Silver Linings

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Will you stop blathering on and on about those paintings? I'm trying to talk to you about something important.” Ariel waved her hands in a graceful gesture of total frustration, whirled, and strode back the other way.

  “These paintings are important. Right now they're more important than anything you've got to say to me, Ariel. You know I've got an opening scheduled for tonight.” Mattie bent over the stack of pictures leaning against the wall. She had just finished uncrating them and was anxious to see how they would look on the walls of her gallery.

  “Another opening for another one of your boring artists who paints pretty little pictures for people who like nice art?”

  Mattie was incensed on Silk's behalf. “There is nothing boring about Silk Taggert or his pictures.” She picked two at random out of the stack and put them up on the wall. “Take a look at these, Ariel. Take a good look, damn it, and tell me they're boring.”

  Ariel heaved a dramatic sigh and swept the pictures with a single cursory glance. One was an oddly disturbing harbor scene, the other a painting of the jungle that caught both a sense of primitive menace and the feeling of abundant life.

  “Island landscapes? Give me a break, Mattie. That's the sort of thing hotel chains hang in the rooms. You can buy them by the dozen anywhere. They all look alike. I'm sure your clients will love them, of course. They're only one step beyond putting posters on their walls, anyway. This stuff will probably look like great art to them.”

  “Ariel, you are elitist and self-centered and you've got a really bad case of tunnel vision when it comes to art. What is it with you? You think the only good art is the kind that does nothing more than express the artist's personal neurosis? I've got news for you, you and your kind wouldn't have survived in business for more than five minutes during the Renaissance.”

  Ariel, not surprisingly, looked taken aback at the unexpected attack. It was axiomatic in the Sharpe family that Mattie did not disagree on matters of artistic taste with the other members of her clan. It was understood she did not have a proper grasp of the subject.

  “For heaven's sake, Mattie, there's no need to get all worked up about it. Besides, I want to talk to you about something else entirely.”

  But Mattie was all worked up. It felt good to be arguing with Ariel. Odd how she found herself doing it more and more frequently of late. Ever since she had come back from the islands, in fact.

  “You know something?” Mattie snapped. “Back in the good old days people understood what art was supposed to do. It was supposed to appeal to them. It was supposed to speak to them, not just to the artist. It was supposed to mean something important, something universal. It was supposed to be beautiful. And it was supposed to represent certain ideals and values and hopes and dreams.”

  “Really, Mattie, I think this has gone far enough.”

  “Back then people knew good art when they saw it, and that's what they bought. Artists created work to please the customer, and you can't deny that some of the greatest art in the world was produced under those conditions. Nowadays you elitist insiders in the art world are trying to tell the customer what he's supposed to like, and you've managed to cow a lot of them into buying what you tell them is good art. But my customers are different. They're buying what they really want to buy, stuff they enjoy hanging in their homes.”

  “Mattie, this is crazy. I don't want to discuss the art establishment with you.”

  “Take a close look at Silk Taggert's paintings and tell me they're bad art!” Mattie yelled.

  “Mattie, for heaven's sake, keep your voice down,” Ariel hissed.

  “Why should I? It feels good to yell at you. I think I'm releasing a great deal of stress this way. Years of it, in fact. Look at Silk's pictures, damn it.”

  “All right, all right, I'm looking at them. Get a grip on yourself, will you? It's not like you to be so…so emotional.” Ariel turned to study the paintings. She peered at them for two or three long minutes. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

  “Well?” Mattie challenged. “Are you going to call them boring?”

  “No,” Ariel admitted reluctantly. “They're not boring. This guy has talent, I'll grant you that.”

  “A lot of talent.”

  “Okay, okay. A lot of talent. Too bad he's wasting it on pretty seascapes and landscapes.”

  “The fact that he's using familiar subjects is what makes his work so accessible. Can't you understand that? It makes the pictures work on several different levels. The appeal ranges from the physically attractive to the mentally stimulating. People, real people, like art that does all that. And I'll tell you something else, Ariel. This is just the sort of appeal Flynn would have if he tried doing more realistic art.”

