Chapter 7
The pungent fragrance of Starbucks coffee penetrated Angie’s dream. Warmth on her face and a wonderful sense of well-being filled her. Slowly opening her eyes, she watched Jonathan gently place her breakfast, coffee and all, onto the bistro table on the balcony outside the bedroom French doors. Finally Saturday had arrived, their day to spend together. After last night, it would surely be a great day.
“Good morning, sleepy head. Coffee’s ready, want yours in bed or out here on the balcony?”
Angie leaped out of bed, grabbed her bathrobe, and stepped outside. “Good morning, yourself. What a nice surprise. You know how I enjoy breakfast out here. I love to watch the activity of our Gold Coast neighbors. It’s like watching bubbles in boiling water. It’s infectious.”
“What would you like to do today? It’s too pretty to stay indoors. Poor Mister Tubbs is demanding attention and you, my dear, deserve a day devoted to you. Your wish is my desire.” Jonathan, linen napkin across his bent forearm, bowed.
“Anything I want?”
“Anything!”
“I want a picnic in Lincoln Park. Fresh baked bread, cheese, red wine, and my two favorite guys. Can we?”
“Absolutely.”
“Really?”
“Yes, sounds like fun. We’ll spend a quiet morning together, and then hit the bakery, and head for the park.”
He could be so wonderful at times like this, when she had his attention. Keeping him focused on her was the problem
#
Breakfast cleaned up, paper read, and both dressed in jeans and tees, Jonathan stepped in front of Angie, hesitated, and then asked, “Did you like the Pendant necklace I bought you?”
Angie turned away. She stood silent for what seemed like an eternity. “Honestly, I didn’t open the package. I was too angry.”
“Will you open the gift now?”
“I’d rather open it later, when we get back from the park. Do you mind?”
“I guess not, but why wait?”
“If you must know, right now I am happy. The package brings back bad memories. Let me enjoy today, and then I think I can open your gift without reliving the pain from our anniversary evening.”
Jonathan rubbed his chin and put his hands into his jeans pockets. Even when he thought the storm was over, it wasn’t. “I guess I understand. We’ll wait. I have some work to do in my study before we go. Can I have an hour? Then the rest of the day’s all yours.”
“Perfect, see you in an hour. That’ll give me time to put together our delicious picnic. I wonder what Mister Tubbs will want to eat? Something special, I’m sure.” Angie nestled closer to Jonathan, put her arms around his neck, and smiled. “It’s nice to have you home. I’m really looking forward to today.”
“Me too, I plan on showing you how much you mean to me.”
“I’d like that.”
#
Mister Tubbs jumped and spun around wildly as Angie worked to clip the leash onto his harness. He loved to go. Where didn’t matter. She grabbed the picnic basket and called to Jonathan, “Ready? I can’t keep Mister Tubbs inside much longer.
“Coming. Did you remember to bring his backpack carrier?”
“Are you kidding? Without our secret weapon, he will die of exhaustion. Besides, we’d never get inside the zoo if anyone knew we had him with us.” Angie struggled to keep Mister Tubbs from choking himself, as he continued to jump at the door. “Can we see the lions and tigers? And you know how I love the exotic birds and fish. It will be fun.”
“This is your day. We’ll see any animal you want. Your wish is my command.”
Jonathan wrapped his arm around Angie’s shoulders. The two strolled the mile-plus path on North Wells to the Twisted Baker. By the time they reached the bakery, Mister Tubbs had turned into a limp, tired puppy. Angie picked him up in her arms and helped Jonathan put him into the doggie backpack. Snuggly strapped onto Jonathan’s back, Mister Tubbs immediately fell asleep.
Two years earlier, this trip had been a part of their Saturday routine. No matter what was planned for the rest of the day, on Saturday morning they would stroll to the bakery for bagels, bread, or cinnamon rolls. Memories flooded Angie as she stepped into the shop and inhaled the sweet smell of cinnamon buns.
Her eyes widened as she recognized the owner. He hadn’t changed at all, well perhaps a little rounder and grayer at the temples, but still the same smiling, gentle man who had greeted them for so many years. “Oh, Papa Joe, it’s so good to see you,” Angie said.
