment.” He walked
away from the other two men and paced around the storage room, stopping in
front of what he could consider a bunch of junk including some metal plaques, a
pile of some handcrafted nightmare and some large letters off of a sign. Maybe
he needed to put Willow’s picture on a billboard. “What is this?”

“This
is the newest trend.” Argyle came up behind him. “Talk about return on
investment.”

“Vintage
architectural reclamations.” Slate joined and them patted the letter Z. “It’s
all the rage.”

“It
looks like garbage.” He tilted his head. “Those rags are part of an
architectural restoration?”

“Those
rags, my friend, are blankets created by your one night stand.” Slate lifted
one of the green monstrosities. “Jade thought we could sell them here.”

“Willow
knitted those?” He longed to tell Slate she didn’t need the pittance those
would bring in anymore. Inside his pocket he twirled his wedding ring around
his finger and ground his teeth together as his mind wandered again to the
whereabouts of his wife. He let her walk away from the office when she was
obviously upset. She could be doing more than stealing, she could be breaking
other parts of the contract, like the fidelity clause. Heat overtook him and he
half expected steam to come out of his ears. Maybe she went on a shopping spree
with the money he handed her in that envelope. He should have used marked
bills.

“Crochet.”
Slate corrected. “We have one on our bed.”

“You
spent the night with the wondrous Willow?” Argyle chuckled. “I would have never
seen that one.”