The Fragile Flower

by Kerry J Charles

  “Of course,” Dulcie said as she also pushed back her chair and stood. “Let me know if there’s anything else,” she said somewhat curtly as she walked Linda to the door.

  “Yes, I will,” Linda replied flatly, and left.

  Dulcie closed the door behind her and went to the window. She opened it and inhaled deeply. “Who’s in charge here, damn it?” she said out loud. A knock sounded at the door. “Come in!” she called impatiently.

  Rachel, Dulcie’s assistant, opened the door and stepped in. She took one look at Dulcie and closed the door behind her. “So that went well?” she said with a bemused face.

  Dulcie leaned against the wide windowsill and dragged her hands over her face. “What have I done?!” Her voice moaned from beneath them.

  Rachel giggled and Dulcie uncovered her face. “Only you are allowed to laugh because you’ve actually dealt with them, too!” She shook her head in dismay.

  Rachel handed Dulcie some papers. “You won’t like these either, then. Invoices for the paints that Logan Dumbarton needed. Along with more canvases and a special stool. The ones we have here aren’t adjustable.”

  Dulcie looked at them and gasped. “Seriously? This is costing us a small fortune! And now we can’t add any more students to the class, either. How am I going to tell the board?”

  “You’ll think of something,” said Rachel. “You always do. Maybe we should get a cheaper champagne for the reception?”

  Dulcie looked thoughtful. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I’d budgeted for a bit of a splurge there since we had such a noted artist. Frankly, I don’t think he’s worth it now.”

  “Should I still get your standard bottle to bury at the bottom of the ice?” Rachel asked.

  Dulcie laughed. Each time she dug her favorite champagne out from the ice at the end of a long night, she always remembered her old friend, Joshua Harriman, the man who had recruited her and taught her that trick. “Something to look forward to. A little reward for hard work. It makes all that schmoozing nearly worth the trouble,” he had once said. His bottle of choice had always been some vintage of Dom Pérignon. Dulcie’s was Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin, otherwise known as The Widow. She wished she had a glass now.

  “Rachel, you know me too well,” she replied.

  Rachel giggled again. “Good. I’ll look at the catering menu and see if we can cut any corners there too. Without being obvious, of course!”

  “Of course,” replied Dulcie. “Thank you, Rachel. I couldn’t do any of this without you,” she said, scrawling her signature on the invoices for approval and handing them back.

  “I know!” Rachel said over her shoulder as she opened the door. She turned. “Open or shut?” she asked.

  “Shut! Please!” Dulcie replied.

  Rachel grinned one last time and closed the door.

  An artist cannot fail;

  it is a success to be one.

  ― Charles Horton Cooley

  CHAPTER 3

  Seven people sat quietly in the room, nervously adjusting their tubes of paints, selecting and putting down brushes, and glancing up at the clock. It was one minute after ten o’clock and their teacher, the great artist Logan Dumbarton, had yet to make his appearance. One student murmured something in a low voice and the two on either side laughed nervously.

  Upstairs, Dulcie had just received word from Rachel that Logan had not yet arrived. Dulcie quickly hurried down to the studio. She came in apologizing for his tardiness and attempted to begin the class. Or at least kill time.

  “Let’s start with some quick introductions. I’m sure Mr. Dumbarton will want to hear more about all of you, so we’ll save longer ones for when he arrives. How about if we go around the room with names? I’ll start. I’m Dulcie Chambers.” Everyone laughed. They all knew who she was.

  The man on her left spoke up. “Scott Adams,” he said in a low, gentle voice. He was wearing an old pair of khakis and a polo shirt that had seen many washings.

  “I’m Tara Stevenson, and this is my sister Mary,” said the young woman beside Scott. She gestured toward the woman on the other side of her.

  “We’re twins, but you’d never know it,” Mary said. Everyone laughed again; both girls had exactly the same golden-blonde wavy hair, blue eyes, and large smiles.

  “How do people tell you apart?” asked Scott.

