The Artist's Paradise (4 page)

Chapter 6

Mister
Tubbs launched into full bark mode. How did he know when someone was on the porch? The closer the intruder came, the more fierce the bark. He ruled the neighborhood.

Angie peeked out the glass pane. Her mother stood on the front porch, arms full of grocery bags.
Now what?

She opened the door its full width. “Mom, what brings you here? Are you delivering groceries these days?”

“Hi, Honey. No. I’m not into delivery, just good eating. Tonight, I’m cooking for you and Jonathan in celebration of your anniversary. I knew you two would have plans yesterday, but tonight’s mine.”

Angie glanced at her mother, and then quickly turned away.
Cooking for them? She must really be lonely. “Come in. There’s no guarantee Jonathan will be home for dinner, but I’m suddenly hungry. What are we making?”

“Not coming home? Does that happen often?”

“You know how lawyers are.” Angie waved her arm. “They bill by the hour and make lots of money.”

Her mother pushed past Angie, stepped into the house,
and headed toward the kitchen.

“Can we talk about Dad before we start cooking?”
Angie asked.

Her mother’s smile faded. “I was going to wait until after dinner, but if now’s better for you, it’s fine with me. I’ll put the groceries in the fridge until later. Got any coffee?”

“Sure, coffee’s almost ready. I put on a fresh pot for myself a few minutes ago.”

The steam carried the French vanilla aroma of fresh brewed coffee as Angie filled the two large mugs
and added cream for both. She sat down at the kitchen table across from her mother.

“What’s going on with you and Dad?”

“Your dad and I spent the day talking.” Her mother leaned forward and took a sip of the hot coffee. “He doesn’t want to be married, and I can’t live with a man who acts like he’s single. My lawyer’s filing divorce papers next week”

Angie crossed her arms as a deep breath escaped her
lips. “You’re filing so fast?” She guessed she should not be surprised. Her mother wanted out, and she needed a large bank balance to maintain her lifestyle.

“The lawyer thinks it’s’ best. Right now, y
our dad will be generous with the terms of the divorce, and I won’t be a bitch about his secret life. The longer the negotiations, the nastier things can become.”

Angie’s
shoulders tensed. Divorce was so final. She had feared they would divorce for years. She guessed it was inevitable. “Isn’t there another way? I’m not judging, just asking.”

“God knows I’ve tried. I’ve looked the other way for years, but I can’t do it any longer. I deserve to be happy. I won’t grow old with a man who’s unfaithful. He suffocates me.”

Angie stared at her mother. She pushed past the emotional pain and willed herself not to cry. “I understand. I can’t remember the last time either of you seemed happy. It’s difficult seeing your lives pulled apart. You know I love both of you.”

“Thanks, somehow I knew you’d understand. It’s painful to talk about, but for those who love us, it’s really not hidden. Is it?”

Angie’s cheeks burned. Her head throbbed. What did her mother know?

#

“Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.” Her mother said, busying herself in the kitchen. “Do you think Jonathan will be home soon?”

“
I heard once that you’re only as sick as your secrets.” Angie reached for her mother’s hand. “I’m pretty sick.” She stared at the kitchen table.

“I’m not sure I understand. What’s wrong?”

“You asked about Jonathan earlier. We’re struggling. Most days he gets home after dinner or stays in the Carlton Hotel downtown. He forgets to call. He didn’t even come home for our anniversary.” Tears rolled down Angie’s cheeks.

Her mother gently placed her hand on Angie’s arm. “I didn’t know, but I wondered. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not sure if he’s consumed with his career, or if there’s another woman. Maybe I don’t really want to know. I love him. How do I live without him?”

Angie wiped the tears from her cheeks as her mother wrapped her arms around her and whispered, “Tears are a good beginning.”

#

Jonathan struggled to fill his lungs with air as he ran up the stairs to his front door. Why him? The train was never late. He told her
7 and it was after 8. He should have called. He unlocked the front door without a sound and peered inside. Mister Tubbs graced him with jumps and spins. Good smells greeted him from the kitchen. “Honey, I’m home. I smell something wonderful and I can’t wait to eat. What did you make?”

Silence.

Jonathan dropped his briefcase and gave Mister Tubbs a quick pat on the backside. He walked into the kitchen. Pots were nestled on low flames warming. No sign of Angie. The table was set for three. What the . . .?

He took the stairs two at a time to their third-floor bedroom. Slowly opening the door, he saw Angie lying across the bed, eyes red and hair tossed like a mop. “I know I’m late, but the train was delayed. I’m sorry.”

Angie’s eyes appeared puffy, as if her best friend had just died.

“Is something wrong?”

“Mom came by today. She had planned on cooking our anniversary dinner.”

“
What’s she making? I smelled it coming in. Where is she?”

