by Regina Duke
Bart bolted upright and retrieved his cell phone out of the drawer. He’d been so irritated with Woodsy, he’d forgotten it was set to wake him up. The chime had been muffled by the drawer and he hadn’t heard it. He cursed softly and headed for the shower.
Thirty minutes later, he was on his way, and in the interest of speed, he didn’t pack up any supplies. He did, however, stop at the Muffin Man for donuts and croissants, hoping to make up for oversleeping.
When he arrived, Zinnia was decked out in her sales regalia over jeans and long-sleeved tee. She flashed him a look when he arrived, but it sure wasn’t the kind he was expecting.
He set the pink bakery box on the counter. “Good morning. I overslept. Peace offering?” He opened the lid and let the yeasty aroma do his apologizing for him.
Zinnia peered into the box with mild interest. “I guess you were up late,” she said with a hint of sarcasm. “Out looking for a new assistant?”
“What? No. I was actually—”
She cut him off. “I know about Woodsy.” She pronounced the name with disdain. “So what’s your plan? Lure me away with promises of building my career and then sell me to the sex trade?”
Bart was stunned and confused. “What are you talking about? And how could you possibly know about Woodsy?”
“Well? Am I right or not? Who is he, anyway? Your human trafficker?”
Bart stepped around the counter and gently pressed his fingers against her upper arms. “Please don’t use that perfect mouth to speak ugly words. Woodsy is a woman, and she manages the art gallery where I’m having a showing in about eighteen days.”
Zinnia avoided his gaze. “Rose accidentally saw her text when she put her number in your phone. She said something about paying a woman to be your wife?”
Bart pulled her into a hug. “Rose needs to learn to mind her own business.” He released her. “Let’s eat.” He glanced around. “Hey, where’s Ashley? She was supposed to be here.”
“Thor opened the door for me. He said Ashley’s home today. I guess she’s not feeling well.” She pouted. “She wants me to stay in the Gallery all day.”
Bart shrugged. “Not a problem. You’ll still work with me this afternoon, but we’ll do it here instead of in the mountains.”
“So...Rose misunderstood Woodsy’s text message?”
“Not exactly.” He flattened a paper napkin on the counter. “Woodsy is the one with no understanding.” He placed a chocolate donut and a croissant on the napkin. “Draw these for me.”
“But I’m hungry!”
“Me too. We’ll eat the rest of them.”
Zinnia laughed. “Okay, but all I have with me is my little sketch book in my purse.”
“That will not do,” said Bart grandly. He waved an arm toward the display of art supplies. “I will pick things out and you can ring me up, okay? You need a nice big surface to work on.” He paused to select a maple bar from the box, took a bite, moaned with pleasure, and proceeded to use his free hand to select items from the display. By the time the maple bar was gone, he had accumulated three hundred dollars in art supplies.
“Oh, gosh,” said Zinnia. “How will I pay you back?”
Bart held up a finger. “First of all, these are my supplies to do with as I wish. No paying back allowed. And secondly...Why don’t people say ‘second of all’? Anyway, I want you to recreate these scrumptious pastries for me.”
“The subject matter seems a little silly,” she said.
“I have a plan. Now eat something, so I can have a second donut.”
Zinnia giggled and picked out a cruller, while Bart moved an easel close to the front window and found a stool, upon which he placed the paper napkin with its pastries.
“When you’re ready, start with pastels. We’ll move on to other mediums after that.”
“Maybe I should let Rose know that she was wrong about that Woodsy message.”
“If you must,” said Bart. “I was going to let her stew.”
“She was so upset, she didn’t want me to have anything else to do with you.”
Bart pulled out his phone and found Rose’s number. “Here you go.”
“That was fast,” teased Zinnia. “I’ll just be a minute.” She moved toward the back of the gallery to talk.
Bart made a mental note to block Woodsy’s number. He wondered if Zinnia had been as upset as she claimed Rose was. Darn that Woodsy! If you block her, you’ll probably lose the show.
Zinnia returned and handed him his phone. Bart tipped his head to one side. “Everything okay?”
