Appointment with a Smile (23 page)

“At least you’ve made me smile. Maybe you’ll become an art critic.”

“I sort of am now,” he said with enthusiasm and then sobered. “I’m sorry to hear about your friend.”

“I’ll be okay. Right now I just need some alone time.”

“Fiona said you’d be as impregnable as a medieval fortification.”

“Fiona’s right.” I walked him to the door. “Spence, I appreciate your coming up here. I like you immensely, and I think you’ll make a great art critic, or a great art agent, or anything else you’d care to be.”

“I think I’ll stick with art agent. If I follow Fiona’s lead, she’ll see that I’m good at it.”

I nodded in agreement.

After he left, I sat back a moment but not for long. Someone was again at the door. Certain that Spencer had forgotten something, I opened it quickly.

“Bethany.” I stepped aside so she could enter.

“I’m sorry to intrude. I’ve been worried. Danielle, can I do anything?”

The moment was tense, and I had no idea how to make it warmer. Then she took me in her arms. It wasn’t a sexual embrace, only one of gentle, tender friendship. I hugged her back, holding her tightly until I realized I was holding her too closely. I pulled away and began to sob. Again, she drew me close.

“Danielle, I’m here for you. As a lover, a friend—as your family. I know the sense of loss, and I know what you’re going through.”

“Thank you for coming. I’m sorry I didn’t phone you. I’ve just been…”

“I know how difficult it is to be around others. Esther called. I rung up Fiona and she told me she’d seen you. I had to know you’re okay. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No. Not at all.”

“Look, I can leave.” She motioned to the door. “I can call you later. Or if you need me, you can call.”

“I appreciate your dropping by. I’m afraid I’m not good company right now.”

“What about dinner? Would you like to go out for something to eat? We can grab a quick dinner and then walk, if you like. It would be good for you to get out. We don’t need to talk. I only want to be near you.”

“I don’t think I can eat right now.”

“Well, I’ll leave you then. But I hope you’ll at least order something to eat.”

Her eyes held a compassion that mingled with the pain of remembrance.

I relented. “Have a seat. I’ll shower and get on some fresh clothing. Then we can go out. Do you mind waiting?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, she said, “I’d wait forever. Like you would have waited forever for Molly, and I would have waited for Tricia.”

I was well aware of what she meant. Fate had reduced our number. We were only two now.

Chapter 42

Lindsay’s Tea House seemed strange, as if I’d never been there before. Bethany watched as I slowly sipped tea. She had ordered tea and Cornish pasties for us. I found the food bland, with no taste and flavor. I continued to pick at mine. The usually delicious tea tasted stale. Even sounds were muted, and colors seemed dull.

After our meal, we walked through London’s center for what seemed like many miles. Bethany seemed to know the affection of silence, as well as the benevolence of having someone near. Boxy black cabs whirled the roundabouts. Sights blurred. Only a smile from Bethany brought me back into the soul of the moment.

“I haven’t had the desire to paint since Samantha’s call. That’s never happened to me before. Ever. There were times when I didn’t want to paint. Yet I felt the desire, regardless. Even if I wasn’t actually painting, my mind was planning a work. Sketching. But not now.”

“You’ll begin again,” she said with utter certainty.

“What if I can’t?”

“You’ve been shifted into a new dimension of love. You’ll paint again.”

“I don’t know, Bethany.”

“Of course you will. You have to paint.”

“I don’t recognize this feeling inside,” I said, my voice shaky.

As we approached the Marshall, she kissed my cheek. “I think you need to be alone tonight. I’d love to hold you in my arms, but I’m not sure that’s what you need most right now. I’ll make a suggestion you may or may not understand. Have a talk with Molly. Talk out loud and visualize her across from you. Tell her you’ll always keep her in your heart. And you will.”

I thought about it, and it somehow made sense. “Thank you, Bethany. You’ve been wonderful.”

“Tomorrow afternoon, are you free?”

“Aren’t you working?”

“I requested the day off.”

“But why would you want to be around my sadness?”

“No one is allowed to grieve when on a picnic. I have somewhere special to show you.”

I couldn’t help but smile at her kindness. “Noon?”

