Kieran York - Appointment with a Smile

by Kieran York

  I thought about it, and it made sense. “Sounds reasonable. They weren’t attempting to keep it from me. I met with Samantha today. She confessed when I said I’d painted a couple new paintings of Molly. She said they had sold. I then guessed that they’d been involved.”

  “Yes. But that isn’t all,” Fiona said. “You’ve sold another four in the past day. I know the people who have purchased them. Some of your early work. A couple more that are in the New York Gallery are being held until paperwork is pushed through. Whatever the plan was by Jeffery and Samantha, it’s creating a hot market for your artwork. A stampede. Danielle, I’m sorry I jumped you about your new painting. I’m damned pleased your compulsion to work hasn’t turned off.”

  “On the contrary, I can’t wait to get back to my suite and paint. But I’m not sure it’ll be any good.” Giving her a quick hug, I added, “I’ll tell you the minute I’m pleased with it, Fiona.”

  “At least with Bethany’s portrait you seem to be benefiting by some added bonus action,” she said with a wicked grin. “The question is, does it increase your painting ability?”

  “What do you think?” I waggled my eyebrows.

  “Fluttering genitalia can’t hurt creativity. Speaking of women, what did Samantha say about Molly?”

  “I’m going to call Molly. Samantha’s idea, not Molly’s. I don’t know what to think about it all, but I promised I’d phone.”

  If Fiona was going on a fishing expedition to find out information about Molly, I was not her catch of the day.

  With precious timing, Max Parker and Spencer Murphy approached. Max blustered with his usual vibrato, and Spencer patiently heeled. Max grabbed me with a bear hug.

  “Memorable, I tell you. I’m so pleased you’ll be able to stay on another week. I predict an even better week next week than the blockbuster we have going now. Did I just overhear that there’s a new painting to be previewed?”

  “I’ll let you all know when it’s finished.”

  “Just call,” Max said. “We’ll send Spence up to get it. Is it another large format?”

  “It’s 44 by 56.”

  “Too big for you to be lugging around. Spence will pick it up the minute you’re finished. Leave the varnishing for us. We have a fan system to dry it fast and get it framed and on the wall.”

  “Thanks, Max.” I turned to Spencer. “And Spence. Thank you all, and please tell your associates thanks for me also.”

  We said our goodbyes. A sharp breeze slapped my face as I stepped outside.

  As I walked, I thought about Molly. I dreamed we’d fall into each other’s arms. Our embrace would be for all the years we’d missed. We had a chance to rekindle the love that had always been there because, according to Samantha, Molly hadn’t stopped loving me.

  My thoughts suddenly shifted. Bethany was also in the emotional mix. Implausible as it might be, I felt in some ways that I knew Bethany better than I knew the Molly of today. I set the thought aside by convincing myself that Molly probably hadn’t changed.

  Reflecting on the years Molly and I spent together, I thought of her when she was the keeper of my heart. Her little idiosyncrasies like waking with her holding me, laughing at our own simple jokes, the snap of her head when she was irritated. I recalled her constant kindnesses and considerations to everyone near her.

  All of life was subject to its own metamorphosing. Souls had been modified. Perhaps time’s shifting had become too great for us to resume a love affair. Or maybe no matter how enormously experiences had recast our separate lives, by episodes and by occurrences, perhaps love endured.

  If I were to believe love wasn’t capable of persisting for itself alone, I would be saddened beyond belief. For in the final analysis, what else was there?

  Chapter 21

  Bethany called to tell me she had a late meeting and wasn’t sure when she might be able to drop by later. I suggested we order from room service when she arrived. That left a chunk of the afternoon to work on the portrait and to place the promised call to Molly.

  I lifted the telephone tentatively and began dialing.

  “Danielle?” she answered with such amazement I was certain Samantha hadn’t told her I might call. “Samantha gave you my number?”

  “I hope you don’t mind. Molly, I would like to see you. Talk with you.”

  There was a long pause. “Do you really think that’s a good idea? We were so long ago.”

