The Artist's Paradise (9 page)

“What?”

Vicki
launched herself from the sofa up and stomped toward the patio doors, jaw chiseled in stone. She whipped around and faced Angie. “Have you been out of circulation so long you can’t tell when a man is putting the moves on you?”

Angie, face red and breath shallow, glared at Vicki. “That’s ridiculous. He’s the most generous and unselfish man I’ve ever met. What’s wrong with
you?
”

“Me?” Vicki raised her arm and pointed her finger in Angie’s face, “I’ve never seen such a blatant attempt to hit on a
woman in a long time. He wasn’t even subtle. If you go over there tomorrow, you’ll be his prey. Can’t you see that?”

Angie stood and raised her voice. “We’ve been friends for a long time. I’ve never seen you so irrational. Either we sit down and talk this out, or I’m going out. It’s your choice.”

Vicki lowered her head into her hands. “I’m sorry.  I’m feeling responsible for this mess. I watched that professor work his magic on you today. He’s manipulating you to do what he wants, like Patrick did to me. Maybe you can’t see it. But I can. You’re in danger of making a grave mistake.”

Angie, hands on her hips, shook her head. “Give me a break.”

“I know. You’re over twenty-one. It’s none of my business. But I brought you on this trip to give you time to think about your relationship with Jonathan. Not to be caught up with another man.”

“First of all, I’m not
caught up
with anyone. Secondly, Jonathan’s my business, not yours. Thirdly, I’m planning to restart my painting career and this professor wants to help me. That’s not manipulation. He’s being generous. I won’t hear another word.”

“I don’t agree with you, but it’s your life.  Let’s drop it.”

“It’s dropped.”

“I promise to mind my own business. Please consider my warning a motherly concern. Susie says I’m a nosey woman.”

The two closed their arms around each other.

Angie desired peace.
No man was worth ending their friendship.

As she readied herself for bed, Professor Turner’s face flooded her mind. If he was hitting on her—which he wasn’t—it would be refreshing. She had no idea if she’d even have a marriage when she returned home.

#

James Turner
strode to his chest of drawers and picked up an antique picture frame. His hands shook. His mother’s image smiled back at him, but her deeply lined face surfaced difficult memories. She’d endured a great deal to give him his chance as an artist. Growing up, his father insisted that his mother was a flawed woman—weak and inferior.

She was
weak. She never stood up to his father. But she was strong when protecting and caring for her son. Wiping the dust off the picture frame, he replaced the photo on his bedroom bookshelf.

Chapter 16

Monday morning,
Angie stretched and smiled as she awoke. She leaned up on her elbow and gazed out the window. The deep azure-blue sky touched gently with patches of fluffy white clouds spelled spring. The trees swayed in the breeze and the sun warmed her room. What a glorious day. She gathered up her running clothes and awoke Mister Tubbs. Off they went on their morning routine.

Angie wouldn’t chance another discussion with Vicki. She leaned over close to
Mister Tubbs and whispered, “You’re going with me today. I want you to meet the professor. If you like him, I’ll know he’s not the monster Vicki thinks he is. You’re
never
wrong.”

Mister
Tubbs cocked his head and stared into her eyes. He put his left paw on her forearm and gave her his famous fanny wiggle.

“Let’s get going.”

An hour later, Angie tiptoed out of the hotel room, Mister Tubbs safely cradled in his carrier. She hopped into the cab and gave the cabbie the professor’s address. She hadn’t been this nervous since she applied for her first job at the age of sixteen. How ridiculous. She had nothing to fear. But what if he found her talent lacking? She placed her hands on the armrest and focused on the scenery. If she had no real talent, her dream could be put to rest. If she had the gift, perhaps he would help her. In college, she’d dreamed of having her own gallery—selling her watercolors. Was she just kidding herself?

Thirty minutes later,
the driver pulled up to the house. Angie hopped out of the cab, dog carrier in hand, eager to start the day. The professor waved to her from his front porch with a broad smile. As she turned with the carrier in hand, his brow furrowed, and his smile vanished.

Surely, he
wouldn’t mind if Mister Tubbs was with her.