  “On the second try,” quipped Tara. More chuckles from her classmates.

  The man on Tara’s left spoke up. “I’m Bryce Bartlett. I have no twin. That would’ve killed my mother!” Dulcie looked over at him. He was probably in his thirties and wore a Red Sox baseball cap. His t-shirt read, ‘Can’t drink all day…’ on the front, and ‘… if you don’t start in the morning!’ on the back. She was inclined to agree with his sentiment about his mother.

  The last three people introduced themselves. Kimberly Whittimore appeared to be in her sixties, with smooth gray hair cut in a bob. ‘Very sensible,’ thought Dulcie. Bethany Blakely was probably fortyish, wore perfectly creased jeans, and had her paint tubes lined up neatly, all in the same direction, in her wooden paint box. ‘Too precise for a class focusing on abstract art,’ Dulcie thought. She wondered why Bethany had signed up, but perhaps she was trying to push herself. She already looked uncomfortable. The final student was Willow, “Just Willow.” She gave no last name, although Dulcie had seen it on her registration form. She looked nothing like a Willow. She was androgynous with arms covered in tattoos, including several prominent skulls. Her nose was pierced with a small spike that appeared to be embellished with a diamond on the end.

  As they finished, Logan Dumbarton edged into the room. His sister followed him. He carefully put down the small bag that he was carrying and gestured for her to put the other, much larger bags that she carried, in the corner. “Ah,” he said. “I see everyone is here. Very good. I am Logan Dumbarton. Let’s begin with a discussion of the color blue.”

  Dulcie was shocked. She had never seen such a transformation. The suave man she had met previously was nowhere to be found. Instead, this version of Logan Dumbarton had dark circles under his eyes, a slightly bent back as though it had spent too many hours leaning over a canvas, and a voice accompanied by frequent snuffles into his handkerchief.

  Dulcie looked over at Linda to see if she would acknowledge anything amiss. Linda simply scribbled in her notebook as she usually did, ignoring everyone. Dulcie edged over to her, and gestured for them to step into the hallway. Linda took off her reading glasses and followed.

  In the hallway Dulcie whispered, “Is Logan all right?”

  Linda looked confused. “Of course he is. Why do you ask?”

  As she had before, Dulcie abandoned all pretense. She was quickly learning that the straightforward approach with this strange group was probably the best. “I ask because he looks terrible!”

  “Oh, that!” Linda waved her hand. “Sometimes he stays up very late working. He always looks wretched in the morning afterward. He’s fine, though. I make sure he has everything he needs. He’s just so fragile, you know.”

  Dulcie was silent. She did not know what to say. She looked back into the room. The students all seemed attentive to his lecture, so Dulcie guessed there really was no reason to interrupt. She did find it odd, and even rude, that he had not bothered with introductions so that he could learn the students’ names. He had not apologized for being late either.

  Feeling annoyed, Dulcie decided to address the latter issue. “Did you have trouble getting here this morning?” she asked.

  Again, Linda’s face registered confusion. “No, no trouble at all.”

  “It’s just that the class was scheduled to begin at ten o’clock,” Dulcie said.

  Now Linda looked annoyed. “Please tell me that you did not expect an artist, especially one of Logan’s stature, to arrive on time! It was all I could do to get him going this morning!” She glared at Dulcie and without waiting for another word went back into the studio.

  #

&n
bsp; Dulcie sat on her brother’s yacht holding a glass of sparkling wine.

  “Well, you’ve been told!” he said, futilely attempting to hide a smile. Dan Chambers had just returned from his final trip of the day, taking tourists around the bay for what he termed his “champagne cruise.” He and Dulcie were partners in his business although he ran it entirely. She had invested the capital to buy the boat after receiving an unexpected inheritance. Dan lived on board and docked near the museum, which was convenient for Dulcie. She was a frequent visitor.

  She laughed. “It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen! One day he’s a suave, arrogant, overbearing, annoying, …”

  “I get the picture,” interjected Dan.

