Come Fly With Me

by Sandi Perry

"It would be my pleasure," he said. "Closure can be a bitch sometimes; or a very welcome diversion."

  Chapter 19

  This is really the best way to view these paintings, Allison thought as she sat in the dark at her gallery, one late night the next week. The shadows from the streetlight add a completely new dimension to the art. Maybe I should throw a party and advertise it as another fun thing you can do in the dark in New York City. Yeah, and every weirdo in town would show. She was roused from her musings when she heard a light tapping on the front window. Allison got up from her comfortable perch on the small viewing bench and saw Alex waiting impatiently at the door, hunching against the icy weather and stomping his feet to keep warm. Well, speaking of weirdoes. She reluctantly answered the door, unwilling to share her newfound tranquility with someone else, especially this someone else.

  "Why are you sitting here by yourself in the dark?" Alex asked as she opened the locks and let him in.

  "It's called introspection, Alex, you should try it sometime."

  "It's called avoidance. Why haven't you been to the office since we've gotten back?"

  "I've been calling in...things are running smoothly." She sat back down on the bench. He sat down next to her, a little too close. She folded her arms across her chest, drawing herself in closer. "I'm fine; I don't need to be checked on. You can leave."

  "I don't want to leave. I won't be pushed aside. I think you know that about me, by now."

  She glared at him, "You never really know anyone."

  "I didn't expect existential mumbo-jumbo from you. Talk to me."

  "And then will you go?"

  "If you still want that."

  She shrugged, "You're right, I have been avoiding you. I shouldn't have laid all that stuff on you, you know, about my uncle—my past." She brushed her hair back off her face and looked at him. "I've been an emotional wreck ever since my father died. I don't do emotions very well, I'm much better at holding things in and...avoiding. I feel like some helpless ping-pong ball being lobbed back and forth and occasionally being slammed down. I'm a mess." She went on with her plea. "Avoiding me would be the biggest favor you could do for yourself."

  "You know I can't do that."

  "Right. It's the job, of course."

  "Why do you always think the worst of me? Did it occur to you for a minute that maybe I came here because I'm trying to be nice?"

  "No, I don't buy that. I think every move you make is Alex-centric. I actually have a hard time knowing what to believe when you open your mouth."

  "That's harsh."

  "It's the truth, and I'm all about the truth right now."

  He got up to leave and then double-backed. "Keep it up, push everyone away and see what's left for you after that."

  She stayed seated, one leg over the other as it swung back and forth to the steady rhythm of the pelting sleet. The crunch of boots as people passed by outside was the only accompaniment to their silent duel.

  "I could stand here forever," Alex finally said.

  "That's your choice."

  "No. It's actually yours. Believe in me, believe in yourself. Have some faith in something, for heaven's sake."

  "Now you sound like my Hebrew teacher," she said.

  "It's always a comeback with you, just stop." He walked over to her and reached down to unfold her crossed arms. "Your arms are stiff; they're covering you like a suit of armor. You know the unyielding branch breaks off, while the limber one learns to sway in the wind." He tried to pull her up, and she pulled back.

  "Oh please, now would you stop with the lines! Say something real. Be honest with me."

  "Okay, I really like you, and I really want the job."

  She mulled that over for a few minutes. Her shoulders sagged, and he seemed to take that as an opening. She allowed herself to be pulled up this time and was surprised when he pulled her into a spin ala Fred and Ginger. He pulled her back towards him again and then held her firmly in his arms.

  "Allison," he murmured softly in her ear. "Let it go. Allow yourself to trust someone. We're going to stand here like this indefinitely until I feel your trust."

  "You're asking a lot of me," she looked in his eyes as she warred with herself.

  "And I'm prepared to give a lot in return," he assured her.

  She broke eye contact and looked out onto the still night. She closed her eyes and willed herself calm. He was solid and steady and that was all she needed for now.

