Romance: The Art of my Love: a story of betrayal, desire, love, and marriage (21 page)

His compliment makes my cheeks burn. “They did, a little. Not in droves. I’m still no Rachel. Something in me definitely changed, though, because of this whole business. I’ve started feeling different. More confident, or maybe more feminine.”

I lean a little to the side, and Paul’s shirt rides up, leaving my thigh bare. Paul casts an interested glance at that thigh, then back at my face. His eyes grow dusky. I let my arm fall and hurry to finish my thought. “All these new types of desire have woken up inside me, you know. It turns out that I actually need sex, just like any other normal woman. I
really
need it. But despite that, I don’t want to sleep with anyone other than you, and I’m not going to do that anymore. I don’t like sex without love.”

“What did you do to cope with these new desires of yours?” Paul slowly walks over to me and reaches down, wrapping his hands around my waist.

“I bought a vibrator and one of Rachel’s videos. It turns out that my imagination is, umm... rich. It never lets me down.”

Paul laughs out loud.

“So we’ve both fucked Rachel! Literally, for me, and virtually, for you.”

“I guess so.” Now I’m giggling, too. For some reason, this is no longer a painful topic. “We fucked her, and she fucked us!”

Now I have another question for Paul. “Why do you think Tom didn’t tell me anything about your good news?”

“I asked him not to. I wasn’t sure it was happening and I wanted to surprise you. Tom kept trying to reassure me that you love me and you would definitely come back. He said I just needed to be patient.”

“Did you two get together more than once, then? He told me he just dropped off a check for my paintings.”

“Well, he wasn’t telling you the whole truth. The first time it really was because of the check. We had a good talk. Tom is great – he’s smart and perceptive, and not at all judgmental. He really likes you too, both as an artist and as a friend. Anyway, we started getting together more often. He was a big help. He brought me news about you, listened to my sad stories, and even read my screenplay and made some really good suggestions.” So that’s why Tom had sounded so certain, in Vancouver, that Paul’s heart belonged to me. He had it from the source. Tom hadn’t told me, though. He must have wanted me to figure that out for myself.

“Do you know about Tom’s tragic love story?”

“Yeah. When he was getting ready to head to Vancouver, he was all nerves. I made him tell me about it. I’m no psychotherapist, but by now I know how important it is to talk with somebody who’s on your side in a situation like that.”

“I want to go to the gallery and speak to Rachel. That’s actually my second reason for this trip.”

“What was your first reason?” Paul asks. His eyes meet mine. I squeeze him around the waist and nuzzle my face into his chest.

“The first reason was you.” Paul bends down to me, but I twist away from his kiss. “Then I realized I’m not afraid of her anymore. Rachel, I mean. I need to see her, meet with her as an equal.”

I do feel ready to see Rachel again. My anger and jealousy have faded into the background now, and I’m conscious once more of the fact that I actually
like
Rachel. I ought to like her, or else there’s just no way to explain how fast and how amazingly my body responds when I watch her old porn, or even just imagine her making love with Paul or John or anyone else. I’ll never be like her, because I’m never going to really be able to separate sex from love. On the other hand, I’ll never be as cold inside as I was before, either, and that is thanks to Rachel.

It’s after noon by the time I get over to the gallery. I had texted Tom that I was in town and was planning to come over, so he should be expecting me.

Paul drives, and when we’re almost there, he asks, “Can you tell me one more time why you need to do this? You could arrange all the details through Tom, without seeing Rachel.”

“I want to see her. Don’t you understand?” I turn to face him. “This whole time, I’ve been a puppet in Rachel and John’s play. Now she has to understand that she can’t manipulate me that way anymore. I decide for myself what my life is going to be like. She and I are on equal terms now, and I’m making my own movie. I’m free of her.”

“What do you mean by free?” Paul frowns, his forehead wrinkling.

“You know, Tom compared her to a witch, once. I liked her so much, right from the start, that I think I was bewitched . Like she put some sort of spell on me.  Now I’m free of her sorcery. I can see things with my own eyes.” As I say all that, my new courage fuels my righteous anger.

Paul laughs. “Little Emmy is all grown up, and her claws are out!”

We stride into the gallery together, holding hands. Rachel sees us and comes over to meet us. Her eyes are smiling.

“Emmy, Paul, hello! I’m so glad you stopped by. Emmy, look, do you like how we’ve arranged your paintings?” She points over to a wall where two of my works are in fact hanging. Their bright colors and broad brush strokes stand out nicely against the white wall, attracting the eye. “I know you did amazing work in Seattle. Lorna loves you, too. I’m glad I could help you... You didn’t let me down. And you look simply wonderful!” Rachel beams at me approvingly, and then runs her gaze down across our joined hands over to Paul. “I hear your work is taking off, too! Congratulations!” she gushes. “All right, I need to run. Tom will tell you everything you need to know.”

She turns to the exit and walks out, swaying gracefully on her high heels. Spine straight, head held high, auburn hair pulled back tight. What an incomparable and extraordinary woman! Neither Paul nor I come out of our stupor until Tom is right on top of us.

“Hello, my dears! What’s gotten you two frozen there like pillars of salt?”

Paul and I exchange glances. I have the distinct feeling that Rachel has praised and petted us like good little children, then sent us back to the sandbox to play some more so that she could take care of serious grown-up business. My carefully planned mutiny was a bust, over before it began. I start to giggle. My giggling spreads to Paul. Soon we’re both laughing full volume, while Tom stands there looking quizzically at each of us in turn.

“I’m glad that a meeting with so modest a personage as myself has provided you such an occasion for mirth,” Tom finally interrupts in his usual affected manner. “But perhaps one of you could explain to me what happened?”

“Oh, nothing, Tom, and that’s just it: nothing happened! I spent so much time agonizing over this moment, not sleeping at night, flying all the way here from Vancouver, and now... absolutely nothing happened!” Still, I feel like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. My whole body is lighter.

“Well then, boys and girls, have you finally thought things over and made up?” Tom raises one eyebrow and peers at us both inquisitively, over his glasses. Paul and I exchange glances again, and we smile at each other. “Then we need to celebrate!” Tom declares.

We help him close up the gallery, and we walk to his favorite bar to start our celebration.

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This is the first (and, at this time, only) full length novel published by Tanya Altbridge. Tanya speaks three languages and traveled around the world. She likes good food, good movies, and good stories. She started reading romance novels when her children were born. Her favorite stories don’t have pirates, vampires, or billionaires. Yes, we read romance novels to escape, but, still, a book needs to hold a certain amount of believability to it. Tanya loves stories about ordinary people because they also deserve a “happily ever after”.

Please feel free to write to her your thoughts. She’d be happy to hear from you.

Email:  [email protected]

Tanya Altbridge “The Art of my Love: a story of betrayal, desire, love, and marriage”

Copyright © 2015 Tanya Altbridge. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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