Angie’s stomach knotted. He wouldn’t wait if the watercolors were satisfactory, would he? “Please, Professor, I can’t wait. Will you give me your critique first?”
He flashed a grin and strode to her exhibits. “All right, if you insist.” He picked up the painting of the tree. He reviewed her work as if reading a novel. He stood silent for an eternity. “As you know, with wet-in-wet, the process of applying pigment to wet paper produces both soft undefined shapes to slightly blurred marks. That’s the desired result of this technique.”
Angie held her breath.
“Depending on how wet the paper is, one achieves varying presentation. The wet-in-wet technique can be applied over existing washes, provided they are thoroughly dry. This intensifies the effect of the color.”
She waited, hands balled into fists.
He held up her first exhibit and pointed. “This tree has all the soft marks made by painting wet-in-wet. I see great subtle background regions in your painting. Your first exhibit shows you have an expert understanding of the basic technique.”
Angie let out her breath and grinned. “You like it?”
He cocked his head toward her and chuckled, “Yes, very much. And the color palette used to draw in the viewer and create a three-dimensional feel is exquisite.”
Angie’s attention focused on her second exhibit. “And the ocean sky?”
The professor replaced the first exhibit on to the table. He stepped over to the sky watercolor and gazed down at the second painting. Then he picked it up and leaned toward the late afternoon light outside the window.
“I love watercolor as my preferred medium,” he said. “It allows all types of expression. It’s a relaxed and unpredictable art form.”
She nodded.
“You captured the essence of a raging storm at sea. Your ability to put energy into the painting is impressive. In essence, you captured the watercolor’s free forms and flowing nature. Excellent, my dear, I’m impressed.”
Her hands trembled. Excellent? Had he said excellent? “Thank you, professor. I’m overwhelmed.”
“James, remember?”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to call you professor during class time.”
“As you wish, it does add professionalism to our study.”
He placed the second exhibit back on the table and slid closer to her. “You owe me no thanks. It is your talent we are assessing. I am thrilled to see this good start. Now, can we eat?”
Angie nodded. “Yes, suddenly my appetite returned.” She sank into the sofa next to the professor and relaxed her clinched fists.
“A toast to my next protégé.”
Protégé? What a wonderful sound that had. Her life as a trophy-wife ended today. She had a gift. Someone with a greater gift recognized it.
Chapter 23
The following day, Jonathan arrived home on time as promised. As he pushed the front door ajar, Mister Tubbs greeted him with his tail whirling like a prop on a small airplane. “Hey, Little Man, you must be hungry.”
His companion’s dinner and their evening walk completed, Mister Tubbs settled onto the living room sofa for a nap. A hard rock formed in Jonathon’s stomach. Not sure if he were hungry or just lonely, he wandered into the kitchen for solace. He searched the refrigerator and freezer, but found nothing enticing. He opened cupboard after cupboard with despair. Nothing looked good enough to eat.
His next alterative was delivery. Would he prefer pizza, Chinese, Mexican, or a burger? Angie collected menus on the refrigerator from restaurant services in the area. With a decision made, the call completed, and his hand gripping a cold bottle of Heineken, he relocated to his home office.
Mister Tubbs appeared at the office doorway. Jonathan bent down and said, “Feeling lonely? Join me. This area is designated men only.”
Mister Tubbs raced into the room and located a sleeping spot on a leather chair near the window. He settled into his favorite sleeping position and drifted off to doggie dreamland. Jonathan shook his head. If only life were that simple.
He’d attempted to contact Angie all afternoon. Was her cell phone turned off? He hoped to reach her before bedtime. Was she all right? Sadness rained down on him. How much he missed her, and how important her presence was. Maybe Vicki had another phone number for her. He picked up the desk phone and punched in the shortcut to Vicki’s cell phone.
“Hey Vicki, it’s Jonathan. Got a minute?”
“For you, I’ve got several minutes. How are you doing?”