“Hey, how long has it been? Jonathon, what did you do? Did you move away—take my little Angie with you? Tell me you didn’t find a new baker. Don’t break my heart.”
Jonathan laughed. “Not to worry, we’ve been trying to eat healthy. Boy how we miss your great pastries.”
“Come. I got fresh baked rolls and breads.” Papa Joe took Angie by the arm and hurried her to his pastry case. “You’ll taste the butter and cinnamon and your eyes will weep with joy.”
Jonathan made his selection for their lunch, his favorite tomato, basil, and cheese loaf, ideal with cheese and wine. The brunch crowd pushed into the available space, and Papa Joe flew into high gear. No more time for reminiscing. They said their goodbyes and ambled toward the door.
Papa Joe raised his arm and waved. “Come back soon. We have many new types of bread you must try.”
Angie waved back. “See you next Saturday.”
#
They walked hand in hand along the sidewalk to the Millennium Knickerbocker Hotel. At the Concierge Center, they caught the bus to Lincoln Park.
Stepping off the bus, Jonathan leaned close and whispered in her ear. “Do you remember the day we met on that Saturday in May? You were in the Millennium Park by the Crown Fountain. You had your canvas, watercolors, and easel. I took one look at you and fell in love. Your sparkling eyes and cute grin captivated me—did I fall hard.”
“Are you kidding? You swept me off my feet. You, the charmer, knew all about art, watercolors, and had been to the Thomas Gathman Gallery Art Show the week before. I was the starving artist with a hunger for my own art gallery and private art shows. I wanted it all, and you believed I could have it.” Angie lowered her head. What had happened to them since then?
“You were good, Angie. Why did you stop painting?”
“I don’t know. At first I had to focus on becoming a wife,” Angie whispered. “Remember, I couldn’t cook, clean, or anything else wives do. Mom never allowed me in the kitchen. Being a perfectionist with OCD, she had to do it all.” She squeezed his hand. “Then came the role of corporate wife, Attending those classy dinners and cocktail parties was bad enough. But attempting to entertain in our home terrorized me—planning and hosting. The responsibility of a four-bedroom, 6,000 square- foot brownstone overwhelmed me. I grew up in less than a 1000 square-foot apartment.” Angie put her hands to her mouth and paused. “I fought to make time for my art. But our life together required so much of me. It was as if I’d entered a marathon without training. My love of the craft wouldn’t allow me to do less than exemplary work, and I pushed my first love away. I didn’t know how to fit in painting and be the wife you deserved. And I couldn’t tell you I was drowning.”
“I never meant for you to give up painting.” Jonathon turned her to face him. “That’s one of the reasons we moved into the brownstone. With three floors, you had a perfect place for a studio next to our bedroom. You should start painting again.”
“It’s been years since I held a brush. I’m not sure I remember how to paint.”
“Please think about it.”
Was it too late to dream? “I will, promise.”
#
Exhausted from their trip to the zoo, Angie and Mister Tubbs nestled onto the king-size bed and collapsed. An hour later, a gentle touch on her cheek awakened her. She recognized the spicy fragrance of the Polo aftershave as she slowly opened her eyes.
“Hi, Baby. I made reservations for Morton’s t
onight—your favorite steak house. I had to pull some strings to get us reservations. We need to be there by 7:30. I know it’s early, but can you be ready by 7?”
“Can I ever.” She jumped off the bed and pranced to the bathroom for a hot shower.
An hour later, Angie glided into the living room in a long black skirt and sequined-sweater accented with a golden silk camisole.
Jonathan whistled as she entered the room. “My wife will be back any minute, we have to be discrete. Come here beautiful and give me a kiss.”
“You like it you naughty boy?” She laughed and whirled around in front of him.
“Like it? You’re amazing. I love you.” He grabbed her and pulled her close. He ran his hand down the side of her waist and placed his lips on her neck, nibbling up to her ear and back down to the nape of her neck again.
Angie moved against his hand and then pulled away. “Time to catch that cab. We have reservations. Hold that thought for later.”
