Determined to end the madness, she grabbed her exhibit and stomped out of the cottage. Marching up to the professor’s back door, she knocked and waited. The door opened slowly and the professor leered through the slim crack he had made available. His head slumped downward, no eye contact. “Yes?”
She stepped back as if he were contagious. “It is time for you to review my exhibit. May I come in?”
He silently opened the door. Holding her head erect, Angie extended her stride as she marched behind him. Once in the living room, she stood by the window and held up her painting. “I think it’s quite nice. What are your thoughts?
He took the painting from her and walked to the opposite side of the room, examining the artwork. Then he turned to her, smiled, and said, “Yes, quite nice indeed.”
The old professor was back. Where he had gone, she couldn’t guess. But he was the man she had come to learn from, and he had returned. From now on, she would dare to ask more questions. If she needed additional time, she would demand it. She could follow his ridiculous rules, but he must give her the time to do the work.
“Professor, I studied the articles about Paula. She is dedicated and driven. Was she easier to work with than your other students?
He paused and let out a long breath. “There has never been a student more focused on her craft. It was, and always will be, her only love. Even as she designed and helped me build the cottage, it was a means to her end goal—fame and fortune.”
Angie sensed his sadness. His eyes were dull, no sparkle, his face, without expression. Had this Paula been more to him than just a summer student? Of course, she had. “Do you ever hear from her?”
He turned his back to Angie and said nothing.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”
He turned back around and met her stare. “My life has been difficult. No woman, not even my mother, ever remained true to me. Paula, like the others, stole my talents and used it for her own good.”
She crossed the room and put out her arms to him. He grabbed her and pulled her close. “I’m so sorry. What can I do?”
He stood erect and inched closer. “You can learn, you can become great, and you can give me all the credit. But will you?”
“Yes. Of course I will.”
“Time will tell.” He stepped back and gave her a long, cold stare. “Sleep well. Tomorrow you have a full day for your assignment, and you’ll need every minute I allow you.” The professor bid her a curt good night.
The harsh tone in his voice returned. Was he still angry? He went from caring to cold. What did he have planned for her? Angie’s stomach cramped. She ran to the cottage as the bitter taste of bile spilled into her mouth. She poured herself a tall glass of cold water and gulped it down as if finding an oasis in the desert. The rock in her stomach remained.
She grabbed the cell phone and punched in her home number. Please, Jonathan, be there. He picked up on the first ring.
“Hi, it’s me. How’s everything at home?”
He swallowed so loudly she heard the gulp. “Fine, everything’s fine. Mister Tubbs and I get along famously. And you?”
Finally able to speak to Jonathan, her throat tightened. How could she tell him what was happening? She needed his advice, but would he listen or try to understand? For the first time in eight years, she’d stood up to him. If he knew her real situation, he’d use it every time she wanted to do something he didn’t. She couldn’t give up that easily.
“I’m learning a lot, but I miss you and Mister Tubbs.”
“We miss you too. It’s not the same here without you.”
Angie’s hands trembled. She wanted to ask him about the strange changes in the professor. Why couldn’t she tell him the truth? “I know I haven’t called much. The professor has these rules. No calls during the day. That’s considered class time. Now he’s starting to extend the class into the evenings.” She dropped onto the edge of the bed. “I’ll do better. I promise.”
“That would be wonderful. Could we schedule a set time for our calls?”
“My schedule’s never the same. Class may extend into the late evening.” She jerked her head away from the phone—a call waiting beep. Could it be the professor, or perhaps, Vicki returning her call? She must end this call. “It’s better if I call you when I know I’m allowed.” She heard him breathing more quickly, but he remained silent. “Jonathan, please trust me. I’ll keep in touch as much as possible. I’ll be coming home soon, and this will all be over.”
“What choice do I have? You know trust is a two-way street. But that conversation is for another day.”
A loud knock on her door caused her to drop her phone. She picked it up. “I have to go.” Her shoulders tensed. “Professor Turner’s here again. Sorry. I’ll stay in touch.”
She glared at the door. Now what did he want? “Who is it?”
“It’s me. Who else would be at your door? Open up.”
In slow motion, she complied with his demand. There stood the professor. Deep lines accented the anger in his face. A staccato tone vibrated in his voice. “I tried to call, but you wouldn’t answer.” He brushed past her and strode across the room. “You know you must be available to me at all times. Remember, it is a privilege to be my summer student, not a right. You can be sent home if this is not what you wanted.”
Sent home? “It’s exactly what I dreamed it would be.” She backed away from his attack. “I’m available to you every day. I have done nothing wrong.”
“Why did you fail to respond to my call?”
“I thought class was over until tomorrow.” Her fingers repeatedly tapped her thigh. “I heard the call waiting beep, but I was speaking to my husband.”
“Anytime I call, class is open for business.” He glared at her, face red and sweating. “I thought you understood. I must have access to you at all times.”
She glared back at him and waited.
“Is that understood?”
The demands wouldn’t stop until she agreed. “Yes, I understand.”
“Good. Don’t make that mistake again.”
“The purpose of your call?” she asked, gritting her teeth.