  “It’s a good idea for me. If it isn’t for you, then I won’t bother you again. After all, we shared a large portion of our early adulthood together. And I still have a lot of good memories. At least we can have a civil meeting and remember the past. The good times we shared. Catch up.” I waited out another moment of silence.

  “Danielle, I’m all caught up. You seem to know about my achievements and failures. There really isn’t much else to say.” Her voice softened. “I’m happy you’ve achieved success in your art.”

  “You’ve also succeeded as an educator and as a mother. I’d like to know more. How about we meet for lunch tomorrow? Just an hour or two of your time. It would mean the world to me.”

  “All right. I’d forgotten how persuasive you could be. Lunch would be fine.”

  “You tell me the place. I’m okay with anywhere.”

  “How about Fav’s, a small neighborhood restaurant I love. It has a variety of choices on the menu. European fare.” She gave me the address.

  “I’ll be there. Thank you for agreeing to see me. You’ve never left my thoughts over the years. I still recall our walks in the park, all the silliness, and certainly the love we shared.”

  “It was a long time ago.” Her voice sounded tired and almost curt. “Everything has changed.”

  I let that go. We decided on noon. When I hung up, I experienced a dichotomy of emotions. Ecstatic that I would be seeing her again, I couldn’t help but feel discouraged. She hadn’t said she was glad to hear from me. I admonished myself not to expect any type of a romantic reunion. Perhaps it might not even be an amicable meeting.

  There was a knock at my door. “Danielle, are you there?” Esther called.

  I let her in.

  “I have a little time before I meet with Carrie. How did your talk with Samantha go?”

  I relayed the conversation and ignored her scowl when I told her about Samantha’s request for me to call Molly.

  “Did you call her yet?”

  “Yes. She was distant. Didn’t really want to meet me but agreed after I badgered her.”

  “Why is she being such a bitch? She’s the one who derailed your happy home thirty years ago. That you’re willing to talk to her at all is a miracle.”

  “I don’t know. Samantha believes she feels guilty about dumping me. She also feels Molly is still in love with me and always has been.”

  Esther moved her chair closer to the one I had eased my dejected body into. “If that were the case, why wouldn’t she be overjoyed to see you again?”

  “I have no earthly idea. Samantha divulged some information concerning her home life.” I told Esther about Pamela’s alcoholism and the reason Molly stayed. “It’s obvious that Samantha idolizes Molly. It’s also apparent that her love for Pamela is minimal.”

  Esther pondered my words. “This makes more sense. Molly might have wanted to return to you early in her relationship with Pamela and couldn’t because of Samantha. After all, Molly had started out as an elementary school teacher. Always loved kids. She mentioned often that she wanted a family.”

  “Funny thing is, I always felt she thought of my grandparents as her family. Her family had disowned her when they found out she was lesbian. But having a child for us was impossible.”

  “That could’ve been the attraction to Pamela then. Molly might have wanted a child,” Esther said. “Got her graduate degree and an instant family.”

  “Then she worked her way up to professorship. Along with that, she became an alcoholic’s nursemaid and a child’s nanny-slash-protective pa
rent. When we were together, Molly was strong, assertive, and certainly no one’s doormat.”

  “What did Samantha have to say about that?”

  “I didn’t ask that question specifically. Only why she’d stayed. Samantha said her biological mother had been a beauty and brilliant. When Molly realized Pamela was a lush, she already felt like she was a mother to Samantha. And there was the threat of losing Samantha which would have endangered the child.”

  “And now,” Esther said, “she’s undoubtedly feeling some remorse and probably plenty of guilt. Life’s storms. You’re getting into choppy water with this one. You do have expectations. I can tell. It might well be a lost cause.”

  “Maybe. But here we are thirty years later.”

  “Bethany dropping by tonight?” she asked as she stood up.

  “She’s got a late meeting, so we planned on a room service dinner here.”

  “Are you going to tell her about tomorrow’s lunch with Molly?”

