Poisoned by Gilt (3 page)

"I'm really sorry, Margot."

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"You've got too many clients. This is the reason I

didn't hire you to spruce up for the open house last

Saturday. Today I'd decided I wanted to hire you again,

for a second small job, but now I won't. In any case, it was

nice seeing you at the Earth Love open house, and best of

luck to Burke."

"That's very kind of you, Margot. And I'm--"

"True," she interrupted, "but it's also just basic manners. You should have thought to wish me well, for old

times' sake. But you're obviously too busy even to answer

my phone call."

"Margot, I am so--"

She hung up. "Sorry," I said to myself.

Margot Troy. My former client from hell. I found both

her and her home fascinating, though. The woman was

filthy rich, yet believed so strongly in recycling that she'd

built and furnished her home entirely from secondhand

or salvaged materials. I couldn't work for her until the

contest was over, in any case, but I needed to repair this

new rift. Tomorrow, maybe. If Sullivan and I had any free

time.

Thinking about Steve's and my schedules reminded

me that I didn't know what time Richard's class was. Had

either of them mentioned it? And what on earth was going on between Richard and Burke?

More importantly, were things over between Steve

and me? Were these walls thick enough that I could let

out a scream without causing anybody to call 911?

I took a calming breath and counted to ten. Okay. I

could still breathe. And count. All was not completely

lost. On most days, I love my job. I truly do. Just not this

particular day.

c h a p t e r
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We cannot continue to abuse Earth's

resources, and we must all do our part.

Reducing wastefulness can be as simple and painless as using fewer paper

napkins and rethinking the type of wall

and window treatments we use.

--Audrey Munroe

This is what my life's work is all about, I thought

as I shed my coat and marveled at the de
BLISS
lectable ambience of my home's foyer. The

space itself was perfect: Currier and Ives,

Architectural Digest, welcome-to-my-lovely-life

perfect. The earthy tones and textural depths of

the pearl gray plaster walls were divine, as was

the sparkling chandelier, with its soul-cheering

wash of light. And the three white calla lilies in

the crystal vase atop the charming antique

table. But what was making my heart soar at the

moment was the breathtaking view of the parlor

through the French doors.

Never had I been forced to work quite so

hard on a room, and especially not on one

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which already had such great bones--high ceilings,

hand-carved trim, and antique wide-plank floorboards.

I helped my landlady with interior design in lieu of paying rent, and it was as Sisyphean a task as I'd ever

known. This room had gone from a storage room for mismatched furniture to an arts-and-crafts rumpus room

and back more times than I could count. Even so, my

eventual triumphant design had been worth every exasperating moment: I had achieved bliss. I hung my

coat in the closet and entered my new favorite space.

From the mouthwatering reds and blues of the Oriental carpeting to the hint of peach in the medallion on

the marvelous coved ceiling, every item in this room was

beautiful on its own--and seemed even more extraordinary when seen as one piece of the whole composition. Within these four celery-toned walls, the textures,

shapes, and lines were in such harmony that the space

was nothing less than sublime. Even Hildi, my cat, looked

like a scenic prop as she sat curled into a black, satiny

oval shape on Audrey's gold brocade wing chair. Best

of all was that Audrey, the epitome of a recalcitrant and

skeptical home owner, now loved this room every bit as

much as I did.

Just around the corner, in stark contrast, the den had

a willy-nilly mishmash of furnishings. And around the

other corner, the walls of the dining room were undergoing yet another of Audrey's experiments in, well,

something or other. She used her house as a testing laboratory for possible segments on her local, Martha

Stewart-like TV show, Domestic Bliss with Audrey Munroe.

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L e s l i e C a i n e

I greeted my kitty and sighed at the joy of being embraced by my warm surroundings. But my thoughts

quickly returned to my latest spat with Sullivan. Then it hit

me: If we ever got our act together, I would have to

move out of Audrey's fabulous house. Could that be

part of what was driving my interminable attraction to

him? Was I unconsciously drawn to him and our perpetual pattern of limbo, because it delayed me from having to grow up? From getting my own place and

moving forward with my life?

With sagging spirits, I made my way to the kitchen,

where I could hear Audrey working at the chopping

board. With Audrey at the helm, anything could be getting chopped, from carrots to strands of--

I lost my train of thought as a ghastly alteration to the

dining room ceiling commanded my full attention. Were

those cherubs?! And was this some kind of a fresco?

She'd painted a pink-and-yellow-hued baby, with its

torso on the ceiling and lower half on the wall. A second

baby was sitting on that one's shoulder, and a third was

apparently clinging to his ankle for dear life. I looked

again and corrected myself: her ankle.

Audrey must have heard my footsteps, because

she joined me in the dining room. "Erin! You're home

early!"

"Yes, but not for long. I'm grabbing something to eat,

then meeting Sullivan at CU. We're going to a community class together." Like metal paper clips to a magnet,

my vision was drawn once again to the ceiling."Audrey,

I have to ask. What's with the pudgy babies in the cor-D o m e s t i c B l i s s
1 9

ner? You're not thinking of going all Sistine Chapel in

here, are you?"

"Are the cherubs too much?"

"That depends. If you're thinking of continuing to live

here, as opposed to turning the place into a museum or

a church, then yes."

She sighed."That's what I thought, too. I was going to

apply a decoupage of some sort, but then decided I

shouldn't be using up paper products. With all your emphasis on green home designs lately, you've raised my

social consciousness."

But apparently not your taste, I thought sourly.

