Appointment with a Smile (17 page)

“I recall a time I attacked philosophy because you mentioned how a photograph could capture people’s spirits as well as an artist. I spoke out of frustration and anger. I apologized.”

“And I told you back then I was sorry for what I’d said, Danielle. I didn’t mean your art in particular. Don’t you see, even now we’re arguing over past hurts. The truth is, I felt at home in my field. Pamela was a renowned writer and professor in my field. She was there, and I sadly believed you weren’t. But none of that matters now. I can’t undo it. It’s all too late.”

“Why is it too late? A chance meeting here in London. Maybe it’s meant to be. We could be kinder to one another. More understanding. We could make it all better. Age teaches how to be mellow. So why not another chance?”

“Listen to yourself. We’re sixty years old. Each year we circle the track, and each year we hope for another. We’ll never again be thirty.” Her eyes held an enormous pain.

“We could try to be sixty together. Is it too much of a stretch to believe love doesn’t just vanish? I want to believe love remains.”

“It may very well remain, but it doesn’t always stay the same. It changes.”

“Molly, we’ve changed, yes. But love is still there.”

“This is why I didn’t want to meet with you again. You seem convinced that we can have this reconnect. That’s impossible. We have different lives to live. They’ve been different for thirty years. It can’t happen.”

“Can’t happen and won’t happen seem to be your mantra. But it could happen. And as far as I’m concerned it could.” I waited for her to meet my eyes. As if in another world, she blinked rapidly and then faced me again.

“Molly,” I said, “don’t you see, we could work it out. Maybe we could live in California half the year and Colorado the other half. Why not take a chance?”

“There are complications. It didn’t work thirty years ago. It certainly wouldn’t work now. Why can’t you see that?” Attempting to convince me seemed to have depleted her. “Please.”

“I can’t.”

“You won’t. But you must. What can I say to dissuade you from believing this absurd idea of us together?”

“Maybe I can’t ever be discouraged for the one simple reason that I have no control over. I’m still in love with you.”

She stood. Tears filled her eyes. “And I’m still in love with you. But it’s too late.” She sobbed as she rushed from the restaurant.

Stunned and with blurred vision, I quickly asked the waiter for the bill as I made my way to the exit. He waved me on, reporting that my friend had taken care of it before we dined.

I hastened to the street. Molly looked back at me as she was entering a limousine. There was great pain in her eyes. I saw her outline in the darkened window as the large, pearly white vehicle pulled away from the curb.

I felt as if my existence was also pulling away. “Molly,” I said with such deliberation that it frightened me. How could I live if it was too late for love?

Chapter 30

Fiona furrowed her brow. “Danielle, are you okay?” she asked as I entered the gallery.

The glare from the gallery’s fluorescent lights made me squint in an effort to dim their brightness. “I was passing by and thought I’d drop in to see how the show is going.”

“It’s going splendidly. But you seem upset. Can you tell me about it?”

“The second lunch with Molly didn’t go any better than the first.”

“There’s absolutely no benefit for you feeling as you do. You’re getting nothing out of it. Unless you’re clutching worn-out old memories to ease your fear of aging. How many times, and in how many ways, is she going to have to tell you she doesn’t love you?”

“She just now told me that she’s still in love with me.”

Fiona let loose with an enormous gush of expletives. “That fucks my theory all to hell!” She put her arm around my shoulder. “So are you going to see her again?”

“She ran out of the restaurant after she delivered her line of devoted love.” I heard someone enter the gallery.

“Do you even want to see her again?”

“If I were prudent, I wouldn’t want to be within a gazillion miles of her.”

“Don’t use prudence as being anywhere near your personal attributes. You aren’t at all fitted with a single bit of prudence. Let me repeat. Are you going to see her again?”

Before I could answer, Esther greeted me. “I couldn’t help overhearing. Well, are you going to see her again? I presume we’re talking about Molly.”

Fiona answered before I had a chance to. “Molly told her she still loves her and then made a beeline for the nearest exit. The fool.”

Without her usual restraint when it came to issues concerning Molly, Esther whirled toward me. “She a shrew. That’s it. She keeps you emotionally bouncing from hope to despair. She is an absolute sadist.”

