The Artist's Paradise

by Pamela S Wetterman

  He gazed up at the vision floating into the room. Lucinda had changed into a black see-through teddy and matching cover-up. In her hands, she carried two iced tumblers. “I hope you like Jack Daniels.”

  He gathered his courage. Now there was a woman of the world. “Name one man who doesn’t.” As he reached for his drink, she leaned forward and gently kissed him on the lips.

  “You’re so yummy. Drink up. I have a large decanter in the study.”

  Swigging down his drink, Jonathan choked and began to cough. “Sorry, I’m used to chugging beer, not sipping Jack.” He resettled onto the sofa and patted the seat next to him. “Come here. I’d like some more of your sweetness.”

  She wriggled down onto the seat and snuggled closer to Jonathan. His face flushed. His body tensed. It had been so long since he’d felt this energy and excitement. As he pulled her closer, she took his hand and placed it on her thigh.

  The warmth of her skin sent a shock wave up and down his body. His muscles tightened as his body tensed. He turned, wrapped her in his arms, and kissed her with a hunger only a lonely man could experience.

  Lucinda returned his kiss with a touch of her tongue. He groaned as she allowed his hands to move across her swollen breasts.

  “Wait. We need to stop. Please, stop.” Jonathan gasped for air. He was a married man. This was wrong. He’d taken a vow to honor Angie for better or worse. Yes, right now it was bad, but if he spent any more time with Lucinda, his marriage would have no chance.

  She pushed back and sighed. “Oh, Jonathan, are you sure? We could be so good together. Feel that tingle in your groin. Your wife would never have to know.”

  “She’d know. One look into my eyes, and she’d know every detail. I can’t do this, not now. Give me time to figure out my issues with Angie. If there’s a chance to restore my marriage, I have to try.” He pulled his hands back and placed them in his lap. “If I were single, you’d only have to ask me once, but right now, I’m married.” His shoulders tensed as the glow left her cheeks. He’d disappointed her. He should have never called. His life was a mess, and he was in no position to be on the hunt. “Sorry. If I ever wanted someone, it’s you. But I can’t.” His ego needed a boost—how selfish of him. “Let’s slow down. We’ve enjoyed dinner tonight. But the time isn’t right for me to get involved. I hope you can understand.”

  “I understand. You’re not available. I don’t want to get into the middle of your quandary. It was nice meeting you, but now, please leave.”

  Jonathan stood as she strolled over to the door. Her dark brown hair swished back and forth with the swinging of her hips. Her head held high and her chin pointing like a compass to the exit. He inhaled her Jimmy Cho fragrance as he left her apartment. Man, she was one sexy woman.

  #

  Relieved to escape Lucinda with little damage to his relationship with his wife, Jonathan raced home. He had homework to do for Doctor King. Tonight he’d almost messed up to the point of no return. He would not make that error again. He hoped he had time to win back Angie. If there was any way to restore their marriage, he had to try.

  His head whirled with all the wonderful things that had caused him to fall for her. His list flowed easily. She was the sweetest, most caring, unselfish, tender, sexy, exciting, childlike-woman he’d ever met. Her talent as an artist was genuine. She deserved to follow her art career. If she would give him a chance, he would make up for all his past mistakes. He hoped he hadn’t destroyed their marriage already.

  Chapter 32

  Angie rolled over and kicked off the bedcovers. Where was that tapping sound coming from? She swept the dangling strands of hair from her forehead and glanced at the alarm clock. She’d overslept. Still, it was early. Who would be at her window at this time of the morning? The tap-tap continued. The small oval glass window above her bed overlooked the west side of the property. Was it a branch hitting the glass? No, the sound was too consistent. A woodpecker? No, they tapped on wood, not glass. She pulled herself from the bed and peered through the sunlit windowpane. There stood Hanna, the next-door neighbor. Recalling her promised to have tea with her today, she leaped out of bed. The timing of Hanna’s arrival was perfect. The professor, grocery shopping this morning, with a return expected by lunch, afforded her some freedom.