“Wait. You have to open your present.” Jonathan put his hand into his suit coat pocket and gently pulled out the small package from Tiffany’s and handed it to her.
Angie held up the gift, and then gazed back up into Jonathan’s eyes.
“Please. This is to show you how much I love you. I want you to wear it tonight.”
She reached out and took the package. Angie sat down on the sofa and gingerly unwrapped the gift. She gasped. He had never bought her jewelry like this before. The heart-shaped pendant, adorned with eight diamonds, sparkled brilliantly. This was a gift of love.
“It’s beautiful. Is the pendant made from copper?”
“Yes, copper for our eighth anniversary. See, it also has eight diamonds circling the heart in the center of the pendant. Put it on. It’s made for you.”
He’d actually spent time selecting her gift. It was ideal for an eighth anniversary. Had she misjudged him? He had been so romantic when they first met. Back then, Jonathan would surprise her with flowers, small but meaningful remembrances. After they married, he had treated her to dinner every month on the twelfth, the date of their marriage ceremony. He called it an anniversary celebration. Reservations were always at Mortons. Was she foolish to think that man could return?
“It’s gorgeous. Thanks. Put it on me.”
She held up the pendant and pulled the chain ends to the back of her neck while he fastened the clasp. She turned, leaned against his body, and lingered into a kiss, a sweet, loving kiss.
#
Angie spent Sunday lazily reading the newspaper, eating a late breakfast, and savoring tender kisses in bed. This was the first weekend in months he’d spent with her. His usual pattern placed him hiding out in his home office for hours working on some court case.
Angie and Mister Tubbs enjoyed the attention until after lunch. Then Jonathan slipped out of bed. He dressed in a cobalt blue sweater and khaki slacks. He pulled on his favorite brown tassel loafers with no socks and excused himself.
Angie recognized his pattern—time for him to head to his study. A lump stirred in her throat. He had delayed important preparation for his closing arguments on Monday. His work demanded priority. She didn’t like being isolated from him so soon. This part of his life wouldn’t change. In the meantime, she planned to rebuild her own life. She longed to dust off her watercolors, set up her private studio, and cultivate her artistic talent. Vicki spoke wisdom. She couldn’t rely on Jonathan for her happiness. Perhaps, in time, she would be able to convince him to start a family.
By mid-afternoon, Angie crawled out of bed, pulled a peach crepe blouse and gray linen slacks from the closet. After dressing, she settled herself in front of the make-up mirror. She tenderly put the pendant around her neck and gazed into her reflection. She had to learn to trust him. He wasn’t her father. Jonathan might choose work over her, but he’d never cheat on her.
When they first married, she resisted settling into the six thousand square-foot brownstone, but his father had insisted that Jonathan accept the gift of his childhood home. With his mother, deceased, and his father in ill health, he’d agreed.
A few weeks after moving in, she had broached the subject of making subtle changes to the décor—warmer wall colors, brighter artwork, and more informal furniture in a few select rooms.
His response fired back quick and decisive, “No. This is my home, my memories. All I have left of my parents is here. You can’t change anything.”
The brownstone, a three-story stone monolithic structure, remained cold and uninviting. She found herself forced to live with the decor of a woman she’d never met and the legacy of a father, long gone. She’d worked hard to fit into his life. Being eight years younger than Jonathan, she respected his ideas and molded herself to his wishes.
In their early years together, she’d gone to court to watch him in action. Jonathan made those TV courtroom scenes look like a segment from Law & Order. He was animated. She could feel his fire and passion for the truth. His record stood on its merits—a defense attorney consistently in the top five in Illinois for winning cases. His reputation put him on the fast track.
Did a woman have to put her life on hold to keep her marriage together? Her mother had done that. Clearly, her father had never appreciated her mother’s sacrifice. In the end, the divorce still came. Why did relationships have to be so difficult? She wanted it all—an art career, children, and Jonathan. It would take a lot of work, but she refused to abandon her dreams.
Angie raced across the room and down the stairs to Jonathon’s study. Mister Tubbs bounded after her, hopping like a bunny rabbit.
