"Doesn't she wonder about her lover?" I asked.
"She knows he was a jerk and now thinks he was a coward."
"Does her husband ever confess to the murder?" Did he burn his clothes? Destroy his sword? Did I watch too many crime shows on television?
"Never."
"Then they lived a lie."
"No, they lived happily ever after."
"Some fairy tale." I preferred my version of bandits, at least no one died.
"It's reality."
Glad I was born in the last century. No wanton violence then, right?
I stared back at the woman in the painting. Her angelic face and her sensual body provided sharp contrasts. Madonna and whore in one.
"Is this how you would treat an unfaithful wife?" I asked.
"My wife will never be unfaithful. I would never give her a reason. I'm thoughtful, caring, and wonderful. She would never find any man better than me."
He took my hand and kissed it.
"No wonder you're not married," I said.
"My ego is huge because it should be. But if my blushing bride should find it necessary to look for love in all the wrong places, I would intervene appropriately." His voice dipped dangerously low.
"Meaning?" I asked not sure I wanted to know.
He hooked my arm so I faced him. He backed me up and pinned me to the wall, whispering in my ear.
"He would be dead, and she would be sorry she ever strayed." He kissed my ear.
He released me and strolled back through the hallway. I felt a chill and tried to shake it off. I rarely attracted one man, let alone two. Plus my weapons of male destruction, Eleanor and Irene, had years of experience whittling men down to size. I'd owe them black and white cookies for eternity, but it would be a small price to pay to those who defended my honor. The whole knight gig must have been exhausting and dangerous for men and women.
I caught up to him, we continued our tour, and found the lovely paintings of Mary Cassatt. Her work portrayed an idyllic view of regular women, with their children, being mothers and nurturers. She made it look easy and serene to be a parent.
We came to my favorite painting, Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte by Seurat. I fawned over the size and colors. Who were they? How many dots did it take? What was the deal with the monkey? I continued to gush on and on. He seemed bored. With the painting or me?
"I'm sorry for carrying on, but it's lovely," I said.
"You can buy note cards, pens, scarves, and umbrellas with the picture on it. It's been oversold and commercialized. The artist's vision has been obliterated by a marketing blitz. It has lost its soul," he said as he threw up his hands. "This is what I'm fighting with my mother's work. I don't want to see it everywhere. It loses its strength, its beauty, and its charm in mass production. My meetings will settle it once and for all."
His face grew red and a few veins in his neck became visible.
"What have you decided?" I asked.
"She's mine. The memories and the work are all I have left, and I'll be damned before I see them cheapened. I'll give my father all the money he thinks he would make. I'll sell my whole collection of paintings and liquidate all my assets."
"You should open a museum." I thought of it last week, but never said it out loud. "A what?"
I stuck my foot in it now.
"A place where her work could be displayed and admired. The collectibles in your glass case would make a nice start. Sell only her books in the gift shop. Have interactive exhibits for children. Write her life story or make a documentary about her life. Your mother pioneered women in art and literature. Encourage children to draw characters or continue her stories. The items from my old condo would add a homey touch. It would be a lasting and fitting tribute to America's Beatrix Potter."
When did my mouth take over my brain?
He blinked twice. Always be careful around a hurt animal. It made him more prone to attack. Or pensive?
"It would take years to compromise on the location and presentation. The search for a responsible curator and the design of the exhibits would account for another chunk of time. Organization, detail tracking, and thousands of questions to be researched and answered. Alexia, I think you've made a career decision."
Only if he wanted it to fail.
"I wasn't volunteering. I don't know the first thing about putting together a museum. You need a staff."
"True and as my trusted assistant, you can start by attending the board meeting. Committees will be formed and interviews need to start right away."
We passed a guided tour and an older female docent pointed at him.
"Is that Benjamin Nance Cobb?" the woman asked.
"Shit," Ben said under his breath.
"Who?" a man responded.
