Appointment with a Smile (6 page)

I took a small taste of the pinot grigio and clamped my eyes shut as I mentally primed my canvas. When I blinked my eyes open, I saw the emptiness on the canvas. But my vision of what would occupy the space had already taken shape.

I continued filling the disposable palette sheet with what I needed for the initial background. Having never considered “properly” building an arranged palette, I pressed various small pillows of acrylic paint out as I believed they would be used.

This practice had ended my college career. My art professor insisted that I place complementary colors facing complementary, with each color slotted in a precise spot. If we didn’t follow his instructions, we wouldn’t receive a passing grade. I had noted that some of the worst, least-talented artists in the class had perfect palettes.

In a fit of defiance, I had lifted my palette and pressed it against the empty canvas. When I pulled it back, multiple splotches dotted against white. I wildly pitched the tubes of paint into my case, slammed it shut, picked up my dotted canvas, and left the classroom. Perhaps Esther was right—I
was
a planet whirling the wrong way.

And now, my palette’s personalized plate was speckled with paint colors used in my portraitures. Carefully, I mixed several of them with my pallet knife. I picked up a large, wide, sable brush and loaded it with color for Molly’s cheeks. I sketched the memory of her smile with wide sweeps. This portrait would show the entirety of her face, and all else would be underexposed background.

By midnight, I’d created a likeness but not truly Molly. My cell phone rang. Frustrated, I answered it somewhat tersely. “O’Hara.”

“It’s Fiona. The gallery closed, I dined, and then I remembered one of the gallery associates said a woman called several times for you. She thought it was the same woman.”

“Get a number?” After one additional swipe of the chisel edge of my brush, I set it down.

“No. She asked, but the woman refused to leave a number. I thought you might want to know.”

“Thanks, yes. Think they have a caller ID number?”

“I’ll ask her. How was Toddy’s, by the way?”

“I had lobster. It was excellent. I told Esther that you were probably concentrating on your youthful date and thus weren’t cognizant of how superb the shellfish really was.”

She roared with laughter. “My man of the hour is also superb and certainly not much over thirty.”

“Cougar.”

“Well, you should talk. You’re tied up in knots over a woman you had thirty years ago. Now, my darling Danielle, you want your prodigal ex back again. Hell, I’d say you’re trying to become a romantic double-dipper.”

“Very funny for such a late hour,” I said with a mild chuckle. “Fiona, thanks for making me laugh when I need to laugh.”

“Painting?”

“Yes. Could you tell?”

“Always when there’s a faraway sound in your voice. That’s how I know you need a little humor. And your subject?”

“Molly. Who else? But there’s a chance I may end up painting over it with a seascape.”

“Not in a million years, you crazy Saph. When you’re finished, bring it by. I’ll be at the gallery most of the day. I’m having lunch with one of my fellow agents. Had an affair with him years ago. Now we’re friends. Nice when relationships end like that. I’ll ask him about Jeffery Wesley.”

“I wish I could at least have that much of a relationship with Molly.”

“Don’t go getting an exaggerated sense of optimism, but someone is calling you. It might be Molly.”

“Thanks for checking for me. I’ll keep painting, and if it’s any good, I’ll bring it by. I’ll probably be stopping by anyway so the gallery doesn’t think I’m disinterested.”

“Don’t worry about anything except bringing your work to the table, Danielle. You’re on a roll. I know you’re not interested in finances, but money often translates into value. Value is a way to show that you’re being noticed.”

“I do want my work to be noticed.”

“Critics are saying that you don’t just reproduce a subject’s looks, but you capture their spirit. Your work is well-executed, yes, but a camera can come up with an exact image. Your magic elixir is revealing the soul. An art dealer I met tonight stated your interpretation is unlike other portraitists. And he’s right. But he also mentioned that you must be a fine judge of character. I didn’t respond to his theory.”

“You’ve got to admit, I’ve surrounded myself with fine people. Esther, Roxie, the Colorado band of merry women. And especially you, Fiona.”

“I selected you, O’Hara,” she reminded me.

“Maybe. But I’ve been smart enough to hang on to you.”

