The Artist's Paradise

by Pamela S Wetterman

  She absorbed the delight of the cottage, as if she’d stepped into another world—which, indeed, she had. The artist table, nestled by the east windows, provided a perfect source of light. Her hand fondled the expensive paper in the artist pad. Imported from France, the paper, a thick textured fabric, was used by the masters.

  She picked up the ceramic brush holder, all natural sable fibers, so soft to her touch and perfect for fine lines. She marveled at the tubes of paint. So many colors and shades for her to select.

  Twenty minutes later, a hungry Angie stepped up to the kitchen door of the professor’s house and lightly tapped. “Professor Turner, I’m here.”

  The door swung open as she spoke. The professor bent forward in a deep bow and waived her into the kitchen. As she passed through the doorway, he stood grinning. “You show perfect timing. Lunch is served. And please, call me James.”

  The table was decorated with a yellow linen cloth, and set with china matching the autumn colors in the cottage. A small floral arrangement of red roses graced the center of the table. A bottle of white wine, freshly baked bread, and slices of gourmet cheeses stirred her taste buds. Displayed on the table sat a variety of sliced fruit. How perfect. There was no way Jonathan could pull this off. She was not even sure he could match colors, unless of course, it was for his own wardrobe.

  The sweet fragrance of the roses sparked memories from her Grandmother’s garden. As a child, she’d never missed an opportunity to cut a rose and place it in her hair. Her face warmed as she took in the grand welcome. Jonathan could stand to take lessons from the professor. “Your home is so inviting, James. Thank you for your hospitality.”

  “For the next few months, my cottage is your home. I want you to feel as though you have always belonged here, while we journey on this path together. We have a great deal of work to do in a very short period of time. Your success comes first. You can save my accolades for after you are an acclaimed watercolor artist.” He pulled out the chair for her. “Sit here. The spring garden is in full bloom and the view too much to ignore.”

  Angie settled into the floral-cushioned chair. “I feel like a princess.”

  “Good.” He opened the bottle of wine and poured each of them a small amount in crystal goblets. He lifted his glass. “A toast. Here's to the first day of our magical time together. May you blossom and burst forth, as the newest artist in demand by all.”

  Angie sipped her wine. Her heart fluttered, as if filled with butterflies. Was it possible she had more talent than she realized? Could she be a well-known artist? She desperately wanted an art career. He’d all but promised to make her dreams come true. She had a lot to learn in the next nine weeks.

  “It’s important that you understand what will be required for you to reach your potential. No one attains perfection by chance. I require sacrifice. Can I speak to you about that while we enjoy our lunch?”

  “Why, of course. I’m your student. You determine the class syllabus. I want to ace this course.”

  He gently placed his hand on hers from across the table and looked into her eyes. “I need your full attention at all times. Any outside distraction will be harmful to your progress.”

  Angie nodded. “I understand.”

  “It’s imperative that you minimize your outside contacts during the day when we are holding class. Phone calls and personal time can come at the end of our day, but no interruptions from nine a.m. until six p.m.”

  Angie pulled her hand free from the pressure of the professor’s touch and responded, “Yes, that’s fine.”

  “Secondly, you will be required to follow my direction without question. I have no time to justify every detail of my instructions. You must act without needing to know the whys.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  “Finally, you may not have any visitors during the two-month study. It is too distracting, and we have so little time.”

  A sharp pain throbbed in her stomach. No visitors? She had hoped that Jonathan could visit at least once during a weekend. She had wanted him to meet the professor, see that he was no risk to their marriage, and embrace her dream. But this was her one chance. She would agree to all class demands. Jonathan would have to understand. Maybe she could have him rent a car and drive to Knoxville to pick her up after the study ended.

  “Yes, of course. I agree to all three requirements. Is there anything else I should know?”

