The Artist's Paradise (8 page)

Chapter 14

To Jonathan’s chagrin, Saturday morning held more frustration and less contact with the outside world. No one he called was available for an outing. Plans were made, guests had arrived, or this was the weekend they had the kids. What happened to all his footloose friends? He tried to set up a foursome for golf for Sunday. Again, no one said yes.

After breakfast,
he jogged five miles, ending up at a Mexican street- cart. His favorite dishes tantalized his sense of smell and soon his stomach had forgotten about the hearty breakfast eaten less than an hour ago. He succumbed to three shredded beef street tacos and bottled water. Why was he eating so much this weekend?

Jonathan returned to the brownstone for a shower, and then strolled over to Rush Street to check out the action. He hadn’t been to the
Tavern on Rush
for over three years. Their on-tap German beer was dark and cold. The sports bar broadcasted the sport-of-the- day, a perfect “men’s den.”

Within seconds of entering
the tavern, his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. The tavern was sparsely occupied with late-lunch patrons and a few of the early dinner crowd. He was shown a table in the bar area, ordered an
Allgauer Siits
on tap, and sat back to survey the crowd, such as it was.

A soccer match
blared on the plasma TV over the bar. While catching the score of the match, he sensed the warm presence of someone standing next to him. A spicy fragrance of
Jimmy Choo
perfume sent a tingle down his spine. Oh, what a sexy smell. His eye twitched as he realized he was sharing his personal space with the most gorgeous, well-endowed, brunette in the tavern. Trying not to appear overly interested, Jonathan deepened his voice and said, “Do you like soccer?”

The mystery woman leaned into him and smiled. “I like any sport where good looking men run around in shorts and sweat.”

Jonathan grabbed his iced mug and took a gulp. How should he respond to that? “Hello, lovely lady. I’m Jonathan.” He motioned to her to sit down. “Please, join me.”

The mystery woman opened her mouth, licked her
bright-red lips ever so slowly, and slid onto the stool opposite him. “You can call me Lucinda. I’ll have an Apple Martini.”

Jonathan raised his right arm and caught the attention of the bartender. The Apple Martini ordered, he leaned back on his stool and eyed the mystery woman from top to bottom. His attorney antenna went up, gathering vibes that caused his
ego to jump into overdrive. He leaned forward, smiled, and asked, “What brings a lovely lady like you into a sports bar?”

She crossed her long legs, revealing a tanned thigh and slim ankle. Her four-inch black patent-leather stiletto heels glistened. “I come here frequently. The food’s marvelous and usually the company is, too. I haven’t seen you here before. Are you new to Chicago?”

Jonathan gulped. Had he come to the
Tavern on Rush
with Angie, this woman would never have approached him. But now, well, here she was. “I’m a native. Born and raised in Gold Coast. Are you from around here?”

She
leaned forward, gazed, and smiled. “I’m a native too. Born and raised in downtown Chicago. What do you do for a living?”

Jonathan paused and then replied, “I work for a business downtown. What about you?”

“I’m a buyer for Sacs. I love the challenge of guessing our clients’ fashion wants and ensuring that merchandise is in stock when they have the urge to shop. It’s like playing Russian roulette. If you’re right, you’re gold. If you’re not right, you’re gone.”

“Sounds like a tough business. You look like you’re right most of the time.”

The mystery woman moved in closer and whispered into his ear. “Yes, I’m right every time.”

So pungent, h
er fragrance took away his breath. His flesh tingled. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. He knew decision time had arrived. If he waited much longer, he was toast. “It’s been great talking to you, but I’ve got to run. Can I order you another martini before I leave? It’s on me.”

Her forehead furrowed. Her lips pursed. She moved herself closer
to Jonathan. “Leave? But why? We were just getting to know each other.”

“Yes, and sorry to say, that’s the way it must end. My wife waits.”

“Wife? Why are the sexiest men always married?” She opened her beaded bag, located a hot-pink business card, and placed it in his open palm. “Just in case your situation changes.” She gazed into his eyes as she pursed her lips.

Jonathan
stared down at the business card in his hand. Now what? Pocketing the card, he dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table, pushed back the chair, and jumped up. “Wonderful meeting you.”

He turned and strode away with his head held
high. With a smirk on his lips, he patted his pocket.
I still have it.

#

Saturday evening evolved into night. The street noises below his brownstone window highlighted the fast pace of Gold Coast. New opportunities for exciting encounters with people were an open door away. But the noise level in the brownstone mirrored a city library.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been alone--really alone. He found himself even missing Mister Tubbs.

