Jason looked suspicious, but his expression turned to interest when Matt launched into a tutorial on urban art. Working for a museum that appreciated more modern forms of art stood Abby in good stead, as she could add information on use of color and texture to complement what Matt offered.
“Wow.” Jason looked dazed when Abby finished. “An hour ago, I would have seen this and felt sorry for the building owner for having his shop defaced.”
Matt laughed. “This particular owner paid the taggers to do it. Challenged them to come up with something beautiful, and they did.” He ran his hand over the bottom of the painting before turning to Sarah. “Listen, I need to get back to the studio, but if you’re interested in art, I’m showing some of my sculptures in a couple of days.” He looked from Sarah to Abby. “You should come.”
Jason, still examining the mural, didn’t seem to notice that he hadn’t been included in the invitation. “Not really my thing, man. Not that art isn’t interesting,” he added, darting a look at Abby.
Abby was half-waiting for Matt’s decided “fuck you” to Jason. He didn’t give in to the temptation, though his eyes twinkled. “That’s okay. The invitation is open.”
“I suppose it will be dressy,” Sarah said thoughtfully. Abby could see the wheels turning in her mind as she calculated the chances of meeting a wealthy, available, and age-appropriate Californian.
“Well, not ball gown dressy,” Matt answered. “It’s informal.”
Sarah blew a hank of hair off of her forehead and grunted.
“No thanks, then. Unless I’m covering a show, it’s not really my thing either. I suppose I can’t get out of the chick flick as easy as that, can I?” She stretched up to kiss Matt on the cheek and waved to both men as she tugged Abby around the corner and onto the boardwalk.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Abby juddered out to Sarah, stumbling as her friend led the way with her longer stride.
Sarah’s laugh was strained. “No problem. My freedom from girly films can take a backseat once in a while.” She stopped at her car and waved at Matt. He’d come around the building and was watching them, arms crossed once again over his chest. He turned to head down the boardwalk, tossing a grin over his shoulder as he shook his behind at them.
“Cocky bastard.” Abby grinned and waved to him before she slid into her seat.
“Okay, what’s up, toots?” she asked as Sarah started the car.
Sarah glanced at her. “Nothing. Why?”
“Why? Maybe because you’ve been tense since you and Jason came around the corner. Did something happen? I’m sorry if he’s pressing you about me—”
Sarah held up a hand. “He was a perfect gentleman. No worries.” She sighed. “I need a change, Abby.”
Abby laughed. “I thought this summer was all about change.”
Sarah took a few minutes to answer, navigating the streets in silence until they reached theirs. “For you, maybe. I just packed up my personal crap and brought it along with me. Then I added a distillery worth of Jack Daniels to the sorry mix. This is not working out like I planned.” She pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Abby said. “Maybe if—”
Sarah got out of the car. “I took your advice and called David while Jason was looking at bikes,” she said as she headed for the porch.
“And?” Abby hurried to catch up.
“He told me to come home now and got quiet when I said that I planned on finishing my vacation. Then he said he had to go.” She settled onto her wicker loveseat and put her arm over her eyes. “I can’t believe I called my boss and blurted out all my personal crap.”
Abby sat in one of the chairs. “C’mon. You know he’s more than your boss. We’ve hung out with him a thousand times outside of work—he seeks you out.” She searched her memories, praying she’d not fooled herself about David’s interest in Sarah. She knew that he could be the perfect solution to her friend’s man problem. And it was obvious that even if she’d never admit it, Sarah was beginning to see David as much more than a boss or a friend. “What did he say before he hung up?”
Sarah shrugged, eyes still covered. “That he’d talk to me in a couple of days.”
She took a deep breath and sighed it out before standing and tugging Abby to her feet. “Not quite up to a happily ever after right now, though. Do you mind?”
“Of course not.”
Sarah flung her arm around Abby’s shoulders. “Then I believe we have a date with Christian Bale and a couple tubs of Cherry Garcia, don’t you?”
