by Faver, JD
“What’s bothering you, Max,” Willa asked.
“You mean besides the fact that I haven’t seen Jon in weeks...since the night of the show?”
Willa smiled. “Yeah, besides that.”
“How about the notice I found in my mailbox? The man who owns my building can’t make the repairs demanded by the city inspectors. He’s putting it up for sale.”
“They’re selling your building?” Merrick asked.
“No telling who’ll buy it. It’s close enough to downtown to attract business but there are other buildings nearby being turned into high-dollar lofts for young professionals working in the city. I could be homeless.”
Max fed the main sail into the track as Willa started to raise it. Wordlessly, Merrick grabbed the lines, adding his muscle to Willa’s efforts.
“Why don’t you buy the building, Max?” Willa asked.
Max stared at her with her mouth open. “Me? I’ve never owned anything.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t buy it. You’re in love with your loft and I don’t think you’d find a better place to work.” Willa looked at Merrick. “Am I right?”
Merrick grinned at them. “I can see Max as a landlady but I think you’d have to collect the rents for her.”
“I can do that,” Willa said.
“But I wouldn’t know where to start. I’m sure I can’t afford it.” Max’s brows drew together in a frown.
“Give me the information and I’ll check it out for you. I’m in real estate up to my neck.” Merrick took the jib sheet, threaded it swiftly into its track and raised it into place. “Are you girls ready to sail now?”
“Aye-aye, skipper.” Max nudged Willa. “He likes it when you say that.”
Willa grinned mischievously. “He does, does he?”
Merrick flashed her a dimpled grin. “Remember that.”
~*~
When Merrick dropped Max off at her loft, she looked at the structure with new eyes. What would she do if it belonged to her?
The former industrial site had been divided into four large lofts per each of its three floors. Most of them were empty. She was the only tenant on the third floor. Sherman and another artist were on the second and the lone tenant on the first floor was a young fashion designer who produced one of a kind formalwear and wedding gowns.
Max tried the handles of the unoccupied lofts on the ground floor and found one unlocked. She took a deep breath and stepped inside. The cavernous space was one of two facing the parking lot while two similar units faced the street. Damaged pipes hung from the ceiling. A musty smell permeated the air. More than a dozen tables were stacked in one corner along with a series of mis-matched chairs.
Carefully, Max picked her way through the debris on the floor. Some sort of kitchen stretched across the back wall. This must have been a restaurant of some sort.
If she were able to obtain this property, perhaps Merrick would help her clean it up and make it usable. The location was great. If the lofts were leased to responsible tenants this might be a good investment after all.
Max wished Jon was with her. She didn’t want to take on a new project without his input. She needed his approval.
No, I don’t.
It had been weeks and she hadn’t heard from him. He was sending a message loud and clear. Jon was through with her and she needed to accept the fact and move on.
“Easier said than done,” she said aloud. Jon wasn’t easy to forget. The thing that upset her most was that he’d completely shut her out, not willing to listen to anything she might have to say in her defense.
She sighed. She didn’t have anything to say in her defense.
She gave the space a final perusal and closed the door on it. Best not to consider taking on such a major project. Better to stick to what she knew. Painting.
Later that evening, Merrick and Willa returned to Max’s loft. They brought a bucket of fried chicken and several sides.
“What’s all this?” she asked.
“We knew you wouldn’t have anything to eat here and we were starving.” Merrick arranged the food on the stool beside the futon. “We have a proposition for you.”
“Bring it.” Max reached in the bucket for a drumstick and bit into it with relish.
Merrick sat on one side of her and Willa on the other. They looked at each other and then began speaking at once.
“You tell her.” Willa smiled and reached for a piece of chicken.
“I want to invest in this building with you,” Merrick said. “It’s going to take some work to bring it up to code and there are some back taxes. I’m sure that’s why it’s being dumped. It’s not listed yet, but I contacted the owner of record and he’s meeting us here tomorrow at eleven. If we buy it direct from him we’ll save a realtor’s fee.”
She felt dizzied by the rush on information. “This is happening so fast.”
“Sometimes opportunities present themselves and you have to jump on them,” he said. “Or regret not acting and watch someone else step up.”
She turned to Willa. “You really think it’s a good idea?”
“Actually, I have a separate proposition for you.” Willa’s eyes twinkled with excitement. “Do you realize how much money Cherise Gilman made off of your paintings? She had the venue for showcasing your work and invited her customers to your opening but most of the clientele came from Jon. I think we could open a successful gallery for your work as well as other artists. We’d have more control of sales.”
Max experienced a churning sensation in her stomach. “You guys are scaring me.”
“You have a small fortune moldering away in your bank account,” Willa said. “You could invest in real estate and cut your taxes significantly.”