  Ariel whirled on her, raw fury in her eyes. “Don't you dare try to seduce Flynn into doing this kind of thing for you. Do you hear me? Don't you dare.”

  Mattie groaned, her anger evaporating. “Forget it. Look, Ariel, I've really got a lot of work to do here before the show. If you don't mind, I'd like to get to it.”

  Ariel hesitated. “Here, I'll give you a hand. I think you're right about grouping the pictures by subject. I'll handle the jungle scenes.”

  Mattie stared at her in astonishment. “Thank you.”

  “Don't look so amazed. I'm not a bitch goddess all the time, you know. I told you I want to talk to you, and this looks like the only way I'm going to be able to do it.”

  “I was afraid there was an ulterior motive.” Mattie centered a painting of the harbor and stepped back to eye it. “Let's get on with it. What do you want to lecture me about?”

  “I want to know what you think you're doing getting engaged to Hugh Abbott.” Ariel hung a jungle scene. “How did it happen, Mattie?”

  “It's a bit difficult to explain. I'm not quite certain how it happened, myself. And I'm not sure I'm engaged. That's Hugh's interpretation of the situation, not mine. I haven't made up my mind yet.”

  “Oh, Mattie, be honest. The man's living with you. He's telling everyone he's going to marry you. Did you have to go this far just to prove you can have what I once had?”

  “I didn't do it to prove anything.”

  “Yes, you did. You've always envied me. My talent, my success, my men, my looks. Everything.”

  “That's not true. Oh, sure, maybe when we were kids. But that was a long time ago. People grow up, Ariel.”

  “Is that right? Then how come the one man you finally decide to get serious about is one of my exes? An ex-fiancé, in this case. Don't you think that's too much of a coincidence? Why choose that particular male? Tell me, Mattie. Go on and admit the truth.”

  “I didn't choose him. At least, not this time around. He chose me.” Mattie stalked back into her office to look for some tools.

  Ariel followed, sweeping through the doorway behind her. “He chose you? What's that supposed to mean?”

  “Ask Hugh. He's the one who insisted on getting engaged. I've been deliberately avoiding him for a year. He set things up for us to meet out on Purgatory, not me. Whatever happens doesn't concern you.”

  “Doesn't concern me? He's my ex-fiancé, damn it.”

  “So what?” Mattie snapped. “You threw him back, remember? You didn't want him.”

  “And neither should you. Mattie, listen to me. I'm saying this for your own good. He's all wrong for you. Trust me. I know him. If you must have one of my men, take Emery. At least he's genuinely fond of you.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “Okay, so he's much too old for you and his career is on the skids, but he knows your world and the people in it. You can talk to him about things like art and wine and books. He'll respect your career. He won't try to drag you off to some godforsaken island and expect you to sit around under a palm tree and shell coconuts.”

  “I'm not interested in marrying Emery, thank you very much. And I don't plan to sit around twiddling my thumbs under any palm trees.”

  “What else can you do out there in the midd
le of nowhere? Or do you have some illusion about changing Hugh? If so, you're in for a rude awakening. I should know. I thought I could civilize him, too. But I was wrong. And if he wouldn't change to please me, what makes you think he'll change to suit you?”

  Mattie sorted through a toolbox until she found a screwdriver. Clutching it tightly she turned back to face her sister. “Excuse me, Ariel. I still have a lot of paintings to hang.”

  Ariel's face softened. “Oh, Mattie, I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings. I'm doing this for your own good, I swear it. I am speaking to you now as your older sister. For a while I was sure I could convince Hugh to see reason and move back to the States. But I soon found out the truth. He won't leave that damned island of his for any woman.”

  “Get out of my way, Ariel. I've got work to do.”

  “Mattie, you don't want to marry him. The man is a throwback. He belongs in the Middle Ages or something. His attitude toward women and marriage is several hundred years out of date. Oh, I know the macho approach in bed is kind of interesting at first, but you'll get tired of it, believe me.”