"The guy in the black clothes," another woman said.
"Time to get out of here. Save yourself another candid photograph and head over to Eleanor's shop," Ben said as he pivoted toward an exit.
We separated as more people stopped and stared. The hunt was on.
"How about an autograph?" Someone yelled behind him.
"Can I take your picture?" A woman jockeyed in front of him.
"I'd like some advice about getting started in the art business. Can you give me a minute?" A bearded man asked as he touched Ben's shoulder.
A swarm of eight people overtook and surrounded him. They all spoke at once. I slipped to the back and headed for the door. I watched him shake off the crowd and wander back into the museum. Two security guards appeared and followed him. They glared at anyone planning to follow Ben.
"Sullen and rude. Just like I pictured him," a woman in the crowd said with an audible sigh.
A flash went off as a man took a picture of Ben sulking away. I saw the headline in my mind, "Lovers' quarrel among the masterpieces."
I hopped in a cab and gave directions to Eleanor's boutique.
No wonder he never left the house. Picking up a quart of milk would become an odyssey. Speaking of life journeys, did I just sign on for years of museum planning? It sounded fascinating and frightening at the same time.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I opened Eleanor's door and plastered a smile on my face to hide the emotional swirl inside.
She noticed me and motioned to the back of the store. I passed through the showroom to her office and private bathroom. She came in and closed the door. Neither of us said a word. She put out her arms, and I collapsed into them. I sobbed while she stroked my hair and rocked me.
She listened while I spilled my tale of joy, lust, employment, and possibly love the last few days.
"Well at least, you're alive. I was afraid you were discovered by the Donner party and fricasseed for dinner," she said.
"Who?"
"Cannibals, sweetie. Have another tissue, and I'll call Irene." She picked up the phone on her desk and started to dial, then hit the speaker button. "She'll want every graphic detail."
"What or whom are you detailing?" Irene asked.
"Alexia's sex life. Her ride with Benjamin Cobb has hit warp speed," Eleanor said.
"Was he any good?" Irene asked.
I started choking.
"Take it as a yes," Eleanor said as she handed me a water bottle.
"Are you officially cohabitating??" Irene asked.
"He's lending me a condo in his building because my apartment is under siege," I said.
"Are you in love again?" Irene asked.
"At least Cobb won't hit you up for money," Eleanor said.
They knew about the eight thousand gone dollars. I must have an embedded chip somewhere on my body, and they owned the encrypted code.
Irene rattled on about not rushing into things, and Eleanor added my best years were yet to come.
A soft knock on the door interrupted the advice tirade.
"I'm busytake a message," Eleanor said.
I sat next to her on the couch, blowing my nose.
"I believe you have someone
of mine." Ben opened the door and closed it quickly.
"A typical day for you is being chased by your adoring fans?" Eleanor asked.
"Unfortunately, my picture was blasted all over the Internet recently, so I'm recognized. I'll admit an art museum was a poor choice, but Alexia wanted a personal tour."
"I'm sorry for everything," I said.
"Alexia could be in danger hanging around with you. You should travel with security," Irene yelled.
He swaggered over and disconnected the call. He left the receiver on the desk making sure Irene couldn't call back.
"Our latest picture is up on the web. From the camera angle, it looks like you're running, and I'm gaining on you," he said.
"You must be outfitted with a motion detector because the paparazzi knew where to find us," I said.
"Are you dressed in this one?" Eleanor asked.
"Yes," I said.
"Just making sure." She stood and replaced the phone receiver.
It rang immediately. She answered and mouthed, "Irene." Holding the phone from her ear, we heard the litany of profanity.
"Yes, castration is the only solution. Listen, there's another photo of them circulating. We're back to bunker mode. I call you later after I kick some perfectly toned ass." She glared at Ben as she hung up.