  The professor leaned forward and replaced his hand on hers. “Yes. My teaching style is somewhat unusual, perhaps even impulsive. Remember, whatever I ask of you is to enable me to bring out your soul on the canvas.” He leaned forward and gazed into her eyes. “Be assured, I have only your interests and well-being in mind.” He removed his hand and placed his napkin across his lap.

  Angie smiled and unfolded her napkin. “I am so excited. “I will follow every instruction. This is something I want more than you can imagine.”

  “Good, very good, Angie.” He reached over, and stroked the back of her hand with his fingertips. “Now you eat. We have much to do this afternoon.”

  Chapter 21

  After seeing Angie fly off to Knoxville, Jonathan raced to work. Arriving a few minutes past 1 p.m., he found Gina’s desk vacant. Good. She must have taken a late lunch. Finally alone, he dragged into his office and closed the door. Privacy. He needed privacy.

  He dropped the blinds and turned off the lights. His mood, dark as the room, left him empty. His life sucked. Maybe Gina was right. He should have offered to go to a counselor with Angie. But she’d left—too late now. He had to stop second-guessing his every step.

  An unpleasant sound interrupted his concentration. Who dared knock on his door? He sat forward in his chair and cleared his throat. “Yes?”

  The knob turned ever so slightly. “Boss, can I help you?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Can I come in?”

  Jonathan leaned back in his chair and expelled a long breath. “No. Not now.”

  The door crept open and Gina whispered, “Do you need to talk?”

  He sighed. “No, not really. Now go away.”

  She stepped inside and stood, hands on her hips. “Just give me one minute.”

  He slammed his fist on the top of the desk. “What’s confusing about the word No?”

  “I’m worried about you. Only one minute, I promise.”

  “Damn it, Gina, I need to be alone. Why can’t you give me some peace?”

  She tiptoed into the room as if avoiding landmines and approached his desk. “Angie’s gone, right?”

  “Oh, yes, she left. So?”

  “So, if you want that counselor’s name and phone number, I still have it.” She offered him a small piece of paper.

  He glared at her. “And what would I do with that now?”

  Gina shifted her weight. “You could put your pride away and go see her. She might have some words of wisdom for you.”

  Jonathan picked up a manila folder and flung it at her. “Get out.”

  Gina jumped back. “Sure, I’m leaving. When you’re ready to stop feeling sorry for yourself and want to man-up, let me know.” She turned and stomped out of his office. “Men!”

  Two hours later, Jonathan cracked his office door six inches and peeked out. His head held down, he whispered, “I’m sorry. I hate being a jerk.”

  Gina turned in her chair and glanced over. “Actually, I hate it even more when you’re quiet. At least this way, I know where I stand.”

  He opened the door the rest of the way and shuffled to her desk. “I’ll take that name and phone number, if you still have it.”

  Gina smiled. “Got it right here.” She picked up a sticky note from her desk and handed it to him. “Her office hours are 9 to 4 Monday through Thursday, closed on Friday. You might reach her if you call now.”

  “Don’t push me too hard. I’ll call her tomorrow.”

  Gina cleared her throat, as she turned back to her desk. “It’s your life, not mine.”
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  Jonathan sighed. “Why are all the women in my life so focused on telling me what to do?” He pivoted on his heels, stomped back into his office, and slammed the door.

  Once safely behind his closed door, he sat at his desk and stared at the phone number on the paper. Slowly he picked up the phone and called Doctor Stephanie King. Her receptionist sounded more like a zoned-out teen than a professional. He hesitated for a few seconds and then requested an appointment. He shivered as he was informed she had a cancellation and could see him the following afternoon. Jonathan gulped. “Well, I’ll check my calendar and call you back.”

  He slammed down the phone. His throat tightened, as a knot formed in his stomach. Could he face opening up to a total stranger?

  #

  That same evening, late as usual, Jonathan flew out his office door and jogged to the train. Mister Tubbs would be starving by now. His normal dinner was served by five o’clock. It was almost 6:30. Would Mister Tubbs rat him out?