“I’ll pick you up in front of your hotel.” She hailed a cab and then turned back to me. “Danielle, there are a thousand shades of night’s heartbreak. In the darkness, it’s easy to fall. Artists can’t work without luminosity.”

I leaned near to kiss her cheek. “Can I bring anything to the picnic?”

“Only your sketchpad and desire to sketch. I’ll provide the nosh and models.”

I waved at her and walked toward the hotel lobby. I took one more look at her taxi pulling away. She had lifted my heart.

As I walked through the lobby, I heard Esther calling my name.

“I’m glad to see you out and about, Danielle.”

“Bethany came by. We went out for a quick dinner. I got half a pastie down. Then we trudged the city streets awhile. I bet you’re probably leaving to see Carrie.”

“Right.” She tugged on my shirtsleeve. “Come on, I have time for a glass of wine at the bar.”

“I’m really not in the mood.”

“Then make it a half glass. It might help you sleep tonight. You look like you could use the sleep. Why did Bethany leave?”

“She believes I need my space. I didn’t ask her to leave.”

“She’s a remarkable woman. Come on, one wine to catch me up.”

“Okay. One glass and then I’m going up to my room. I doubt if I’ll sleep, but I’m going to try. I wish I still wanted to paint. That might help me. But I can’t even look at a paintbrush.”

We sat in a booth. I caught a glimpse of myself on a panel mirror lining the inside wall. It stunned me for a moment. My reddened eyes were puffy and dark. Creviced lines crossed my face. I appeared to have aged years overnight.

Esther ordered for both of us.

“Are you going to mention the fact that you still don’t want to paint to Fiona?” she asked.

“I’m sure she knows. I have other things on my mind.” I sipped a glass of excellent cab. “Tastes nice. I haven’t been able to experience flavor.”

“You could use several of those. So did Bethany understand?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t she? She’s experienced what I feel.”

“You can take lessons from a woman of class and expertise in the matter of loss. Hell, Bethany lived with the woman for twenty years. Right up until the time her lover died.”

“Does that mean because there was an interlude between the years Molly and I were together that I don’t love her as much? I shouldn’t grieve?” I snapped.

“I’m not using a damned scorecard on time, Danielle. Don’t be so touchy. I’m not saying you weren’t in love with Molly. So what now?”

“What do you mean what now? I finish up my contract with the gallery, and I go home. I’ll be sad for a long, long time. You remember that song from years ago by Dory Previn? I think it was titled ‘Going Home—Mythical Kings and Iguanas.’ It talks about going home being a low and lonely ride. That’s how this trip will be. A very low and lonely ride. I’ll be saying goodbye to two of the best women I’ve ever shared love with.”

Esther looked at me in disbelief. “Let’s take your statements one at a time. First, I remember the song. Great song. Second, one of the best women you’ve ever been with has died, sadly. And you wouldn’t have been going home with her anyway. That was the way she wanted it. If she hadn’t wanted it that way, you would have been together years ago. And third, the other best woman is falling in love with you. Which means she might return stateside if you’d ask her.”

“You truly believe Bethany is falling in love with me?”

“I realize you wouldn’t recognize a love palpitation from a kettledrum. The passion carnival keeps right on passing you by and passing you by. Berk!”

“When we return home, are you going to stop calling me a berk?”

“Maybe yes, maybe no. I haven’t decided.” She glanced down at her watch. “Speaking of passion, I’d better push off.”

“Thanks for brightening my evening, Esther. You little sunbeam.”

She hugged my shoulders. “Try and get some rest. If you need me, call. I’ll be there.”

“I know.” It was something I counted on.

Chapter 43

In my attempt to sleep, memories swam through my mind. Although my loss seemed foreign, it seemed not to be morbidly so. Perhaps death was only as temporary as life itself. We invested ourselves with others and they with us. Prayers seemed inadequate, yet admirable. I prayed to have a moment with Molly. I implored deities, saints, and angels for just another touch. Just another moment.

The reigning divinity ignored me. Molly would not return. My own beliefs were that religion had a very checkered past. But faith was a different matter. Faith could be scripted on our hearts. Of course, I thought myself intelligent enough to believe something awaited us after we died. It could be named anything. Heaven. Why not? It had a pleasant sound.