He drew in a breath that almost exploded his chest. “Never better, this life of mine is perfect.”
Vicki chuckled. “Now how are you, really?”
“Not so good. Angie’s only been gone two days, and I’m already losing my mind. I’ve called her several times. All my calls go straight to voicemail. Have you spoken to her today?” He held his breath.
“No. She hasn’t called me today, and I can’t reach her.”
“You met this Professor Turner. What did you think of him? Is he for real or …?”
Silence.
“Vicki?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. Susie’s been in his class all semester. She loves him. Her version of the good ol’ professor is he’s kind, generous, humble, and very gifted.”
Jonathan sat up as if his back needed a rub. “What? You don’t know? What are you saying?”
“Call it a sixth sense. Call me crazy. I can’t put my finger on it. He seems too good to be true. I’m worried. He may be a serial woman-addict.”
“A what?” Maybe Vicki had been watching too much TV.
“You know. Men like her dad. Like my ex, Patrick. They’ve never seen a beautiful woman they didn’t want to have. The chase is their thrill and once the woman falls, they look for a new victim.”
Jonathan choked. A serial woman-addict? He’d never heard that term before. But he knew a lot of guys that fit that description. “Are you sure?”
“No. I’m not sure. It’s a feeling. When it comes to men, my instincts are not often wrong these days. After years of mistakes, I had to develop my own danger-radar. It sounds silly, but my danger-map turned yellow in Knoxville. When the hairs on the nape of my neck tingled, I took notice. When I saw that over -confident look, heard that flowery flattery, watched that certain gate that said, I can have it all, my map turned bright red. And honestly, after spending a few hours with that man, my radar moved to glow an F4 Red.”
He stiffened. This situation sounded much worse than he had realized. He might lose Angie forever.
“I tried to talk her out of going,” Vicki said.
“I tried to talk her out of going, too. But my approach was pretty bad. She’s strong-willed. To tell her no was futile. I guess she felt I treated her like a child.”
“You did.”
“Thanks for the honesty. I’m not sure what to do next.”
“If you want to save your marriage, get an expert to help. Find someone who specializes in marriage counseling.”
He stretched and placed his feet on top of the desk. “What good is a marriage specialist now? She’s gone.”
“This time it’s about you. I’d take this period to learn more about yourself and how to better interact with Angie.”
“And then?”
“Keep in touch with her when she’s available. Then when she gets home, practice what you’ve learned.”
“You women all think the same. Gina found me an expert.”
“And?”
“I called and when they offered an appointment, I chickened-out. I’ll call back.” Jonathan shifted the phone to his other ear and doodled Angie’s name on his desk-pad.
“I’m glad. I think you’re doing the right thing. If I can help in any way, let me know.”
“Call me if you hear from her. I’ll do the same for you.”
“No problem. I’ll keep in touch. Get some sleep.”
“Yeah, right. I’ll try. Thanks again.” He slumped in his desk chair. Why w
ould he need a marriage counselor and not Angie? She couldn’t possibly be right all the time, could she?
#
The following morning, Jonathon dialed Doctor Stephanie King’s office. “This is Jonathan Rhodes. We spoke yesterday. Do you still have an opening with Doctor King this afternoon?
“Would you be a new patient?”
“Yes.”
“The initial appointment normally runs around two hours. She could see you at three o’clock today. Would that time fit your schedule?”
“I’ll make it fit. See you at 3.”
A familiar rock returned to his stomach. He hated doctor visits.
#
Jonathan entered the professional building and found the gold plated directory of offices. He searched for Doctor King. Her suites, A and B, were listed on the fourteenth floor—business must be good.
He rode the elevator to the fourteenth floor and crept toward the door marked 1401-A & B. First impressions and confidence were paramount. Into the office he went with head held erect, and a smile plastered on his lips. He marched straight to the glass sign-in window. “I’m Mister Rhodes. I have a three o’clock appointment with Doctor King.”
