The Artist's Paradise

by Pamela S Wetterman

  The warmth of the sun touched Angie’s arms. The breeze softly moved her hair away from her face. She sipped the caramel-flavored coffee and nibbled on coffee cake. “How wonderful it must be to influence so many. But professor, you’re the genius. I’ve seen your entry at the museum. You’re gifted.”

  Professor T’s dark eyes widened, as he quietly sipped his coffee. He set down his cup. “My dear Angie, my life is devoted to others. Every summer I select one art student for an intensive study. They receive one hundred percent of my time and at the end of the session, are ready for a life in the arts.”

  Angie sat up straight in her deckchair. Her eyes widened. Imagine an intensive study, one-on-one with this genius. He really did give of himself. She gazed toward the cottage nestled in the woods. The building, painted a cedar-red, one story construction, with the look of a gingerbread house. The front door stood centered on a small porch with shuttered windows on each side. It was small, but inviting.

  “Is that a fancy shed for your lawn care and supplies?” Vicki asked.

  The professor chuckled. “No. Come see. My summer students live and paint here. It‘s an artist hideaway.”

  Susie giggled. “Artist hideaway nothing, it’s a loft, except it’s a one story. Go see. It’s amazing.”

  As Angie stood, Vicki rose from her chair and asked, “I’d love to see it too. May I?”

  “Please, both of you come. What about you, Susie? Will you join us?”

  Susie looked up from her piece of coffee cake and stretched in the warm sun. “I’ve spent many hours there. It’s wonderful, but the sunshine calls. I’ll wait here.”

  “Of course, we’ll just be a few minutes.” The professor stepped off the back porch. “The idea of a cottage was conceived by a young female artist shortly after I moved in the main house,” he said, looking at Angie. “I couldn’t rest until it was completed. That artist designed the floor plan and was my very first intensive-summer student.”

  They walked on the sandy colored flagstone path that weaved around flowerbeds bursting with hyacinths ants and tulips in full bloom. The sweet fragrance of the flowers embraced Angie mixed with the pungent smell of the cedar trees.

  He lifted up a watering can, exposing the key and opened the door. “Taadum. Ladies, please enter the Artist’s Paradise.”

  Angie stepped through the open doorway and inhaled the fragrance of summer flowers and spicy grasses in the multiple vases staged around the room. On the far wall, opposite the front door, a stone fireplace sat decorated with a wooden plaque, The Artist’s Paradise.

  “It’s small, but well lit. The north side is all windows to allow for perfect watercolor painting.” He guided them around the room.

  Vicki picked up a red porcelain robin sitting on the pine end table. She touched the lampshade gently and said, “The décor color is inviting. You’ve brought the beauty of the outdoors inside.”

  “As I said, one of my former students designed the layout and color scheme. All I had to do was approve.”

  Angie drank in the wonderful paradise. She gazed at the paintings surrounding her. Watercolors graced every wall. Most were landscapes filled with vibrant colors and an artistry of brush-stroke that brought the landscapes alive. His selection of pallet, the bold choices, sent a chill down her spine. The floor plan enhanced the presentation. “It has such an open feel.”

  The professor’s arm swept the air in a half circle. “The one-room concept creates a feeling of openness. But my favorite inspiration is the tube lighting all through the space—the more natural light, the better.”

  Angie nodded. “The lighting’s fantastic. Your student, whoever she is, is gifted in design.”

  The professor slid into her personal space. “She is gifted. After she graduated, Paula established residence in New York City where she has her own gallery.”

  Angie stepped back and regained her composure. His earthy fragrance penetrated her senses.

  After an awkward silence, Vicki edged to the door. “We must go. We have lots to do today.”

  Angie nodded, and they returned to the peaceful arms of late spring.

  Susie greeted them with an impish smile. “It’s perfect, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, yes,” Angie said with a sigh. “I’m jealous of all the students who have been able to take advantage of this paradise—ideal for creativity.”

  Susie pleaded with her mother to stay a little longer, but Vicki was firm. The tension in her jaw mirrored a Mount Rainer memorial. Vicki cleared her throat and repeated, “We are leaving, now.”