  “The next, he’s a sniveling, sickly, bent-over wreck! And his sister seems to think it’s perfectly normal!”

  “Maybe it is, for her.”

  “Dan, that can’t be normal! For anyone!”

  Dan just laughed. He poured a glass of wine for himself from the last bottle. “Might’s well finish this off,” he said.

  “The truth is,” she continued, ignoring him, “I don’t know what to do with them. We made it through the first class, but the next one will be outdoors, and I’m not sure at all how that will go over.”

  Dan leaned back against a life vest and put his feet up on a battered cooler. His docksiders were perfectly worn, adding to his overall ‘ship’s captain’ look. “Dulcie, did you ever consider that you might be overthinking this? Yes, he’s a character. They all sound like characters. But as long as the students are happy, then the class is a success, right?”

  Dulcie sighed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Are you saying that I’m being overly attentive to detail?”

  Dan grinned. “You? Never!”

  She leaned over and swatted him on the arm.

  “Hey, don’t spill the good stuff!” he said nearly dumping his glass over.

  “Dan, this is total crap, and you know it!”

  “You’re drinking it,” he replied.

  Now Dulcie laughed. Dan always knew what to say. Although Dulcie was undeniably the practical sibling, Dan’s inherent wisdom seemed to override her worrisome nature on many occasions. She sighed once again. “Even though Logan and his entourage have been a pain to deal with, it’s good to have a distraction. And to be busy,” she said.

  Dan looked more serious now. “Dulcie, I was worried when you went away to Bermuda like that.”

  Dan never worried. Dulcie was surprised. “I told you where I was going, what I was doing…”

  “Yeah, I know. But I haven’t seen you like that before.”

  Dulcie had never felt like that, either. It confused her. Although she had no real reason, she had felt betrayed.

  As if reading her mind, Dan said, “Want me to punch him?”

  Dulcie nearly snorted sparkling wine from her nose. She swallowed hard and laughed loudly. “Dan, this isn’t the Middle Ages!”

  “It’s what guys do. It settles the score.”

  “It is not what civilized guys do, and I will not have you going around punching people simply to defend my honor! Especially not members of the police force.”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot about that part.”

  Dulcie shook her head. “Besides, he did nothing.”

  “What? He led you on!” Dan replied adamantly. “I saw it! He was interested in you…”

  “Yes, maybe he was, but he didn’t do anything about it, and that’s the whole point. Can we just drop it? I’d like Nicholas Black to be in the past now. Neither of us has any reason to see him again unless, heaven forbid, we bump into him somewhere.”

  “All right. I won’t mention him. But if I do bump into him, he might get the verbal equivalent of a punch.”

  “Dan! Don’t even think about it!”

  Her brother laughed and finished his drink. “Want me to walk you home?”

  “Thanks, but no. It’s a nice evening, still bright, and I need to think. I do appreciate the advice though, and the wine,” she said. She handed him her glass and stepped up onto the dock.

  Dan smiled. “It’s champagne,” he said.

  #

  Linda pulled the elastic band out of her hair and dragged a brush through it. She looked at herself in the mirror. A lifetime dedicated to managing her brother’s career, and what had it brought her? Certainly not fame and fortune. That was his department. She simply paved the way, removed the obstacles, ensured that nothing would inhibit his flow of creativity and affect his work. It was a thankless job.

  She paid herself well enough. Logan didn’t care what she took for money as long as he had more than plenty for himself. Yet what did she have to spend it on? Where did she ever go? What did she ever do? She had given up on nice clothes. She looked in the mirror at her hair. Evidently she had given up on nice haircuts as well.

  She put down the brush and pulled her hair severely back again into the elastic. She thought about Isabel’s hair. Always silky and exotic looking, even when pulled back like Linda’s was now. She doubted that Isabel had ever looked plain a day in her life.

  Everything had changed the day that Isabel had come into their lives. Why had Linda encouraged her brother to go to that damned party? He hadn’t wanted to go in the first place, but she knew there would be potential buyers stopping by, and interest in Logan’s work had been slowing a bit lately. Unfortunately, he had never even spoken to them. He had simply stared at Isabel.

