The Artist's Paradise (7 page)

Chapter 1
2

The following morning, happy to have the hotel room to herself, Angie fed Mister Tubbs his breakfast. Dressed in her running clothes, she took him for his morning stroll. Walk completed, she settled him into the hotel room and ventured outside for her ritualistic three-mile run.

Once in her stride, her mind wandered back to Chicago. What would Jonathan be doing today? Had he tried to call her since last night? His presence, larger than life, over stimulated her when he was home and l
eft her empty when he was gone. Thinking back, he had always been that way. He demanded an audience and oozed the charisma to draw one anytime. If he were a country singer, his number of female followers would be impressive.

Most people
did things that made no sense to the outside world, but we did them because we got something out of them. What was she getting out of her relationship with Jonathan? Did she really love him or was there something else keeping her in this marriage? Life was so complex.

Energized
and refreshed from her shower, she dressed in tan linen slacks, a pink silk sweater, and her favorite Cole Haan ballerina shoes. She called room service for breakfast and a large pot of coffee with cream.

While she
ate, Mister Tubbs sat at her feet staring at her cereal bowl. “Still hungry after your walk?”

He reached out his
left-front paw and gave her knee a pat.

“I see.” Angie placed the cereal bowl on the floor as
Mister Tubbs attacked the unfinished cereal laced with milk.

She
strolled over to the living room window and gazed at the swimming pool area. The pool was empty, too cold to swim. The magnolia trees, covered in blooms, stood in a carpet of green grass and spring flowers. Tennessee’s beauty awakened her forgotten desires to paint. She must take charge of her life.

Mister
Tubbs cocked his head and peered at her with his coal-black eyes.

“I know, you don’t understand. I’m not sure I do either. It’s called growing up.
After all, I’m almost thirty-two. My goal—to determine what I want out of life. My choices—my marriage, a career, or whatever’s behind door number three. Not to worry though, whatever I do, you’ll be with me.”

Mister
Tubbs hopped up onto the couch, spun in a circle, and then settled on a large loose pillow—positioned for his morning nap.

Angie found six missed calls on her cell phone from Jonathan. Her stomach churned, and she closed her eyes. It pained her to hurt him. He would be upset. She should have talked to him before leaving, but she had run out of words. He’d lied to her. How could she ever trust him
again?

She reached for her cell phone, paused, and put it back down. Hadn’t she told him he wouldn’t hear from her until she got back home on Tuesday? She needed time away from him. His repeated phone calls to her were an attempt to control her. It would not work this time. She had places to go and things to see.

She grabbed a pad and scribbled a note for Vicki. Forget Jonathan, she had a museum to explore.

#

Angie skipped up the front stairs and entered the museum. A large orange sign with purple writing captured her attention. The four-by-three foot sign directed visitors to an American Indian exhibit. She absorbed the paintings and photos for the next two hours. The artist caught the essence of the early landowners and their strong spirit. How magnificent to be gifted with this talent. She had been fascinated by the Indian culture since her childhood. What a privilege to attend this exhibit.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?”

Angie, startled by the voice, turned to see a woman in her twenties standing next to her.

“Oh, yes. I’m so glad I came.”

“This is a wonderful art museum. I try to come at least once a month.”

“It’s my first time. I’m impressed
. There’s a lot of talent here.”

“If you like art, you should visit the exhibit of competition paintings. Students and university staff members vie every year for top honors.”

“Sounds interesting. Where’s that exhibit?”

“Not sure where it is this year.” She pointed to the entrance. “Check with the
security guard in the front. Have fun.”

Angie
approached the guard. “I’m searching for an art competition exhibit. Do you have any information?” The guard nodded and handed her a small brochure. She grabbed the brochure and studied it as she rushed to the elevator. The exhibit promised both oils and watercolors. Her lungs tightened in her chest. She missed the art world. For the past six years, she hadn’t painted or attended an exhibition. Why had she abandoned her craft?

As she located the watercolor
exhibit, she slowed to a crawl. With her hands clasped together behind her back, she edged along the wall admiring the paintings. Her eyes widened as she approached a watercolor landscape entitled
The Gift.
She leaned forward to see the artist signature but it was unintelligible.

A
handsome, dark haired man about forty was also studying the landscape. He stepped into her personal space and leaned over. He whispered. “Magnificent, don’t you think?”

Startled by his boldness,
Angie stepped back, fumbled around, trying to find the artist’s name on the brochure. “Yes, I’m in awe. Who’s the artist?”

“
It’s a Turner. With the choice of a limited palate, the gentle way of guiding the viewer with the use of light and shading, and the gift of artistry, it could
only
be a Turner. “

“Turner?” Angie stared at the stranger. His deep brown eyes penetrated her
.  She fought her excitement, recognizing that flutter in her stomach. Get a grip.

“The signature is impossible to read, but this is Exhibit 65, James Turner
,” the stranger said.

Angie r
eran her finger along the brochure to Exhibit 65. “Yes, it says James Turner. Isn’t he an art professor here?”

