For the other paintings to attract Grace, it had simply taken adjusting the colors of some flowers and house trimmings after which, to Thaw’s satisfaction, Grace fell for them, too.
“Don’t you think that cottage would look nice over the couch in the living room?”
Grace was the only person around who might call a house a cottage. That was the kind of thing about Grace that gave Thaw a kick. That and the fact she was so transparent. And kind. So he reached for the cottage where it leaned against the wall on the bench, smiled broadly, and handed it to her. She thanked him and marched off with it to the house, bouncing along happily as she went.
But he had been thinking about his father. Thaw recalled he had never seen his father read anything beyond the directions for assembling and using machines, paint and the likes, except, of course, the weekly newspaper. But people liked his father. He had an amazing store of practical knowledge and personal anecdotes. He had a quick kind of ironic sense of humor which he usually offered up with a straight face, reiterating the last line just as seriously after his audience had laughingly expressed their understanding of it.
Thaw had learned to work quietly and carefully with Dody. He’d paint, help lay floors, even put up dry wall. His father hated to put up wallboard, possibly because his dad’s small stature complicated the ease with which he could do it. So Thaw’s height and strength and the fact he placed and taped the dry wall so willingly seemed to make Dody happy. Even while Thaw was in high school and not at his full height, Dody already had him taping and sanding the seams of board others had put up. The result was a kind of silent acceptance of Thaw’s work by Dody. So when Thaw announced at eighteen that he was going into the service, maybe his dad had felt abandoned.
“And whose gonna’ help me with the big stuff when you’re gone?” he had asked. “And what do you think they’re going to do with a carpenter in the military? Or better yet, an artist?”
Thaw had no response. To him the questions had hung in the air as rhetorical in nature while for Dody they were anything but that. The thought of Thaw in the military just struck Dody as well-nigh ridiculous. Thaw…who wouldn’t even carry a gun to hunt!
And when Thaw returned from the service in 2015, smoking hashish and letting his hair grow to shoulder length, his dad just stopped talking to him altogether. Thaw never knew exactly why for sure, but his guess was that his father felt that when Thaw had gone into the service, his best worker had deserted him. Thaw guessed that on his return, his Dad must have written him off as a drug-addicted hippy. They never really fought.
Thaw was not sure what his father thought he gained by not talking to him, although it occurred to Thaw that his father may not have thought in terms of gain. He may not have even thought that silence was like a form of punishment. Or maybe he had. Thaw had no way of knowing. But whatever it was, he felt the silence his father showed him was beyond anything his dad had either planned or could control. It was as if Thaw had been around as a baby and left when Dody’s first wife had died and then come back when Dody’s mother had died and then left when he went into the service, after which, in Dody’s eyes, he had never again returned.
It even occurred to Thaw that Dody might never have considered him as his son after his first wife, Thaw’s mother, had left him stranded by her death and unprepared to care for his son alone. Thaw wondered if he even thought of him as a son. And he doubted it.
A man has to have time to enjoy and love a baby and times were difficult and Dody had had to work long hours. He worked and worked.
Dody had always been a reliable provider. Maybe that was it. Maybe he saw all men as providers, and once Thaw no longer needed to be provided for he entered the world of providers. What more was there then to discuss?
Come Thursday, Thaw headed out for Bain. He wore the second pair of trousers and was careful to choose a different tie than he had on the previous visit. He had cleaned the van both inside and out and Tufty again went to Lem. The day was bright and the trees were beginning to show delicate greens along their branches. Thaw bumped down Butternut Lane, hurried down Loch Ellen Road, picked up and zipped down the seventy-three miles of the Interstate 39 to Interstate 80, crossed over to 3N south and arrived in Bain by 8:45 a.m. His van took him easily to the Bain City Planning Department where he descended, entered, took the elevator to the third floor, and passed through the glass doors marked Planning and Development. The sign on the secretary’s desk read Wanda Wilson.
Thaw offered his most pleasant smile.
“Good morning, Ms. Wilson. I was wondering if I might not speak with Natalie Birnbaum.”
“Please, sit down, sir. Whom shall I say is calling?”
“Theodore Wamp.”
Miss Wilson gave him the once-over, smiling at him broadly. “Is she expecting you?”
“No. I’m in town on business and I wanted…to say hello because I haven’t seen her.”
Ms. Wilson picked up the phone and input some numbers.
“There’s a gentleman to see you here, Ms. Birnbaum. Have you time to see him? He says he’s in town on business and just stopped by to say hello. His name is Theodore Wamp…Yes, I will.”
She replaced the telephone on the receiver. “Ms. Birnbaum says you may go in but she is quite busy and only has a few minutes for you.”
“Thank you.”
Thaw found Natalie in her office. She was standing behind her desk at a table near the window. She looked up from the map she was studying and smiled.
“Good morning, Thaw. You’re looking well! In town for preparations for the show?”
“I am. You’re looking well yourself.”
Natalie did not move from behind the table and Thaw was reluctant to invade her space. The early morning sun lit Natalie’s hair creating a burnished halo around her head. Thaw thought about how Mary had been a Jewess, too. The thought amused him for some reason. He would have liked to have held Natalie’s cheeks between his hands and kissed her where her freckles lay.