  Angie thanked the professor for his time and retraced her steps through his house and out to the car.

  Professor T. followed closely behind them. “Angie, when are you going home?”

  “Tuesday morning. Why?”

  He walked up to the car as they got in. “I would love to see your art work. If you would like to come back tomorrow for a few hours, we could spend some time together. I can usually tell right away, who has talent. Perhaps I could give you some quick lessons, some ideas to try. What do you think?”

  “We’ve got plans.” Vicki snapped.

  Angie glared at Vicki and then leaned out the car door and said, “How generous. I’m sure I can find time tomorrow. What time’s good for you?”

  “I’m open all day. You pick.”

  Angie paused, and then responded, “How about nine o’clock?”

  The professor chuckled. “Wonderful. I’ll see you then.”

  “We need to go.” Vicki gunned the gas and revved the engine.

  “Geez, Mom, give Angie a second to make her plans.”

  Vicki swiveled around in her seat and growled, “The plans are made.” Then she turned the car around in the circular drive and blasted down the road.

  Susie, delivered to her dorm, jumped out of the car and stared at her mom. The tires squealed as Vicki spun around and drove back to the hotel. Silence filled the twenty-minute trip. Angie flushed as a chill emanated from Vicki. Back in the hotel room, Angie flew to the bedroom, released Mister Tubbs from his crate, and carried him outside for a long walk.

  Once out of the deep freeze, Angie inhaled the spring air and focused on soaking up the sunshine. Mister Tubbs, high stepping on the walk, stopped frequently to sniff flowers, chase a bumblebee, and taste some blades of grass.

  “I met the most amazing man today, Mister Tubbs. He is so generous and modest. I think you’d really like him.”

  Mister Tubbs ran off the sidewalk path and pulled Angie toward the playground equipment.

  “Well, I can see you are not interested in my day. Can I at least tell you that Vicki’s upset with me? I don’t know why. But she’s not speaking.”

  As Angie and Mister Tubbs entered the hotel room, Vicki looked up from her book without a word. Angie unhooked the leash from Mister Tubbs. He collapsed onto the floor, panting, and fell asleep where he lay.

  “Why did you want to leave so quickly today?” Angie asked, as she settled down across from Vicki. “I thought we were all having a lovely time”

  “Are you blind?”

  “What?”

  Vicki launched herself from the sofa up and stomped toward the patio doors, jaw chiseled in stone. She whipped around and faced Angie. “Have you been out of circulation so long you can’t tell when a man is putting the moves on you?”

  Angie, face red and breath shallow, glared at Vicki. “That’s ridiculous. He’s the most generous and unselfish man I’ve ever met. What’s wrong with you?”

  “Me?” Vicki raised her arm and pointed her finger in Angie’s face, “I’ve never seen such a blatant attempt to hit on a woman in a long time. He wasn’t even subtle. If you go over there tomorrow, you’ll be his prey. Can’t you see that?”

  Angie stood and raised her voice. “We’ve been friends for a long time. I’ve never seen you so irrational. Either we sit down and talk this out, or I’m going out. It’s your choice.”

  Vicki lowered her head into her hands. “
I’m sorry. I’m feeling responsible for this mess. I watched that professor work his magic on you today. He’s manipulating you to do what he wants, like Patrick did to me. Maybe you can’t see it. But I can. You’re in danger of making a grave mistake.”

  Angie, hands on her hips, shook her head. “Give me a break.”

  “I know. You’re over twenty-one. It’s none of my business. But I brought you on this trip to give you time to think about your relationship with Jonathan. Not to be caught up with another man.”

  “First of all, I’m not caught up with anyone. Secondly, Jonathan’s my business, not yours. Thirdly, I’m planning to restart my painting career and this professor wants to help me. That’s not manipulation. He’s being generous. I won’t hear another word.”

  “I don’t agree with you, but it’s your life. Let’s drop it.”

  “It’s dropped.”

  “I promise to mind my own business. Please consider my warning a motherly concern. Susie says I’m a nosey woman.”

