by Kieran York
“Loved the touch of Ireland tonight,” I whispered in her ear. “But I think I had a drink too many. Now the truth comes out. I am indeed a barstool Mick.”
“Canadians love the Irish.”
“I’m glad.” And I meant it.
During the trip back to the hotel, my thoughts of the evening tumbled over in my mind. I’d attempted to stay high-spirited, but I hadn’t fooled Bethany. Esther might have briefed her. She was kind, considerate, and supportive.
I felt Bethany’s warm arm around my shoulder as we walked through the lobby. When we arrived in the suite, she immediately went to the painting.
“You make me look terrific.”
“You provided me with the image. Sorry I wasn’t as chipper as I might have been tonight.”
“Danielle, you have every right to be emotional. I take it this noon’s gathering didn’t go well?”
“Molly said what I should have already known. It’s over.” I hesitated and added, “Thank you for being so understanding.”
“I’ve been through a breakup or two. Loss is excruciating. All loss.”
“And how did you make your way out of the darkness?”
We sat next to each other on the sofa. She reached out and took my hand inside hers.
“I spent a week or two in fully anguished diva mode. Then I told myself that I needed to get over it.” Pain filled her eyes. She had obviously experienced an overwhelming breakup. “Getting well is the primary option.”
“Bethany, you’re very special. I wish we had met thirty years ago.”
“But we’ve met now.”
“And now I’m a golden girl.”
“You’re one of the most extraordinary women I’ve ever met. The past is over. I can’t change it, nor would I want to change it. It’s part of you.”
“Persisting memories aren’t always easy.”
“Danielle, you’ve come to mean a great deal to me. Often love travels in separate coordinates. Maybe our timing isn’t spot on. But maybe the goddesses have recruited me to be your special envoy.”
I caressed her cheek. “You do make me happy.”
“And you make me feel as though I’ve been made whole. I’m free to love again. Perhaps my daydream is even more impossible than yours. I wish I could return to your lovely Colorado with you and be part of your life.”
I sat back, a little stunned. “There are a million reasons why it wouldn’t work.”
“As long as there’s one reason why it might.” She lifted my chin and leaned into a gentle kiss.
A warm glow filled my heart. “I want to begin another portrait of you. And I want your face, your smile, to take up the entire canvas. I’ll title it Bethany’s Smile.”
She pointed to her portrait I had just finished. “What are you naming this one?”
I thought about it a moment. “Maybe Arrival of Hope.”
“I might have a shot at making you happy for the rest of our lives, Danielle. If you’d let me.”
“I don’t know. Considering how my day went, I’m much more interested in bringing the happiness than receiving it.”
In her high-tone Brit accent, Bethany said, “I’ll settle for a bit of both. Indeed. A little bit of both.”
Chapter 26
The night was calming and tender as Bethany soothed me with her soft touches. In the morning, she gently kissed my temple before she left. I had wanted to get up and have an early breakfast with her. She wanted me to sleep in. She won the debate easily.
After she left for work, I finally crawled out of bed, consumed with thoughts about my latest portrait. Arrival of Hope was dry enough to take to the gallery, but I didn’t intend on putting it in the show. When Fiona phoned, I merely told her it wasn’t ready. In truth, I wasn’t ready to relinquish it.
I would paint my next work, Bethany’s Smile, on a large canvas. Glancing over at the 24x36 canvas, I decided it would become a self-portrait with Bethany. She had jokingly asked me if I was going to give her a photo or a painted portrait of myself when I left her behind. I asked which she preferred. She replied she would enjoy the one I painted, which would be the true me. I asked if I might include her at my side in the portrait, and she agreed.
A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. As I opened the door, I said, “Esther, I…”
Fiona stepped in. “Wrong wing-chick. Sorry to invade your temple, but I was curious to see your latest work.” She whisked past me and toward the painting. “The canvas is blank.” As she turned, she saw Arrival. It was leaning against the wall. “You’re done. It’s magnificent.”
“Not done, really,” I said. “Just wanted to give it a rest.”
“See my hand?” She shoved her palm in front of my face. “I can count on these few digits how many times you’ve left a painting and started another.” She peered at the bottom of the painting. “And you’ve signed it. You never sign a painting until it’s complete. Going to give me a clue as to why you didn’t tell me it was done?”
“It’s my prerogative to finish when and if I decide.”
“And it’s my responsibility to monitor each of my clients. I’d be remiss if I didn’t know what my clients are painting or, for that matter, thinking.”
“I’m thinking that whether I sell it is going to be my decision this time.”
Fiona rolled her eyes. “I also came up here because you weren’t answering your messages.”
“I’ve been occupied.”
“Danielle, I tried to contact you to see if you think you can replenish your work in a few months for another show. A major show in Boston in May. But with the way you’re acting, I’m not sure I’ll be handling you as a client in a few months. So, I damned well may not need to know.”
I quickly tried to diffuse her anger. “Fiona, please don’t think of dropping me. Forgive me. Of course I want you to be my agent. You’ve been the only one in the world who has always believed in me.” I gave her a hug. “I’ll be ready for a new show in a few months. I’m bursting with ideas about subjects and themes.”