  She mouthed a good morning to Hanna, and signaled her to come around to the front door with a sweep of her hand. In less than two minutes, a casually dressed Angie, met Hanna at the cottage door and ushered her in.

  Angie led her to the living area in front of the fireplace. Hanna carried a wicker tray with a teapot decorated with a yellow floral pattern of rose buds and green leaves. She appeared to be in her mid-sixties. Her honey-blond hair and casual makeup matched her bubbly chatter. She wore a navy blue tee top, white cropped pants, and white sandals. She placed the tray on the coffee table. Their tea party setting—two mugs, two small plates, strawberry preserves, and toasted English muffins. Her smiling face reminded Angie of tea parties with her Nana—sugar cubes and cookies to savor.

  Angie pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes. Her mother never played tea party with her. But she spent many hours with her father’s mother, Nana. They enjoyed their tea in front of the fireplace. Nana tipped the teapot just so and the cinnamon-spice tea filled the tiny cups. Next little Angie dropped sugar cubes into the cups and added warm milk. Once the tea party ended, her Nana read to her from her father’s favorite storied books—The Adventures of Raggedy Ann and Andy and honeypot stories from Winnie the Pooh. Where had that happy little girl gone?

  “I caught sight of the professor backing out of the driveway around 8 this morning.” Hanna said. “I figured you could use company. I know we said ten o’clock. Sorry if I woke you up too early.”

  The comment gave Angie pause. This woman was certainly aware of the activities of the professor. Was she a nosey neighbor or a helpful Hanna? “I’m glad you came. The professor’s gone grocery-shopping for the morning.”

  Hanna grinned. “His routine is very predictable. It’s Tuesday. He always shops on Tuesday. If he keeps his normal schedule, he’ll be back by 10.”

  Ten o’clock? She’d better cut this visit at 9:30. He couldn’t catch Hanna here.

  Angie grabbed an English muffin and lavished it with extra cream cheese. “Gee, I hope I’m not that predictable.” She smiled, studied Hanna, and nibbled on the muffin. “Hum. Delicious.” She added honey and milk to her tea. What a delightful surprise, breakfast with a woman. She’d missed being with another female. She made a mental note—call Vicki.

  Hanna tasted her muffin and laid it back on her small plate. “I know it’s none of my business, but what brings you here?”

  Angie scooted back on the sofa and drew in a long breath. How much should she reveal? “The professor offers free summer art lessons to students with potential talent. I was shocked when he chose me. His time is priceless. It’s as if I won the lottery. He’s an amazing man, giving away his time and talent free of charge.

  Hanna’s face tightened. “Hum mm.” She frowned and placed her napkin on the table. “You really don’t look like the others. I’ve seen a few of the young women living here during the summer. You appear to be a bit more mature. I wondered what brought you here.” She nibbled on the muffin and sipped her tea.

  “I met the professor a few months ago through one of his students.”

  “That first girl was here for over a year. I tried to get to know her. We talked a few times, but she became more and more reclusive the longer she stayed. Then one day, while the professor was at work, an older couple arrived and moved her out. I imagine they were her parents.”

  Angie stood and tiptoed over to the fireplace. “I understand that first student, Paula, actually designed this cottage as an artist studio. I heard she lives in New York City today and is quite famous. What was she like?”

  Hanna paused appearing in deep thought. “I only met her a few times. She was a beautiful young woman—dark blond with
reddish highlights. I especially remember her green eyes—deep set and unusually large, creating a look of mystery. Actually, you resemble her quite a bit.”

  Angie took a sip of tea and replaced the cup on the table. “Did she ever say anything about the professor?”

  “The first time we spoke, she seemed in awe of him. It was as if he had super-powers. She allowed me to see one of her completed paintings. It was amazing—realistic and yet unreal. I’ve never seen such attention to detail, such vivid color.”

  Angie slumped in the chair. The professor was a perfectionist. How could she hope to compete with that level of talent? No wonder he drove her so hard. “Did she ever say what her relationship with the professor was like?”