“I’m grocery shopping early tomorrow. I called to deliver your next assignment.”
She re-focused her attention. He explained her next exhibit. When he finished, she asked a few questions to ensure she understood. Failure was too painful. He spoke in crisp sentences, but he offered no additional information. Then he turned on his heels, marched to the door, and left.
Finally alone, Angie paced the interior perimeters of the small cottage. What was happening to her? She responded like a robot. His demands had moved from quaint to unreasonable. She had become a recluse. No calls. No contact with anyone outside of the professor. He frightened her with his continued explosive tantrums. Fearful of being exposed to the wrath of the professor, she debated the risk of calling Vicki. What if he called or came back again? She needed help and she trusted her friend.
Stepping as far from the front door as possible, she picked up her cell phone and punched in Vicki’s number. Please answer, Vicki.
“Thank goodness you called. What’s going on? Are you all right?” Vicki said.
Angie hesitated, was she all right? Maybe she was, but it didn’t feel like it. “I need a sensible friend. One who’ll listen and not judge me.”
“Judge you, never. But I have my opinions. Will you listen, too?”
Angie swallowed, as if she had eaten an oyster on the half shell. She flopped onto the bed. Vicki had never steered her wrong. “Yes, I’ll listen to you, but let me talk first.”
“Fair enough, talk.”
As she re-created the past few weeks, it took on a bizarre story, even for Angie’s own ears. She shared the ups and downs, the criticism and the praise, the gifts and the demands, even the dramatic kiss in the moonlight. Finally, Angie dared to ask, “What do you think? Am I crazy?”
Vicki remained sil
ent for a few seconds, and then her response flooded through the phone. “Oh my God, honey, no you aren’t crazy, but the professor might be. I know you aren’t one to exaggerate. He sounds like a Jekyll and Hyde to me. Has he physically hurt you?”
“No, not really.” She contemplated telling her about the bruises the night of the banquet. “At times he gets extremely impatient. His words are cutting. He runs hot and cold. And when he’s upset, the cold is worse than being locked up in a meat locker.”
“Look, I’m no expert but my experience with watching Doctor Phil tells me you may be dealing with either a mentally ill person, or an emotional abuser. I think the latter fits him right down to his yo-yo interactions with you.”
“I don’t believe he’s an emotional abuser. He’s never actually threatened me, or hit me.”
“You said you’d listen. Please consider the idea.”
Angie paused. “What about him makes you think he is an abusive man?”
“Hold on. Let me Google the symptoms.”
Within a couple of minutes, Vicki continued, “Here are the signs of an emotional abuser. You make a list of any that apply.”
“Go. I’m ready.”
“The first symptom is extreme jealousy.”
“I’m not sure, but he seems to be jealous of my time with you and Jonathan.”
“Listen to this one, controlling behavior.”
“Yes, he controls my time, day and night. He provides all my meals. He even controls my ability to have any outside contact. I met the neighbor today, and he accused me of….who knows what. He’s never wrong.”
“What about unpredictable behavior, or unreasonable expectations?”
“Oh, for sure.”
“Isolating your time?”
“Check,” she replied and shifted her weight on the bed.
“Blaming others and minimizing or denying his abuse?”
“Well, he’s quick to blame others. We’ve never spoken of abuse.”
“Verbally abusive and sudden mood swings?
“He’s pretty mean-spirited when he’s upset, and he has started to be moody.” Angie leaned forward and stared at the list. “Is there more?”
“Yes, but these may not apply. Is he cruel to children or animals?”
“Nope, but he’s allergic to Mister Tubbs. What else is on the list of symptoms?”
“The last four markers are more severe—use of force during sex, threats of violence, breaking or striking objects? And we can’t miss the ever-present symptom on every list, past history of abuse.”
“Forget those last four, I’ve never had sex with him and the others are too far out to even think about.”
“Okay, but that still leaves the rest. What do you think?”
“Geez, Vicki, I’ve seen a lot of these behaviors. Don’t most people act out in some weird ways and are still fine?”
“One or two of these symptoms are normal if they occur occasionally. From what you’re telling me, he demonstrated several. Remember, you’ve only been there a few weeks. That’s a short period of time to be exposed to five—controlling, blaming others, moody and unpredictable, isolating you from others, and verbally abusive.”
“I think you’re jumping to a diagnosis without even really knowing him. Emotional abusers are sick people. He’s just artistic and difficult to deal with.”
“You told me you’d listen. You called me. Now listen to yourself—total denial.”
Angie heard exasperation in Vicki’s tone. “I understand what you are saying. Thanks for listening. Promise, I’ll consider what you’ve told me. I only have a little over a month here. So it really doesn’t matter what he is, nuts or not.”
“You’re probably right. Please be careful. If he is an abuser, he will try to get you to extend your stay. No matter what he says, you must come home on schedule.”
“I’m not changing my plans. But if Jonathan and I can’t work things out, I may need to stay with you for a while.”
“You know you can always stay with me. But from the conversations I’ve had with Jonathan, he wants you home as soon as possible.”
As Angie hung up, she couldn’t help looking at that list again. Could he be an abuser? Vicki might be right.