Professor T glided down the front steps, reaching
toward her with his arm raised and his hand open. “Angie, it’s great to have you come today. Give me that dog. Your load’s too heavy for such a beautiful woman.”

Angie’s cheeks warmed.
Was he hitting on her?

Lifting her prized pet toward his outstretched hand, she
raised the crate and released Mister Tubbs to him.

He took the carrier, holding it at arm’s length. “I’m afraid I have an allergy to dogs and cats. We’ll have to find a safe place for him to stay while you are visiting.”

Mister Tubbs thrashed around inside the cage and fell into a rapid bark. Jostled from the professor’s grasp, he slid back and forth, banging on the sides of the crate.

“Stop! Put him down. I’ll carry him. He’s afraid.”

He obliged her request. “I’m sorry. You can put him on the back porch. It’s shaded and the dog can sleep or watch the birds. We’ll be in the cottage.”

Angie caught her breath. She picked up the carrier and opened the door to check
-on Mister Tubbs. “Are you all right?” she asked, pulling him close to her. He rubbed her shoulder with his forehead, then turned and glared in the direction of the professor. He resumed his insistent bark, his tone piercing.

She placed him back into the carrier and walked around back to the porch.
Mister Tubbs didn’t seem impressed with the professor.

“My poor baby,
it’s going to be fine. You rest, and I’ll be back for you soon.” Once settled, he quieted. She offered him a treat, and he curled up in a circle with his reward.

The professor closed the space between them. He stood next to her and studied her face. He reached for her hand, “Come. Let’s see your gift.”

Angie grimaced. My gift? She had once believed she would see her watercolors hanging in
Angie’s Designer Gallery
. Desiring a career in the Chicago art circles, she’d dreamed of holding by-invitation-only art shows. That desire had long since been abandoned, replaced by Jonathan’s hunger for fame. Even before marriage, he’d talk to her for hours describing their future. As she embraced his ideas, he opened up his bulletproof exterior and allowed her to grow closer to him. Their dreams merged as if born identical twins. Was it because she wanted what he wanted, or was her need for love and acceptance more powerful?

She
gazed down at Mister Tubbs snuggled up in a peaceful sleep. He appeared to be fine. Hungry to learn who she was and what she wanted out of life, she followed the professor into the
Artist’s Paradise.

The aroma
of pine embraced her as she entered the cottage. The professor guided her to the sofa near the fireplace. “Come, sit. You must meet my Paula”

Angie frowned and gazed around the cottage. She saw no one other than the professor. “Paula?”

He patted the sofa cushion next to him, and she obediently sat down. He picked up a leather binder from the coffee table and handed it to her. “There on the front is a picture of Paula Anderson, my first and most talented summer student.”

“Oh, Professor, she’s beautiful.” Angie opened the dark leather binder to find pages and pages of newspaper articles from The Wall Street Journal. “She’s famous, too. You must be so proud of her.” His smile, electric, stirred
unexpected envy within her.

The professor turned
, raising his eyebrows, “She was my very first summer student. Her talent almost frightened me. I wondered how I could help her reach her goals. I was only a simple art teacher, but she was like a blank canvas. She listened to my every word. She became my gift to the art world.”

Angie’s
slumped. How could she expect to be one of his summer students? She could not compete with a talent like Paula. “Professor, maybe I should go. I can’t waste your time.”

He jumped up. “Nonsense
, I want to see what you have. Perhaps you will be my
next
Paula.”

He pulled her up from the couch and directed her to the work area. “See the cottage is ready for your evaluation. Come, get started.” He
pointed to a worktable nestled under the three north windows. The table, solid oak, laced with a top of mosaic tiles. On the right sat an artist palate and ten to fifteen tubes of watercolor paints. In the center lay an artist pad. Next to the paper were two tall ceramic glasses filled with water and holding six camel-haired brushes of varied sizes and shapes.

Angie stepped closer.
The cottage, an artist’s dream for certain, captured the north light. He’d provided a practical and inviting environment for creating. “I’m speechless. No wonder this cottage is named
The Artist’s
Paradise.”

“I’m so glad you like it.
Paula created all of this perfection. Please, take a seat.” He pulled out the cushioned chair by the artist worktable. “Create. show me what you can do.”