  Mattie felt herself turning a fiery shade of red. “You may be my sister, Ariel, but I don't have to discuss my love life with you.”

  “Why not?” Ariel snapped, exasperated. “Just think of the sisterly confidences we can share now that we've both slept with the same man. Let's be blunt about this. I know for a fact he's not that good.”

  “Shut up, Ariel.” The anger was rising once more.

  “It's true. Mattie, I'm warning you, that slam-bam-thank-you-ma'am approach gets old real fast.”

  “I said, shut up, Ariel. I don't want to hear another word.”

  “Hugh is not the man for you. He wasn't the man for me. As far as I can tell, he's not the right man for any modern woman. He's an outdated, inconsiderate, insensitive clod, Mattie. Listen to me. We're talking about your whole future here.”

  “All right. You want me to say it? That I'm scared? That I'm not real sure what I'm doing? Okay, I'm scared. I'll admit it. I don't know what—”

  The small, crackling sound of a paper bag being opened drew Mattie's startled attention to the doorway behind her sister. Hugh lounged there, one shoulder propped against the frame. He was fiddling with a sack from the Thai take-out restaurant around the corner. He looked up from a perusal of the contents of the bag as a sudden silence fell on the office.

  “Hey, don't let me interrupt,” he said calmly, with-drawing a small carton from the sack. “I just stopped by with some dinner for Mattie. Figured she needed something to fortify her energies before the big opening.”

  “My God,” Ariel breathed. “Look at you. So damned cool. So disgustingly sure of yourself. How could you be such a complete and utter bastard, Hugh Abbott? How could you?”

  “Well,” Hugh began, looking thoughtful, “it's not easy, I can tell you that.”

  “Oh, shut up.” Ariel brushed past him, black silks streaming behind her.

  A moment later the outer door opened and closed with a reverberating slam.

  Silence descended again on the small office.

  Hugh eyed the viselike grip Mattie had on the screwdriver. “Tell you what. If you put that down slowly and carefully on the desk, I'll serve dinner.”

  Mattie realized she was trembling. She dropped the screwdriver onto the desk, went around to the back, and sank abruptly into her chair. Her knees felt weak.

  In numb silence she watched Hugh lay out a meal that featured noodles and vegetables in a spicy peanut sauce.

  “Eat up,” Hugh said as he spread a napkin across her lap and pushed a paper plate full of noodles in front of her. “When we're finished I'll help you hang the rest of Silk's pictures.”

  “Thank you.” Mattie stared blindly down at the noodles.

  “Think nothing of it. Even us outdated, inconsiderate, insensitive clods have our uses.”

  Mattie continued to stare at the noodles.

  Hugh started to eat his. He munched in silence for a full minute, and then he arched a single, inquiring brow. “Slam-bam-thank-you-ma'am?”

  Mattie blinked and at last picked up her chopsticks. “It's not that bad.”

  “Thank you,” Hugh said with great humility. “I do try, you know. And I'm willing to study hard and learn. I'm a fast learner.”

  And suddenly Mattie couldn't help herself. She thought of his intense, highly erotic, incredibly sexy brand of lovemaking, and she started to giggle. The giggle mushroomed into laughter, and a moment later she was convulsed with it. Hugh watched in quiet amusement, looking obliquely satisfied.

  It was only later that she realized that the laughter had been as effective at reducing her stress level as venting her anger had been earlier.

  And it was Hugh who had somehow given her the gift of both kinds of freedom.

  The Silk Taggert show was a huge success. Hugh spent most of it leaning negligently against one wall, a glass of champagne in his hand, and wishing his friend could see what was happening. Silk would have gotten a kick out of all these sophisticated, trendy people going crazy over his work. Hugh made a note to try to remember as many of the comments he had overheard this evening as possible.