“Well, keep me informed. I have to say it was easier keeping track of you before you became a playgirl.”
“Yes, but I make a very productive playgirl,” I joked back. I would try to remember to tell Esther about Fiona’s ‘playgirl’ comment. She’d enjoy it far more than I had.
“Danielle, are you listening?” Fiona broke into my thoughts. “We’re talking a dynamic catalogue. I’ve booked a printing company.” She walked to the painting. “Got a new muse?”
“I may have. I want my next portrait to be Bethany’s entire face. I want to capture the sparkle in her eyes and her smile.”
“Hope you’ve got plenty planned. The exhibition requires the creation of an entirely new show. Four or five dozen minimum. Can you paint that many?”
“Yes. I have about a couple dozen in my studio that are ready or nearly ready. If we get in a bind, I can always remove a few from my walls.”
“I’m damn glad you’ve become so prolific.” She hesitated. “At least you’re prolific when a muse is near. Like Molly. I always felt she was your impetus.”
“Esther chatted with you about my lunch with Molly yesterday?”
“She did. And that was the first thing I thought about. Who was going to take over muse duty?”
“I paint because of my need to paint.”
“Still, you churned them out when Molly reentered your life a week ago. Now you’re painting Bethany at a fever pitch. I assume that will dwindle once you return to the crotch of America.”
I laughed. “Agreed, Denver is not as cultured a megalopolis as your own New York City. But we are somewhat gentrified.”
“Like California, Colorado gives a poor imitation of New York culture.”
“Fiona, as far as you’re concerned, outside of Europe and the East Coast, there is nothing.”
“Absolutely nothing.”
“Hey, I love my space of the world.”
“You’d do much better
surrounded by a little civilization.”
“You are so egalitarian,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Go paint, bumpkin hick.”
“City slicker,” I shot back.
Fiona believed I had replaced or exchanged muses. And within days, the emptiness of Colorado would replace my newest muse. Knowing I was leaving behind the two women of my London odyssey, I thought perhaps Fiona had good reason to be concerned.
Chapter 27
Within the hour, Esther’s phone call interrupted my morning. I was certain Fiona and Esther were conspiring against me.
“According to Fiona, without Molly or Bethany, you’ll be muse-less.” Esther must have been shouting into her phone. “Carrie said you need to buck up your ideas or you’ll lose Bethany.”
“So now Carrie is in the mix.”
“Damned right. She’s been Bethany’s friend for years. And she thinks the world of her and doesn’t want Bethany hurt.”
“My ears are wearing out from your beleaguering the subject, Esther. Why don’t you come to my suite? I’ll order something for us to gulp down. Might improve your mood.”
“Because I’m about to hop in the shower.”
“How about this. I’ll order some room service delivered to your room. By the time it arrives, you’ll be out of the shower. We can chow down. And talk.”
“Then bring your checklist because I want to go over it with you.”
“Is that a yes? We’ll have breakfast together?”
“Why are you doing a late breakfast? You usually eat earlier.”
“I’m off schedule. I’m painting.”
“Don’t be late coming down. Twenty minutes tops.”
“You’ll only have half my arse to kick into submission. Fiona just left after having kicked her share, as I’m sure you know. You two are in cahoots.”
“You got that right. Fiona knows what I know.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes. And, Esther, thanks for being a great friend.”
I tucked my phone into my breast pocket and ordered room service. I picked up a soft graphite sketching pencil and stood in front of the white canvas for several moments. I sketched the contours of Bethany’s head. After proportioning her face, I stopped. Glancing at my wristwatch, I noticed it was nearly time for me to take the elevator down to Esther’s.
Room service was being delivered as I arrived. Esther waved her hand for me to sit down. That was a warning sign she was about to go on the offensive.
I sat, placed my napkin on my lap, and lifted the stainless-steel cover. “Yummy.”
She poured coffee and stirred it vigorously. “Are you planning to phone Molly again?”
“I’m not sure. She made it quite clear that she’d rather I not contact her.”
“Not sure? I know that you’re over the initial shock and now you’ll call her. Innocently, you’ll ask if she’s okay, or some other lame question.”
“Probably not. My best guess is that Molly is no longer in the equation.”
“Danielle, I’ve talked with Carrie about how Bethany is feeling about you.”
“How are you feeling about Carrie?” I asked, to deflect Esther’s attack.
“A little early in the conversation to rotate our talk, but nice try. Carrie and I are going to be friends for years. She plans to visit Denver on her next vacation. Neither of us has any illusions about a future together.”
“Carrie’s a nice person.”
“You and Bethany could have a future.” Esther was relentless.
“You don’t know that. Bethany is an independent woman. I’m not likely to break her heart. Carrie doesn’t need to worry. Bethany knows I’ll be returning to my home.”
“What makes you think she wants to be left behind?” When I didn’t answer, Esther posed another question. “Do you think you’ll e-mail a few months and then it’ll become some makeshift, platonic relationship?”
“Probably. Possibly.”
“You both want more.”
“Esther, I’m really on edge right now. You want to know what Molly’s indictment was? The part I didn’t tell you? She told me Pamela wasn’t the only reason she left me. She left me. That’s the deal. I’m no longer certain I’m relationship material.”