  Linda shook her head vigorously, stuffing the thoughts in the back of her mind again. She needed to focus. The previous evening had been a long one. Logan had wanted gin and tonics, one after another. They were his drink of choice. Then he and Isabel retreated to the bedroom. Linda stayed up for another hour trying to plan how their time in Maine would unfold. She was about to go to bed when Logan staggered out of the room in his robe and suggested another drink, along with a ham sandwich. That’s how he always put it, as a suggestion. Linda knew orders when she heard them. After several more drinks, he eventually went to bed again. Linda wondered how Isabel could possibly be putting up with him.

  Logan’s suggestions had become more frequent since marrying Isabel. His wife did little for him, barely lifting a finger. She seemed to whine more than anything else. Yet, like Logan, Linda found it difficult to take her eyes off Isabel whenever she was in the room. She had magnetism, a way of dominating her surroundings that was almost frightening. Linda wasn’t even sure if Isabel was aware of it herself, although she suspected that she was. Girls learn quickly how to use their attributes to their advantage, especially when exotic beauty is one of them.

  The marriage was odd to anyone who knew him. Logan had never shown an inclination to get married, and after he had turned forty, Linda had simply assumed that he would be a bachelor all his life. Yet, she understood how he could become enraptured with Isabel — anyone at the general age of a midlife crisis could be lured by a woman like that — but what was in it for Isabel herself? There was a bit of fame, certainly, and the fortune. Yet it seemed like a large price to pay for those things.

  Linda heard a car crunch into the gravel driveway. She quickly went to the kitchen and began preparing a spinach salad with mandarin oranges and a light balsamic vinaigrette. It was his suggestion for dinner.

  The greater the artist,

  the greater the doubt.

  Perfect confidence is granted

  to the less talented

  as a consolation prize.

  ― Robert Hughes

  CHAPTER 4

  The Logan Dumbarton master class had their first experience of plein air painting with the famed artist on the following Monday. Dulcie had breathed a huge sigh of relief when the first studio class had ended well. The students had even been able to use their paints although blue seemed to be the only color that was allowed on the canvas.

  Dulcie sat in a metal lawn chair in the front yard of Logan Dumbarton’s rented house. It had been Linda’s idea to hold plein air sessions there. Dulc
ie had quickly agreed. The students had a spectacular view of the ocean, facilities available as needed in the house and, most important of all as far as Dulcie was concerned, Logan had no excuse to be late for his own class.

  The students were scattered across the lawn, each with a slightly different view of the ocean. The lawn dropped off to rocks below that led to a small, pebbled beach. Dulcie would have liked to try her hand at painting as well — she had worked with oils in college — but decided it was best to oversee and make sure the class stayed on track. She did not yet trust Logan Dumbarton to carry everything through, and Linda seemed to think that his behavior was perfectly acceptable.

  As Dulcie looked around she saw Isabel emerge from the house. The day was very warm; most of the artists were wearing hats and plenty of sunscreen. Isabel wore nothing but a very tiny leopard-print bikini. She was carrying a drink of some kind with fruit on the top and a towel draped over her arm. “Logan, darling!” she called out.

  Everyone turned and looked at her. Paintbrushes remained poised in midair. She appeared not to notice that she was now the center of attention. Logan came running over. Earlier that morning, when he had first appeared, he was the bent, shuffling, sickly looking middle-aged man that Dulcie had seen during the first class session. Apparently, in spite of appearances, he was still capable of moving quickly.

  Isabel gestured lazily. Logan moved a chaise around into the sun and spread the towel over it. Most of the artists turned back to their work as Isabel settled in, however both Bryce and Scott continued to gawk. Bryce finally reached up and adjusted his ever-present baseball cap before picking up a brush and looking at the ocean again. Scott heaved a deep sigh, then shifted in his seat so that Isabel was out of his range of vision.