“We tired of waiting and she
left. The real reason for her visit was to discuss her divorce from Dad.”

“Divorce?
Oh, Babe.” He strode closer to the bed, reached out his hand, and dabbed the tear on her cheek.

She
rolled away from him and glared. “You rarely come home at night anymore. Are you leaving me too? I have to know.” She choked back tears.

Why was he usually late?  Work
called. He loved her, but he often had to put her needs second to his career. The fear and pain in her fragile voice heaped more guilt on him. Damn! He had to find some way to stop hurting her. “Leaving you? Never. I love you. I’m sorry about last night. I have no excuse. I promise to do better.” Jonathon approached to comfort her and then hesitated.  “Let me hold you.”

Her body trembled as she sobbed.

He crawled onto the bed and tried to pull her close to him. She resisted his touch. “Baby, please let me help you. I know you’re hurting.”

She rolled over on the bed, trembling. He reached out for her and as their bodies met, she relaxed into his protective grasp. She wept for several minutes as he stroked her
long hair.

“I need you,” Angie finally whispered. “Tell me you won’t leave me.”

“I promise. How could I leave someone as sweet as you?” Jonathan whisked her hair away from her face. She relaxed her head against the pillows. He lay down next to her and placed a soft, wet kiss on her lips. “I will always love you. We’re not like your parents. One day we’ll celebrate our fiftieth anniversary, and we’ll be even more in love than we are now.”

“How can I be sure you love me? You don’t ever seem to follow through on your promises. I don’t trust you.”

His reply caught in his throat. She didn’t trust him? He had to correct that. No marriage survives mistrust. “It takes time to build trust. I’m guessing it takes even longer to rebuild trust once it’s lost. Can you give me some time? Let me show you I am trustworthy.”

“I don’t know. Your choices exclude me. Is that love?”

“My choices do include you. But perhaps you don’t understand what I am working toward.”

“I grew up watching my parents grow farther and farther apart. My dad said and did cruel things to Mom. She found subtle ways to get back at him. They destroyed their marriage. I won’t live like that.”

Jonathan peered into her childlike face. Why had she never told him about her home life before? What other secrets had she kept from him? What kind of childhood had she experienced? “Our marriage won’t ever be like your parents. I love you. You’ve got to believe me.” His chest tightened. “Please give me one more chance.”

He pulled her close and kissed the tears from her cheeks. He wrapped his warmth around her like a blanket.

Angie returned his kiss. “I want to trust you.”

Tightness left Jonathan’s chest as he experienced her forgiveness. He
would find a way to get back the girl he’d married. For the past few years, she’d often seemed sad, but he’d never asked her why. He didn’t know how to talk to her when she got in a funk. She’d blame him and then refuse to talk. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, just trying to make a life for them, a life he thought they both wanted.

Chapter 7

The
pungent fragrance of Starbucks coffee penetrated Angie’s dream. Warmth on her face and a wonderful sense of well-being filled her.  Slowly opening her eyes, she watched Jonathan gently place her breakfast, coffee and all, onto the bistro table on the balcony outside the bedroom French doors. Finally Saturday had arrived, their day to spend together. After last night, it would surely be a great day.

“Good morning, sleepy head. Coffee’s ready, want yours in bed or out here on the balcony?”

Angie leaped out of bed, grabbed her bathrobe, and stepped outside. “Good morning, yourself. What a nice surprise. You know how I enjoy breakfast out here. I love to watch the activity of our Gold Coast neighbors. It’s like watching bubbles in boiling water. It’s infectious.”

“What would you like to do today?
It’s too pretty to stay indoors. Poor Mister Tubbs is demanding attention and you, my dear, deserve a day devoted to you. Your wish is my desire.” Jonathan, linen napkin across his bent forearm, bowed.

“Anything I want?”

“Anything!”

“I want a picnic in Lincoln Park. Fresh baked bread, cheese, red wine, and my two favorite guys. Can we?”

“Absolutely.”

“Really?”

“Yes, sounds like fun. We’ll spend a quiet morning together, and then hit the bakery, and head for the park.”

He could be so wonderful
at times like this, when she had his attention. Keeping him focused on her was the problem

#

Breakfast cleaned up, paper read, and both dressed in jeans and tees, Jonathan stepped in front of Angie, hesitated, and then asked, “Did you like the Pendant necklace I bought you?”

Angie turned away. She stood silent for what seemed like an eternity
. “Honestly, I didn’t open the package. I was too angry.”

“Will you open the gift now?”

“I’d rather open it later, when we get back from the park. Do you mind?”

“I guess
not, but why wait?”

“If you must know, right now I am happy. The package brings back bad memories. Let me enjoy
today, and then I think I can open your gift without reliving the pain from our anniversary evening.”