My faith came in part because humanity was of a spirit that amazed me. Our recognition of beauty and creativity astounded me. Each time I took my liner brush, my trusty dagger striper, to sign a canvas, I felt a tinge of fraudulence. Had an aesthetic embodiment forged within my existence manufactured the work? How fortunate I was to be able to create. But now, my desire to do so had evaporated.

Finally, at four-thirty in the morning I glanced at the clock. I sat up. I began to talk to Molly, as Bethany had suggested. My words were halting and hushed. I was half-embarrassed to be saying my thoughts out loud.

“Molly,” I said, “my sorrow is compounded by my own failure to win back your love. Right now, there’s no discursive rhetoric aimed at a creator that would take you from me. Nor is there anger because you’ve left me behind once again. From the moment we met, I’ve loved you. Years ago, when a plane emptied, I realized you weren’t there. My appointment with you and your beautiful smile wasn’t meant to be. But my love for you has remained as crisp as the moment Esther introduced us.

“You confessed you still loved me. You didn’t have the confidence in my love to know I would stand by you in spite of your health problems. I would have. Maybe it was too complicated, just as it was three decades ago.

“Perhaps you were correct in leaving me. But I’ll always hear your laughter, feel your embrace, and taste your kiss. Always see your smile.

“No matter the diversion, somehow our love has remained. That’s a credit not only to each of us but to love itself. How strong those feelings have persisted over the years of our parting. After the last thirty years of my life, I’m still in love with you. And always will be.”

I held my head in my hands. Too many seasons had passed where I, and I alone, had willingly relinquished my pleasure. Because I’d feared losing love again, I hadn’t allowed the sharing of my home and hearth. I hadn’t had the wisdom required to know the truth. Fear was never a safe haven.

And what of my current inability to paint? I had a sliver of anxiety but also the conviction that when I was ready my barrier would collapse. When it imploded, perhaps I would be even freer in the realm of my art.

The creative spirit was forever infused with that panic of losing one’s ability. Yet apprehension further diminished the creative process. So, for now, I’d look longingly at my brushes and my tubes of paint. I’d resist pessimism. The empty canvases Fiona sent were stacked against the wall and awaited my brush. For me, blank canvases were always lonely.

I got out of bed and walked to where the canvases leaned against the wall. I bent down and picked up a paintbrush that had fallen. Carefully, I replaced it in my wooden artist’s case. Where it belonged. Where I would find it when I next needed it. Then I returned to bed.

When morning arrived, I’d go to the gallery then meet Bethany for our picnic lunch. She mentioned an excursion to somewhere special. I had no doubt that it would be. She also had mentioned models. Maybe she would invite Esther and Carrie along. I needed to bring my sketchpad and pencils and a watercolor set to capture proper pigmentation.

I would always be grateful to Bethany. She’d taken on the cause of repairing my sorrow. I felt comforted that many blessings surrounded me. My eyes fluttered closed, weighed down by exhaustion. Thankfully, I drifted toward what I hoped would be a peaceful sleep.

Chapter 44

 “According to Esther, you’re dining alfresco with that adorable Bethany?” Fiona’s questions began the instant I entered the gallery. “Yummy edibles this noon.”

I gestured at my art supplies. “I’ll try to do a little pleine-air painting with watercolors. Draw a little. How’s the show going?”

She led me through the gallery, pointing out the various paintings that had sold. “I’m not sure how it could be better. Success is a great reason to return to your easel.” She pushed her designer glasses slightly down the ridge of her nose and looked at me pointedly over the rims. “Don’t you think?”

“Yes, Fiona,” I answered dutifully.

Continuing to another painting, she pointed. “This one goes to Germany. Who would have thought the Germans like contemporary realism?”

“Let’s not exclude anyone. There are some extraordinarily fine German artists and art experts.”

“Well, Rome loves you. Italy adores class and elegance. Always has and always will. A museum there purchased the one of the garden…”

“
Sunflowers and Sunshine Mixing.
I painted it several years ago.”

“Italy approves of your daffy and dumb era. Back when you were a one-date woman. Unlike now when you’ve actually had multiple dates with Bethany. She’s a saint. I hope you appreciate that.”

“I can tell you’ve recently had a gabfest with Esther.” She didn’t try to deny it. “Back then I was just cautious. I didn’t want my love life to get out of hand.”