Max turned to Merrick, questioningly.
He wiped his fingers on a napkin and reached for another piece of chicken. “I think it would be a good investment. You could still spend your time painting in your loft and be on hand to oversee our property. I have the means and manpower to renovate the place. We could attract some stable tenants for the other spaces and be able to turn a profit.”
Max tried to focus on what he was saying. “This is all so scary for me. What happens if we buy it and fix it up but nobody wants to live here? I’ll be broke and you’ll shrug your shoulders and go sailing.”
“Not going to happen,” he said. “This is Houston. This property value can only increase.”
Max felt excitement stirring in her stomach. For the first time since the night of the gallery opening, she had something to look forward to. “I think I’m in, but I’m terrified.”
Willa let out a war whoop and grabbed her in a bear hug. Merrick wrapped his arms around them both, still holding his piece of chicken.
Max felt a tear roll down her cheek, but it was a surge of joy and not her usual misery that inspired it.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Jon received a call from one of his Associate Designers at the Claremont Design Group, begging him to return to Houston. It seemed that his clients and would-be clients were besieging the offices with requests for his services. Jon told him that he’d be returning to work the following Monday.
He sat staring at the phone. He wanted to see the woman he loved more than he wanted air to breathe, but he didn’t have the faintest idea who she really was. Would he return to find Millie with a different name, or would she be a stranger, this ‘Max’ who’d lied to and manipulated him?
He knew his parents were concerned. Carla was smothering him with motherly advice. It was so obvious that she wanted him to get back together with his Millie. Everything was so simple in her world.
J.C. mostly kept his opinions to himself, giving Jon enough space to work it out on his own. It was the way those hawk-sharp eyes stayed on him, fiercely protective, alert for any way in which he could help his son heal.
Jon shook his head, a grim little smile on his lips. No matter what happened, his father was always on his side. If he’d propose
d driving to Houston to hogtie and kidnap Max, he was sure that J.C. would be right there holding the rope.
He went back out to the barn where he’d been helping J.C. before the phone call had pulled him away.
“Was it your girl?” J.C. asked.
“It wasn’t her. She doesn’t have this number and I’m not even sure she’s still my girl, Dad.” He and J.C. were examining an assortment of metal tools and equipment, scraping rusted areas and treating them with lubricant to ensure that all moving parts were in working order.
“You’re never going to find out sitting here.”
Jon quirked an eyebrow at his father. “You may have noticed that I’m not sitting.” He reached for a file to sharpen the edge of a blade. The metal-on-metal sound echoed to the rafters. “I’m helping you.”
“That you are,” J.C. agreed amiably. “And I appreciate your help.”
“Then, what’s the problem? I thought you were anxious for me to move back home for good.”
J.C. gave him a long piercing gaze. “I want you to do what’s right for you. This ranch will always be here. When your mama and I pass on, the land will remain.”
“Now might be the right time for me to make a change,” Jon said. “I love this ranch too, Dad.”
“I know you do, son. And it’s always here for you, but you’ve got to follow your passion. It would sure be a waste of your talents to spend the rest of your days managing cattle and pastures.”
Jon shook his head. “I’m not an artist.”
“Yes, you are,” J.C. asserted. “You don’t have to be putting paint on a canvas to be an artist. You’re using your talent and training in another way.” He smacked Jon on the forearm. “And you’re good at it.”
He grinned at his father. “No, I’m great at it.”
J.C. cocked his head and gave Jon a wink. “Why did you work so hard to get to the top, just to turn your back and walk away from it?”
Jon hung his head, running his fingers through his thick crop of hair. “I thought...I thought my career was over. I thought no one would want to hire me after the burglaries. I was the key to the whole plan. If I hadn’t been such a dope, Dean Alonso couldn’t have had access to all those homes. I was even dumb enough to provide him with the truck to haul away the loot.”
“You were too trusting,” J.C. said. “But your heart was in the right place.”
“But why would anyone want me to come into their homes when I might give a crook the keys to the castle?”
“If I were you, I’d be grateful that people like you, and I wouldn’t be looking a gift horse in the mouth.”
Jon grinned. “Gift horse, huh? Did you ever hear of the Trojan Horse?”
J.C.’s steely gaze was like the blue flame on a gas stove. A steady, dependably flame burning with truth and intelligence. “You know you’ve got to go back and face whatever you left behind, including that little girl of yours.”
“Dad, she’s not---“
“Then you need to go back and make it official. Tell her off. Let her know you’re mad at her. Tell her it’s over.” J.C.’s penetrating gaze stripped away his defenses. “It is over, isn’t it?”
~*~
Max, Merrick and Willa met with the buildings owner. Merrick had warned the women to keep quiet and let him negotiate.