“Don’t get ratty,” I said. “It’s so complicated. I honestly think she’s as confused as I am. Her daughter insisted that she contact me to apologize for what she said before. And yes, she said she also loves me but that it’s too late.”

“So now she’s got multiple personality disorder,” Esther said. “Playing the roles of protagonist and antagonist. Smacks you down, picks you up. Blames the breakup on your bogus defects, sees you next time and is sorry for screwing with your head. How much more are you going to take?”

Fiona piped in, saying, “In love, out of love, in love.”

I was outnumbered, so I opted for a change of topic. “Fiona, have you tallied the sales for the exhibit recently?”

“Yes, and you need to be awarded a trophy. You’re getting a bundle of money richer, even as we speak.”

“Why did I have to come to Europe to be discovered?” I hoped they didn’t notice I’d steered away from all talk of Molly. “I’m making more on this exhibit than I made in the past decade. Or ever made.”

“Good press, good initial sales, and great paintings,” Fiona said. “You’re finally being recognized. As far as why we’re triumphing in Europe—location, location, location. You see, Europe is slightly more cultured than New York.” She measured a quarter inch between her thumb and forefinger.

“I guess I don’t get it,” I told her. “The United States has always considered me a very minor artist. Very minor price tag as well.”

“After our Boston exhibit, all that will be put right. I’m thirsting for a cappuccino. How about I take you two crazy Saphs to Crumpets and Brew for a double cappuccino. And we can sneak a trip under the glass of their extraordinary pastry cart.”

As we left the gallery and neared the coffee shop, I asked, “Are we going to be able to change topics and find out about you two? I want to know the latest cradle-robbing stories. Are the cougars ready to divulge some splendid stories?”

“I’m overjoyed,” Fiona said. “What stamina. I may take my toy boy with me on the next exhibits. France and Germany. Germany, I’ll need my stress relieved. The artist there is a major pain.”

“Yes, I believe you’ll need your lad if what you say about your German artist is true.”

“It’s all true. The artist’s work sells. I have a long-standing arrangement with him, or I’d dump him like a rodent.”

Esther and I howled as she described her bedroom scenarios. We selected yummy lemon croissants from the tray and began to munch.

“Now let’s discuss Carrie, Esther,” I said.

“Fun at forty.” Esther took a huge bite of her pastry and a swig of cappuccino. She did divulge that Carrie liked to cuddle.

We bantered back and forth until we’d finished our snacks and coffees. I laughed at Fiona’s and Esther’s escapades. It was clear Esther’s feelings for Carrie were precious and just as clear that Fiona’s emotional ties with her toy boy were on the other end of the spectrum.

Chapter 31

Leaning the phone to my ear, I listened to Esther’s diatribe on most of the day’s news. She was waiting for Carrie to finish with her shower, while I was waiting for Bethany to arrive at the suite.

“Bethany hasn’t called,” I said.

“So she’s late. She’ll call.” Esther continued with her rant as if I hadn’t interrupted. “I’m an analogy kinda gal. There’s this breakthrough. An X-ray ghost seen after the demise of radio-bright jets. Astronomers actually caught it. Ghosts remained after a black hole’s eruption. Now here’s why I mention it. Love is analogous to black holes.”

“What in the heck are you talking about?”

She interpreted. “Affairs leave ghosts, too. Memories are jam-packed with them. The yesteryear Molly ghost leans heavily on your mental retention. Ghosts become like little brain souvenirs—keepsakes. You’ve got them going on. You need to shut them down. Take all those memories of Molly and let amnesia have its way with them. Don’t be sad. Bethany will call.”

I checked the clock. “I need to immerse myself in the painting. Hear the whoosh of my brush against canvas. Listen to the scraping sound of my pallet knife as it applies paint. Paint spreading like wings across the white.”

“fine, but remember the damned ghosts.”

After hanging up, I returned to my easel. I had spent half an hour with brush in hand when Bethany finally called. A major disturbance had occurred at Heathrow. Security hierarchy, which I suddenly realized she was part of, had all been called in or were on standby. She would have called earlier, but she explained that when she was on alert, there just wasn’t time. The moment the emergency was over, she had phoned me. She asked if I might forgive her. I did, and we disconnected. I ordered a sumptuous dinner for us.

