Sapphire and Shadow (A Woman's Life)

by Marie Ferrarella

But it was the man who frightened the hell out of her even as he intrigued and tantalized her.

  She wanted to protest, to tell him no. Logically, she wanted to do that. But her emotional need to be held, cherished, won out and she tilted her head back to reach his lips.

  Joshua groaned as he drank in the overpowering sweetness he found there. Over and over, his mouth slanted over hers, bruising her lips, bruising her soul, making the ache within them both reach out and pull. Hard.

  Her head swam as the world dipped into darkness and disappeared. There was nothing and no one, except for Joshua. His hands tightened on her, holding her against him. He didn’t caress, didn’t possess. And yet, by not doing any of it, he did. Just by touching his mouth to hers, just by enfolding her in his arms, he branded her, took possession while she fiercely wanted to retain ownership.

  She wanted him. She knew she couldn’t have him. It just wouldn’t work. It never did. The fact had her nearly sobbing.

  “Pleasant dreams,” he whispered against her ear.

  “Your cold water?” she asked, surprised that he was leaving.

  “I’ve decided to wear it—as soon as possible.” He winked and then was gone.

  Johanna nearly slid down against the closed door. His kiss left her weak and wanting. She needed a cold shower of her own. And a good dose of common sense.

  “Home kind of early, aren’t you?” Mary asked as Johanna let herself in.

  “Early?” She glanced at her watch. It was almost two in the morning. “The play was over hours ago. We had a late dinner and a ride around Central Park in a hansom cab.”

  Mary curled her toes beneath her on the sofa, her head resting on the arm, her eyes bright. “And?”

  Johanna let her purse drop to the sofa a moment before she did. “He brought me home.”

  “His?”

  Johanna looked at her sister curiously. “No, mine.”

  Mary blew out a breath, curbing annoyance and disappointment. “I think you need pointers.”

  Everyone seemed to know what was best for her, except her. “I think you need to go to bed.”

  Mary rose, a knowing smile on her lips as she looked her sister up and down. Johanna was definitely tense. The evidence was in her shoulders, in the way she moved. In the way she spoke. “Ditto.”

  “I am.” She took the pins out of her hair and shook it free. God, her neck ached. She ached.

  With her hands braced on the back of the sofa, Mary leaned over so that her face was level with Johanna’s. “I don’t mean your own.”

  “Mary,” Johanna sighed, “I don’t need a love life.”

  “Bull—“ Mary bit off” the rest of the word. “Fleas don’t need a love life, people do.”

  Johanna kicked off her shoes and leaned back, her eyes closed. Maybe if she kept them that way, Mary would take the hint. “Thank you, Dr. Ruth.”

  When it came to hints, Mary chose the ones she took and the ones she ignored. “Just because Harry was a bastard doesn’t mean that everyone is.”

  That sounded exactly like something Joshua had said to her earlier. She opened one eye and looked up at her sister. “Joshua been cuing you your lines?”

  “I always liked Joshua.”

  “Fine, I make you a present of him.”

  “Would that I could, dear sister, would that I could, but the man is already in love.” She saw the way her sister’s eyes opened wide. “With you, you idiot.”

  Johanna rose stiffly, her shoes dangling from her hand. “You’re crazy.”

  “No, but you are if you let this opportunity slip through your fingers.”

  “There is no opportunity.”

  “No, not if you shut your mind to it.”

  If she fell asleep instantly, it still wouldn’t be enough to see her through the next day. “It’s too late to argue, Mary.”

  “Good. I hereby declare this argument over. I won.” She kissed her sister’s cheek. “Now, get out of my bedroom.” She waved her hand around the immediate area that surrounded the sofa. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She yawned and curled up on the sofa.

  Johanna shook her head. “Everyone’s against me.”

  Mary opened one eye. “There you’re wrong. Everyone’s for you. You just have to stop being the battered wife long enough to realize that.”

  Johanna whirled around. “Harry never beat me.” That he had hit her once and that it had sealed her resolution to leave him was something she was determined to keep to herself.