I would be no help. Eleanor bristled and grew in full retaliation mode. I knew the look. I borrowed her leather jacket in high school without permission. Of course, someone spilled beer on it. I had to work overtime at the pool concession stand all summer to pay for a new one. And give her weekly pedicures.
"You've lived under the spotlight for a long time, but this is new to Alexia. I understand you just met, but what are your intentions toward my sister?"
"Eleanor," I said.
"Valid question and something we need to discuss in private," Ben said.
On her way to the door, she stopped in front of him and pointed her finger in his face.
"Make her cry again, Cobb, and you'll have to learn to paint with your eyelashes. I'll have everything else hacked off." She opened the door and paused. "And I do mean everything."
She slammed the door behind her.
"I bet she would use a rusty saw too." He knelt before me.
"Is there any other kind?" I asked.
"I didn't mean to make you cry." He took my hands and kissed them.
"I cry when I'm happy, sad, and everything in between." I waved off his concern.
"I pick only happy crying from now on. About my mom's museum, it's a huge undertaking. I would like you to put together a preliminary plan. I've decided to only meet with the board next week."
"Ben, I have no idea where to start."
"This makes you the perfect choice, no preconceived notions. You're open to fresh ideas. I want it to be something no one has ever seen or imagined before."
"Don't set the bar too high. I'm in over my head already."
"You're wonderful. Alexia, I believe in you."
The tears brimmed and threatened to spill down my cheeks. Confidence in my abilities, trust in my care, dream lover in the flesh, where had he been all my life?
I kissed him, sealing myself to him, pledging my allegiance, and officially falling in love with him.
"Go home, pack up, and move in upstairs with me. It will make work, modeling, and museum planning easier. Unless you'd rather not, but that would make me cry."
"To spare your tender feelings, I'd like to live with you," I said.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later and a bit disheveled, we opened the door. Eleanor waited there with her arms folded across her chest. Her frown stopped me in my tracks, but she didn't scare him. He took her hand.
"Dearest Eleanor, I'm attending a gallery opening and need a stunning lady on my arm. A woman who loves free publicity, plunging necklines, and ice-cold champagne. Interested?" he asked.
"Are you planning on dating all the Hale women?" Eleanor asked.
"If I didn't bleed, was ambidextrous, and trained in martial arts, I would consider it. For now, I need the press to cool things between me and Alexia. Give her some breathing space. I'm offering them a new prey and you, the spotlight. Are you game?"
A slow smile grew on Eleanor's know-it-all face.
"Wait one minute, you just told me you couldn't live without me," I said to Ben.
"All true," he said.
"Sweetie, the big bad wolf is right. A few months of fun might do you some good. Take his money for a ride, then write a steamy tell all, and live off the royalties," Eleanor said.
"I give up. As soon as you two figure out my life, call me." I headed for the exit.
Neither of them followed me.
I caught a cab back to my condo. I opened the door and examined this gorgeous home, room by room. Was I ready to take the next step? I'd never lived with a guy before, but Ben wasn't just some guy. He could be the guy. Relationships exact a price. In my case, meeting Ben had cost my privacy, my reputation, my job, and my apartment. Was my heart next? I decided he was worth the risk. This 'better to give than to receive' business only worked for Santa Claus, who got all the cookies and hot chocolate.
I dragged my belongings to Ben's door, put my key in the lock, and hauled myself in. Not to pick on St. Nick, but I'd lost five pounds lugging my sacks around. I bet he made the elves do everything and only showed up on picture day.
I sat down on the living room floor, called a local restaurant, and ordered a large "garbage" pizza, heavy on the giardiniera.
I ate the entire pizza, settled my stuff into the spare bedroom, and fixed a light dinner of hoisin chicken stirfry for Ben.
"I smell garlic, sausage, and oregano," he said as he paraded into the house.
"Guilty of fast food eating in your home, but I made you something healthy," I said.
"You don't have to wait on me while you're here, but feeding me is mandatory." He went to his bedroom to change.