Max’s stomach was quaking. She was both excited by the prospects of the venture and terrified as well.
The owner turned out to be in his seventies and quite frail. He explained that he had neither the resources nor the energy to renovate the property and the city building inspector was mandating changes. He handed the keys to Merrick and drove away, too exhausted to walk through with them.
“I told him I’d bring the keys to his home tomorrow with our offer.” Merrick shrugged. “I was expecting some big tough real estate tycoon, not a sickly old man.”
Willa grabbed the keys. “Oooh, we’re on our own.” She jingled the keys and danced around. “I’m so excited I could just scream.”
Max leaned her head against Merrick’s shoulder. “It looks like the inmates are in charge of the asylum.”
“So it appears.”
Max showed them the former restaurant site first. The custom dressmaker was also located facing the parking lot. They opened the two other empty spaces on the ground floor that faced toward the street side.
Willa danced around inside the first space, raising a storm of dust motes.
“This is it, Max. This is our gallery,” she said.
Max sneezed several times in succession. She walked around, trying to catch Willa’s vision. The bank of plate glass windows facing the street had been boarded up from the exterior of the building. The high ceiling was criss-crossed with a maze of heating ducts and water pipes. She found bathrooms and a deep sink in the back and a small office complete with a rusted metal desk.
When she walked back to Willa and Merrick, a grin spread across her face. “Okay, I get it,” she said. “I’m ready to do this. There’s even a place for a darkroom back there. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to get back into photography.”
They walked through the other unoccupied spaces, Merrick making notes as they went. He sighed and told them that the plumbing and wiring needed to be replaced as well as the heating and cooling systems.
“That’s just for starters,” he said. “Investing in those basics will bring it up to code but we have to work on the aesthetics if we want to attract urban professional tenants.”
The more Merrick added to the inventory of needed repairs, the more uneasy Max became.
“Can we do this?” She peeked at the growing list. “Can we afford it?”
Merrick grinned at her. “Trust me. I have vast resources. We’ll only use a little of our cash and a lot of someone else’s.”
“Then it won’t be ours,” Max protested.
“It will be ours and the mortgage bank’s.”
“That’s the first rule of business, Max,” Willa said. “Never invest your own capital.”
Max stepped away from them, gazing up at the soaring ceilings and blank walls. “I’ll let you business types take care of the finances, but I insist on complete creative license.”
Merrick glanced at Willa. “That’s a deal, Max.”
Willa assumed a pose, tapping her forefinger against her temple. “And, I just realized that, since Jon disappeared, it means our verbal agreement with him is off. Now you can work with all the other Houston designers.”
Max huffed out a sigh. “Screw the designers!”
“Yeah, screw the designers,” Merrick echoed.
~*~
Jon found a delivery notice on his door when he returned to the city. He called the building manager who told him a large package was being held for him in the office.
Jon brought it up in the elevator, anticipating as well as dreading its contents. Gilman Galleries was the return address.
Leaning it against the wall, he poured himself a drink before summoning the courage to tear the paper off and examine it.
When he carefully removed the paper and bubble-wrap, he found himself staring into impossibly blue eyes. The self-portrait Max had painted with the little mole on the wrong side stared back at him. He’d quietly purchased the painting before the show opened, never imagining the evenings outcome.
Jon reached out to touch the canvas. He wanted to touch the warm flesh of the model but he wasn’t ready to face her, not yet.
He took down the painting hanging over the fireplace in his bedroom and hung the portrait of Max in its place. Jon raised his glass and toasted her image.
Sliding onto his bed, he refilled his glass and opened the floodgate of emotion he’d held firmly closed. Memories of Max poured into his mind as he recalled every moment they’d spent together.
He sank into a morass of alcohol assisted reverie wherein he relived the pleasures she’d provided. He could feel the texture of her silken hair and smell the fragrance of her shampoo.
&n
bsp; He dreamed of her. When he awoke it was Monday morning and he was saddened all over again not to find her beside him.
Jon squinted his eyes against the glint of sunlight stabbing in through the open drapes. His head throbbed and he felt the room tilt as he stepped onto the usually firm carpeting.
He managed to shower and drive himself to his office. There, he had to contend with Courtney’s hovering and her concerned expression.
“These are your messages, Mr. Donnell,” she said, handing him a sheaf of papers. “And here’s your appointment book. The Grafton-Majors are coming in at eleven to discuss a new project and the Simons will be here at one. And, please call the oil guy, Mr. Riggins. He wants a new lobby for his building.”
“Thanks Courtney,” he said. “Is there something else?”
“I just wanted to say that we...I really missed you around here and... I think the beard is hot.” She flashed him a grin and ran out of his office.