Jonathan turned the TV from the sports channel to satellite radio. After flipping to several stations, he settled onto old classics. You couldn’t beat Ne
il Diamond when you were feeling down. His dad introduced him to the legacy of Neil Diamond when Jonathan was in middle school. He found the lyrics to be literary in scope and the music mesmerizing. Neil had somehow known life would have many lessons.  As Neil sang “Clown Town,” Jonathan sunk onto the sofa and slumped—forehead pressing into his hands. He felt sick to his stomach. Was that fear? Could Angie think he was a clown? A joke?

He picked up his cell phone and entered
her phone number for what seemed like the millionth time. His call went straight to voicemail. 

#

Sunday, when Jonathan awoke, he realized his bad dream hadn’t ended. What was she doing? Why wouldn’t she talk to him until Tuesday? His pulse beat rapidly, and his breathing grew shallow. All night he had watched the digital clock creep from hour to hour.

He
crawled out of bed and stumbled down to make coffee. The canister next to the coffeemaker was empty. He stomped to the pantry—none there.

What the hell?

Angie never ran out of coffee. He threw the scoop into the sink and grumbled under his breath as he climbed up the stairs to the bedroom. He pulled on sweat pants over his pajamas and slipped into his boat shoes. He reached the front door, ready to depart, when the phone in the living room rang.

He raced across the living room
and tripped over the footstool in front of the winged chair. Finding himself between the fireplace hearth and chair, he reached his long arm toward the phone. Gasping for air, he shouted, “Angie?”

“Hello. I am
calling on behalf of the Chicago police department. Have you purchased your circus tickets for a fatherless child of Chicago? It’s not too late to help someone more unfortunate than you. Our kids are in need of a day of laughter.”

Jonathan
jerked the phone away from his ear and stared. “A day of laughter? Look, buddy. First of all, I’m on the No Call list. You’ll hear from my lawyer on Monday. If anyone needs some fun in his life, it’s me. There’s no coffee here. I haven’t shaved, brushed my teeth, or even dressed yet. My wife left me, and I don’t know where she went or if she is coming back. I missed my shower this morning. I will not be harassed. Don’t ever call me again.” He slammed the phone down, stood up, and stomped to the front door. He stopped for a quick peek in the hall mirror. Yep, he looked like a loser. He slammed the door behind him as he tore out of the brownstone.

He
strolled into the closest Starbucks and stood in a line with seven others. Finally, at the front of the line, he ordered a Latté Grandee with extra whipping cream and a blueberry muffin. Taking his treasure over to a small round table, he picked up the free Sunday paper and straddled the chair. He gazed around the room, where several customers stared at him. “Hey, if you lived my life, you’d be glad to just survive.”

Jonathan tossed the newspaper on the table along with a pocket of change and stormed outside. He bumped into an elderly couple as they approached the door of Starbucks. “Sorry. My fault,” he said as he spilled his coffee all over them
. Why was his life crumbling?

Chapter 15

Angie
rose early on Sunday. She fed Mister Tubbs, walked him, and after returning him to the hotel room, completed her workout with a short jog. She’d set aside ninety minutes to prepare herself for the day—time needed to create the
new
Angie.

The final touches of color to her cheeks and lips applied, Angie slipped into low
-rise black linen slacks with a soft pink cashmere sweater and black high-heeled boots. A glance in the mirror brought a smile to her face. She scrunched her hair and looked back at her image. Yes, that
was the look.

Angie stepped into the living room of the hotel suite and greeted Vicki. “Good morning. Susie running late?”

“Naturally, it’s her persona.”

A knock came at the door.

“Well, look who’s arrived.” Vicki commented in a low voice. “I’ll get the door. Are you ready to leave?”

“More than ready.”

Angie encouraged Mister Tubbs into his doggie carrier with the expected treat and latched the cage.

Vicki opened the door, seeing Susie, she stepped into the hall.

“I see you two are pumped for this outing. So let’s go,” Susie said.

The drive to the professor’s house
followed a winding road past the center of the university. A Sunday morning lull blanketed the campus as though Rip Van Winkle slept under the leaves. The lack of traffic allowed Angie to see the sights in daylight. Taking in the awesome view, she turned her head from side to side, as if to satisfy an unquenchable thirst. The campus greens, touched with yellow and red spring flowers, gray stoned walkways, and majestic buildings of stone and red brick, were an inviting sight.

The professor lived in a remote area deep in the suburbs.  Tall evergreens lined the roadway on both sides of the highway. The air smelled crisp with a hint of mint.

The professor’s rustic-house stood at the end of a cul-de-sac. A small cottage behind the house met their gaze. Nestled on about two acres, the front home on the property beckoned visitors with a wrap-around porch, swing, and deck chairs. Angie leaned forward to capture a glimpse of a small log cabin in the backyard. Set deep into the woods, it brought an image of Hansel and Gretel to mind.