  “Not really. Some folks openly show their feelings, but not her. Several months after she moved into the cottage, I heard them arguing. I don’t know what about. I only heard loud voices and slamming doors.”

  “Did you have a chance to talk to her after that?”

  Hanna gazed at the fireplace, as the sunbeams flickered on the stone. “One day, I think it was his grocery shopping day, she walked outside and sat on his back porch. I went over to see if she needed anything. Her eyes were red and puffy—looked to me as if she’d been crying.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. When she saw me, she turned and raced back into the house. I knocked, but she didn’t come to the door. I had the sense she was afraid. Can you imagine, being afraid to open a door?”

  Angie gulped. She could imagine the fear. What had she gotten herself into?

  “So, Angie, where are you from?”

  She shifted in her seat. “I live in Chicago. I came for the weekend and fell in love with this part of the country.”

  Hanna tilted her head. “What brought you back?”

  “I was once a struggling artist who had not painted in years. While I was visiting in Knoxville, the professor offered to evaluate my watercolor painting. He graciously invited me to spend this summer building my artistic skills. It was a chance of a life time. My art career has been on hold since I married eight years ago.”

  “You’re married? Your husband must miss you a great deal.”

  Angie’s face flushed. She didn’t know what to say. Did Jonathan miss her? “My husband, Jonathan, is a very successful attorney. His career keeps him quite busy.” Angie let out a deep breath. “With the professor’s help, I plan to resume my art career.”

  Hanna stared at Angie. “Is the professor a difficult taskmaster?”

  Angie stiffened her back. Was he ever. “He has very high expectations. Any man as talented as he is would demand the best. I am working to improve.”

  Hanna leaned closer. “I see. Well, if you ever need anyone to talk to, I’m always available. People find me easy to talk with. I spent my career as a social worker. Nothing surprises me.”

  Angie gazed at her watch, 9:40. What a tantrum the professor would treat her to, if he found Hanna serving tea. She should have started on her project an hour ago. Her pulse raced. “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, but I have to complete an assignment before the professor returns.”

  Hanna stood, gathered up her dishes, and replaced them on the tray. On her way out, she turned back. “Remember, if you ever need anything I’m next door. My Jack’s a retired cop. He’s handy to have around.”

  The cottage, empty and silent, was suddenly lonely. Angie dropped onto the sofa, her head pounding. Had Hanna been warning her?

  With her supplies selected and in place for the project, she should be painting. Instead, she replayed the morning conversation over, dissecting every sentence, searching for any clue. She moved away from the worktable, her head throbbing. Even her best friends in high school called her naïve. She faced teasing for seeing the good in everyone. Her Nana, kind and loving, warned her about people who acted good and hid the truth.

  She couldn’t rid her mind of Hanna’s words. Angie had seen some bizarre behavior from the professor. He appeared to have rage issues. She frequently heard of road-rage incidents in the news. The public was growing more volatile. Even Jonathan mentioned how his courtroom activities were more unpredictable with this generation of it’s not my fault clients. He’d even been accosted by his own defendant during a heated cross- examination.

  She needed sound advice. No longer trusting her own judgment, she had to share the morning’s conversation with Vicki. Was the neighbor the missing key to this man’s behavior? Angie grabbed her cell phone and punched the speed dial. “Oh, no.” Gulping, chest tightly binding her lungs, she turned toward an unwelcome sound outside. The banging grew louder. The sound of boots kicking at the door continued. “Who’s there?” She clutched her hands into fists as the doorknob turned and the door slammed against the living room wall.

  The professor flew through the open door. “Who’s there? Who else would be at your door? And who were you calling on that phone during class time?”

  ”No one,” she said, staring down at the phone in her hand. “I’m turning it to silent so I can work and not be disturbed,” she lied. “What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you trust me?”

  “Trust you? Well, since I saw the neighbor leave the cottage with tea and crumpets, why should I ever trust you?”