  Barking welcomed Jonathan as he raced into the brownstone. “I’m coming,” he called. “Look, I know how late it is, sorry.” He gave a fanny pat to the barking dog. “Miss your mommy? Me too. I hope she gets tired of those nasty watercolor lessons and comes home early. Right?”

  His comment was met by a fierce fanny wiggle. Had Mister Tubbs learned to speak human?

  After dinner and a long walk, Jonathan stretched out on the loveseat in his home office. Mister Tubbs slept in the armchair near the windows. The brownstone was too quiet. He was used to hearing Angie babbling to the dog and humming, as she wandered around their home. What did she do with her time all day to keep busy? They had a housekeeper. The brownstone was too large for Angie to keep up by herself—the seven bathrooms alone were overwhelming. Sure, she volunteered at the hospital, but only once a week. She relayed every detail of her days in the preemie ward, chattering incessantly on the days she volunteered. He recalled hearing her stories of rocking and singing to tiny babies. She seemed to know the family history of every baby in the nursery. What else did she have in her life? She had plenty of free time. So, why wasn’t she painting? What did she have to complain about?

  He called Vicki. She knew Angie better than anyone. Surely, she could help him untangle this mystery.

  “Hello, Jonathan.”

  “How’d you know it would be me?” He rubbed his forehead.

  “Easy. I just got off the phone with Angie, so it had to be you. How’re you doing?”

  He sat up straight in his chair and forcefully said, “Great. Never better.”

  Vicki was silent.

  “Well, maybe I’ve been better. And yes, I miss Angie. But that’s not why I called.”

  “What, then?”

  Jonathan shifted his weight in the chair and let out a short breath. “I was thinking about Angie today, wondering what she did with her time. I guess I’m trying to understand why she’s not home painting. What’s missing in her life?”

  Silence.

  Why had she not replied? Silence, his favorite tool in the courtroom, used to throw off the person he was cross-examining. People tried to fill the void and would often say things they wanted left unsaid. He waited.

  “I’m not the person to ask. You should be talking to Angie. Have you called her?”

  “Not yet. I’ve tried to get up my courage. I’m not sure what to say to her.” He shifted his position and sighed. “I can’t imagine what would be important enough to make her go to Knoxville for watercolor lessons? If that’s all she wanted, she could do that in Chicago.”

  “You’re probably right. But only Angie knows the reasons. Did you try to talk to her before she left?”

  He drummed his fingers on his desk. “No, not really. I was too angry to try to understand. Now she’s gone. What should I do?”

  “I’d make every attempt to keep in contact with her. Treat her like gold and find out for yourself what’s missing in her life. She loves you, but she doesn’t seem happy.”

  “I didn’t realize it was serious, until she left with you for Knoxville. I feel like an idiot. Can I keep in touch with you?”

  “Of course, I want what’s best for both of you.”

  “Thanks.”

  After hanging up, Jonathan turned on the sound system. He selected an old Neil Diamond CD. Then he picked up Mister Tubbs from the chair where he slept and cradled him in his arms. “Ol’ Neil sure knew how to sing those sad songs. I’m beginning to feel a lot like that guy from “I Am, I Said.” I know you probably never feel invisible, or unimportant, but your mommy has set me back a few pegs. Know what I mean?”

  Mister Tubbs licked Jonathan’s hand.

  “Lately, I’ve been the invisible man. She doesn’t see me. It’s as if I’m a part of her past, and she’s moving on.”

  Mister Tubbs nestled against his master’s chest. His warm body and soft cooing sounds flooded over Jonathan, as he leaned back on the sofa and wept.

  I’m lost, and I can't even say why.

  Chapter 22`

  Angie dragged herself back to the cottage. Her mind whirled with all the elements of her conversation with the professor. His rules would be easy to remember, but difficult to follow. It would be hard to limit her contact with Vicki. Even Jonathan expected to reach her at any time. She hoped they would understand. For the next nine weeks, she would be in class fulltime.

