The Artist's Paradise (12 page)

“Will she find another man? Or will she come back to me?”

“No promises, but if you treat her like you did when you two first fell in love, your odds increase tremendously. Don’t you have a few weeks before she leaves?”

“I’m not much of a gambler.”

She leaned forward and placed her hands on his desk as she responded, “Boss, you gamble every day when you step into the courtroom. Use your gifts to win your wife back and save your marriage. This is the most important trial of your career.”

#

Angie continued to receive telephone calls daily from the professor. His calls were short, informative, and thoughtful. Fortunately, he never called when Jonathan was home. The professor expressed his concern that Jonathan could misunderstand the importance of the calls. But he had to ensure everything was in place for her arrival. He encouraged her to keep his calls secret. No reason to cause Jonathan unnecessary worry.

As she relaxed on the sofa in the living room, she felt two small taps. She glanced down.
Mister Tubbs stood on his back feet, pressed his chubby tummy against her shin, and tapped her knee with his paws.

“I’m going to miss you, too. We’ve never been apart.”

His small black eyes bore into her.

A tear ran down her cheek.

“I wouldn’t go if it weren’t really important, promise.”

#

The third Monday in May arrived with dark thunderclouds and a chilling rain. Jonathan grabbed a jacket from the hall closet. He frowned—a dark dreary day.

He
called up the stairway. “You’ll miss your plane if you don’t come
now
. We have to get our cab and leave in the next fifteen minutes.”

“I’m coming.”

He swallowed as Angie waltzed into the room. The copper highlights in her hair sparkled. She was a beauty, and he loved her so. How could this be happening? Why did she have to leave?

“I hope I haven’t forgotten anything important.”

Jonathan cocked his head. “You’re going to Knoxville, not Siberia. If you’ve forgotten anything, Walmart will have it for you.”

She
laughed. “Of course, what am I thinking?”

“Are you sure about this?”

Her eyes narrowed, “Let’s not go over that again. I’m sure. It’s the most important thing I’ve done in eight years. Why can’t you be happy for me?”

Jonathan looked away. “The cab’s waiting. I won’t bring it up again.”

Angie picked up Mister Tubbs and gave him a tearful goodbye. Then they hurried out the front door. Jonathan hesitated for a moment. Then he walked behind her to the waiting cab.
Please, God, bring her
back.

#

Professor Turner drove to the airport like a NASCAR racer, parked in short-term parking, and bounded to the Delta arrival gate.  He’d given himself and extra hour. His father insisted on being early for all events.

His father, career military, lived by a code of ethics—rules for everything and punishment for rule-breakers.

James and his mother were moved frequently. One of his father’s rules was never make friends in a new place. He’d explained that with a military brat, another move was just around the corner. Why bother to meet and befriend
jerks w
ho would never be seen again? Why waste time with people who would never matter?

His mother, a gentle soft-spoken woman, doted on James, praised him, and protected him when his father returned from a tour. At night, James frequently heard her cry out. He’d bury his head under the pillows to block out the haunting sounds.
She never fought back. His father said she was weak. Perhaps, she was.

Chapter 20

Angie stepped out of the airplane and headed to pick up her luggage. As she drew near the Delta baggage claim, she caught sight of the strikingly- handsome professor, holding a huge bouquet of yellow daisies and pink tulips. His deep-brown eyes, welcoming smile, and wide grin stirred her senses.
Wow.
Two months of togetherness—how nice.

“Angie, over here,” Professor Turner called. “Welcome back to Tennessee.”

She chuckled and gave him a casual peck on the cheek. “What a wonderful surprise. Thank you. The flowers are beautiful.”

“Nothing
’s too good for my budding artist. Here, you carry the flowers and let me grab your bags. Lunch is waiting for you at my place. Are you hungry?”

“Yes, starving. How did you know? I was up at 6
, too excited to eat. Now I’m famished.”

“Follow me.”

Angie pointed out her luggage, and they headed out to the parking lot. Once nestled in his BMW M6, the professor fired up his convertible and flipped on Pandora. His selection of romance oldies flooded the car.
Handsome and romantic, this summer will be interesting.