I dished up the food on a plate and poured him a glass of wine. He came in and smiled.
"I could get used to this. My mom did so many things well except cook. After a kitchen fire on their honeymoon, my dad hired a cook." He sat and filled his fork.
"Flames happen. Luckily, your dad could afford help. My mom stuck to basic recipes. Every day had an assigned food. Sometimes the baked potatoes blew up in the oven. Other times pots boiled over on the stove, and the inevitable burned fingers."
"This is delicious. How old were you when you started cooking?" He continued to eat.
"Eight, I baked a birthday cake for my dad. By ten, I became the family chef. Mom was thrilled, and everyone else was relieved."
"Excellent choice." He scraped his plate clean. "Is there more?"
I stood, brought the pan over, and scooped out the rest.
My phone rang, and I left the table to answer it.
"Hi, Eleanor."
"Sweetie, are you all settled in his place?"
"I guess. Some of my things are still in my apartment." I especially missed my worn and true kitchen utensils.
"Not to worry, the piranhas will find somewhere else to feed." Eleanor always made me feel better.
"Are you going with him to the gallery?" I asked.
"Of course, he is the ultimate gift horse. You'll be there, too, in the shadows."
"Is that his idea or yours?"
"No need for jealousy. He only has eyes for you. Grab it and savor it, love," she said as she hung up.
"Eleanor or Irene?" he asked over the running water in the kitchen.
I peered in and watched him do the dishes. He got sexier by the minute.
"Eleanor told me I'm going to the gallery opening too." I moseyed into the living room and sat on the couch.
"If you don't mind, it's for a friend's fundraiser. He needs money for his son's kidney transplant operation, and wants the cash in place while they wait for a suitable organ donor." He dried his hands and turned off the kitchen light.
"How old is his s
on?" I asked as he snuggled next to me on the couch.
"Thirty, married with two little girls. I could give him the money, but his pride is in the way."
"What's it like to do anything you want?"
"When I can. I'll let you know. Money helps, but it's not a cure all."
Sure looked like one from the outside.
He kissed the top of my head and worked his way down to my mouth. I counted ten smooches and begged for more. Luckily, he was in a very giving mood.
In the morning, I washed up, dressed, and opened the door to the outside hall. A huge wrapped box sat on the carpeting. An envelope with my name on it was attached with a gold bow. I lifted off the card and opened it.
"You owe me a flaming vampire or a rhubarb pie or a scarecrow soufflé."
No signature, but I knew who sent it.
My phone rang as I dragged the box into the condo. Must be sister number two fishing for details.
"Hi, Irene, Ben left a present for me," I said to her frowning face. "Isn't it early for you to call?"
"You look lovely too. If present is a euphemism for sex, its tacky"
"I thought package meant sex?"
"Sweetie, to men every word means sex. Best to leave conversation with them to grunts, hand gestures, and head nods, which are still interpreted as sexual invitations."
"Irene, you need to get out of the bar more. Ben left me a wrapped box and a card." I turned the phone to show her.
"He's a hunter, and make sure you don't mind being gathered."
"It's heavy," I said as I began to rip the paper.
"Wouldn't it be great if it was packed with money or jewelry?"
"I don't think Ben moonlights as a pirate, but it would explain his wealth and ruthless profile."
As the gift revealed itself, I grinned and showed her.
"Pots and pans? Are we living in a 1950s' sitcom? At the very least a tasteful pearl necklace better be under one of the lids," she said.
"It's a Linden bakeware set." I reverently unsealed the box.
"Alexia, this is embarrassing. Stop fawning. Next, he'll give you a plastic bowl tower."
I tuned her out and hugged my new cookie sheets. The way to a man's heart threaded through his stomach. To a woman's heart, understand all her desires and feed all of her passions. I was a cook, cast adrift without a well-stocked kitchen. I wondered if I could sneak home, whip up a couple dozen…
Spicing Up Trouble: a romantic comedy Page 12