  “There are other forms of being battered than being used as a physical punching bag,” Mary informed her sleepily. “I’m too tired for another sparring match, Jo. I won the first argument and that’s that. You get the prize—Joshua.” She yawned and stretched.

  “Thanks. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear that.” She began unbuttoning her dress. Something distant wondered what it would be like to be undressed by Joshua. That was Mary’s doing, she thought, quickly shutting away the thought. If Mary would stop suggesting that—

  Oh God, who was she kidding? It was of her own doing.

  “I bet he will,” Mary chuckled just before she drifted off to sleep.

  Johanna gave up and went off to bed. It wasn’t her, she thought. It was everyone else.

  Tonight had been wonderful, but it was over and she was back to reality. And reality was that she was not about to let her heart lead the way again. She couldn’t withstand the inevitable heartache and disappointment that would come. And there wasn’t just herself to think of. There was Jocelyn. She stood next to her daughter’s bed and looked at the sleeping girl.

  Jocelyn slept fitfully and her blanket was bunched over to one side, with her leg dangling over it. Johanna eased the blanket over her and tucked it around her daughter, then smiled, lightly pushing the hair from the girl’s face. This was all the love she had room for in her heart. And it was enough.

  Unconsciously she put her hand to her lips, then realized what she was doing. As if she had been burned, she dropped her hand quickly to her side.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  The pallet felt rough in her hand, but not awkward. It was as if it belonged there, even after all these years. The smell of the paints made her high. Not the high Harry had sought so desperately. A joyful high, the kind of high only gotten on thoughts lined with happiness.

  She remembered the fear with which she had faced the empty canvas. Was it still there? Did she still have something to give, something to feel?

  Yes. Thank God, yes.

  Why had she walked away from this and stayed away so long? It was hard to believe, to even attempt to justify. It didn’t matter. She was back. She added a dab of brown to the pallet and blended the color with what she had until she was satisfied.

  Lifting a brush, she used it as an extension of her soul. It met the canvas and set her free.

  It was an odd feeling. Her life was falling into place, and by the same token, it wasn’t. Each day, she felt a little more stable, a little more sure-footed on the road of life. Her work was exciting and there was a joy in working at the gallery that had been missing in her life. She was meeting artists and people involved in the art community. Joshua took her along with him to various auctions in search of the right acquisitions. He had impressed her at Sotheby’s, displaying just the right amount of restraint, yet cunning. The painting they came away with was one by a lesser known artist who was just approaching his zenith. In his own, subtle, easygoing manner, Joshua was far more dynamic than Harry ever was.

  Joshua.

  He had done his best to put her at ease. She blessed him for that. There was no pressure. He seemed satisfied to give her space, although every so often, a look or comment would give him away. She was thankful he didn’t push because she had been afraid that she would have to leave the gallery. She was afraid of repeating her mistake. She didn’t realize that Joshua was fighting for what he wanted in the only way he knew how. He loved her and wanted her. But he saw her fear and knew that it would
take time to conquer. So he used time as a tool, even though it cost him.

  Even Jocelyn was beginning to settle down a little, she thought with a smile as she studied the canvas she was working on. It was a simple still life of a bouquet of fading flowers. Against the vase was a small porcelain doll, its bright yellow ribbon undone. A shoe was missing. The end of summer. Still, it was more than she had done with paints in years.

  She frowned, her mind shifting from her painting to her life like a pendulum. There were waters closing in on her that she refused to test and yet was drawn to, almost hypnotically. Certainly against her conscious will.

  She tried to shut out the seductive call and yet couldn’t. Wanted to ignore it and yet desperately needed to believe that it existed. Existed for her. That there was still love out there that was possible, love that was true, supportive, that didn’t eat away at you like a deadly acid until there was nothing left. She felt like a woman condemned to torture, to self-inflicted torture.

  Johanna added one splash of red to a petal.