They arrived at
his home in less than an hour. He escorted her to the cottage and opened the dart-red door. Angie eased through the doorway and into the
Artists Paradise.
“Oh, it’s more beautiful than I remembered. The colors are so warm and fall-like. Did you change something?”

“Yes, my dear. It’s critical to your learning your craft. The
surroundings must reflect your inner beauty. You are a warm autumn day. Your spirit is bright and cheery. Your atmosphere must be the same.”

“I hope I won’t disappoint you. What if my talent is average? You’re sacrificing this
time for me.”

“It is I
who must meet your needs. If you have the talent, I will bring it out.” Professor Turner carried her luggage into the cottage and set it down. “You get settled. I’ll tend to lunch. Come to the house in about thirty minutes.”

Angie placed the bouquet of flowers into a waiting vase. “You think of everything.”

He bent at the waist and bowed. “Your wish is my command, lovely lady.” Then he turned and glided out the front door, softly closing it behind him.

She absorbed the delight of the cottage
, as if she’d stepped into another world—which, indeed, she had. The artist table, nestled by the east windows, provided a perfect source of light. Her hand fondled the expensive paper in the artist pad. Imported from France, the paper, a thick textured fabric, was used by the masters.

She picked up the ceramic brush holder, all natural
sable fibers, so soft to her touch and perfect for fine lines. She marveled at the tubes of paint. So many colors and shades for her to select.

Twenty minutes later
, a hungry Angie stepped up to the kitchen door of the professor’s house and lightly tapped. “Professor Turner, I’m here.”

The door
swung open as she spoke. The professor bent forward in a deep bow and waived her into the kitchen. As she passed through the doorway, he stood grinning. “You show perfect timing. Lunch is served. And please, call me James.”

The table
was decorated with a yellow linen cloth, and set with china matching the autumn colors in the cottage. A small floral arrangement of red roses graced the center of the table. A bottle of white wine, freshly baked bread, and slices of gourmet cheeses stirred her taste buds. Displayed on the table sat a variety of sliced fruit. How perfect. There was no way Jonathan could pull this off. She was not even sure he could match colors, unless of course, it was for his own wardrobe.

The sweet fragrance of
the roses sparked memories from her Grandmother’s garden. As a child, she’d never missed an opportunity to cut a rose and place it in her hair. Her face warmed as she took in the grand welcome. Jonathan could stand to take lessons from the professor. “Your home is so inviting,
James
. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“
For the next few months, my cottage is
your
home. I want you to feel as though you have always belonged here, while we journey on this path together. We have a great deal of work to do in a very short period of time. Your success comes first. You can save my accolades for after you are an acclaimed watercolor artist.” He pulled out the chair for her. “Sit here. The spring garden is in full bloom and the view too much to ignore.”

Angie
settled into the floral-cushioned chair. “I feel like a princess.”

“Good.”
He opened the bottle of wine and poured each of them a small amount in crystal goblets. He lifted his glass. “A toast. Here's to the first day of our magical time together. May you blossom and burst forth, as the newest artist in demand by all.”

Angie
sipped her wine. Her heart fluttered, as if filled with butterflies. Was it possible she had more talent than she realized? Could she be a well-known artist? She desperately wanted an art career. He’d all but promised to make her dreams come true. She had a lot to learn in the next nine weeks.

“It’s important that you understand what will be required for you to reach your potential.
No one attains perfection by chance. I require sacrifice. Can I speak to you about that while we enjoy our lunch?”

“Why, of course. I’m your student. You determine the class syllabus.  I want to ace this course.”

He gently placed his hand on hers from across the table and looked into her eyes. “I need your full attention
at all times
. Any outside distraction will be harmful to your progress.”

Angie nodded. “I understand.”

“It’s imperative that you minimize your outside contacts during the day when we are holding class. Phone calls and personal time can come at the end of our day, but no interruptions from nine a.m. until six p.m.”

Angie pulled her hand free from the pressure of the professor’s touch and responded, “Yes, that’s fine.”