  The two closed their arms around each other.

  Angie desired peace. No man was worth ending their friendship.

  As she readied herself for bed, Professor Turner’s face flooded her mind. If he was hitting on her—which he wasn’t—it would be refreshing. She had no idea if she’d even have a marriage when she returned home.

  #

  James Turner strode to his chest of drawers and picked up an antique picture frame. His hands shook. His mother’s image smiled back at him, but her deeply lined face surfaced difficult memories. She’d endured a great deal to give him his chance as an artist. Growing up, his father insisted that his mother was a flawed woman—weak and inferior.

  She was weak. She never stood up to his father. But she was strong when protecting and caring for her son. Wiping the dust off the picture frame, he replaced the photo on his bedroom bookshelf.

  Chapter 16

  Monday morning, Angie stretched and smiled as she awoke. She leaned up on her elbow and gazed out the window. The deep azure-blue sky touched gently with patches of fluffy white clouds spelled spring. The trees swayed in the breeze and the sun warmed her room. What a glorious day. She gathered up her running clothes and awoke Mister Tubbs. Off they went on their morning routine.

  Angie wouldn’t chance another discussion with Vicki. She leaned over close to Mister Tubbs and whispered, “You’re going with me today. I want you to meet the professor. If you like him, I’ll know he’s not the monster Vicki thinks he is. You’re never wrong.”

  Mister Tubbs cocked his head and stared into her eyes. He put his left paw on her forearm and gave her his famous fanny wiggle.

  “Let’s get going.”

  An hour later, Angie tiptoed out of the hotel room, Mister Tubbs safely cradled in his carrier. She hopped into the cab and gave the cabbie the professor’s address. She hadn’t been this nervous since she applied for her first job at the age of sixteen. How ridiculous. She had nothing to fear. But what if he found her talent lacking? She placed her hands on the armrest and focused on the scenery. If she had no real talent, her dream could be put to rest. If she had the gift, perhaps he would help her. In college, she’d dreamed of having her own gallery—selling her watercolors. Was she just kidding herself?

  Thirty minutes later, the driver pulled up to the house. Angie hopped out of the cab, dog carrier in hand, eager to start the day. The professor waved to her from his front porch with a broad smile. As she turned with the carrier in hand, his brow furrowed, and his smile vanished.

  Surely, he wouldn’t mind if Mister Tubbs was with her.

  Professor T glided down the front steps, reaching toward her with his arm raised and his hand open. “Angie, it’s great to have you come today. Give me that dog. Your load’s too heavy for such a beautiful woman.”

  Angie’s cheeks warmed. Was he hitting on her?

  Lifting her prized pet toward his outstretched hand, she raised the crate and released Mister Tubbs to him.

  He took the carrier, holding it at arm’s length. “I’m afraid I have an allergy to dogs and cats. We’ll have to find a safe place for him to stay while you are visiting.”

  Mister Tubbs thrashed around inside the cage and fell into a rapid bark. Jostled from the professor’s grasp, he slid back and forth, banging on the sides of the crate.

  “Stop! Put him down. I’ll carry him. He’s afraid.”

  He obliged her request. “I’m sorry. You can put him on the back porch. It’s shaded and the dog can sleep or watch the birds. We’ll be in the cottage.”

  Angie caught her breath. She picked up the carrier and opened the door to check-on Mister Tubbs. “Are you all right?” she asked, pulling him close to her. He rubbed her shoulder with his forehead, then turned and glared in the direction of the professor. He resumed his insistent bark, his tone piercing.

  She placed him back into the carrier and walked around back to the porch. Mister Tubbs didn’t seem impressed with the professor.

  “My poor baby, it’s going to be fine. You rest, and I’ll be back for you soon.” Once settled, he quieted. She offered him a treat, and he curled up in a circle with his reward.

  The professor closed the space between them. He stood next to her and studied her face. He reached for her hand, “Come. Let’s see your gift.”