Chapter Ten
TWO NIGHTS LATER, ABBY was putting in her earrings when Sarah bounced down the stairs, keys in hand. A couple evenings of violent movies had cheered her up enough that she was ready to assault Santa Cruz on her own again. She glanced at Abby and whistled. “You look yowza, babes. I thought this shindig wasn’t dressy.”
Looking down at the vintage sundress she’d found the day before, Abby smoothed the fitted bodice. “You think it’s too much?”
“Nah.” Sarah tweaked the flared skirt so that it swirled around Abby’s hips. “Matt’s going to love this look. With your hair up like that? Retro-hawt.”
“I’d be happy with presentable, thanks. Hawt is beyond my powers.” Abby grabbed her purse as they walked out the door.
“Whatever. Let your date decide.”
Sarah drove to Matt’s and beeped goodbye as Abby ran up to the door and rang the bell. Hearing him shout, “Come in,” Abby stepped inside.
The living space was as neat as his studio, if much more cozy. A distressed leather couch and a comfortable chair grounded the small living room off the entryway. Both pieces of furniture were arranged around a stone fireplace that was flanked on one side by a floor-to-ceiling bookcase and on the other by a hickory armoire. Colored sketches of the local coast hung on the walls. Cushions and throws were piled in a basket next to the couch.
“Abby?” Matt’s voice came from the back of the house.
She followed the sound, passing through a small kitchen and dining area before reaching his studio. She stopped to watch him gently lift a damp cloth over a sculpture in the corner. He moved to the sink, gingerly raised the cuffs of his white shirt, and washed his hands.
Abby whistled. “Looking pretty good, mister. I thought artists were supposed to be Bohemian. You look like you stepped off the cover of GQ.”
Matt chuckled as he grabbed a towel. “According to Claire, only artists that want to remain starving or those that are already famous can get away with that, and she hasn’t been wrong yet. I had my Bohemian moment last week.” He told Abby about the sandals with his suit, and she laughed.
Tossing the towel aside, he crossed the room and circled Abby’s waist with careful hands before leaning in for a slow kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark. “You look amazing.” He stroked the fabric that draped her hips and cursed as it stuck to his hands. “Just a minute,” he said. He stepped over to retrieve a jar of thick cream and slather it on his hands. As he massaged it in, he looked her over again. “Beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes straying to the canvas draped shape in the corner for a second before he focused on Abby again. “You’re perfect. I don’t want to mess you up. Yet.” Matt laughed, finishing with the lotion and grabbing a jacket off the back of his desk chair.
Abby looked curiously at the canvas-draped shape. “I don’t suppose you’d care to share your work?”
Matt glanced at her as he opened the door. “Eventually. Probably.” He shook his head and chuckled, ushering Abby to his car.
Pulling up in front of Claire’s gallery, she was stunned by the dollar value of the cars that were parked in the spaces around it. Abby examined her vintage-shop dress. “Maybe—”
Matt got out of the car and crossed to the passenger side to help Abby out of the open door. “Maybe, nothing. You look great. The perfect arm candy. These things are all about selling a product.” He tucked Abby’s hand in the crook of h
is arm. “As much as art feeds the soul and I wouldn’t want to do anything else, it’s also my job. I sell the sculptures by selling myself.”
“That sounds really dirty, you know that?” Abby hip checked him as they approached the door, and Matt’s somber mood broke with his smile.
Once inside, he headed for Claire. Abby breathed a sigh of relief: Claire’s slacks and silk shirt were as casual as Matt had indicated. Wearing that, the gallery owner should have disappeared among the bright, bejeweled finery displayed on a succession of trophy wives with more money than taste, but instead, the perfect cut of her clothes and obviously real, heavy gold jewelry made her stand out. Charles stood grinning by her side, his hands carelessly pushed into his jeans pockets and his hair ruffled. Claire gazed up at him adoringly as he said something that had the crowd howling.
After greetings between the people who knew one another and introductions between those who didn’t, the gathering fell into a pattern Abby recognized from cocktail parties she’d attended on behalf of her museum. She switched into her public persona, working the room and talking to those who Claire pointed out as especially able to help move Matt’s career along. Claire also worked the room, leaving Matt available to charm potential buyers and discuss his displayed works. A couple of hours passed before Claire gathered her guests in the center of the gallery to talk about Matt and his sculptures.