“More or less,” said Zinnia. She started to add something, but seemed to change her mind. Instead, she smiled brightly and said, “I have to remove my clerking costume before I start. I don’t want to get pastels all over it.”
Bart relaxed a bit. He hated that Rose had seen that text. He knew she was Zinnia’s best friend, and her approval was important because of that. Still, there was nothing he could do about it right now.
Zinnia completed her pastel drawing in fifteen minutes. Bart just stood there, shaking his head in amazement. He set her up again, with watercolors this time. Because the medium was wet, it took thirty minutes.
Bart was stumped. “I’m watching you work, and I still don’t know how you do it.”
“What next?” asked Zinnia.
“Acrylics,” said Bart.
By the time Rose arrived after her shift at the book store, Bart had watched Zinnia produce six different treatments of the pastries. He lined them up against the counter, the easel, and the stool, so they could make comparisons.
Rose was impressed. “Wow, Zin, those are really cool.”
Zinnia reserved judgment, instead turning to Bart. “Which do you like best?”
Bart narrowed his eyes. “Number four. No. Five. No. Four.”
Zinnia laughed.
Rose said, “All the colored ones look like you could just take a bite.”
“Thanks, Rose,” said Zinnia.
Bart battled internally about whether he should say anything to Rose about reading his texts. At last, he opted for, “That text message was all Woodsy and no Bart.”
Rose thought for a moment, then nodded. “Understood. And I apologize. Sometimes I get nosey.”
Bart grunted, as if that sound wiped the slate clean.
“So...” Rose seemed to understand. “Where shall we do lunch?”
Zinnia was cleaning brushes. “Is it that time already?”
Rose tapped her phone screen. “It’s three o’clock, so yes. Aren’t you hungry?”
Bart was organizing paints. “We’ve been snacking on The Muffin Man’s goodies,” he said. “I have some phone calls to make, so if you ladies want to take a break, I’ll guard the gallery.”
Rose looked hopefully at Zinnia, who seemed hesitant. “I haven’t finished cleaning all the brushes yet.” She made it sound like a question.
Bart pulled out his wallet and separated five twenties. “You’ve been working for me all day. You just didn’t realize it. Here, go eat. Treat Rose to lunch. Then come back and make sure I haven’t robbed the cash register...or something equally dastardly.” He aimed those last few words at Rose, who blushed hotly.
“I said I was sorry about the phone thing,” she mumbled.
Bart grinned. “Go on. I’ll finish the brushes.” Rose smiled back. “My car is out front.” She left the Gallery.
Zinnia wiped her hands on a paper towel. “We’ll be back before five,” she said. “That’s when Thor will want to lock up.” She grabbed her purse and tucked the twenties inside it. Before following Rose out the door, she pinned Bart with a bemused look and pressed a finger against his chest. “This will give you time to figure out how you plan to explain all this Woodsy nonsense to me.”
Bart stood staring after her, rubbing the spot where she’d poked him. He took a shaky breath, then became aware that paint thinner was running down the brush he was holding and dripping off his knuckles. He grabbed the
paper towels and started cleaning up. Blast that Woodsy, anyway. He might have to tell Zinnia the truth if he wanted to keep her trust. And that trust was quickly becoming the most important thing in his life.
* * *
“We don’t need your car,” said Zinnia. “Let’s go over to the coffee shop in the Cattleman’s. Their prices are in our ballpark.”
Rose shrugged and went along, but she couldn’t manage to keep her mouth shut. “You’re braver than I am,” she said. “After what I saw on his phone—”
Zinnia cut her off. “Hush, Rose. With all the trouble you’ve been having with Chester, I don’t think you understand my situation.” She strode with purpose across the street and between the cars in the Cattleman’s lot so that Rose had to jog to keep up.
“Your dad threw you out. I get it.”
Zinnia stopped when they reached the portico of the hotel. She turned to face Rose and lowered her voice. “He’s paying me a hundred dollars a day to hang out with him and play with my pastels.”
Rose blinked at her in amazement. “A hundred...?”