She shuddered and backed up. His
stare met hers. Her pulse raced. “I don’t want to disappoint you. Give me a couple of hours and then come back and tell me what you think.”

“I’ll bring you hot tea and lunch in
one hour,” he said. “We’ll see how you’re doing.”

Angie followed his stride
, as he moved toward the door. Sporting a hunter-green knit shirt, his muscular arms captivated her. His six-foot frame—toned and lean. She slowly inhaled. His presence stirred an unexpected emotional response deep within her. Unable to look away, she dropped onto the sofa. This was nonsense. She had come to Knoxville to have some alone time to think about her marriage. Not to improve her craft. She replayed Vicki’s warning in her head. Could Vicki be right? Was she looking for something or someone to make her happy? Could the professor give her the life she wanted?

#

Angie turned from her watercolor creation as the professor entered. He carried a round silver tray laden with a red-ceramic teakettle, and matching china cups and saucers. In addition, the tray held matching bread and butter plates, and a floral-decorated platter with petite sandwiches.

“Is it time already?”

“Yes, my dear. Actually, I gave you an extra ten minutes. Hungry?”

Angie turned back to her painting. “I’m so nervous. I can’t eat until you tell me what you think.”

He placed the tray on the coffee table in front of the sofa and walked closer to her workspace. He stood in silence for several minutes staring at her canvas. “My Dear, this is good. The wet-on-wet composition shows a natural talent. Your color choices, balanced and yet bounce with life. If only I had a summer with you.”

Angie jumped up and squealed, “Really? You think I could be good?”

He gently put his right arm around her shoulders, and she didn’t pull away.  He whispered, “Yes, you have the gift. All we need is a few months to smooth out your rough edges. Can’t you give me the time?”

Angie
stepped away and sighed. “Professor, you must understand. I’m married. I can’t just spend time away from home.”

“It’s a sacrifice. I can only imagine how hard it is to leave a loved one at home and devote
one short summer to your dream.” He placed his arm around her shoulder again and pulled her closer. “But your painting is exceptional. You could be good enough to own the gallery of your dreams.  Surely your husband will allow you the time necessary to reach your true potential.”

Angie
bit her lips until it hurt.

“I only have time to help one gifted artist every summer,” he said, drawing a long breath. “
I want that student to be you.”

Moisture
dampened the corners of her eyes. She flushed, not wanting to cry in front of this man. “I can’t. I just can’t. I should leave,” Angie said, and headed out the door. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

As she found
Mister Tubbs on the back porch, the professor caught up to her.

“I don’t want to pressure you.” He gasped, slightly out of breath. “My passion for the arts is so strong I forget myself at times. Forgive me.”

“I need to go. I have to call a cab. I can’t follow this dream. It’s too late.”

“Nonsense, I’ll drive you back to the hotel.” He patted her arm and stepped closer. “Please reconsider my offer. There is no such thing as too late. I see the qualit
ies you possess.”

As the professor drove in silence, Angie slumped in the front passenger’s seat with
Mister Tubbs tucked tightly in her arms. He snarled at the professor and watched his every move.

T
hey reached the hotel, and the car slowed to a stop. Professor Turner came around to the passenger’s door and opened it for her. Then he retrieved the dog carrier from the backseat.

“May I call you next week?
Accept my offer. The cottage would be yours for the summer. I would respect your privacy. We could meet daily for one-hour lessons and the rest of the time you would never see me.”

“I’ll think about it. Thanks for understanding.”

“Here’s my card, call anytime.” He pressed the business card into her hand. “If your husband
loves
you, he won’t destroy your dreams.”

Yes
. An understanding husband might be open to her going, but Jonathan rarely fit that description. As he drove away, she lingered by the hotel entry, her hand against the glass door.

I want this,
Mister Tubbs. Am I crazy?

#

The professor leaned forward from his perch on the sofa. His eyes staring up toward the ceiling, his hands on his lap, positioned into a steeple. She would agree to come. He must make plans now for her arrival. Nothing would be left to chance. Whistling “You Are My Sunshine,” he gathered up his legal pad and pen and began to write.