Chapter 31
Jonathan left Doctor King’s Office in a funk. Go home and finish his homework? How could he come up with ten things he liked about Angie? At this point, he wasn’t sure who she was. The sweet innocent girl he married had vanished. She couldn’t even find time to call him. After eight years of marriage, not even one call a day.
The professor has rules. Well, I’m her husband and I have rules, too. Rule Number 1—stay home and be a wife. But no, she has to find herself, recapture her painting career, and be independent. What a bunch of nonsense. He wasn’t going back to work today. They could do without him. He needed time to think. But first, he’d stop by the Tavern and unwind.
After his second frosty-mug of Allgauer Siits, the tightness in his shoulders and neck eased. He ordered a third beer and gazed around the pub. Doctor King warned him about getting involved with another woman before he had made a decision about his marriage. Well, perhaps that decision had been made for him. After all, Angie was gone, there’s no communication, and she wouldn’t tell him what she was doing. He shuddered. Of course, she was having an affair. She’d broken her vows and didn’t have the courage to tell him the truth. She’d moved on and it was time for him to do the same. He pulled out his cell and called Lucinda.
“Hey, pretty lady. What’s for dinner?”
He caught the giggles as she retorted. “Anything your heart desires as long as I don’t have to cook.”
“How about seafood? You like a nice salmon?”
“Not really. I’m a steak and potatoes kind of girl.”
“I know just the place. They serve the best of both. What say we meet at Morton’s in an hour? I’ll call and get us in. It’s like my second home.”
Plans made, he grabbed a cab, and headed to the restaurant.
The owner greeted Jonathan with a recognizing smile. “Mister Rhodes. How nice to see you this evening. You and Mrs. Rhodes need a table?”
Oops. Never take another woman to your wife’s favorite restaurant. Busted already. How do other men get away with this? “Well, actually, I am meeting a client. And yes, I need a table, one in the back.—quiet and private.”
“Of course. Give me a few moments to prepare your table.”
Jonathan glanced toward the front door. Lucinda strutted into the restaurant wearing a low-cut black knit dress that almost reached mid-thigh. Her matching stilettos created the image of legs that never ended—long and inviting. He fought to catch his breath. Her long dark-brown hair bounced as she approached him.
“Jonathan. Hello. How did you know Morton’s was my favorite?”
Ouch. He’d picked this restaurant because it was Angie’s favorite. “A lucky guess. Their service is A+, and they have great seafood and beef in every cut imaginable. How could I go wrong?”
Once seated and drink orders given to the waiter, Jonathan tensed. His entire back stiffened and his shoulders knotted. What if Angie heard he was out with Lucinda? He knew most of the staff and many of the patrons. His law office used Morton’s for their high-end clients almost every evening.
Lucinda leaned forward, revealing her soft curves nestled in the deep-cut neckline of her dress. “It was lovely to have you call. I enjoyed your company the other evening, but I wasn’t sure if I’d hear from you again.”
He raised his gaze to eyelevel. Reaching across the table, he tenderly grasped her hands. “I have to admit, I don’t know if dinner is a good idea or not. You’re an intriguing woman, and I enjoy your company. My wife is out of town, and I’m tired of eating alone.”
She opened her cherry-red lips and slowly dampened them with her tongue. He shivered and scooted his chair back a few inches. What if he was wrong about Angie? It was possible she spent her time painting. Could she really be
involved with the professor? He let out a deep breath.
“Like I shared with you the other evening, I love getting to know sexy, fascinating men. You are delightful. Dinner is a wonderful idea. Then we can go back to my place and talk.”
Talk. That sounded like a code word for Trouble. Lonely or not, he’d never cheated on anyone, but he knew lots of husband’s who were experts. “Let’s start with a nice dinner, and see. This is all new to me.”
#
Jonathan found Lucinda to be an excellent listener. Her background in business created a shared knowledge that made conversation enriching. They had laughed and talked all through their meal.
Angie never seemed to understand what he was talking about, so he‘d stopped sharing his day with her. Perhaps he should have tried harder, but she never appeared to miss the “work-talk”.
“Dessert?” Jonathan asked as he viewed the menu.
“I can’t eat another bite. But please, have whatever you want. I’ll have cappuccino.”
He turned to the waiter. “Make that two.
Lucinda stretched her arm across the table and softly picked up Jonathan’s left hand and squeezed. “After we finish, will you take me home?”
He responded without hesitation, “Of course. I never allow a lady to go home alone.”
She smiled. “Wonderful.”
#
Jonathan strode through her door and glanced around. Lucinda’s apartment reflected her bold personality. The colors captured vibrant hues of bright blues, deep greens, and hot pink. Her furniture was oversized and comfortable. The all-white sofa and chairs were inviting with designer pillows tossed on every seat.
“I’m happy you agreed to come up for a night-cap. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
He wandered around her spacious living area. Her fragrance sweetened the room. And her hands were so soft. It was nice to feel appreciated.
What would Angie be doing tonight? Playing kissy-face with that painter—or more? She’d demanded he be trustworthy. Maybe that had been a ruse. Keep him off balance so she could do whatever she wanted. Well, it was his turn to have some fun.
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