“I wish I could have done more earlier. I swear I tried. But now it
is
happening. I see it. The critics are getting you. A little late, but your time’s arrived.”

“Perhaps late appreciation has saved me from the booze, drugs, and insanity of Caravaggio, Modigliani, and Van Gogh.”

“You missed a few of the bonkers boys and babes,” she said with amusement.

“I don’t have all night to name them all.”

“You’ll be fine, Danielle. Now, continue on your marathon.”

“Most artists are marathon painters.”

“Yes, but your muse has reappeared after thirty years.”

“She’s not exactly chasing me.”

“Seduction is overrated. You loved her in your youth. We savor love with an adolescent narcissism. And youth has a significant effect on later life. You’re a living example of that right now.”

When we ended the call, I wondered if painting others was how I warded off the loneliness that cordoned me from humanity. I felt drained, but sleep was irrelevant. Even if I attempted sleep, my mind would continue painting long after I’d left the canvas.

The contents on the canvas remained inanimate. Molly’s face hadn’t awakened. I worked on Molly’s expression at the very second she glanced my way. I needed to replicate her smile and capture that millisecond when her eyes glinted with recognition. I’d call it
Reunion’s first Glimpse.

As I feverishly filled the canvas with that immortal moment of Molly, I suddenly felt invincible.

Chapter 10

I had finished the painting with the final touches of my blender brush. After signing my name with the strip liner in burnt umber, a sigh rushed through my entire body. I was happy but also apprehensive.

Applying varnish had been an afterthought. Then I succumbed to a couple of hours of midmorning sleep.

After I showered and dressed, I touched the canvas to see if the varnish had dried. It had. I was again appreciative that I didn’t subscribe to the impasto method of heavily slathering paints.

I examined the painting to ensure there were no minuscule errors. Then I backed up once more to peer into the face. It was Molly.

By the time I was ready to loosely wrap it and leave my hotel room, I was satisfied. Gingerly carrying the canvas by wrapped edges, I set off for the gallery.

While I was walking, my stomach growled as a reminder that I hadn’t eaten since last night. I was about to pass a nearby Tasty’s fish-and-Chips Shop when fumes of grease and malt vinegar hit me. I made a U-turn into the shop. A wonderful Brit meal would be my treat for having worked so diligently last night and into the morning. That concept, I hoped, would appease my guilt for having ordered fish-and-chips. I normally ate healthy.

I topped off my meal with an English ale then lifted the canvas to my side and struck off for the gallery. At nearly two in the afternoon, I arrived at my destination.

After greeting Fiona and Max, I unwrapped the painting. I watched the faces of Max Parker, two of his employees, and Fiona. Fiona gasped. Everyone seemed transfixed.

Uncomfortable with their silence, I asked, “Comments? Is it awful or awfully good?”

In unison, they answered it was terrific. The manager and his small crew took photos on their phones and then made a dash for the office. Fiona quietly continued staring at it.

I finally broke my own silence. “What’s wrong? If they’re disappointed and trying to be nice about it…” I paused to gather words. “Well, which is it?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Fiona incredulously glanced back at me. “This is the most brilliant work you’ve ever done. It’s the genius I’ve always believed in. You were so near to creating masterpieces. And now you have.”

“All my life’s work has been rubbish until now?”

“No, of course not. They’re all extraordinary. I wouldn’t handle you if you weren’t magnificent. You know enough art history to know that not all Renoir’s, Rembrandt’s, Cassatt’s, Van Gogh’s, and Picasso’s works are masterpieces. This painting, what is it titled?”

“
Reunion’s first Glimpse
.”

“Naturally, you realize how remarkably phenomenal my client list is. Once in a rare while, a painting makes me shiver. I like to think I can pick a true masterpiece. I could be standing nude in the Arctic and not experience this goddamn shiver, Danielle. Better than any of the others. Yes.”

“You’re putting me in some pretty grandiose company.”

“Only time makes masterpieces, so who is to say? But your
Reunion
has everything. I was shocked when you painted
Farewell.
I thought it might be the best work you’d ever produce. But this? This is even better.”

“Do you think maybe I’m moving into a different period of work?”