“This is it. You’ll love the professor,” Susie said as she
jumped out of the car.

Angie grabbed the coffeecake Susie had left in the back seat
. She stretched, took off her sunglasses, and slid them on top of her head.

“Ready?” Vicki asked.

Angie swallowed a big gulp of fresh air and walked to the house.

“Welcome to my sanctuary.” A man about six feet tall, with dark hair, and dark
-brown eyes, stood motionless on the porch.

Angie stared in silence. It was
him
—the stranger from the museum. Once inside, Angie stretched out her hand and said, “Well, professor, nice to meet you
again.”

“Ah, yes. You’re
the young lady from the art display at the museum. I didn’t catch your name.” His long brown eyelashes captured her attention. He was intoxicatingly handsome.

“Rhodes, Angie Rhodes,” she gasped.

Susie zipped into the kitchen, placed the coffeecake onto a serving dish, and zipped back. “Oops. Sorry. Professor T, this is my mom, Vicki, and our friend Angie. Angie’s the one I told you about. She’s the artist.”

The professor approached Vicki and reached out his hand. “I’ve wanted to meet you for some time. Your daughter’s one of my favorite students.” Then he turned to Angie. “Hope you forgive me for not introducing myself yesterday. So many fans, it gets tiring. I understand your medium is watercolor. I’d love to see some of your work. Did you bring anything with you?”

Angie took a step back. His stare bore into her. She backed into the rocker on the porch. He reached out and steadied her.

“Oh, no, I haven’t painted in years. You’d be very disappoi
nted with my so called talent.”

His gaze never left her face. “I doubt that there is anything about you that could disappoint me.”

Angie’s face burned, as she struggled to fill her lungs. What was wrong with her?

“Professor, do you want to sit
out here on the back porch?” Susie asked.

“Good idea.
It’s lovely this time of the year. I’ll get the coffee and juice. You all relax, and enjoy the songbirds.”

As they
settled onto the back porch, Vicki leaned over to Angie and whispered, “What’s with you?”

“Can’t you feel his magnetic pull?”

“Not really, but if you watch Susie, he must have something. He seems to have magic in his quiver.”

Angie paused as if in a trance, and then said, “’Magic’s the right word for his paintings
. Maybe that’s what I’m experiencing.”

Susie flopped into the white rope hammock after placing the coffeecake onto a small wooden table on the back porch.

The professor returned, tray in hand, and offered each guest coffee and juice. Then he placed the tray on the table alongside the coffee cake. He lowered himself into one of the deck chairs, lifted his arm in a sweeping arch, and said, “This is the most beautiful location in all of Tennessee. With the mature forest of evergreens, I have privacy. My view is graced with red Knockout roses bordering the front and sides of the house and a wandering view of a small creek that runs in the back. I’ve purposely left the area surrounding the cottage untouched, with tall grasses and hanging feeders for the birds. I awaken to songbirds each day. And best of all, my students visit this paradise and allow me to help them become great.”

The warmth of the sun touched Angie’s arms. The breeze softly moved her hair away from her face. She sipped the caramel-flavored coffee and nibbled on coffee cake. “How wonderful it must be to influence so many. But professor, you’re the genius. I’ve seen your entry at the museum. You’re gifted.”

Professor T’s dark eyes widened, as he quietly sipped his coffee. He set down his cup. “My dear Angie, my life is devoted to others. Every summer I select one art student for an intensive study. They receive one hundred percent of my time and at the end of the session, are ready for a life in the arts.”

Angie sat up straight in her deckchair.
Her eyes widened. Imagine an intensive study, one-on-one with this genius. He really did give of himself. She gazed toward the cottage nestled in the woods. The building, painted a cedar-red, one story construction, with the look of a gingerbread house. The front door stood centered on a small porch with shuttered windows on each side. It was small, but inviting.

“Is that a fancy shed for your lawn care and supplies?”
Vicki asked.

The professor chuckled. “No. Come see.  My summer students live and paint here. It‘s an artist hideaway.”

Susie giggled. “Artist hideaway nothing, it’s a loft, except it’s a one story. Go see. It’s amazing.”

As Angie stood, Vicki rose from her chair and asked, “I’d love to see it too. May I?”

“Please, both of you come. What about you, Susie? Will you join us?”

Susie looked up from her piece of coffee cake and stretched in the warm sun. “I’ve spent many hours there. It’s wonderful, but the sunshine calls. I’ll wait here.”