She swung open the study door. “Do you remember when I used to come watch you during your closing arguments?”
“Sure, you haven’t been to court in a long time, but I loved looking up to see you. Why?”
“I know you’re closing on the Hamilton trial tomorrow. Do you mind if I come to watch?”
He pushed back his desk chair and stepped around his desk. “Babe, it would be like old times. Yes, come. It’s a tough case. I could use your moral support.”
“Look for the girl in the candy-red dress sitting in the first row.”
He pulled her close with his muscular arms. His hot breath penetrated her senses. As he kissed her hard on the mouth, she felt her blouse being unbuttoned. Oh, yes.
Chapter 8
Monday arrived all too soon. Angie dizzily hopped into their normal morning routine. Jonathan reminded her he would present closing arguments after lunch and raced off to work by seven o’clock. That schedule opened up time for her to check up on her mother and still get to court. She hadn’t heard from her mom all weekend. She hesitated. The phone calls now more challenging, as her mother, filled with bitter retorts, created familiar conflict. How reminiscent of her childhood. Still, she knew the call had to be made.
Her mother picked up after three rings. “Hello, honey. You’re up early today. Is everything all right?”
“Sorry, I’ve been up since six o’clock and thought it was later. Did I wake you?”
“No, actually I’ve been up most of the night. Lately my ability to stay asleep has been non-existent. I go to bed exhausted, then toss and turn for hours.”
“Gotcha. I can relate. Are you and Dad getting things sorted out?”
“Yes, of course, your dad is being the ever-perfect gentleman. Whatever I ask for, he gives me. How can a man be so self-centered all our marriage and now…? I knew this would be hard, but I had no idea how much I would miss the routine of him coming home.”
“Any chance of working it out?”
“I don’t think so, Honey. He can’t change, and I can’t live like this any longer. I need someone in my life that I can trust. My time on this earth is too short to remain in hell. But let’s not talk about me. How are you and Jonathan doing?”
Angie stiffened as the question hit her. Had she been wrong to enjoy her happy weekend? She paused a moment, lowering her voice. “Things are getting a little better for us. We sp
ent time together and even went to Lincoln Park for a picnic.”
“Good. If you can have those honest talks, you have a chance for happiness. Count your time together as precious and protect it at all costs. Your dad and I drifted apart and didn’t even notice until it was too late.”
“Agreed, but I’ve also discovered that I spend too much time alone when Jonathan’s working. Vicki and I talked about my need to be more independent. More involved in things I like and less focused on him. I realize she’s right. I was a free spirit when I met Jonathan and now, I feel like a Stepford wife.”
“Stepford wife? What in heaven’s name is that?”
“Don’t you remember the movie where a group of men killed off their real wives and substituted lifelike robots that acted like a hot June Cleaver? Cooked, cleaned, dressed in pearls, and always smiled.”
Angie’s mother laughed. “Oh dear, if that’s how you’re feeling, it’s time to make some changes.”
“Yep, it’s time for sure.”
“What’s your day like today?”
“I’m going to court after lunch to watch Jonathan deliver closing arguments. The Hamilton trial’s a career builder for him.”
“I see. Didn’t you just tell me you were going to start finding yourself?”
“Of course, my plan is to start tomorrow.”
“I’ll say no more, Honey, but sometimes tomorrow never comes. To make a life changing event, the experts usually tell us to begin immediately.”
Mom’s life is a mess. How dare she give advice?
“I hear you. I promise I’ll start tomorrow. Now I have to get ready to go downtown to the courthouse. I’ll call later. Bye, Mom.”
#
Dressed in an apple-red suit with matching heels, Angie glanced into the entry-hall mirror, and searched for confirmation—not too bad. Her simple pearl necklace and matching earrings framed her alabaster complexion. She planned a powerful entrance into the courtroom.
Mister Tubbs raised his bat ears in alert position. “I almost forgot. You need lunch, right?” He wiggled his body into the shape of an S, as his tail wagged like a metronome. After a quick meal and a fast walk around the building, Angie smiled, gave him a pat, and reached for the front door latch.
The Artist's Paradise Page 4