  Angie grimaced. My gift? She had once believed she would see her watercolors hanging in Angie’s Designer Gallery. Desiring a career in the Chicago art circles, she’d dreamed of holding by-invitation-only art shows. That desire had long since been abandoned, replaced by Jonathan’s hunger for fame. Even before marriage, he’d talk to her for hours describing their future. As she embraced his ideas, he opened up his bulletproof exterior and allowed her to grow closer to him. Their dreams merged as if born identical twins. Was it because she wanted what he wanted, or was her need for love and acceptance more powerful?

  She gazed down at Mister Tubbs snuggled up in a peaceful sleep. He appeared to be fine. Hungry to learn who she was and what she wanted out of life, she followed the professor into the Artist’s Paradise.

  The aroma of pine embraced her as she entered the cottage. The professor guided her to the sofa near the fireplace. “Come, sit. You must meet my Paula”

  Angie frowned and gazed around the cottage. She saw no one other than the professor. “Paula?”

  He patted the sofa cushion next to him, and she obediently sat down. He picked up a leather binder from the coffee table and handed it to her. “There on the front is a picture of Paula Anderson, my first and most talented summer student.”

  “Oh, Professor, she’s beautiful.” Angie opened the dark leather binder to find pages and pages of newspaper articles from The Wall Street Journal. “She’s famous, too. You must be so proud of her.” His smile, electric, stirred unexpected envy within her.

  The professor turned, raising his eyebrows, “She was my very first summer student. Her talent almost frightened me. I wondered how I could help her reach her goals. I was only a simple art teacher, but she was like a blank canvas. She listened to my every word. She became my gift to the art world.”

  Angie’s slumped. How could she expect to be one of his summer students? She could not compete with a talent like Paula. “Professor, maybe I should go. I can’t waste your time.”

  He jumped up. “Nonsense, I want to see what you have. Perhaps you will be my next Paula.”

  He pulled her up from the couch and directed her to the work area. “See the cottage is ready for your evaluation. Come, get started.” He pointed to a worktable nestled under the three north windows. The table, solid oak, laced with a top of mosaic tiles. On the right sat an artist palate and ten to fifteen tubes of watercolor paints. In the center lay an artist pad. Next to the paper were two tall ceramic glasses filled with water and holding six camel-haired brushes of varied sizes and shapes.

  Angie stepped closer. The cottage, an artist’s dream for certain, captured the north light. He’d provided a practical and invitin
g environment for creating. “I’m speechless. No wonder this cottage is named The Artist’s Paradise.”

  “I’m so glad you like it. Paula created all of this perfection. Please, take a seat.” He pulled out the cushioned chair by the artist worktable. “Create. show me what you can do.”

  She shuddered and backed up. His stare met hers. Her pulse raced. “I don’t want to disappoint you. Give me a couple of hours and then come back and tell me what you think.”

  “I’ll bring you hot tea and lunch in one hour,” he said. “We’ll see how you’re doing.”

  Angie followed his stride, as he moved toward the door. Sporting a hunter-green knit shirt, his muscular arms captivated her. His six-foot frame—toned and lean. She slowly inhaled. His presence stirred an unexpected emotional response deep within her. Unable to look away, she dropped onto the sofa. This was nonsense. She had come to Knoxville to have some alone time to think about her marriage. Not to improve her craft. She replayed Vicki’s warning in her head. Could Vicki be right? Was she looking for something or someone to make her happy? Could the professor give her the life she wanted?

  #

  Angie turned from her watercolor creation as the professor entered. He carried a round silver tray laden with a red-ceramic teakettle, and matching china cups and saucers. In addition, the tray held matching bread and butter plates, and a floral-decorated platter with petite sandwiches.

  “Is it time already?”

  “Yes, my dear. Actually, I gave you an extra ten minutes. Hungry?”

  Angie turned back to her painting. “I’m so nervous. I can’t eat until you tell me what you think.”

  He placed the tray on the coffee table in front of the sofa and walked closer to her workspace. He stood in silence for several minutes staring at her canvas. “My Dear, this is good. The wet-on-wet composition shows a natural talent. Your color choices, balanced and yet bounce with life. If only I had a summer with you.”