  “Of course I’ll tell her. There isn’t any reason she should know, though. I’m not promised to either of them.”

  “But you’re already in love with at least one of them.” Esther sighed dramatically as she reached for the door. “And I could say maybe both of them. Or is that an option you haven’t entertained?”

  “You don’t hold out much chance for me with Molly, do you?”

  She gave another huge sigh. “No. Molly’s right in saying it was too long ago. Not that age totally remodels us, but time certainly rearranges us.”

  I tried to lighten the mood. “How are things going in interplanetary space? Found any space folk in the past twenty-four hours?”

  “There’s a Martian meteorite that shows microscopic formations. It suggests life might have created those configurations.” She pursed her mouth as she turned back toward the door. “Earth is just one big womb for creation. Mars could also have experienced multiple pregnancies in the past.”

  I heard the swoosh of the door as it shut. Earth, stars, planets… Esther was right in so much of the histories about them. So why wouldn’t she be able to sort out my dilemma? Why wasn’t I able to sort it out for myself? For me, making decisions often resembled a personal hell.

  As the country song went, it may not be hell, but you can see hell from here.

  Chapter 22

  Bethany was as charming and fun-loving as ever. After our shared dinner from room service, she patiently modeled while I pressed paint against the canvas, working to exact a duplication of her skin tone. Her eyes sparkled in a particular way that I could easily capture.

  “Getting tired?” I asked her.

  “Some. Today was grueling.”

  “Okay, I’ve got what I need. The rest I can finish up tomorrow morning. Relax.”

  She moved slightly. Then our eyes met. I went to her and eased my arms around her. The embrace was gentle, yet solid.

  “You’re the most tolerant model I’ve ever had the honor to paint.” I rubbed the back of her neck. “Sorry it was a difficult day.”

  “Days seem to be getting longer and longer. If you reproduce anything but a tired old woman right now, I’d be amazed. After a day at work, I feel spent as to beauty.” A laugh escaped. She had a charming, charismatic laugh, and it always amused me.

  Together we studied the painting. The canvas was full, and her smile was certainly the focal point. The smile registered not only on her lips but within her eyes.

  “I love it,” she said softly.

  I cocked my head as I studied it more thoroughly. “Although it’s realistic, it has a touch of capriccio in it.”

  “Capriccio?”

  “In art it mixes elements of fantasy with actuality.”

  “It’s also a short piece in music. I’m not certain what kind. Just short.”

  “I wasn’t aware of that. Did you study music?”

  “No.” Her smile slowly faded. “We lend one another knowledge when there is love. Just like with us, we’re teaching one another all kinds of things. At least you’re teaching me something about art. You paint with such ease.”

  “I confess the first five hundred or so of my portraits weren’t as easy. But, yes. It gets easier with each swipe of the brush. Maybe I just build on recognizing mistakes. Success is knowing what not to do.”

  “That’s perfect. If it doesn’t work, don’t do it again.” She glanced back at me. “With the exception of love. Love always works. Not always the way we want it.”

  I nodded in agreement. I then swallowed several words before I said, “Bethany, I’m meeting Molly for lunch tomorrow. At her daughter’s request, I called her. And for what it’s worth, I talked her into seeing me. I’m not sure why. It’s hopeless. But I wanted you to know in case you want to leave.”

  “Luv, at this precious moment, we are together and I’m here. If I wanted to be elsewhere, I would leave.” She reached for my waist and tickled me, causing me to giggle. “Please don’t look so serious. So lumbered.”

  I hugged her. “Thanks for understanding.”

  “You don’t owe me an explanation or an excuse,” she said as she withdrew from our embrace. “I reject constraints within my life, and I’m not likely to place constraints on anyone else’s life. I’m rather a fatalist. I believe love is finite when it isn’t meant to be. And infinite when it is.”

  “I agree.”