“Of course, we’ll just be a few minutes.” The professor stepped off the back porch. “The idea of a cottage was conceived by a young female artist shortly after I moved in the main house,” he said, looking at Angie. “I couldn’t rest until it was completed. That artist designed the floor plan and was my very first intensive-summer student.”

They walked on the sandy colored flagstone path that weaved around flowerbeds bursting with hyacinths ants and tulips in full bloom. The sweet fragrance of the flowers embraced Angie mixed with the pungent smell of the cedar trees.

He lifted up a watering can, exposing the key and opened the door. “
Taadum.
Ladies, please enter the
Artist’s Paradise
.”

Angie stepped through the open doorway and inhaled the fragrance of summer flowers and spicy grasses in the multiple vases
staged around the room. On the far wall, opposite the front door, a stone fireplace sat decorated with a wooden plaque,
The Artist’s Paradise.

“It’s small, but well lit. The north side is all windows to allow for perfect watercolor painting.” He guided them around the room.

Vicki picked up a red porcelain robin sitting on the pine end table. She touched the lampshade gently and said, “The décor color is inviting. You’ve brought the beauty of the outdoors inside.”

“As I said, one of my former students designed the layout and color scheme. All I had to do was approve.”

Angie drank in the wonderful paradise. She gazed at the paintings surrounding her. Watercolors graced every wall. Most were landscapes filled with vibrant colors and an artistry of brush-stroke that brought the landscapes alive. His selection of pallet, the bold choices, sent a chill down her spine. The floor plan enhanced the presentation. “It has such an open feel.”

The professor’s arm swept the air in a half circle. “The one-room concept creates a feeling of openness. But my favorite inspiration is the tube lighting all through the space
—the more natural light, the better.”

Angie nodded. “The lighting’s fantastic. Your student, whoever she
is, is gifted in design.”

The professor
slid into her personal space. “She
is
gifted. After she graduated, Paula established residence in New York City where she has her own gallery.”

Angie stepped back
and regained her composure. His earthy fragrance penetrated her senses.

After an awkward silence, Vicki edged to the door. “We must go. We have lots to do today.”

Angie nodded, and they returned to the peaceful arms of late spring.

Susie greeted them with an impish smile.
“It’s perfect, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes,” Angie said with a sigh. “I’m jealous of all the students who have been able to take advantage of this paradise—
ideal for creativity.”

Susie pleaded with her mother to stay a little longer, but Vicki was firm. The tension in her jaw mirrored a Mount R
ainer memorial. Vicki cleared her throat and repeated, “We are leaving,
now
.”

Angie
thanked the professor for his time and retraced her steps through his house and out to the car.

Professor T. followed closely behind them. “A
ngie, when are you going home?”

“Tuesday morning. Why?”

He walked up to the car as they got in. “I would love to see your art work. If you would like to come back tomorrow for a few hours, we could spend some time together. I can usually tell right away, who has talent. Perhaps I could give you some quick lessons, some ideas to try. What do you think?”

“We’ve got plans.”
Vicki snapped.

Angie glared at Vicki and then
leaned out the car door and said, “How generous. I’m sure I can find time tomorrow. What time’s good for you?”

“I’m open all day. You pick.”

Angie paused, and then responded, “How about nine o’clock?”

The professor
chuckled. “Wonderful. I’ll see you then.”

“We need to go.” Vicki gunned the gas and revved the engine.

“Geez, Mom, give Angie a second to make her plans.”

Vicki
swiveled around in her seat and growled, “The plans are made.” Then she turned the car around in the circular drive and blasted down the road.

Susie
, delivered to her dorm, jumped out of the car and stared at her mom. The tires squealed as Vicki spun around and drove back to the hotel. Silence filled the twenty-minute trip. Angie flushed as a chill emanated from Vicki. Back in the hotel room, Angie flew to the bedroom, released Mister Tubbs from his crate, and carried him outside for a long walk.

Once out of the deep freeze, Angie inhaled the spring air and focused on soaking up the sunshine.
Mister Tubbs, high stepping on the walk, stopped frequently to sniff flowers, chase a bumblebee, and taste some blades of grass.

“I met the most amazing man today,
Mister Tubbs. He is so generous and modest. I think you’d really like him.”

Mister
Tubbs ran off the sidewalk path and pulled Angie toward the playground equipment.

“Well, I can see you are not interested in my day. Can I at least tell you that Vicki’s upset with me? I don’t know why. But she’s not speaking.”

As Angie and Mister Tubbs entered the hotel room, Vicki looked up from her book without a word. Angie unhooked the leash from Mister Tubbs. He collapsed onto the floor, panting, and fell asleep where he lay.

“Why did you want to leave so quickly today?” Angie asked
, as she settled down across from Vicki. “I thought we were all having a lovely time”

“Are you blind?”