“I don’t follow you. I’ve told you before—you and Molly were the most solid couple I’d ever seen.”
“She tells me now that she was sensitive to my being out. Not hiding my lesbianism. At least not denying it.”
“That’s a crock. You were never obvious. Never a dyke. That butch crap is a bogus charge. It shouldn’t matter anyway, as far as that goes. We’re all women.”
“I never hid it the way she did. I’ve only been ever so slightly androgynous. I like comfortable clothing, and I’m not fussy about being all girly. But I was careful around her educator pals. That pretend junk made yesterday’s self-intolerance even uglier than street or church bigotry.”
“If it bothered her, why did she stay eight years?”
“I’d be guessing if I answered that.”
“Why else did she say she left?”
“Because she was always in competition with my art. Competing for my time. Maybe she had a valid point. I did spend huge chunks of time on my art. Maybe she questioned if the sacrifice was ever going to be worth it. Perhaps she felt I hadn’t realized my potential and wouldn’t. Maybe she thought I loved art more than I loved her.”
Esther took a drink of coffee. “Did you?”
My hesitation was longer than I would have liked. “Maybe I do love art more than anyone. I love art more than I love myself. Perhaps my art is me, and I love that part of me more than any other parts.”
“I’d like you to tell me why you believe you couldn’t have a life with Bethany.”
“first, Molly’s complaint. I love my art too completely. Bethany deserves more.”
“You can’t believe a woman could understand about your art. That’s part of the human condition to want to be the most important part of a lover’s life. But some women can admire and respect talent. Okay. What’s the other reason?”
“Second, I’ll always love Molly. Although I’ve resigned myself to our love being impossible, I can’t ever stop loving her. How is any woman going to accept that, along with being ignored by me and my art?”
Esther slammed her coffee cup against the saucer. “Bethany isn’t just any woman. She’s a woman who has already fallen in love with an artist—an opera singer. And they struggled together for her lover’s dream. For the nearly twenty years they spent together, they shared that hope. They achieved that dream together. Then six years ago, Bethany’s lover was killed in a car crash. That leads me to your second qualm. If you think you can accept the fact Bethany will always love her dead partner, she can certainly accept that your love for Molly can’t end.”
I sat back in my chair. “I didn’t know…”
“I believe you and Bethany just might have a wonderful foundation for love,” Esther said. “You both come with a boatload of baggage.”
I couldn’t remember much else about our conversation. A solemn shadow accompanied me back to my suite. Painting the duration of the day was not only my passion but also my therapy. By late afternoon, I was exhausted.
The telephone rang. I was expecting a change of plans about this evening with Bethany or maybe Fiona reporting gallery business. I hoped that it might be Bethany, and I would suggest a quiet evening of dinner in and conversation.
It was Molly.
“I must talk with you again. If we can arrange lunch for tomorrow, I’d appreciate it. I was unfair and would like to explain.”
“Of course.” My hand gripped the telephone as if it were a lifeline.
We hung up after making arrangements. I sat for a long time staring across the room at Bethany’s portrait.
I didn’t want to navigate my way through a lunch where strained conversation was on the menu. But I also didn’t want to miss an opportunity to rek
indle the flavor of life I once knew. I surrendered to the fantasy that I’d once again feel enriched by Molly’s love.
Chapter 28
Having sent a text message to Bethany earlier mentioning Molly’s surprising phone call, I half expected her to break our date that evening. But I needn’t have been concerned. She arrived on time.
“No worries.” Bethany’s arms surrounded me as she entered the hotel suite. “Danielle, there have never been any expectations on either of our parts. You’ve certainly made that clear. I’ve accepted the fact that you have feelings for Molly. And if there might be a chance of reconciliation, I know you would be there in a shot.”
“We aren’t talking about reconciliation. She said she wants to meet for lunch tomorrow. Maybe she wants to leave it on a less final note. A friendship. Or maybe Samantha talked her into it.”
“I find that rather dubious.” Bethany took off her light raincoat and tossed it on the back of the sofa. “It isn’t a problem between us. I’m resigned to the fact you’ll always love her. If it is love to begin with, it remains.”
“Are you talking about Molly or from experience with your lover?”
She looked surprised. “I thought Carrie might tell Esther about Tricia.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I’m feeling as though I’m constantly the one in the dark.”
“I didn’t mention it because it always hurts. I’ve chosen not to hurt by not going through it all again. Tricia had been my life for twenty years. It’s taken six years to get to where I am now. And where I am now—well, I’ll always love her. Knowing what a splendid human being she was, I’m aware she would want my happiness.”
“Would it be too painful to tell me about her?”
“No. You’ve divulged your relationship with Molly. I feel I owe it to you to tell you about my life with Tricia.”
The dinner that I’d ordered arrived. Fortunately, Bethany began as if taking the bookmark out and reading her life aloud.
“Tricia and I met twenty-six years ago. We fell in love, lived together. We made every effort to see that she attained her goal of achieving stardom as an opera singer. Great reviews, notices, a couple of terrific CDs. And she had leads in several important operas.