Jonathan rubbed his chin and put his hands into his jeans pockets.  Even when he thought the storm was over, it wasn’t. “I guess I understand. We’ll wait. I have some work to do in my study before we go. Can I have an hour? Then the rest of the day
’s all yours.”

“Perfect, see you in an hour. That’ll give me time to put together our delicious picnic. I wonder what
Mister Tubbs will want to eat? Something special, I’m sure.” Angie nestled closer to Jonathan, put her arms around his neck, and smiled. “It’s nice to have you home. I’m really looking forward to today.”

“Me too, I
plan on showing you how much you mean to me.”

“I’d like that.”

#

Mister
Tubbs jumped and spun around wildly as Angie worked to clip the leash onto his harness. He loved to go. Where didn’t matter. She grabbed the picnic basket and called to Jonathan, “Ready? I can’t keep Mister Tubbs inside much longer.

“Co
ming. Did you remember to bring his backpack carrier?”

“Are you kidding? Without our secret weapon, he will die of exhaustion. Besides, we’d never get inside the zoo if anyone knew we had him with us.” Angie struggled to keep
Mister Tubbs from choking himself, as he continued to jump at the door. “Can we see the lions and tigers? And you know how I love the exotic birds and fish. It will be fun.”

“This is your day. We’ll see any animal you want. Your wish is my command.”

Jonathan wrapped his arm around Angie’s shoulders. The two strolled the mile-plus path on North Wells to the Twisted Baker. By the time they reached the bakery, Mister Tubbs had turned into a limp, tired puppy. Angie picked him up in her arms and helped Jonathan put him into the doggie backpack. Snuggly strapped onto Jonathan’s back, Mister Tubbs immediately fell asleep.

Two years earlier, this trip had been a part of their Saturday routine. No matter what was planned for the rest of the day, on Saturday morning they would
stroll to the bakery for bagels, bread, or cinnamon rolls. Memories flooded Angie as she stepped into the shop and inhaled the sweet smell of cinnamon buns.

Her eyes widened as she recognized the owner. He hadn’t changed at all, well perhaps a little rounder and grayer at the temples, but still the same smiling, gentle man who had greeted them for so many years. “Oh, Papa Joe, it’s so good to see you,” Angie
said.

“Hey, how long has it been? Jonathon, what did you do? Did you move away—take my little Angie with you?  Tell me you didn’t find a new baker. Don’t break my heart.”

Jonathan laughed. “Not to worry, we’ve been trying to eat healthy. Boy how we miss your great pastries.”

“Come. I got fresh baked rolls and breads.” Papa Joe took Angie by the arm and hurried her to his pastry case. “You’ll taste the butter and cinnamon
and your eyes will weep with joy.”

J
onathan made his selection for their lunch, his favorite tomato, basil, and cheese loaf, ideal with cheese and wine. The brunch crowd pushed into the available space, and Papa Joe flew into high gear.  No more time for reminiscing. They said their goodbyes and ambled toward the door.

Papa Jo
e raised his arm and waved. “Come back soon. We have many new types of bread you must try.”

Angie
waved back. “See you next Saturday.”

#

They walked hand in hand along the side
walk to the Millennium Knickerbocker Hotel. At the Concierge Center, they caught the bus to Lincoln Park.

S
tepping off the bus, Jonathan leaned close and whispered in her ear. “Do you remember the day we met on that Saturday in May? You were in the Millennium Park by the Crown Fountain. You had your canvas, watercolors, and easel. I took one look at you and fell in love. Your sparkling eyes and cute grin captivated me—did I fall hard.”

“Are you kidding? You swept me off my feet. You, the charmer, knew all about art, watercolors, and had been to the Thomas Gathman Gallery Art Show the week before. I was the starving artist with a hunger for my own art gallery and private art shows. I wanted it all
, and you believed I could have it.” Angie lowered her head. What had happened to them since then?

“You were good, Angie. Why did you stop painting?”

“I don’t know. At first I had to focus on becoming a wife,” Angie whispered. “Remember, I couldn’t cook, clean, or anything else wives do. Mom never allowed me in the kitchen. Being a perfectionist with OCD, she had to do it all.” She squeezed his hand. “Then came the role of corporate wife, Attending those classy dinners and cocktail parties was bad enough. But attempting to entertain in our home terrorized me—planning and hosting. The responsibility of a four-bedroom, 6,000 square- foot brownstone overwhelmed me. I grew up in less than a 1000 square-foot apartment.” Angie put her hands to her mouth and paused. “I fought to make time for my art. But our life together required so much of me. It was as if I’d entered a marathon without training. My love of the craft wouldn’t allow me to do less than exemplary work, and I pushed my first love away. I didn’t know how to fit in painting and be the wife you deserved. And I couldn’t tell you I was drowning.”