After his impromptu lecture at the boardwalk mural, Abby should not have been surprised to learn that up until a few years earlier, he had taught fine arts classes at the university. She caught his eye, and he shrugged with one shoulder. He broke in on Claire’s monologue and ordered her to just show the damned sculptures already. The crowd ate it up, tittering and watching raptly as Claire uncovered the draped figures.
Since his large statues were still in progress, it was the three completed mock-ups that were presented. A collective hum that presaged a good show went around the room. Abby couldn’t blame them for being caught by the beauty and realism of Matt’s work, down to a shaving knick on the Zoe sculpture’s shin. Jason looked like he was about to step off the pedestal on which he stood, and the entwined bodies of the couple statue carried an eroticism that had wives nudging husbands.
The Bakers stood next to the sculptures, accepting congratulations as if they had created the works themselves. Mrs. Baker, whose name turned out to really be Bambi, announced that the completed statues would be at their house and only at their house. She slipped her arm around Matt and asked her friends to take her picture with the artist and “her” sculptures. Claire moved into the breach, reminding her that their contract was for the finished sculptures only; any other works surrounding them were still the property of the artist. Bambi protested, looking to her husband for help, and Claire led the couple into an office.
That seemed to signal the end of the reception. Charles started steering couples and singles toward the door, his easy smile and polished manners smoothing the way. Claire appeared a few minutes later, arm linked through Mr. Baker’s. A quiet word with her husband was met with a smile, and within minutes, he was crating up one of his “finds” for the mollified couple.
Matt’s arm went around Abby’s waist. “Had about enough?”
Claire bustled by, dramatically covering her eyes. “Not looking. Lock up when you go.” She waved over her shoulder and followed the Bakers and her husband out of the gallery.
“When we go?” Abby asked.
Matt smiled mysteriously and disappeared down a hall. He returned a minute later, carrying a basket, a bottle, and two glasses. He shook out a tablecloth on the floor and plopped down.
“Chris?”
He laughed. “Not this time.” He unpacked sandwiches and a hoard of other small goodies. “Finger food isn’t dinner, right?” He poured sparkling wine into a glass and held it out.
It was Abby’s turn to laugh. She sat, curling her legs to the side, and waited for Matt to serve her. They discussed the reception, comparing notes on the attendees and their preferences. When they were finished eating, Matt packed away the leftovers and laid his head in Abby’s lap.
“Better,” he said in satisfaction. “So, did you get a good look at the…whatever it was…Charles boxed up for the Bakers?” He snorted laughter.
“Hush. Somebody somewhere loved that…whatever.” She thought of the waving feathers that covered the piece and stifled a smile. “There was one couple, though, that did know art. They liked your mock-ups, but they’re really interested in one of your others.” She indicated a dimly lighted area.
Matt looked surprised. “How did they find that?”
“Someone must have pointed it out. I talked to them for a while and got a sense of what they’d like, goofy. They’re nice people, and that piece is my favorite.”
“Why?”
“Well,” Abby said slowly, thinking, “the lines are very clean for a modernist piece. So many diverge into a half-assed cubism, all angles. That one has lovely curves, and the marble gives it a fluid feel.” She smiled. “It reminds me of our surfing trip.”
Matt rolled to his feet. He helped Abby up and walked her toward the piece in question. He stopped in front of it and pointed to the small brass plaque on the base. Though the letters were hard to make out in the dimness, Abby crouched down and read it: Steamer Lane Swell. She looked up in delight. “Where you swim with whales, right?”
Matt crouched beside her and cupped her jaw in one hand, leaning forward to press a kiss on her willing mouth. “Yes,” he said. “Thanks for getting it. Chris insists that it looks like a fucked-up snail.”
Abby laughed and slipped an arm around his waist as they surveyed the sculpture. She ran her finger over the plaque thoughtfully. “Swell…that’s another word for a wave, right?”