“Yes, and look for Turner watercolors nationally in the near future.”

Angie stirred and her pulse quickened. What was it about this stranger? “How long have you been following him?”

“Oh, probably all my life. I grew up want
ing to make my living as a painter. My inspiration was the original Turner—M.W. Turner, born in 1775. He inspired me with his use of color. But it’s hard to break into the art world. I’ve spent the last eight years teaching art.

The
Tom Cruise
double
moved onto the next canvas with a smile and wave. Angie returned the smile and swirled around to the landscape. She had been studying the masterpiece for some time when she realized her cell phone was ringing. She pulled it out of her purse and answered.

“Hi, it’s Angie.”

“We are here at the front desk. Are you ready for some lunch?”

“I’m famished. I’ll be right down.”

#

The museum featured a delightful restaurant
catering to female customers. The menu offered salads and rich desserts. Angie listened intently as Vicki chatted about the morning reception. Then Susie described the other mothers as if they were all older than Vicki, less conversational, and more than a little stuffy. Susie congratulated her mom on being the only interesting woman over forty in the room.

When Vicki asked
about her morning, the corners of Angie’s mouth curved upward. “I thought I’d won the lottery with the American Indian exhibit. The photos and artistry captured the broken spirits and tragedy faced by many tribes. The Trail of Tears came to life in their sad eyes.”

Angie scooted closer to the table. “Then, I met a very handsome
Tom Cruise look-a-like with dark-brown hair and a three-day stubble. He introduced me to the work of James Turner.” Angie bounced in her chair as if a small child on her birthday. “Turner’s watercolor created an explosion in my mind. I’m in love. I have to meet your Professor Turner. He’s simply magnificent, gifted, and plain wonderful.”

Susie raised her eyes from the cheesecake
shook her fork at her mother. “See. I was right. He’s everything I said. When do you want to meet him?”

Angie
threw down her cloth napkin. “Today, tomorrow, or whenever you can make it happen.”

“
Girls, hold your excitement. We’ve got an awards banquet tonight,” Vicki said. “Why not try to set something up for brunch on Sunday?”

“I’ll call him when I get back to my dorm room. I’ve got his number in my notes. I’m sure he’ll say
yes.
I don’t think
no
is in his vocabulary.”

“I can’t wait,” Angie
whispered.

Chapter 1
3

Jonathan awoke early Friday morning as the sun’s warmth crept into his bedroom. He stretched out his body full length, raised his arms to the head of the bed, and growled. Carl had given him the day off. “Go home and celebrate your victory. You deserve it.”

Right, celebrate with whom? He wasn’t going to tell Carl about Angie’s behavior. Carl would have laughed and said, “Women. They’re all nuts. That’s why after four wives, I quit.”

Almost every friend Jonathan had was separated or divorced. Was it hopeless to think anyone could make a marriage endure today? The effort had turned into hard work, and for what? To be blasted the first time you made a little mistake?

Angie made it clear. She wouldn’t speak to him until Tuesday. Well, he wasn’t going to sit around waiting for
her highness
to return. He had
man
things to do.

After a hearty breakfast of ham, fried eggs, juice, and coffee, Jonathan strolled to his library, sat down at his laptop, and looked up some phone numbers. Most of his single friends could make a tennis date at the drop of a hat. He was in the mood for some physical exercise
, and what better place than at the tennis club where all those lovely wealthy ladies hung out.

He reviewed his list of tennis bums. When he was single, he used to select a different guy each week to play with. That way by the end of the quarter, he had seen all of his men friends, and then he started the rotation again. He did the same thing with his Sunday golf dates. He was unable to recall the last time he actually had a free weekend to play anything except
house
. Damn, he missed his freedom. It seemed like all he did was chores for Angie when he wasn’t working.

A long hour later, he’d contacted all the tennis players from his list. Most of the guys already had plans or had to work. He’d found Joe’s line busy. His best friend from college
, Joe, was always up for a game of tennis. They hadn’t seen each other in over three years. He redialed the number and to his surprise, Joe was at home and available. They swapped brags for a few minutes then made plans to meet.

Smiling as he
hung-up the phone, Jonathon shouted to the empty room, “Joe’s available.”

#

After their tennis match, Joe and Jonathan showered in the club locker-room, and then both men donned slacks and a fresh polo—the official country club uniform. They headed to the club restaurant for a late lunch.

Once seated, lunch ordered
, and cold beer in hand, Jonathan relaxed. He’d lost two of the three sets, but he held his own on the court. His serves were spot-on. Good to know he hadn’t lost his touch. “I haven’t had this much fun in months. You’re still a worthy opponent.” Joe, a little grayer than he remembered, remained tanned and lean. He could still pass for a thirty-five year old. How did he have time to keep in shape?

Joe leaned in, elbows firmly placed on the table. “Man, it’s good to see you. How long has it been, six months, maybe longer? What’s up?

“I’ve been busy with a big case. Angie’s out of town, and I’m free to have some fun. That’s all.”

Jonathan stirred in his seat. He crossed and uncrossed his legs and then took a big gulp of beer.