“I never meant for you to give
up painting.” Jonathon turned her to face him. “That’s one of the reasons we moved into the brownstone. With three floors, you had a perfect place for a studio next to our bedroom. You should start painting again.”

“It’s been years since I held a brush. I’m not sure I remember how to paint.”

“Please think about it.”

Was it too late to dream?
“I will, promise.”

#

Exhausted from their trip to the zoo, Angie and Mister Tubbs nestled onto the king-size bed and collapsed. An hour later, a gentle touch on her cheek awakened her. She recognized the spicy fragrance of the Polo aftershave as she slowly opened her eyes.

“Hi,
Baby. I made reservations for Morton’s tonight—your favorite steak house. I had to pull some strings to get us reservations. We need to be there by 7:30. I know it’s early, but can you be ready by 7?”

“Can I ever.” She jumped off the bed and pranced to th
e bathroom for a hot shower.

An hour later, Angie
glided into the living room in a long black skirt and sequined-sweater accented with a golden silk camisole.

Jonathan whistled as she entered the room. “My wife will be back any minute, we have to be discrete. Come here beautiful and give me a kiss.”

“You like it you naughty boy?” She laughed and whirled around in front of him.

“Like it? You’re amazing. I love you.” He grabbed her and pulled her close. He ran his hand down the side of her waist and placed his lips on her neck, nibbling up to her ear and back down to
the nape of her neck again.

Angie
moved against his hand and then pulled away. “Time to catch that cab. We have reservations. Hold that thought for later.”

“Wait. You have to open your
present.” Jonathan put his hand into his suit coat pocket and gently pulled out the small package from
Tiffany’s
and handed it to her.

Angie held up the
gift, and then gazed back up into Jonathan’s eyes.

“Please. This is to show you how much I love you. I want you to wear it tonight.”

She reached out and took the package. Angie sat down on the sofa and gingerly unwrapped the gift. She gasped. He had never bought her jewelry like this before. The heart-shaped pendant, adorned with eight diamonds, sparkled brilliantly. This was a gift of love.

“It’s beautiful. Is the pendant made from copper?”

“Yes, copper for our eighth anniversary. See, it also has eight diamonds circling the heart in the center of the pendant. Put it on. It’s made for you.”

He’d actually spent time selecting her gift
. It was ideal for an eighth anniversary. Had she misjudged him? He had been so romantic when they first met. Back then, Jonathan would surprise her with flowers, small but meaningful remembrances. After they married, he had treated her to dinner every month on the twelfth, the date of their marriage ceremony. He called it an anniversary celebration. Reservations were always at Mortons. Was she foolish to think
that
man could return?

“It’s gorgeous. Thank
s. Put it on me.”

She held up the pendant and pulled the chain ends to the back of her neck while
he fastened the clasp. She turned, leaned against his body, and lingered into a kiss, a sweet, loving kiss.

#

Angie spent Sunday lazily reading the newspaper, eating a late breakfast, and savoring tender kisses in bed. This was the first weekend in months he’d spent with her. His usual pattern placed him hiding out in his home office for hours working on some court case.

Angie and
Mister Tubbs enjoyed the attention until after lunch. Then Jonathan slipped out of bed. He dressed in a cobalt blue sweater and khaki slacks. He pulled on his favorite brown tassel loafers with no socks and excused himself.

Angie recognized his pattern—ti
me for him to head to his study. A lump stirred in her throat. He had delayed important preparation for his closing arguments on Monday. His work demanded priority. She didn’t like being isolated from him so soon. This part of his life wouldn’t change. In the meantime, she planned to rebuild her own life. She longed to dust off her watercolors, set up her private studio, and cultivate her artistic talent. Vicki spoke wisdom. She couldn’t rely on Jonathan for her happiness. Perhaps, in time, she would be able to convince him to start a family.

By mid-afternoon, Angie crawled out of bed
, pulled a peach crepe blouse and gray linen slacks from the closet. After dressing, she settled herself in front of the make-up mirror. She tenderly put the pendant around her neck and gazed into her reflection. She had to learn to trust him. He wasn’t her father. Jonathan might choose work over her, but he’d never cheat on her.

W
hen they first married, she resisted settling into the six thousand square-foot brownstone, but his father had insisted that Jonathan accept the gift of his childhood home. With his mother, deceased, and his father in ill health, he’d agreed.

A few weeks after moving in, she had broached the subject of making subtle changes to the décor—warmer wall colors, brighter artwork, and more informal furniture in a few select rooms.

His response fired back quick and decisive, “No. This is my home, my memories. All I have left of my parents is here. You can’t change anything.”

The brownstone, a three-story stone monolithic structure, remained cold and uninviting. She found herself forced to live with the decor of a woman she’d never met and the legacy of a father, long gone. She’d worked hard to fit into his life. Being
eight years younger than Jonathan, she respected his ideas and molded herself to his wishes.