“Secondly, you will be required to follow my direction without question. I have no time to justify every detail of my instructions. You must act without needing to know the
whys.”

“Sure. No problem.”

“Finally, you may not have any visitors during the two-month study. It is too distracting, and we have so little time.”

A sharp pain throbbed in her stomach. No visitors? She had hoped that Jonathan could visit at least once during a weekend. She had wanted him to meet the professor, see that he was no risk to their marriage, and embrace her dream. But this was her one chance. She would agree to all class demands. Jonathan would have to understand. Maybe she could have him rent a car and drive to Knoxville to pick her up after the study ended.

“Yes, of course. I agree to all three requirements. Is there anything else I should know?”

The professor leaned forward and replaced his hand on hers. “Yes.
My teaching style is somewhat unusual, perhaps even impulsive. Remember, whatever I ask of you is to enable me to bring out your soul on the canvas.” He leaned forward and gazed into her eyes. “Be assured, I have only your interests and well-being in mind.” He removed his hand and placed his napkin across his lap.

A
ngie smiled and unfolded her napkin. “I am so excited. “I will follow every instruction. This is something I want more than you can imagine.”

“
Good, very good, Angie.” He reached over, and stroked the back of her hand with his fingertips. “Now you eat. We have much to do this afternoon.”

Chapter 2
1

After seeing Angie fly off to Knoxville, Jonathan raced to work. Arriving a few minutes past 1 p.m., he found Gina’s desk vacant. Good. She must have taken a late lunch. Finally alone, he dragged into his office and closed the door. Privacy. He needed privacy.

He dropped the blinds and turned off the lights. His mood, dark as the room, left him empty. His life sucked. Maybe Gina was right. He should have offered to go to a counselor with Angie. But she’d left—too late now. He had to stop
second-guessing his every step.

An unpleasant sound interrupted his concentration. Who dared knock on his door? He sat forward in his chair and cleared his throat. “Yes?”

The knob turned ever so slightly. “Boss, can I help you?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Can I come in?”

Jonathan leaned back in his chair and expelled a long breath. “No. Not now.”

The door crept open and Gina whispered, “Do you need to talk?”

He sighed. “No, not really. Now go away.”

She stepped inside and stood, hands on her hips. “Just give me one minute.”

He slammed his fist on the top of the desk. “What’s confusing about the word
No
?”

“I’m worried about you. Only one minute, I promise.”

“Damn it, Gina, I need to be alone. Why can’t you give me some peace?”

She
tiptoed into the room as if avoiding landmines and approached his desk. “Angie’s gone, right?”

“Oh, yes, she left. So?”

“So, if you want that counselor’s name and phone number, I still have it.” She offered him a small piece of paper.

He glared at her. “And what would I do with that
now
?”

Gina shifted her weight. “You could put your pride away and go see her. She might have some words of wisdom for you.”

Jonathan picked up a manila folder and flung it at her. “Get out.”

Gina jumped back. “Sure, I’m leaving. When you’re ready to stop feeling sorry for yourself and want to man-up, let me know.” She turned and stomped out of his office.
“Men!”

Two hours later, Jonathan cracked his office door six inches and peeked out. His head held down, he whispered, “I’m sorry. I
hate
being a jerk.”

Gina turned in her chair and glanced over. “Actually, I hate it even more when you’re quiet. At least this way
, I know where I stand.”

He opened the door the rest of the way and shuffled to her desk. “I’ll take that name and phone number, if you still have it.”

Gina smiled. “Got it right here.” She picked up a sticky note from her desk and handed it to him. “Her office hours are 9 to 4 Monday through Thursday, closed on Friday. You might reach her if you call now.”

“Don’t push me too hard. I’ll call her tomorrow.”

Gina cleared her throat, as she turned back to her desk. “It’s your life, not mine.”

Jonathan sighed. “Why are all the women in my life so focused on telling me what to do?” He pivoted on his heels, stomped back into his office, and slammed the door.

Once safely behind his closed door, he sat at his desk and stared at the phone number on the paper. Slowly he picked up the phone and called Doctor Stephanie King. Her receptionist sounded more like a zoned-out teen than a professional. He hesitated for a few seconds and then requested an appointment. He shivered as he was informed she had a cancellation and could see him the following afternoon. Jonathan gulped. “Well, I’ll check my calendar and call you back.”