The receptionist, appearing to be barely eighteen, glanced up, grabbed a clipboard filled with intake forms, and handed it to him without as much as a smile. “Take a seat. Fill out all these pages and bring the paper forms back to me completed. I need your insurance cards and photo I.D.”
Well, no professional staff in this joint. He’d comply with all of her requests in silent protest. He stared around the sitting area. Why was the waiting room empty? Successful doctors always had a full waiting area. He also noted that no one had exited from the sacred door leading to Doctor King’s private office. How good could she be? She had no patients.
Fifteen minutes later, the sacred door opened and a tall, lean blond about forty years old took a step toward him. She wore a black Armani suit and four-inch black heels. Her ears adorned with pearls. Well perhaps her fees were fat enough to make up for the lack of crowds in the waiting area.
“Mister Rhodes, it’s nice to meet you.” She stretched out her arm in greeting. Her eyes wide and her stare direct. Had he been analyzed already? His eye twitched. Time to turn and run? “Nice to meet you as well, Doctor King.”
“Please come in.”
He followed her through the sacred door as if he were the lone man walking on death row. As the entry closed behind him, he almost lost his lunch.
He surveyed the office. The cliché couch was not present. Good, he wouldn’t be asked to lay back and spill his guts. There were two armchairs in front of her dark oak desk. He spied a casual sitting area in the corner of the room. Note to self—a spot to avoid. He gulped and took a seat in front of the desk. He much preferred leather to all those flowery soft-seated chairs waiting in the corner.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mister Rhodes. May I call you Jonathan, or do you go by Jon?”
He glared at her. He wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for Angie and her crazy actions. “I go by Jonathan.”
“Good. Today we’ll spend some time getting to know each other.”
He shifted in his chair and crossed his legs. “Yeah. That’s no problem. How much do you charge?”
Doctor King pulled a sheet of paper out of her desk drawer and handed it to him. “My prices are listed here. Today, the charge will be $200. If we decide to continue our sessions, each hour is billed at $150.”
If they decided? Interesting. At least her billing hours were less than he charged.
“What brings you here today?” She asked.
He stared at her diploma framed and hung on the wall behind her desk. “My wife and I seem to be having a small problem.”
She cocked her head and remained silent.
“I guess the best way to describe our current situation would be to say she packed up and left. She claimed to be taking painting classes in Tennessee.”
“Why Tennessee?”
“Her story is that the only instructor talented enough to make her a great watercolor artist teaches at the University of Tennessee.”
“How did you feel about that?”
“Look, I wasn’t born yesterday. There are great artists right here in Chicago. She’s mad at me, thinks I neglect her, and I’m getting punished.”
“Do you think you neglect her?”
Jonathan continued to stare at Doctor King’s diploma. Why had he come here? This mess wasn’t his fault. Angie was the one who should be sitting in the hot seat. She had everything a woman could want or need—a brownstone mansion to live in, someone to clean it for her, charge accounts open all over town, friends to gossip with, and a husband who wanted her to have it all. Now here he was, alone and sitting in an office being asked what he’d done wrong.
“I work long hours. I’m an attorney with larger-than-life clients and a boss that expects me to bill at a higher rate every year.” He made a steeple with his hands and paused.
“Go on.”
“My time is growing short,” he continued. “If I’m not an equity partner in the next twelve months, it may never happen. I’ll get passed over, and my career will be at a dead-end.”
“How does your career impact your wife?”
He stared down at his shoes. “Sometimes she gets less of my time than she wants.” Then he raised his voice as he returned her stare. “But I don’t get any time for myself, either. It’s always work or Angie. What about me?”
Doctor King nodded and asked, “Have you ever spoken to your wife about your goals? Your concerns?”
“She knows I want to be partner. The rest she wouldn’t understand.”
“I see. You’ve shared your feelings with her, and she’s not capable of understanding? Why do you think that is?”