  Chapter 20

  "Kenyon, it smells divine in here." Allison stood just inside the door to his loft as she unfurled her sky-blue scarf and unbuttoned her camelhair coat.

  "Here, let me take those." Ken reached for her things and walked over to hang them on the coat rack.

  "You're cooking dressed like that?" She looked at his black, wool pants and crisp, blue striped shirt.

  "I considered answering the door wearing my French maid's outfit, but then I remembered it was at the cleaners."

  "You don't have a French maid's outfit."

  "I know, but the moment was screaming for a stereotypical response."

  She rolled her eyes and chose to ignore him.

  "I have some work to do on the Watkins project and I think better when I'm dressed in my work clothes."

  She nodded, "Did you put wine in the roast beef? I detect an extra nuance in the air."

  "It's bay leaf and marjoram and don't even pretend you know anything about cooking."

  Allison smiled as she set the table. "I'm really sorry about you breaking it off with Christopher, but I have to admit that living off Thai take-out has not been fun. If you have leftovers, maybe I'll wrap them up and drop them by his door with a note...'All of this could have been yours.'"

  "He isn't worth the price of the cab fare." Ken brought the steaming platter of meat to the table. He doled out rosemary-roasted potatoes as he spoke, "I had a client come into the office the other day, Michael Essex."

  "The builder? Doesn't he have his own team of architects? He's got buildings going up on every corner of the city."

  "Well, he doesn't like for his staff to know his personal business. He's having us draw up plans for a huge mansion in South Hampton, and he came by to check on the progress."

  "Send him my way when he's up to his eyeballs in blank wall space," Allison said.

  "Funny you should say that. He wants to meet you—he was taken with your 'Rachel' painting that he saw in my office," Ken replied.

  "Oh, brother, not you too," she half-mumbled to herself.

  "When are you going to let yourself off the hook? Eighteen years is enough time to be carrying around guilt for something you aren't even guilty of."

  "I have to hang onto my guilt; I owe it to my Jewish heritage."

  "Anyway, Mr. Essex has a daughter and that painting reminds him of her. He would like you to paint her portrait. She's twelve and he wants to capture her youth and innocence before she turns into a sex-crazed hormonal teenager."

  "I don't do portraits, that would be like the nightmare of my world, trying to get a young girl to cooperate."

  "I gave him your number."

  Allison put down her fork and stared at Ken. "I'm satisfied with my little gallery and my..."

  "Your what? What is your life, Ally? You're so busy hiding from it, it's any wonder you even admit to your own name! When's the last time you went on a date, allowed someone new into your life, or even made a new friend. You're twenty-nine years old in the most exciting city in the world and you might as well be some girl working the family farm in Iowa. You can't play it safe, life doesn't work that way—it's messy, even stupid sometimes and glorious at others. But it's all we have and you're letting it slip right through your fingers."

  "You could at least have waited until I ate my dessert before you laid all this on me. I'm not sure I have an appetite left."

  "I'll wrap the cobbler for you," he huffed.

  Allison sat silently as she moved the one remaining potato around on her plate. It w
as soaked with gravy and made intricate swirl patterns as she spun it in concentric circles.

  "Stop playing with your food," Kenyon said.

  She smiled, "Wow, you're mean when you're not getting any."

  "I love you," he said.

  "I know. And I love you, too. But I can't take it when you yell at me."

  "That wasn't yelling. That was gentle admonition combined with extreme frustration and the beginnings of irritation," he ran his fingers through his hair as he said this.

  Her eyes followed his hand's movement, and she was mesmerized by her thoughts as to how simple life could have been for her, if only...

  "Ken," she whispered. "I don't know how to turn off the tough. My father taught me how to stand up for myself and have my voice heard. Now, he's gone, and I don't know how to stop fighting everyone. Myself, included."

  "You need to go back to when it all started."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means you'll figure it out."

  Chapter 21

  Several days later Michael Essex came by the gallery. Allison recognized him immediately, even as she realized that the tabloid pictures didn't do him justice. He was taller and younger-looking in person. His suit under his cashmere coat had the cut of English tailoring. It was easy to see why he was a magnet for the sophisticated, urbane women of New York.