“What can I do you for?” she quipped.
“Dinner.”
“Oh, Thaw. I’m awfully busy this week and tonight I have a presentation to do. That’s what I’m prepping for now.”
“Oh, I don’t mean today. When you feel like it. You can call me and let me know when you’re ready.”
“How are the show preparations going?”
“They’re going well. Rory, you know, the framer, Rory thinks that with my talent, his framing and a bit of publicity I should be making $40,000 a year on my work alone in no time. I think he’s dreaming. But what else is there for me to do. So I’m following his lead.” He recalled what both Lem and Rory had said about him and added, “I’m an artist, not a business man.”
The old Natalie smiled and peeked through. She just couldn’t help herself. Being in the same room with Thaw had its effect. “I think something good will come of it, Thaw. Even just having that album to show ought to help you—if not with this show then with others.” She paused, but did not move from her post. The coolness returned. “I wish you all the best, Thaw.”
Thaw persisted. The little glimmer he had caught encouraged him. “Natalie. What about dinner? Will you call me?”
“I don’t know, Thaw. I’m still thinking. And I am very busy. Many nights I’m here until one in the morning trying to get this proposal in shape. If it flies it will mean big changes around here. With any luck I may even get a promotion. So I really haven’t had much time to even think.”
“Nat.” The sound of his nickname for her sitting out there by itself caught her off guard. Her eyes got that kind of liquid look to them and some time elapsed before either of them spoke.
“Nat. Will you call me?”
Heavens how she had missed that smile. Didn’t he look just drop-dead gorgeous? What’s a girl to do? She still did not answer.
“Nat?”
“Oh, all right!” Her voice had a slightly impatient quality to it but a smile played around her lips.
/>
“When, Nat?”
“Friday.”
“Friday before or after lunch?”
“After.”
“I’ll wait for your call. Friday. After lunch.” He turned to go but stopped at the door and gave her one of those melt-your-heart smiles he knew how to do.
“By the bye, your hair looks lovely with the sunlight behind it.”
He closed the door behind himself.
Natalie’s right hand reached for a yellow marker. Her left hand raised to just touch her hair. As she did, she caught the shape of her arm raised above her head in the shadow on the table. A gentle smile flickered across her lips. She laughed to herself at Thaw’s description of himself as an artist, not a businessman. She felt the urge to run after him and give him one big parting hug. But she knew hugging Thaw could never be just hugging. She lowered her left hand to stabilize the paper on which she was working and turned her mind by force to other things.
Friday afternoon arrived. Thaw had stored his framed paintings in the loft at the foot of the bed. He did not want Tufty knocking into them and he found that if they were within view they distracted him from the portrait of Natalie on which he was just putting some finishing touches. Lem had been in for coffee that morning and for the first time Thaw had shared some of his difficulties with Natalie with him. Lem was sympathetic but offered only limited encouragement as he maintained it was difficult to know at times just what women really wanted but agreed that Thaw’s becoming a recognized artist with a steady income surely could not hurt the possibility of winning Natalie back.
Lem liked the portrait of Natalie, suggesting it also represented a definite change in style for Thaw. He also told Thaw that he thought that if Thaw began to paint portraits he would be opening up another potential market for himself and one that paid well and that was likely to bring commissions.
The picture had an allover softness about it despite sharp contrasts in color intensities. Unlike his usual work, it did not contrast a generally dark or brightly colored almost abstract area with a more realistic, softer-toned one. Thaw felt it was more relaxing to view and something anyone might like hanging over their fireplace. The work was getting to the point where he was unable to think of anything that might improve it, and while it may not have been what it should have been, this usually indicated that the work was done, whatever “done” meant. Thaw gave the work his signature and stepped back. He hoped Natalie would like it. He would like to include it in the show but then he thought better of it. He would give it to her as a gift when they finally met for dinner. Assuming they did meet.
The telephone gave him a small start and brought him back from his musings. “Hello.”
“Mr. Wamp, please.” Thaw’s heart fell. It was not Natalie. She would have dialed directly.
“Yes.”
“Mr. Wamp, this is Katy from the Art Department at New Carlton State. Dr. Owen’s secretary. Remember me?”
The thought of her piled hair, the exaggerated length of scarf, and her youthful enthusiasm recalled her quickly to him. “Oh, sure. Katy. How are you?”
“I’m fine, Mr. Wamp. Mr. Wamp, Dr. Owens would like to speak with you. May I put you through?”
“Yes, thank you. Please do.”
“Theodore, how are you?”
“Doing well. Getting ready for a show at La Petite Gallerie.”
“You don’t say. When is it?”
Thaw was hard put to think of this as a personal call.
“The last week in March, first week in April.”
“Nice work. I’ll have to stop by.”
“I’ll be sure to have Rory send you a copy of the newsletter so you know when the opening is. I’d be very pleased if you could make it.”
“I’ll make a point of it.”
“Thank you.” Thaw felt like he was still hanging. Why would Dr. Owens of Nick-Sue be calling him? Certainly not to learn about his progress in the art world!