He slammed down the phone. His throat tightened
, as a knot formed in his stomach. Could he face opening up to a total stranger?

#

That same evening, late as usual, Jonathan flew out his office door and jogged to the train. Mister Tubbs would be starving by now. His normal dinner was served by five o’clock. It was almost 6:30. Would Mister Tubbs rat him out?

Barking welcomed Jonathan as he raced into the brownstone. “I’m coming,” he called. “Look, I know how late it is, sorry.” He gave a fanny pat to the barking dog. “Miss your mommy? Me too. I hope she gets tired of those nasty watercolor lessons and comes home early
. Right?”

His comment was met by a fierce fanny wiggle. Had
Mister Tubbs learned to speak human?

After dinner and a long walk, Jonathan stretched out on the loveseat in his home office.
Mister Tubbs slept in the armchair near the windows. The brownstone was too quiet. He was used to hearing Angie babbling to the dog and humming, as she wandered around their home. What did she do with her time all day to keep busy? They had a housekeeper. The brownstone was too large for Angie to keep up by herself—the seven bathrooms alone were overwhelming. Sure, she volunteered at the hospital, but only once a week. She relayed every detail of her days in the preemie ward, chattering incessantly on the days she volunteered. He recalled hearing her stories of rocking and singing to tiny babies. She seemed to know the family history of every baby in the nursery. What else did she have in her life? She had plenty of free time. So, why wasn’t she painting? What did she have to complain about?

He called Vicki. She knew Angie better than anyone. Surely, she could help him untangle this mystery.

“Hello, Jonathan.”

“How’d you know it would be me?” He rubbed his forehead.

“Easy. I just got off the phone with Angie, so it had to be you. How’re you doing?”

He sat up straight in his chair and forcefully said, “Great. Never better.”

Vicki was silent.

“Well, maybe I’ve been better. And yes, I miss Angie. But that’s not why I called.”

“What, then?”

Jonathan shifted his weight in the chair and let out a short breath. “I was thinking about Angie today
, wondering what she did with her time. I guess I’m trying to understand why she’s not home painting. What’s missing in her life?”

Silence.

Why had she not replied? Silence, his favorite tool in the courtroom, used to throw off the person he was cross-examining. People tried to fill the void and would often say things they wanted left unsaid. He waited.

“I’m not the person to ask. You should be talking to Angie. Have you called her?”

“Not yet. I’ve tried to get up my courage. I’m not sure what to say to her.” He shifted his position and sighed. “I can’t imagine what would be important enough to make her go to Knoxville for watercolor lessons? If that’s all she wanted, she could do that in Chicago.”

“You’re probably right. But only Angie knows the reasons. Did you try to talk to her before she left?”

He drummed his fingers on his desk. “No, not really.  I was too angry to try to understand. Now she’s gone. What should I do?”

“I’d make every attempt to keep in contact with her. Treat her like gold and find out for yourself what’s missing in her life. She loves you, but she doesn’t seem happy.”

“I didn’t realize it was serious, until she left with you for Knoxville. I feel like an idiot. Can I keep in touch with you?”

“Of course, I want what’s best for both of you.”

“Thanks.”

After hanging up, Jonathan turned on the sound system. He selected an old Neil Diamond
CD. Then he picked up Mister Tubbs from the chair where he slept and cradled him in his arms. “Ol’ Neil sure knew how to sing those sad songs. I’m beginning to feel a lot like that guy from “I Am, I Said.” I know you probably never feel invisible, or unimportant, but your mommy has set me back a few pegs. Know what I mean?”

Mister
Tubbs licked Jonathan’s hand.

“Lately, I’ve been the invisible man. She doesn’t see me. It’s as if I’m a part of her past, and she’s moving on.”

Mister Tubbs nestled against his master’s chest. His warm body and soft cooing sounds flooded over Jonathan, as he leaned back on the sofa and wept.

I’m lost, and I can't even say why.