“Four hours a day, twenty-five an hour, only longer today because Ashley wasn’t in the gallery. So we played all morning! He bought a bunch of art supplies and had me using different mediums to fill big canvases with donuts. He said he wanted to ‘do an appraisal’ of my skills. Don’t you get it? He’s the first person ever to take my talent seriously.”
Rose raised two fingers in the air. “Second,” she said. “He’s the second person to take you seriously.”
Zinnia melted into a teary smile and threw her arms around Rose. “Yes, you’re right,” she squeaked. “He’s the second.”
Rose hugged her back. “Let’s go eat. A hundred a day? So, you’re buying lunch?”
At that time of day, they had the coffee shop mostly to themselves. They ordered cheeseburgers and fries. Rose had a milkshake, and Zinnia asked for a Coke.
“Those canvases were impressive,” said Rose. “Has he tried to criticize your technique yet?”
“Nope. Not a negative word. He just keeps asking me how I do that?”
“And you really aren’t worried about what Woodsy said on his phone?”
Zinnia raised one shoulder and let it drop. “He knows all the best people in town. And he’s related by marriage to Ashley. Thor is cousins with the man married to Bart’s sister. So I’m not really worried that he might try something shady.”
“Oh. Okay.” Rose dipped a fry in a puddle of ketchup. “So...he’s paying you for showing him what you can do artistically?”
“That seems to be the case so far. And the hotel room is a bonus.”
“I can’t argue with that,” said Rose.
“Is your mother okay with you staying here?”
“Yes. She said you need someone to look out for you because Bart is...what were her words?... ‘way too interested’ in your art.”
Zinnia pulled back in surprise. “Your mom called my drawings art?”
Rose made a face. “No. She was talking to your mom on the phone about how he collected your work from the laundry room wall for your portfolio, and she used your mom’s words... ‘little hobby’... I changed it to art.”
Zinnia grinned. “They still don’t know what a team we are at craft fairs?”
“No way. I’m not telling them everything. They might want a percentage.”
Zinnia laughed.
Rose smiled and shook her head. “I always knew you had a special talent, Zin. I guess I just didn’t expect your big break to ride into town on a white horse with a bushel of hundred-dollar bills.”
“Well, so far I’ve only seen a couple, plus the art supplies today. But it pays a lot better than four hours a day as Ashley’s counter clerk. She doesn’t really need me. She just wants to be free to come and go.” She frowned at her cheeseburger. “I hope she’s okay.”
“We can ask Thor when we go back,” said Rose.
Zinnia agreed. “So, how was your shift at the bookstore?”
“Weird. Embarrassing. And scary. Don’t forget scary.”
“What happened?”
“Chester,” said Rose.
“Oh no. Did he cause trouble?” She reached across the table and grabbed Rose’s hand. “Did he try to pull you out of there?”
“No, no, he just....hung around, staring at me like a dog at a bone. My manager finally went over and told him he had to leave because I was working and it wasn’t right for him to be there...stalking me.”
“Wow. He didn’t make a fuss?”
“No. He just pointed a finger at me and jabbed it in the air like he was shooting darts or something. Then he scowled all the way out the door.”
Zinnia swallowed a bite of burger. “He’s not taking this very well, is he?”
Rose used her Bette Davis impression to announce, “And the Understatement of the Year Award goes to Miss Zinnia Soon-To-Be-Famous.”
Zinnia pooh-poohed her nickname. “I’m not going to be famous,” she droned nasally. Then she added seriously, “It would be nice to learn how to sell my art, though. Without spending all day at a craft fair.”
“Serious art,” said Rose. “That’s what you want to do, right?”
“Yes.” Zinnia covered her giggle with her hand. “Bart said his biggest sale was for a finger painting he made while he was drunk.”
“No way!”
“Way!” Zinnia glanced at the clock over the counter. “Are you finished? I don’t want to miss Thor. Sometimes he heads out a bit early.”
“Must be nice,” said Rose sarcastically. “I’m done.” She pushed her half-eaten burger away. “What am I going to do if Chester keeps following me around?”