“Most definitely. And if you’re judged on only the last two you’ve painted, you’ll have written a new phase for the modern art world of portraiture. It’s that good. I can’t believe you didn’t work with a live model.”

“My heart memorized Molly. Her smile of recognition. Last night, my hands recreated that memory. Her contemplative eyes spoke in verse.”

“What were you considering as to price? This is one of those blessed times when you
truly
can name your price.”

“It isn’t for sale.”

“You just sold
Farewell
for a hundred-thousand dollars. Galleries and museums, along with private collectors are interested. Max told me publications are sending reporters. A TV crew wants to set up an interview with you. You can ask any price.”

“Fiona, answer me this honestly. If I asked a million for it, do you think it would sell for that?”

“I honestly do believe it might.”

“Then it isn’t for sale. Not at any price, if you believe it will sell.” I bowed my head so I wouldn’t look into her eyes. I knew they would be pleading with me.

“Danielle, please think this over. If we get an offer with status to secure your entry into the world of the finest museums, you’ll need to reconsider. Will you at least think about working with me on this?” I felt her staring hard at me.

“Let’s just show it and see if there are offers.” I stepped away, not taking my gaze from
Reunion
. I didn’t believe I could part with it. Anymore than I could bear to part with Molly. In her case, the choice wasn’t mine. With the painting, it was to be my own determination. No one could look into that painting without believing they had located part of Molly’s soul. Perhaps they would simply come to love her as I did.

I turned away from the painting as my eyes began to well with tears.

Chapter 11

For over an hour, I made myself available to speak with several of the gallery’s patrons. Then I escaped the public relations side of the art world.

Once on the sidewalk, I rummaged in my oversized bag for my cell phone. Esther hadn’t called, and I was wondering what my doppelganger had been up to all day. Strongly suspecting she’d done a daytrip, I glanced at my wristwatch. She would probably be back by now, I supposed, so I called. She answered and agreed to meet me for a snack. I needed to tell her the latest.

I arrived at Crumpets and Brew coffee shop before Esther and ordered for both of us. The cappuccinos and pastry brought the word “divine” to a new level.

“This sounded urgent,” Esther said as she sat down.

“Did you happen to drop by the gallery?”

“Yes. I thought you’d be there, but I just missed you.”

“Must have nearly crashed into one another. Did you see the painting?”

“The minute I arrived. The entire staff had gathered around it, and Fiona is very high on
Reunion
. I’m an absolute flop at judging art, but I loved it. I’m with Fiona. It’s even better than
Farewell.
And I was nuts about that one.”

“I know she wants to sell it for some wild, off-the-charts price. She might have her chance at really making some money with me, but I haven’t been cooperating. I don’t want to be banned from her stable of artists.”

“I think she understands why you’ve got a ‘not for sale’ ticket on it. She didn’t say anything negative to me. She gushed on and on about the painting. Which is not to say she won’t try to encourage you to sell it. I agree with her. You need to strike while the fire is flaming.”

I changed the subject. “So what mischief did you get into today?”

Esther carefully spooned a big dollop of foamy milk from the cappuccino’s bonnet in a not-so-subtle stall tactic. “Not a lot,” she finally answered.

“Before I forget, Roxie e-mailed me about Aggie becoming the alpha dog.”

Esther agreed. “She is the alpha in our home. Sadie and I are her true followers.” Esther had rescued Sadie, a lovely German Shepherd and Keeshond mix, several years ago from a shelter. She had been a stray found in a field where heartless youths had been using her as target practice. Obviously guarded about trusting human beings, she immediately bonded with Esther. The shelter’s staff was amazed. And naturally, Sadie and Esther left the shelter together and remained together. From the same shelter, Esther rescued Aggie, an adorable Miniature Pinscher-Dachshund mix.

“Clover rules in my home,” I said. “But she now defers to Aggie. Seems Sadie and Clover have been enchanted by Aggie. Roxie is getting a kick out of it. All is well, she said to tell you. Sadie and Aggie are eating and pooping on schedule.”

“Great. The alpha dog thing bothers me. You need all the alpha in your life you can get. You lead a hermetic life. Clover is a help by being alpha commander. Heck, you probably need a bossy woman to help Clover out with you.”