  “Too many lovers wish to become puppeteers. That has never worked for me. Maybe that’s why I understand you.” She glanced away. “And in truth, life has taught me that sharing time with someone you love is enough. If there isn’t more, I accept that. Or if it’s gone from me, I also accept it. Yet still love.” She reached out her hand and wiped my face. “How did you get blue paint on your chin?”

  “Blueberries for dessert?” I said in jest.

  “Good. I was hoping you hadn’t broken into the Smurfs’ Village again.”

  Chapter 23

  The following noon I sat across the table from Molly as we sipped our wine, awaiting our lunches that we’d ordered. Her smile was courteous, not the smile of someone wanting to be with me. She seemed still and uneasy. We’d hugged each another so briefly that I felt the spring-like motion as she moved away from me. She obviously was reticent to share even a brief graze of our cheeks.

  Fav’s was an upscale neighborhood brasserie with a cozy terrace and river view. We elected to sit on the terrace, although the sky was cloudy and there was a chill in the air. The décor was vermilion, navy, and white, colored with a wide array of floral art. Brass-hued tables and chairs were circular in design and ultra modern. Autumn foliage and flowers cascaded down from hanging planters. They lined the short brick wall that surrounded the outside dining area. It was charming and yet a bit cold.

  After we ordered, I’d hoped that Molly would become less apprehensive. Perhaps that was what kept my own nerves in check. Conversation remained chatty, yet strained.

  “Your friends back in Colorado, are they well?” she asked.

  “Our friends are fine. As I mentioned, Esther is here in England but lives in Denver. Still single.” I paused. “And they truly were our friends. Not just mine.”

  “Our friends all sided with you. They never stayed in contact with me after our breakup.” Her golden brown eyes clouded over.

  “Molly, I never bad-mouthed you. Maybe we all felt abandoned.”

  “It wasn’t my intention to make you or them feel abandoned. I fell in love with someone else, and I moved away.”

  The words seemed like chunks of great rocks falling in on me. “I realize that. All I ever wanted was your happiness.”

  “Happiness,” she repeated. “Kant states that happiness is not an ideal of reason but of imagination.”

  “Still quoting Kant?”

  “Yes, although so little philosophy seems relevant as I age. I often hope that my life hasn’t been a dismal failure as I searched for empty truth and useless wisdom.”

  “You were an educator. As you aspired to be. Yo
u have your lovely family. Samantha is a treasure. That’s a great deal to show for your life. There’s nothing better. And you’ve made your family happy.”

  “We’re back to the subject of happiness.” She swallowed the next sentence as if it were an egregious enemy. “I find it astonishing that there is any happiness at all in the world. Things are always so complex.”

  “I don’t know if you recall my grandfather’s philosophy of happiness. He used to say happiness is a good sense of humor and a bad memory.”

  Smiling, she said, “He was a wonderful man. I think of your family often.”

  “I think of you often, Molly.”

  “It’s too bad you don’t have a faulty memory. You might be happier now.”

  “Please don’t say that.” I felt wounded.

  She brushed hair away from her face that the breeze had caught. She wore her hair back in a stylish roll. Her eyes were slightly puffed, and she looked tired. She waited before she responded. “Danielle, when I was thirty it was suddenly as if everything was passing me by. I wanted to do something with my life. That was why I applied to every university I could in order to get into a master’s program. I selected the most prestigious university that offered me the best grant. It happened to separate us. If I had believed it might have changed our lives, I would’ve opted to go to Colorado University and stay near you. I didn’t go searching for an affair. It just happened.”

  Her head lowered. She fiddled with her multicolored blouse’s collar. The dark jacket and slack set was chic. Matching shoes and handbag were also elegant. My own beige jacket didn’t match with my darker slacks. And the blouse I had selected was several shades of browns and tans.

  I looked away. “I understand. I wasn’t much of a catch.”

  “This is exactly what I had hoped not to get into. You were perfect, and I loved you. It’s difficult to explain what I did thirty years ago. End of story.” Her jawline was set, and her eyes quickly flickered. “Forgive me. I’m so sorry.”