“Now, Theodore. I was hoping you could help me out.”
“I hope I can.”
“It seems that one of our younger faculty members was in a rock-climbing accident last week and broke her thigh bone. She will be out for quite a while. No one has yet given me an exact time line but she definitely will not be in before summer school at best.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yes. Well, we are, too. But we need someone who can take her classes for the last seven weeks of the semester. Someone who can start on Monday.”
“Full time. On Monday?”
“Yes. The position is a full-time one. You would teach three courses in oil painting, one in drawing, and the survey course, Art 101. Students in 101 end their semester studying past masters and oil painting. The other professors in the department would help with the grading of final projects. Ms. Garner, the instructor whose place you would be taking, will prepare the final exam for Art 101, however it is expected you would grade it. As most of the students are now comfortable in the courses, your job would be to provide an encouraging adult figure for them and as possible offer them appropriate suggestions and brief lectures.”
“Sounds busy.”
“Would you be willing to give it a try?”
“Yes. I would.”
“And could you be here on Monday?”
“What time?”
“Well, if you were in at 8:00 a.m., we could visit the classroom and talk before you start your 9:00 a.m. Then I’d keep myself available throughout the day and in between classes we could talk about the next class.”
“It’s a bit more than I planned for starting teaching, but why not? Either I can do it or I can’t.”
“Very well. Monday morning at 8:00 a.m. it is. My office. See you then. Any questions?”
“Not right now. Come Monday, however, I’ll have many.”
“Okay. Monday then. Monday at 8:00 a.m. My Office. And thank you.”
“Thank you.”
After hanging up, Thaw didn’t know whether to jump for joy or call back and say he couldn’t do it, that it was too much. Whatever gave him the notion that besides painting he might be able to teach? He reached for the phone, but decided against it. What the hell? He’d heard that the university was the one place where the ability to teach was not always the most important requirement for those who wanted to remain classroom teachers; a university instructor had to be able to do research and to maintain a professional level of achievement; and it didn’t hurt to be well connected either. The worst that could happen is that he would fail and they would fire him. Did college teachers ever got fired? Probably not. At least not for not being able to teach. He chuckled with amusement. Wait’ll he told Lem. He thought he’d have to get Martha to plan a special dinner for Lem. He’d provide the fixins’ and Martha could cook them. In that way he could thank Lem while sharing his success with Martha, who had been such a kind friend to both of them.
Tufty was whining at the door to come in. A spring rain had begun to fall. Thaw reached for the knob when the telephone rang again. Tufty entered and shook herself merrily, wagging her tail and nosing Thaw to be petted. Thaw reached for the phone.
“Hello.”
“Hello. Thaw?” It was Natalie.
“Oh, hi, Natalie.” With all the excitement he had forgotten he was waiting for her call.
“Am I interrupting?”
“Oh, no. No. I’ve just been caught up in things. Then Tufty wanted to come in. Is it raining down there?”
“No.”
“Well, it’s raining up here!” He laughed at the broader implications of his comment.
“Are you all right, Thaw?”
“Fine. Fine. Never been better.”
“Thaw, what’s going on?”
“Nothing. I am just happy. I’m excited. I’m delighted!”
Natalie remained skeptical. “Because I’m calling?”
“Well, that, yes. Of course.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. Somethin
g else. Lots of something else.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
“Of course I can tell you about it! I can tell you anything you want to know! I want to tell you about it! I want to tell Lem about it. I want to tell Martha about it. And my dad. Even my dad.” He laughed again.
“Now you’re really getting silly. What’s up?”
“I’ve been offered a full-time temporary position teaching oil painting at Nick-Sue…that’s what’s up!”
“Theodore Wamp, are you lying to me?”
“No, I’m not lying to you. I just hung up the phone with Dr. Milfred Owens…Milfy for short…and he wants me to start Monday.”
“What did you tell him?”
“What do you think I told him?”
“I don’t know. Did you tell him you would?”
“Of course I told him I would. Why wouldn’t I? What’s the worse that could happen? I’d get fired? For what? I don’t even think they fire teachers in the university for not being able to teach. Do you?”
“Thaw, you’re getting giddy. But no. I don’t think they do. Oh, Thaw. This is wonderful! Imagine that! A professor of art!”
“Instructor.”
“Oh, who cares. Anybody who teaches at Nick-Sue is a professor to everyone who doesn’t teach there. A professor no less.”
Thaw heard Natalie slip into a parody of her mother’s accent. He knew that when he used a Yiddish accent, Natalie always got a kick out of it and he responded in kind. “So. A professor no less?” Now they were both laughing. He kept it up. “So, Nat. You vant to go to dinner mitt a professor? Heh, Natalie?”
“What about Friday? Or the next time you come in to pick up some more pictures?”
“You vant?”
“Oh, Thaw. Yes, I vant.” Natalie was smiling as she had not smiled in what seemed like a long time.
“Friday?”
“Friday.”
Thaw’s heart skipped a beat. He, too, couldn’t stop smiling. “Pick you up from work?”
“Sounds good. See you then.”
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