Zinnia left a twenty on the table. “We’ll think of something,” she said, as reassuringly as she could. “Let’s go.”
Bart met them at the door to the gallery, waving money around. “See anything missing?” he asked, obviously pleased with himself.
Zinnia looked around. “My biggest donut canvas is gone.”
“Bingo! And in its place, this small collection of Ben Franklin portraits.” He handed the money to Zinnia.
“Oh my gosh, there’s five hundred dollars here!”
“Yes indeed,” crowed Bart. “Your first commercial sale.”
Zinnia held the money out for Rose to witness. “I don’t understand,” she protested. “What commercial sale?”
“Your ‘Portrait of a Yummy Donut’ is now hanging in The Muffin Man.”
“They paid five hundred dollars for it?”
Bart looked so pleased with himself. “I wanted to show you that your art can earn money.”
“This is awesome,” said Zinnia. “Oh, here comes Thor. See, Rose? I told you he’d close up early.” She stuffed the hundreds into her purse as Ashley’s husband came through the door. He seemed a bit surprised to see them all there. “Having a party?” he asked.
Bart said, “I came by to purchase art supplies and we got carried away.”
“I see,” said Thor. He took a moment, then greeted the girls. “You’re Rose, right? Zinnia’s friend?”
“Yes, Mr. Garrison. Nice to see you.”
Zinnia blurted, “How is Ashley? I hope she’s feeling better.” She moved to the register and began closing it out.
Thor looked thoughtfully from the girls to Bart. At last he said, “You noticed she was a little out of sorts last night?”
Bart suppressed a grin. “I noticed.”
Thor nodded. “She’s pretty crabby during her first trimester.”
Zinnia and Rose chorused, “She’s pregnant!”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Aside from feeling that Thor was offering an explanation for his wife’s unseemly behavior the night before, Bart thought nothing of the news. Married people have children. That’s what made the world go round. He found a space in the back room where he could safely store Zinnia’s work, then moved briskly to the front door, where Thor waited, jingling his key ring.
> As he left the building, Bart felt he should say something congratulatory about the new addition, but only managed to remark, “This is number three, right?”
“Correct,” said Thor with a hint of pride. He wrestled with unfolding the metal security gate and stretching it across the front of the gallery. It matched the one covering the front of Thor Security.
“Nice setup,” said Bart. “Reminds me of Europe.”
Thor locked the gate in place. “I wanted to install the same ones I have at home,” he said, “but Ashley thought these would fit in better with the décor of Old Town.”
“She has an artistic eye,” said Bart. “Tell her I said congratulations…about the baby.”
“Thanks,” said Thor. “Got to go.”
Bart glanced around for the girls, but they were nowhere in sight. Then he remembered the five hundred he’d given Zinnia and smiled. He’d bet that five hundred to the donuts she’d painted that they’d gone shopping. That freed him up to take care of a few phone calls. He needed to talk to Woodsy about the showing, but wanted to enlist her cooperation without telling her exactly what he had in mind. That wouldn’t be easy.
Two hours later, he tossed his cell on the table in his suite and stretched out on the bed with his hands clasped behind his head. His right ear was still ringing with Woodsy’s strident tones. That was the bad news. The good news was that she could barely ask a question without giving him several paragraphs of explanation about why she was asking. That propensity allowed him to catch up on a lot of history about the gallery owners and quite a bit about the New York art scene. It turned out that he and Woodsy knew a lot of the same people and she wasn’t averse to gossip. His mind was reeling by the time he hung up, filled with hundreds of details about their shared acquaintances. He had to stop and think for a moment to assure himself that she’d agreed to do what he’d asked before they ended the call.
He was about to leave in search of dinner when his phone rang. He groaned, hoping it wasn’t Woodsy again. It wasn’t. “Hello, Taylor. What’s up?”
“Did you hear?! Ashley is pregnant!”
Bart nodded. “Thor just told me a while ago.” Something in Taylor’s voice made him add, “That’s a good thing, right?” He left the room with his cell pressed against his left ear for a change. It was past seven and his morning donuts had worn off.