She arrived before the dinner delivery. After pouring her a drink, I showed her the latest work on her portrait.

We sat down, and I said, “I didn’t know you were in security.”

She gave me a secretive smile. “It isn’t what I talk about.”

“Not even to a lover?”

“No one. I’m a part of the security team. In fact, I head a section. I haven’t even gotten into specifics with my family. Of course, Carrie is aware of the basics, and I’ve now told you the basics. Haven’t you ever wondered why I carry two mobile phones? When I ring someone, it’s always with the more colorful one. The other is always open unless it’s an emergency. I place them both on the bed stand every time we go to bed. If a call had come in on my company-issued mobile, you would have seen me rush.”

“I promise your secret is safe with me.” I crossed my heart.

“I know that. We’re required to pull background checks on people we’re intimate with. Security precaution. You’ve been vetted. Danielle Eve O’Hara. Born in Topeka, Kansas to Eve Marie and Norman O’Hara. One brother, Dylan Patrick. No criminal record. No civil lawsuits. Lived in your current house nearly thirty years. No foreign ties. Travel has been minimal. Never been to a country on a restricted list. Never affiliated with a militant or subversive group.”

“You mean to tell me that my women’s rights, civil rights marches, and anti-war efforts went unnoticed? My 1960s were a lost cause?”

“Apparently so. You must not have been arrested. No record. Nothing. You’re a perfect citizen of your country. You’re obviously, other than your marching in a parade or two, or burning your bra, rather dull. At least your actions haven’t been nefarious enough to attract attention.”

“Busted.” I chuckled. “I’m dull.”

“Clover is even dull,” she said with amusement. “She has never run away, nor has she been reported for any canine transgressions.”

“You didn’t really check her out, did you?”

“Not at all. I could tell from her photo she hasn’t a covert move in her playbook. Completely trustworthy is little Clover.”

“I’m glad I cleared. And I promise I’ll refrain from delving into your work. Besides, I wouldn’t have any idea what secrets I’d be looking to find.”

“The obvious might be that I’ve been briefed on the arrivals and departures of high-profile travelers. Or possibly information about any deficiencies in our systems or policies concerning possible breaches of security. Not that we have any. When they transferred me to security, I even signed a pledge, along with a full disclosure of my sexuality. So there’s nothing I can possibly be blackmailed about.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t ask any questions about how your day went. Actually, I stopped asking about your profession when your details were so brief they were almost curt. I guessed that some people like leaving business at the office. Then I thought you might consider your job boring.”

“Boring? I think not. My life revolves around emergencies. Like crisis traffic lights—red, amber, and green critical stages. That’s a summation of my job. When my larger cell phone rings, my heart races. Followed by my body. I can still do a fairly adequate sprint.”

“I suspected you used two phones for different women.” I actually had noticed the two phones but thought it was common for airline workers.

“There are no other women in my life, Danielle,” she said softly.

“I do have one question.”

“I had a sneaking suspicion you might be an undercover bad sort.”

“When you hear the question, you might well have me in cuffs.”

“I’m really not into that, luv.”

We chuckled a moment, before I asked, “Will you accompany me to dinner tomorrow night? As Fiona’s guest?”

“Certainly. I know it isn’t your birthday, so why is Fiona splashing out?”

“She promised me and my date an evening at an elegant restaurant of my choice. She also invited Esther and Carrie. Reward for the success of the exhibit. Any excuse for a celebration is fine by me.”

“Where are we going?” Bethany asked.

“Where would you suggest?”

“There’s a place called The Scripted Banquet. Very elite. It does rather separate you from your money. They’re so exclusive that Carrie doesn’t even receive comps.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem since Fiona has plenty of money. She’s not squeamish about opening her vault, either.”

“A great many gay and lesbians frequent The Scripted Banquet. Will Fiona be all right with that?”

“Not that she swings both ways, but she has explored both worlds. I’m only interested in women.”

“I’m only interested in one woman.”

Our eyes met until I looked away. “I hope that’s me. I hope tomorrow night at The Scripted Banquet is to your satisfaction.”