"I couldn't help but think about all those poor trees

being cut down just to be ground up into wallpaper."

"There's a wide array of fabrics and sea grasses

available for wall treatments nowadays."

"Maybe so, but last year, I did a show segment on using paint to mimic wallpaper. That surely has to be an

even greener alternative. In terms of conservation, I

mean, not literally the color green. So, I was going to

paint a nice pink rose up there. Unfortunately, it started

to look like a baby's derriere. Then I started to think

about you and Steve, and what adorable babies the

two of you would have, and next thing you know, voila!"

"Eww! I'm never going to allow Sullivan into our dining room again!" Panicked, I scanned all the walls and

the ceiling. "Thank God. No storks." I shook my head in

exasperation. "This grandmother thing must be getting

to your head!" Some six months ago, she'd been thrilled

to welcome her first grandchild, and her eldest son had

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just announced that he and his wife, too, were expecting--but they all lived hundreds of miles away. Locally, I

seemed to be the next best thing to a blood relative.

"You were the one who admitted your biological

clock was going off."

"That was just a moment of weakness, inspired by two

glasses of Beaujolais on an empty stomach." I brushed

past her into the kitchen and headed straight for the refrigerator. I had a leftover serving of pasta with pesto in

there that was perfect for a quick dinner. "Besides, you

know how it is with Steve and me.You'll be working on a

second coat, with every inch of the dining room filled

with bouncing babies, before we'll have fully committed to our relationship. If we ever do."

She studied my features, her own expression crestfallen."Oh, Erin.You're saying you two are back to an 'if'

state now? Last night, the vibes you two were giving off

when he came to pick you up were so strong that . . .

well, frankly, I wasn't even expecting you to come home

till this morning."

Time for a subject change. "Seriously, Audrey, using

paint to emulate wallpaper is an excellent idea. But let's

nix the cherubs. I'm going to suggest in the strongest

possible terms: No naked people or mammals of any

kind."

"All right. Would clothed bunnies be okay?"

"No." I put my pasta into the microwave and began

to throw together a salad, stealing some of the mushrooms and scallions that she'd just been chopping.

"Didn't your show's expert last year talk about painting

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vertical stripes? That's a must when you're mimicking

wallpaper. Also, surely he or she mentioned how you

should start the process by creating stencils."

"I don't remember." Audrey crossed her arms and

leaned against the door casing that trimmed the dining

room entrance. Thankfully, that lovely section of white

decorative wood had gone unscathed by Audrey's

paintbrush. "Although, now that you mention it, I do remember something about stripes and stencils. But I

wanted to use some free-form drawings."

"Free-form is just not a smart way to go about creating faux wallpaper. Use chalk plumb lines and masking

tape, and create vertical painted lines as your first step.

Or, better yet, allow me to create them for you. That's

going to make things much easier than painting freehand on these huge walls. And it'll force you to get the

scale right. Then, I'll help you cut out two or three stencils

for the basic shapes of flowers.You can add free-form filigree and leaves, and shadings on the flowers."

She clicked her tongue. "You are such a fuddyduddy, Erin."

"I'm not a fuddy-duddy. I'm a designer. Selecting wall

treatments is a huge part of my job. I know what I'm

talking about, Audrey."

She threw up her hands. "Fine, fine. I'll take your advice . . . on the condition that you'll take mine."

With visions of her asking me to paint angels sitting on

clouds, I braced myself and asked: "Which is . . . ?"

"Regarding your love life. Stop driving me up the

wall!"

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"The one with the cherubs?"

"You and Steve remind me of the amateur ballerinas

I used to work with. You're so concerned about not

stepping on each other's toes that you're always tripping on your own feet. Erin, there's no such thing as the

perfect mate or the perfect relationship for any of us.

We all have warts. Stop waiting for a guarantee, and

trust that, whatever the future brings, you'll be able to

handle it."

"It's really Steve who needs to learn that particular

lesson, Audrey," I grumbled.

"Interesting. That's exactly what Steve said about

you, when I gave him that very same piece of advice

yesterday."

Stunned, I gaped at her. She swept out of the room.

c h a p t e r
3

he steel gray sky of a typical winter late afternoon

Thad turned black and starless by the time I followed the brick walkway at Crestview University. A chill

wind whistled through the bare tree branches, and I

struggled to keep my footing on the icy patches that glittered in the yellow light of the street lamps. I made my

way to the ivy-covered sandstone building and wrestled

with its heavy door.

"Let me get that, miss," a man called from behind me.

"Thank you."

He followed me inside. He was wearing a dark wool

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beanie and a sheepskin coat, and he was nice-looking--

in his late twenties or early thirties. He gave me a onceover and a broad grin, then said, "My pleasure," as

though he really meant it. It was a testament to just how

badly my day had gone that I flashed a grateful smile.

The warmth from his flattery lasted two seconds, until

I recognized Richard's raspy voice emanating from the

open doorway directly ahead of us. The class session was

in full swing. I'd guessed wrong on the time, although I

wouldn't have had to guess if Sullivan had bothered to

answer the message I'd left on his cell phone a couple of

hours ago. I dashed across the hall and slipped into the

room, quickly finding Sullivan. A young woman was blatantly ogling him, and I was only too happy to slip into

the empty seat between them. He gave me a you'reunforgivably-late arched eyebrow. I gave him an I'd'vebeen-on-time-if-you'd-returned-my-call shrug.

I took in the worn-out room at a glance--fifty black,

threadbare seats in five tiered rows where fewer than