  Angie froze.

  “You’re wasting my time. You may have talent, but you are lazy and unthankful. This is what I get for my sacrifice. I’ve had enough. Pack up and get out.”

  The sharp accusation hit true. She’d broken his rules, and he knew it. But pack up and leave? No, not that. “You’re right. I don’t deserve your kindness. I promise this won’t happen again. Please, don’t send me away. Give me one more chance.”

  The professor’s glare sent a chill up and down her spine. She bounded over to him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Please?”

  He pushed her backwards, turned, and stomped out of the cottage. The door slammed behind him. The heavy sound of his boots rang against the steps.

  Angie sunk to her knees, sobbing. Why had she chanced breaking his rules, even for a few minutes and with a total stranger?

  #

  An hour later, Angie washed her face, eyes red and nose stuffy. She attempted to cover her pain with fresh makeup. She walked from the bathroom into the living area of the cottage. This magical place had become a prison, and yet, it provided her a sanctuary. Now she had an eviction notice. Her emotions raw and yet numb, she grieved the loss of her dream. No artist she knew had the talent-level of the professor. He’d forced her to become better. She’d grown in her knowledge. But he was finished with her. This fantasy of rekindling her art career had cost her so much. Was the price worth it? If she attained her full potential, yes.

  If her marriage to Jonathan failed, she’d survive. She loved him, but he had never made a place in his life for her. Like a good book, she remained on the shelf in the library to wait for a time when Jonathan wanted to read. She deserved more. Vicki had almost deserted her. Or more to the point, she had almost sacrificed her friendship with Vicki.

  She resumed packing. As she placed each outfit into the case, her mind wandered back to her adventures in Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg. What a magical day that had been. A rush hit her as she remembered her conversations with the watercolor artist from the Artistic Hideaway. Her eyes moistened. Why wouldn’t he give her one last chance?

  A total failure that was what Jonathan would think of her. She would return home, broken and defeated. He would be pumped up like a rooster, crowing his victory dance.

  The time had arrived to make the bittersweet phone call. She gathered her courage and punched in his office number. Gina answered immediately. Finding that Jonathan was not available, she left a message for him to call her when he had a break.

  She closed the cell phone and sat quietly, surveying her retreat. Her mind memorizing every corner of the magical cottage, capturing each day she spent here for her personal memory book. All her dreams destroyed by four cruel words. Pack up and leave.r />
  Chapter 33

  Jonathan awoke with a start. Something warm and wet tickled his ear. He rolled over onto his side, raised his arm, and rubbed the point of attack with the palm of his hand. Then he gathered up Mister Tubbs in his arms and held him tightly against his face. “We’ve got to hurry. I have an appointment with Doctor King at nine today.”

  Jonathan sailed into Doctor King’s office by 8:45. Today was an important day. Graduation? Perhaps.

  “You’re looking fit. How are you?” Doctor King asked.

  He settled into the chair in front of her desk. He preferred this more impersonal seating arrangement. He’d avoid the other side of the room, if he could. His memory of losing control at his first session still embarrassed him. That would not happen again.

  “After our last five sessions, I’m doing a lot better.”

  “Good. Tell me about what helped you the most.”

  He leaned back in his chair and gazed up to the ceiling, as if trying to read a script. “You know I had a difficult time getting past my anger. I felt abandoned. Trying to think of any reason to stay with Angie was almost impossible.”

  She smiled and remained silent.

  “All my life, I’ve been abandoned. My sister died before I got to meet her. My Mom died when I was only twenty, and my dad left me to be with Mom. All my life I tried to work myself into a long-term relationship. I felt Angie and I would be together forever. Then Angie left.”

  She jotted down a few notes and looked up. “Yes. I can see how you could see these events as if you caused them. But you didn’t. Did you?”

  He laughed. “No, of course not. With your help, I realize I am a control freak. I’ve spent over forty years trying to control everyone and everything. If I had that power, I’d be the master of my fate. Control is a figment, a vapor, it does not exist.”