  Lunch with the professor offered her hope. He wanted her to succeed, and he believed she would. If he had unusual teaching processes, so be it. She was ready for whatever he had for her. Plus, he was sure easy to look at, so that was a bonus.

  Angie rubbed her neck and yawned. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept all night. But when she’d mentioned needing time before their first class to unpack and rest, the professor insisted all she required was a power nap. She wasn’t sure exactly how long a power nap lasted—perhaps an hour? She would take a nap and unpack after class.

  Fifteen minutes after falling asleep, she awakened to a soft recurring tapping. What could that be? Surveying her surroundings, she leaped up and skittered to the front door. As she cracked it open, the professor pushed past her and entered the cottage.

  “Not ready to begin? We have no time to waste.” He stood and tapped his foot. “You knew we’d start your first class this afternoon.”

  She gasped as he stared over at the rumpled bedding. “Why were you sleeping?”

  Angie stepped back and swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I fell asleep. Give me ten minutes to set up.”

  “Not exactly what I’d hoped to hear.” He strode across the room and stood by the table where all her painting supplies rested. He glared at the worktable. “I had hoped you would have your area prepared. I realize you just arrived, but our time is short. I will return in 7 minutes, don’t disappoint.”

  Seven minutes? Don’t disappoint? Angie wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the closed door. Was she in trouble already? She flew to the artist’s worktable and grabbed up a small brush and three tubes of color—red, yellow, and blue. How could she really get ready? She had no idea what the assignment was.

  He returned within 5 minutes. “Let’s begin.”

  Angie nodded.

  “Your first lesson will be an assessment of your artistic level. I need to identify any gaps. The use of color is the key to a perfect palette. You must instinctively create a rainbow of drama by knowing how to mix the perfect combination of tints.”

  She stared at the tubes of paint.

  At the museum, she’d been intrigued by how he added passion to his art with the depth of color and its placement on the canvas. She envied his ability to capture life in his pallet choices to engage the viewer. Her gaze moved up and down the three rows of paint colors he had laid out for her use. Some shades she’d never seen before, others were familiar.

  “Today you will prepare two exhibits for me. The first will be a simple tree in the field. Use only three colors-Cadmium Yellow Medium, Pthalocyanine Blue, and Aliz
arin Crimson. Next, prepare an ocean sky with white billowing clouds and a rough sea. Again, only use three colors—Naples Yellow, Alizarin Crimson, and Cerulean Blue. Understand?”

  “Gotcha. No problem. Anything else?”

  He smiled and retraced his steps back to the front door. “Now that you ask, yes, there are requirements. Use the wet-in-wet technique for both exhibits and pay close attention to your shadowing technique. You may elect to draw a sketch first, but be mindful of your time.”

  Angie caught her breath. “My time? How much time do I have to complete the two exhibits?”

  The professor opened the door and stepped outside. His eyelids narrowed. The smirk on his face said it all—he would not allow much time.

  “I’ll see you in sixty minutes. Come knock on the kitchen door if you finish early.”

  Finish early? Sixty minutes? She dashed back to the table. She must locate the colors he’d mentioned. She couldn’t fail this class before the first day was over. James Turner, the taskmaster, had spoken.

  #

  Angie glanced at the clock. Her hour would be up in three minutes. She turned to study her two exhibits. Not bad really. She’d never worked so hard or so quickly. A knock on the door returned her attention to the professor. She scurried over to the front door and flung it open.

  The professor stood on her small stoop. He held a tray with two wine glasses, a carafe of white wine, and a plate of fresh fruit and finger sandwiches. “Ready?” he asked.

  Geez. He’s delivering more food. We just ate an hour ago. Men eat a lot. She backed away from the door, and he glided into the cottage.

  “Assignment complete?” He asked.

  “I’ll never be ready, but the time is up, right?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  He carried the silver tray into the cottage and set it on the small oval coffee table in front of the fireplace. Glancing over at her exhibits, he cleared his throat. “Come, let’s have refreshments. Then we’ll spend time discussing your first class assignment.”