Jonathan jumped up from his chair. “Look, I think this is a mistake. I can’t see how a marriage can be fixed unless both people are here. My wife’s gone. This is just a waste of time.”
She remained silent.
“Why don’t you say something?”
“Jonathon, I’ve found that in any relationship, both separate and joint counseling are required. The results are dependent upon both parties. We can begin with you and when your wife returns, she can join us. It is up to you. If you want to improve your marriage, I can help. If it is not what you truly want, no one can help.”
He stood motionless. What did he want out of life? He’d put his career first for a long time. How much did he still love her? How well did he even know her? Maybe he should find out. “I want to make a decision on this marriage. If it’s over, it’s over. If it can be saved, I need to figure out if that’s what I want. Can you help me?”
“Yes. I can help, if you’re ready for hard work and honesty.”
He slipped back down in the office chair. “Let’s get started.”
Three hours later, he arrived home exhausted and confused. He greeted Mister Tubbs and sank into the living room sofa. His fist curled around a cold beer from the refrigerator.
Doctor King gave him an assignment to draft a list of the ten things he liked about his wife and ten that he found difficult to deal with. Easy to make, he would work on the list after dinner.
What had Angie done today? Why hadn’t she called him?” Surely, she wasn’t waiting for him to call her again. He’d tried twice and she refused to answer. After all, she was the one who took off.
He called Vicki. “It’s Jonathan. I was wondering if you had heard from Angie.”
“No. I’ve called a couple of times, but she’s not picking up. I’m a little concerned.”
“She’s never been gone and not called. She must be really busy with that damn professor.”
“I know you don’t understand why she went to Knoxville. I’m not sure I do either. But not calling home isn’t normal.”
Jonathan set his beer on the coffee table, “No. I don’t understand. But I’ll keep trying to reach her. I’ve already called
her twice today. I’ll give her another call later tonight. I’m sure she’s fine. Busy with Professor Wonderful. I’ll give you an update tomorrow.”
He closed his cell phone and patted Mister Tubbs on the backside. Mister Tubbs climbed up into Jonathan’s arms and laid his head on his shoulder. “You know, my little man, your mommy is being a real problem these days.” He gulped down his beer. Why hadn’t she bothered to text him if she was too busy to call? What was really going on in that cottage?
#
After dinner, Jonathan and Mister Tubbs settled in the home office. Jonathan selected the leather desk chair, and Mister Tubbs curled up on the side chair. Jonathan made two more attempts to reach Angie by phone. Each time his call went directly to her voice mail. What the hell? Was her cell dead, turned off, or was he being ignored? Bile backed up into his throat. What if something bad had happened to her? No. She’d insisted on independence. So, let her solve her own problems.
He glared at his PC screen. A blank Word document sat flashing. Ten things he liked about his wife, hum. This assignment would be easier if he weren’t so angry with her. It might go faster if he started the list of her irritating traits. He looked over at Mister Tubbs and sighed. Damn, where was she?
He glanced at the mantle clock as it played the Blue Danube—a gift from Angie on their first wedding anniversary. She had placed the clock on his cherry bookshelf and sparkled like a child placing her Christmas gift under the holiday tree.
It was almost 10 P.M. His assignment from Doctor King wasn’t going well. His list of ten things he did not like about Angie’s behaviors had swollen to fifteen. His positive list remained non-existent. Surely, she had some endearing traits.
Before she left, they fought about trust. She’d said she no longer trusted him. Now it was his turn to wonder. What was she doing? She had been so distant those last few weeks. Could she be involved with that man? It was as if she had vanished off the globe—no contact in days and living with a strange man. How could he trust her?
When they first met, she had been young and naïve—almost twenty-two and fresh from college. He was a man of the world—nearing thirty-one and ready to settle down. He’d wanted her the first time they met. With the skill of Don Juan, he courted, pampered, and romanced her. She resisted initially, and then succumbed. Their whole married life he’d protected her from the real world.
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