  She was too frightened to take the risk. Once was more than enough to have her heart cut out of her. Tommy had healed rents that had been in her, made her feel like a woman again, made her realize that she was desirable. Tommy was a walk on a soft misty spring day. What Joshua represented was forever. But she knew that nothing lasted forever. Except disappointment.

  Leaves fell, dried and brown, about the vase and against the doll.

  “So this is what you do on your lunch break.”

  She spun around, startled. The tube of light blue paint she had been squeezing on her pallet emitted a little arc of color that dribbled down her index finger.

  “You don’t have to look as if you’ve been caught trying to steal the crown jewels, Johanna.”

  He had walked into the tiny back room and looked with a critic’s eye at the painting she was working on so diligently. In it he saw the pain she tried so often to conceal from him. There was a time that all her paintings bore a burst of hope and happiness within them.

  It wasn’t until he spoke that she realized how much his approval meant to her. She had always painted to share feelings, not to hide them.

  “This is nice. A little depressing, but very nice.” He owed her the truth and they both knew he wouldn’t lie, not about something so important to her. “Done without the benefit of the required artistic northern skylight.” He grinned, remembering how they had both vowed to live in lofts and nothing mattered except for the position of the incoming sun.

  As he spoke, he took out his handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped off her finger. The gesture, small, perhaps to some insignificant, seemed unbearably intimate to Johanna. She raised her eyes and looked at him, her breath stopped in her throat.

  No, she wouldn’t, she told herself, she wouldn’t let herself go. If this couldn’t be casual, it couldn’t be at all.

  Self-consciously, she drew back her hand.

  Joshua pretended he hadn’t seen the flicker of desire, followed by an equal spark of wariness in her eyes. With studied carelessness, he put the handkerchief away. “When did you start this?”

  She shrugged. “A week ago.” She knew what he was going to say.

  “If you wanted to paint, I could have let you use my apartment during lunch. There is a good window there that lets in the afternoon sun.”

  “I didn’t know how far I’d get. It was just a whim.” And she wanted to do it on her own, without anyone knowing. That was why she kept it hidden here. She had to know if she could still bring things to life with a stroke of a brush. If she had failed, she wanted to make sure that no one else knew, especially not Joshua.

  “No.” He studied it. “I don’t think so. This isn’t just a whim, Johanna. This is your destiny. Something tells me that your days as my assistant are numbered.”

  She looked up sharply. “You’re firing me?”

  “I think being elevated to the rightful place as artist when the time comes is usually thought of as being promoted, not fired.”

  He was being too good to her again. It made her vulnerable, put her at a disadvantage. She needed to stand firm, be firm. Nervously, she glanced at her watch. “I’d better be getting back.”

  “No hurry. The gallery’s not that busy this afternoon and whatever comes up, Kathy or I can handle. If it gets hectic, I’ll call you. Why don’t you go on? You can use my loft—“

  “No.”

  Why couldn’t she accept what he offered? “I won’t come up to seduce you, Johanna,” he said softly.

  “That’s not what I meant,” she answered quickly, then paused. “Well, maybe it was.”

  He took her hands in his. “Sometime soon, Johanna, we’re going to have to talk.”

  “There isn’t much to say.”

  “Oh, I think there’s quite a lot to say.” Instead of leaving, he pulled up a chair and straddled it. “Have you been to the museum yet?”

  She knew he meant the Museum of Modem Art. As students, they had spent many a rainy afternoon hanging out there, absorbing, criticizing, planning where their art work would someday hang. It seemed light years away from the person she was today.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I haven’t found the time.”

  He got up. “Consider it found. They’ve finished pouring fifty-five million dollars into renovations. The museum is now twice as big as when you were last there. You have to see it to believe what they’ve done.”

  He was rushing her again, rushing her in a direction she wanted to go in, but was afraid. “But I—“

  He wouldn’t let her say no. “We’ll make a day of it. The theater there is showing a musical trilogy I think you might find interesting.”