  "Mr. Essex," she stepped up and greeted him warmly, hoping her nerves didn't give her away. She offered her hand and continued, "Kenyon James said you might be stopping by. Are there any pieces in particular that you had in mind? We just got a large canvas from an upcoming artist here, at the other end of the gallery—"

  "Ms. Ross," he interrupted, "is there somewhere we could have our conversation in private?" He looked around the room filled with browsers, as if he expected someone to whip out a phone and catch their conversation for later replay on YouTube.

  "Of course, I apologize for the oversight. And please call me Allison." Her heart raced. She knew he wanted her to paint his daughter, which she absolutely could not do, even if saying no to him would be a major career misstep.

  They settled down in her office, and after he refused her offer of tea, he spoke. "I saw your work at Mr. James' office and I was greatly taken by the way you captured the essence of the subject. Is the young girl in the portrait someone you were close with?"

  Allison was unnerved at his directness, "She was a best friend of mine from grade school."

  He nodded, "It seemed that way to me. And that's why I'd like you to paint my daughter, Kaitlin."

  "I'm truly flattered," Allison paused, choosing her words carefully. "But I'm not

  a portraitist. I can give you names of several talented artists who specialize in that venue."

  He waved his hand at her. "No. I don't want some cold oil-rendered work that has my daughter frozen like some wax figure. I want her sparkling eyes, her intelligence—I want for her soul to come through."

  "But... I—"

  "This doesn't have anything to do with what's written about me in the papers, I hope? I can assure you only some of that is true."

  She gulped, "Of course not. It's just that I'm not talented enough. I've never painted a live subject. I paint from memory."

  "Great. It's settled then. You'll spend some time with Kaitlin. You'll get to know her; you'll take her out for pizza, some ice-cream. Then you'll start with a charcoal or whatever you'd like and then we'll graduate to oil." He got up to signal the end of the interview. "I have every confidence that you'll give me what I want."

  He smiled disarmingly as he reached out to shake her hand and left before she had a chance to recover and say another word. It seemed to her that what she read in the tabloids was true—nobody said no to Michael Essex.

  Chapter 22

  Allison knocked on Kenyon's door holding a bag of takeout. She thrust it at him. "I come in peace," she said. "I thought you deserved the night off."

  "Come in, you silly bird. I'm not mad at you." He looked at the bag, "I hope they had spring rolls this time. They've been out of them."

  "I made sure. Nothing is too good for my bestie."

  They settled down to their food with Allison voraciously downing copious amounts of spicy chicken wings and a healthy-sized portion of veal lo mein. She spoke as she had her head immersed in the folded white box, "I joined an online dating service a couple of days ago."

  "You what!" Kenyon shrieked his response. "You're joshing me, right?"

  She shook her head.

  "What's gotten into you?" he demanded.

  "You said I had to do something, you know, get out of my comfort zone. And I can tell you very frankly that I'm really uncomfortable, so I guess that's a good thing. Right?" She looked at Kenyon for approval and frowned, "I thought you'd be happy. There's no pleasing you."

  "Online dating services are for people living in Iowa where there is more livestock than people."

  "What is it with you and the people of Iowa?"

  "I didn't mean to pick on them. I apologize. Iowa is the first caucus and therefore vital to our democratic practice. Better?"

  She nodded, "What's wrong with what I did? You said I had to go out, and the dating service guarantees me a date."

  "Yes it would, but I suspect you might have joined to satisfy me and the whole point, sweetie, is for you to meet someone and let him in. You're gorgeous, putting on a sexy outfit with some high heels and going down to Sam's Place will guarantee you a date just the same."

  "No one but a desperate woman wears a sexy dress on a Wednesday night, and if I put on strappy sandals I'll get frostbite."

  "You are desperate, you just don't know it. And I'll carry you the two blocks," he offered.