“Sort of. More like a series of waves.” Matt sat down on the floor and Abby sat beside him. “Swells happen when two storms collide. The best are when the storms come from opposite coasts. They can make for a hell of a season—unpredictable, but interesting.”
“A swell.” Abby stroked the lower curve of the statue. “I like that.” She rested her head on Matt’s shoulder. “This is what you really love to do, isn’t it?” she asked. “Not the new statues?”
“The pool statues?”
“They’re beautifully done.”
Matt laughed. “They’re silly and indulgent, but they’ll pay the bills for a while.” They stood, clasping hands. “I’m ready to leave. Beautiful, smart, and understands my work? Totally unfair.” He swung their hands and looked at her in calculation. “Would it be forward to say that I need you naked, Pretty?” Though Matt’s smile hadn’t changed, his eyes were very serious.
Thoughts ran through Abby’s mind in rapid succession, a roundabout of uncertainty with roads shooting off to yes and no and later. Each had their points. No was the sensible road. Later had weak appeal. It would give her more time to consider what she was doing, but then they would have even less time together. Matt waited patiently for her to decide.
“Take me home. And stay. I’m saying it this time.”
Matt shut the door of the cottage and turned the deadbolt. “This will give us a little warning if Sarah comes home.” He wrapped Abby in his arms and pressed gentle kisses over her face. Nimble fingers tweaked the pins that secured her hair and tossed them to the floor. Matt sighed when the last one was gone, burying his hands in the thickness of Abby’s hair and exploring her mouth. “Are you sure about this, Pretty?” he asked, pulling away to take a breath. Their momentum carried them backward a step.
Abby’s hip bumped a table, and she sniggered, reaching out to catch a teetering lamp. “Very sure. Let’s take this upstairs.” She tugged Matt toward the stairs. She was surprised when he tugged back, unbalancing her, and she caught herself with both hands against his chest.
A low sound rumbled from him as he used the hand that had come to rest on the small of her back to press her against him. “Touch me, Pretty.” He started to unbutton hi
s shirt. “I’ve been thinking about your hands all day, and I need to feel them on my skin.” He grunted in frustration when Abby slid one hand between the plackets of his shirt and stroked his chest through his undershirt. “This shit has got to go.” He moved back to shrug out of his jacket and yank off his tie, dropping them where he stood. With a wry smile, he ran his hand through his hair, which he had set on end by pulling the tie over it, and finished unbuttoning his shirt.
Abby curled her hands into the fabric as he started to shrug that off as well, kissing his neck, feeling his pulse race. “Let me help,” she whispered, loosening her grip on his shirt as he relaxed, eyes closed and smiling. Making sure to slide her hands over every possible inch of his shoulders and arms, she pushed the shirt off, hindered only when he had to unbutton the cuffs so it could fall completely from his body. “Is this what you wanted, Matt?” she asked, trailing the tips of her fingers around the neck of his T-shirt before sliding them underneath to caress the skin that covered the tops of his shoulders.
“Mmm hmm…” he hummed, shivering as she touched the ball of his shoulder again. “More.”
Tugging the hem of Matt’s T-shirt from the waistband of his slacks, Abby trailed the backs of her fingers over the hair that covered his flat stomach. Breath hissed between his teeth, and then he yanked the shirt over his head and tossed it down with his tie and dress shirt. “Too slow,” he laughed.
Matt unzipped her dress, and his hands found her skin, outlining her shoulder blades with sensitive fingertips. “I’ve wanted to do this all night,” he said, sliding the straps over Abby’s shoulders and down her arms. She let him go and shook the fabric off her hands, allowing the dress to float to the floor.
They started up the stairs, stopping frequently for kisses and touches. Abby’s bra fell to the floor by mid-flight, and her panties joined it a couple steps later. By the time they reached the landing, she was tugging at Matt’s belt and unbuttoning his slacks.
Matt drew a breath as Abby cupped him through his boxers. He covered her hand. “Remember when I said that I’m a patient man?” he asked in a low voice. She nodded. “That ends right now.” He kicked his feet out of his slacks and dipped his knees to lift her off her feet. “Which room, woman?”
The Art of Appreciation Page 14