  “…It leaves me with the strangest sense of longing…I can't wait to get that lagoon scene on my wall…Such spectacular colors, real colors…What a change from all the gray and brown and black you see so much of in Seattle galleries these days…So bold and vibrant…A nice change. I get so tired of subtlety…That jungle feels alive…Dangerous but beautiful…Captures the power of nature…”

  Mattie was everywhere, looking very businesslike in a proper little suit, her hair neatly coiled at the nape of her neck. She was mingling with the crowd, chatting with potential buyers, and turning a blind eye to the serious inroads a few apparently starving artists were making at the buffet table. She had told Hugh earlier she considered the free food eaten by artistic moochers at these events as a contribution to the arts.

  “This stuff isn't bad,” a young woman with chartreuse hair and a lot of metal hanging from her clothing announced to Hugh.

  He looked at her. “You mean the art?”

  “Nah. The food. The art's good, but the food is really terrific, isn't it? Mattie always puts on a first-class feast. She's not stingy like some of the gallery owners.” The young woman squinted up at Hugh. “Who are you? The artist?”

  “No. A friend of his. He couldn't be here.”

  “Too bad. It must be nice to watch people going nuts over your work. I'd give anything to have them go apeshit like this over my stuff.”

  “What sort of stuff do you do?”

  “Metal sculpture. The name's Shock Value. Shock Value Frederickson. But I'm thinking of changing it. It doesn't go with my new direction, you know?”

  “Yeah?”

  “My work is getting more refined,” Shock Value explained patiently. “Things are just flowing for me now, thanks to Mattie, and the flow is changing everything.”

  “Mattie? How the hell is she involved?”

  “She's sort of like one of those old-fashioned patrons, you know? She's keeping me in groceries while I work on my latest project. One of these days I'll pay her back.”

  “Uh-huh. How much has she loaned you?”

  “I don't remember exactly,” Shock Value said carelessly. “Wow, there's a friend of mine. Haven't seen him since he broke his ankle doing some performance art in the park last month. Nice talking to you, whatever your name is. See you around.”

  A long time later Hugh watched Mattie carefully lock the door of Sharpe Reaction. She looked quietly elated.

  “Went well, huh?” Hugh took her arm to walk down the sidewalk to her apartment.

  “Very well. I sold everything I had. I hope Silk will be pleased.”

  “Yeah. He'll be as excited as a little kid at Christmas. He's never had any real success before. Not in anything. I can't wait to tell him.” Hugh was silent for a while, thinking. “You're really good at that kind of thi
ng, aren't you?”

  “What kind of thing?”

  “Handling that crowd of potential buyers tonight. Showing Silk's work. Running your gallery. The whole bit.”

  “It's what I do for a living,” she said quietly.

  “Yeah.”

  “What's wrong, Hugh?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Watching you this evening just made me think about some things, that's all,” he muttered, wishing he'd never opened his mouth.

  “Like what?”

  “Never mind.” But the truth was, he was definitely beginning to worry. Mattie was very much at home in this world. She was successful in it. She had friends here. She was a part of the art community.

  Tonight he had seen just how well she moved in this environment, and the realization haunted him. Until now he had been telling himself that she would adapt easily enough to St. Gabe when the time came, but now he was beginning to wonder if the time would ever come.

  He had been so blithely certain that once he had convinced Mattie she was not just a stand-in for Ariel that she would give up everything to move to St. Gabriel.

  Now he was beginning to wonder if that would be the case. Viewed objectively, what did he really have to offer her compared to the life she had created for herself here in Seattle?

  Only himself.

  Silk was right. These weren't the good old days when a man could expect a woman to pull up stakes and follow him anywhere. Maybe Charlotte had a point when she called him arrogant.

  “Hugh? Is something wrong?” Mattie was looking up at him with worried eyes as they came to a halt in front of the door of her apartment building.

  “Nothing's wrong. Forget it, Mattie.” He opened the security door, walked Mattie down the hall, and punched the elevator button in silence. Mattie continued to throw small, anxious glances in his direction, but he ignored them. He was thinking.