  “But I—“

  Joshua curbed his annoyance at her reaction. She had stayed with Harry even though the man put her through hell. Here he was being kind to her, being infinitely patient and yet she kept backing away. He felt the sting of jealousy prick him. It was an effort to rein in his temper. But he did.

  “Kiss Me Kate, Kismet and Showboat.” He dug into his pocket and produced tickets. “Tickets for three, Johanna. It’s time Jocelyn got a little taste of what her mother’s all about.”

  “Do you have an endless supply of tickets coming out of that pocket?” She laughed, remembering the tickets to the play.

  “There’s lots of things about me you don’t know.” He grinned. And he intended for her to get to know all of them in time.

  She stared at the tickets. It was too much to resist. And it would be the three of them. Safety in numbers. She smiled at him as she picked up the pallet again. “You’re too good to me, Joshua.”

  “We’ll work something out,” he winked.

  That was exactly what she was afraid of.

  “Now get back to work.” He pointed at the painting. “Maybe we’ll have an exhibition of your paintings sooner than either of us think.”

  He made it all sound so simple, as if wishes and dreams could come true if you only tried. She almost believed him. Except, that she had been there and found that they couldn’t. Still, it was nice to dream once in a while and if he didn’t mind. . .

  Johanna picked up the brush and began to paint again. Unconsciously she began to hum a song from one of the movies Joshua had mentioned.

  “Museums are boring,” Jocelyn protested Saturday morning as Johanna tried to get her to hurry up. “I don’t want to go.”

  Johanna hadn’t counted on opposition. “Just give it a chance.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s culture. Because it’s something I care about. Because you might surprise yourself and actually like it. Joshua’s taking us. And afterward, he said we could go to that new place that serves ice cream to die for.”

  Jocelyn bit her lower lip, weakening.

  Johanna knew she was getting to her. “Did you have other plans?”

  “I was going to see Darcy and her boyfriend.” Jocelyn shoved her hands into
the back pockets of her torn jeans and rocked on her heels.

  “Darcy?” The name was unfamiliar. Jocelyn had a friend and she hadn’t even told her about the girl. Johanna knew it was all part of growing up, but she felt left out. Silly, she chided herself. At least Jocelyn was making friends. That meant that not everyone in her classes were “know-it-all nerds” the way she had initially described the group to her mother.

  “Just somebody in my class.”

  “And she has a boyfriend?”

  “Sure, what’s wrong with that?”

  Plenty, Johanna wanted to say, but knew she couldn’t. Jocelyn already looked too defensive. It was hard always having to pick your words just so. “I was just surprised, that’s all. I don’t generally picture twelve-year-olds with boyfriends.” She slipped on a bright red dress and buckled it at her waist.

  “Darcy’s thirteen.”

  Johanna stepped into her shoes. “Oh well, that makes all the difference in the world. Hurry up, Jocey, he’ll be here any minute.”

  Jocelyn tried to be nonchalant, but Johanna noticed that the girl did get a move on. Johanna tried not to let her smile show.

  It was a homecoming. The museum, large, a bit overwhelming on first sight, greeted her like an old friend. Johanna felt as if the years hadn’t happened, as if she was stepping through a time warp, back to her youth, back to days where passion for art mattered most of all. She squeezed Joshua’s hand without even realizing it in a gesture of happiness and gratitude. This, she knew, was where she belonged. She should have never left New York City, never left this atmosphere. It was where she could thrive and grow.

  “Are we going to spend the afternoon looking at dumb paintings?” Jocelyn wanted to know, trailing behind them, scowling.

  “She does the bored heiress well,” Joshua remarked to Johanna in a stage whisper. He turned to Jocelyn. “No, there’re film clips here, books, sculptures, photographs, movies—“

  “Movies?” Jocelyn came to life. “In a museum?” She glanced around, defying him to show her a trace of a movie theater.

  “Only the finest.” Casually, Joshua put his arm around Jocelyn’s shoulders and steering her toward a particular wing that he and Johanna had haunted. “Let me show you a few paintings that blew my mind when I was a little older than you and then we’ll see if we can find ourselves some seats in the theater.”