Joe furrowed his brow. “Look buddy, this is Joe, the man of many wives. These women don’t just go away for the weekend unless their momma’s sick, or there’s trouble in the camp. Which is it?”

“No trouble. She’s traveling with her friend
, Vicki. They went to UT for a mother/daughter weekend. She’ll be home on Tuesday.”

Joe pointed his index finger at Jonathan. “I know you too well. What’s the rest of the story?”

Jonathan drained his glass, held it up, and nodded at the waiter. “So I forgot our eighth anniversary. All was well when
Tiffany’s
delivered the pricey diamond pendant. We’re fine, really.”

“Look, man, I’m not trying to mess in your business, but all is not fine if she has left the nest for a week
end after you messed up. You got trouble, and I’m the expert in getting into trouble. Angie is a great find. I hope you patch this up.”

The waiter placed two cold mugs of beer on the table.

Jonathan picked up his and downed it in four chugs.  “I’ve had to spend a lot of time away from home working on a big trial. She gets pissy about it. That’s what women do. The trial’s over. She’ll be fine.”

“Women don’t do well spending too much time alone.”

“Not to worry my good friend. I’m not planning on exiting this marriage.”

Joe slid back his chair. “Angie’s one nice package.”

Jonathan threw his cloth napkin on the table and glared at Joe. “You’re right. She’s a looker, great in the sack, and a real asset at the required dinners. But most importantly, I love her. She loves me. We are
not
on the path to divorce.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to butt in. Life can become a slippery slope if you don’t know you’re on the muddy side of the hill.” Joe leaned in close. “If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that I should’ve stayed with my first wife, Terri, and worked it out.
I’ve repeated my mistakes over and over and now I’m alone. It’s not a great life, being single.”

Jonathan leaned across the table and patted his friend’s arm. “I appreciate your concern.
I have to get going. I’ll call you again soon, and we’ll play tennis. Maybe we can make it doubles. Are you seeing anyone now?”

“Sure, I’m always seeing someone. But never the same someone more than a few times. I guess my bad habits get to be irritating.” Joe grabbed the bill and said, “I’m paying for lunch. You go work on your marriage.”

#

The cabbie dropped Jonathan off at his brownstone a few minutes after two o’clock in the afternoon. He scooted up the stone entrance steps and unlocked the front door, heading straight to his home office to
set up the rest of the weekend.

Two hours later, a tired and discouraged Jonathan settled for Pizza Hut and an on-demand movie. By nine
p.m., he had run out of things to do.

He decided to turn in early. The brownstone creaked from the wind as he meandered up the stairs to his bedroom. He pulled on his pajama
s and flipped on the plasma TV. Not ready for sleep, he picked up the land phone and called Gina’s home number.

Her husband, Wayne, picked up after five rings.

“Hello?”

“Wayne, Jonathan. Is Gina there?”

“Yeah, I’ll get her for you. Anything wrong?”

“No, I’ve got a quick question to ask, that’s all.”

The phone receiver hit something as the conversation stopped.  He heard Wayne’s voice. “Gina, it’s that boss of yours.”

Jonathan
exhaled, resettled himself on the bed, and waited.

“Boss, what can I do for you this fine Friday night?”

He shuffled his feet and kicked off his loafers. “You’re a woman, right?”

“What?”

“Sorry, of course you are. I meant I need some advice and you are the most sensible woman I know.”

Gina let out a loud but stifled giggle. “More trouble at home?”

“Well, maybe. I’m not sure. That’s why I called.”

Jonathan pulled his legs up on the bed and settled his back against the pillows braced on the headboard.

“What happened?”

“Angie left.”

“Left? Oh no.”

Wayne’s voice resounded in the background. “Gina, it’s your turn. Will you be off the phone soon?”

“I’ll be there in a minute. Take a snack break.”

Jonathan rubbed his eyes. “Sorry I bot
hered you at home. We can talk Monday.”

“It’s not a problem. I have a minute, really.”

“Thanks.” He let out a slow sigh. “She left last Monday. Said she had to get away. She’s with her best friend Vicki.” He rolled over on his stomach and lowered his voice. “She won’t talk to me until she gets back.”

“My guess is she figured out that you missed the anniversary. Give her some space.”’

He shook his head, “Our plan was executed perfectly. She appeared to be happy all weekend. Then Monday, boom, it all fell apart.”

“
Hmm, Tiffany’s called me Monday to check on the delivery. Maybe they called her first. We women are pretty smart.”

Jonathan lowered his
head onto the pillows. “What should I do?”

“
When she comes home, confess, be humble, and turn on your charm. She won’t be able to resist. You messed up. Take it like a man, and she’ll be fi
n
e.”

“You’re right. Thanks, Gina. I’m making too much of this. See you Monday
.”

“No problem. See you.”

He hung up, pulled up the covers, and stared up at the ceiling.

After tossing in bed for a few minutes, he began to alternate calls to Angie on his cell every fifteen minutes while he channel
-surfed and played solitaire until after two a.m.