  She shook her head adamantly.

  "I knew you weren't serious about meeting men. You're using the dating service as a crutch, just like the guy who signs up for gym membership and then goes once."

  They stared at each other. Finally, Allison caved, "Fine, whatever, I'll put on some stupid dress and catch the death of me in five-degree weather. Come get me in a few minutes."

  "Maybe give yourself more than a few minutes to get ready."

  "No, this little experiment is simply to please you. Nobody will be trolling at the bar on a weeknight anyway."

  "Nobody will be overtly trolling, but men are always looking. It would do you well to always remember that," Kenyon said.

  "I hate men," she responded.

  "You're in a slump, but tonight we're looking for a homerun."

  "I hate baseball," she responded.

  "Go put on some make-up and a smiley face and meet me downstairs in ten."

  ****

  Allison wasn't planning to accept Ken's offer of carrying her to Sam's Place and selected a pair of over-the-knee leather boots. Her only nod to their earlier conversation was the low-cut clingy sweater and mini skirt that she dragged on. She saw his disappointment when she took off her coat and hurried to stave off his critique of her pathetic outfit. "I told you this was a waste of time. There's no one here. I stand a better chance with the cows in Iowa," Allison said.

  "We're here for all of seven minutes and besides, the cows might be the only ones willing to make a moove on you. I told you to put on a sexy outfit. I'm taking you shopping next week."

  "I have things," she whined.

  "Work with me—let's get your head into this," he said. "What are you having?"

  She looked at Samuel. "Hey Sam, can you get me an ice-cold appletini?"

  "Sure thing, no margaritas tonight?"

  She smiled at him, "I'm off those for a while."

  Kenyon looked at her, "Margaritas? Did you get confused and think this island you're on is Bermuda?"

  "Don't I wish? Every year at the start of winter I promise myself I'm moving somewhere warm, permanently."

  "I'm with you." He swirled around on his stool and faced the door, straightening as he did. He nudged Allison with his elbow, "Isn't that the Alex guy from the auct
ion?" he whispered.

  Allison turned and slowly glanced over her shoulder. She observed carefully as Alex helped the willowy woman off with her coat, and she frowned as the blonde tossed her hair subtly, leaning in to Alex.

  "I don't think so," she said as she turned back towards the bar. "Well, we've been here for like an hour and no one is interested in me, so let's leave." Allison clamped her teeth in irritation as she saw Kenyon's eyes still fixed on Alex. "I'm ready to go, Kenyon, either you can leave with me or you can continue looking at Alex."

  "You just said that wasn't Alex, and besides, I'm not looking at him. I'm looking at the gorgeous woman he's with."

  Out of the corner of her eye, Allison saw him hold up his drink in salute and wave them over. "What are you doing? It's bad form to try to steal another guy's girl right out from under him."

  "Maybe she's his sister."

  "I've met his sisters."

  "Well, don't look now, but they're coming over," he said gleefully.

  "You will suffer for this—I promise." She turned just in time to hear Alex introduce himself and his date, Carrie. Allison politely did the introductions on her end and hopped off her seat ready to call it a night.

  "It's been fun bumping into the two of you. Hasn't it been fun? But we were just leaving." She swatted at Kenyon in a vague attempt to get his attention.

  Alex laughed, "I think you might be stuck with me, I don't think your friend can hear you since Carrie is whispering in his ear. Let's be generous and let them have their time." He gestured toward the back of the bar, "How about some darts?" he suggested.

  "Oh, it's really late, and I have that early meeting tomorrow."

  "It's only nine. And tomorrow's a holiday."

  "I think Kenyon has an early meeting also. Right Ken?"

  She turned to look at him and realized he was going to be no help getting her out of this predicament. She frowned, "I guess darts it is."

  "So, this is the second time I've seen you with Kenyon. Are you together?"

  Allison paused and looked at him, "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

  He snorted in response.

  "What's that supposed to mean?"