Kieran York - Appointment with a Smile

by Kieran York

  Looking into the bedroom where Bethany slept peacefully, I leaned against the doorjamb. I watched her sleep. I felt an overwhelming desire to touch her and hold her. Not wanting to disturb her, I silently yearned for her touch in return. Her body lifted slightly in small waves of breath.

  After several remarkable minutes of studying her while she slept, I felt wonderment. She knew my feelings for Molly. She tolerated my inconsistencies. She was a remarkable woman to have stayed valiantly at my side, enduring my self-absorption. With an intrinsic dignity, she had allowed me to gush about another woman, cry over that woman, and profess my love of that woman. She accepted my every design flaw. Even the fact that I seemed consumed by art.

  Through it all, she hadn’t abandoned me.

  Chapter 47

  Bethany had left early and gone to her apartment so she could get ready for work. I had made it to bed for a couple of hours then returned to what had been lonely, empty canvases. They were filling quickly. Almost simultaneously.

  My previously choked-off ability to paint had expired. It had converted to a painting frenzy. Inside, I felt an agitation that swirled with multiple concepts, a restless necessity to compose art. Something had reinvigorated me completely.

  I finished the painting of Bethany and my self-portrait, and I had nearly finished the one of Bethany with the bison. I titled it Noonday Bison Picnic with Bethany. I had also begun another one from the picnic but with the bison only. They sat before their place-setting. I’d call it Invited Guests. The background would show off the marvelous portion of Bethany’s park.

  Another was a brief sketch of Fiona, Esther, Bethany, Carrie, and me, titled Ladybugs Rock London. I would work from photos taken when we celebrated at The Scripted Banquet. A waiter had kindly taken a group photo of the five of us in our finery and festivity. My paints would memorialize our toasting at the Ladybugs Rock party.

  The last canvas contained only swaths of paint that created skeletal-thin wash outlines. It was of Molly as she looked back at me for the final time. She was entering the limousine and had turned. I hadn’t named the painting. As I was placing outlines of my intentions, I considered calling it Perpetual Smile. For her final smile would forever be with me. It was one of pathos, of love, and certainly of a profound farewell.

  Seldom in my past had I jumped from work to work. Usually I found it an irritant when necessity forced me to work on two paintings at once. Not now. Now I found it exhilarating to throw myself into the newness of each work.

  I hadn’t fully envisioned the unfinished paintings before me. But as I greeted each canvas, they revealed themselves to me. Amazed at my prolific work, I pressed on until late afternoon. I felt tired, aching to rest my eyes and cramping hand.

  I called Esther’s room and was glad she answered. “Too early for a midday snack?”

  “Not going to wait for dinner with Bethany?”

  “Been painting all day so I forgot to have lunch,” I said. “How about a snack? Maybe a tea. You can do pastry, and I’ll order a half sandwich and soup. That will tide me over until dinner.”

  “fine.”

  Within fifteen minutes, we were at the teahouse, orders delivered, and chatting. We began, as usual, with her report about new data from NASA’S Chandra X-ray Observatory. Hydrogen gases, which they named “blobs” years ago, were brightly glowing optical light. These blobs, formed around young distant galaxies, were the source of immense energy. Not unlike Carrie’s youth, Esther joked. At any rate, she said, the source of the blob energy emanated from super massive black holes. Another mystery of the universe solved, she told me.

  “Whoop-de-do,” I commented dryly.

  “This is important stuff.” She could barely contain her enthusiasm. “Needless to say, it tells us more about the original formations of galaxies. In this case, they believe blobs might be leftovers.”

  “I know the galaxies are tangible. But the heavens all seem intangible to me. Did you talk with Bethany this morning?”

  “She arrived, and I was awake. Very early. Carrie was sleeping in, bless her.”

  “Carrie’s finding it difficult to keep up with you?”

  “Damn right.”

  “Are you going to miss her when we return to Colorado?”

  “Of course. But she’ll visit. And I’ll visit her. I need to give her a chance to recharge her batteries. Are you going to miss Bethany?”

  “A great deal. I spent most of last night painting. She patiently read or slept. She doesn’t expect to be entertained. She quietly attends to her own realm and allows me to paint. Actually, she insists on my painting.”

  “She’s got it all. Adorable. Available. And she encourages your painting. What else could you possibly want, Danielle?”

  “I would agree if we had met somewhere near Colorado’s central region. But we didn’t.”

  “It’s just a puddle jump from Denver to London. If you invite her to join you, you can give domesticity a shot. If it works, fine. If she wants to return to London, she jumps on a plane and back she comes. Don’t let a good thing get away.”

  “Esther, if it’s a good thing, taking it slowly won’t matter.”

  “Get the trial run over first. Then you won’t be stretching it over the months. Invite her to stay with you now until the two of you figure out what is next. Come on, I introduced you to Molly, and it lasted for several years. At our age, several years could be a quick ‘until death do us part.’ Look at how quickly you lost Molly.”

  “Molly was special. When we met, we knew immediately we belonged together.” I thought a moment about all we’d shared during our years. Little things like our tiny terrace garden. Molly loved spring flowers. I held images in my mind of the multicolored primrose that made her smile. She had once told me that the primrose was sweet, but only the golden-colored flower had a fragrance.

  People were also of varied types. But only certain ones are meant for love. If lovers didn’t get it right, an affair flamed out. How, I wondered, had my mind transcribed flowers into women?

  Esther sighed heavily. “Bethany is special. There’s an old saying I really like. ‘There are more ways of getting to the top of a tree than sitting on an acorn.’”

  “I’m not a quick-decision kinda gal. I’m not even a past-tense hootchie.”

  “Right now you’re a broom-riding kinda gal. Is it because you’re too particular? You don’t think Bethany is good enough?”

  “Not at all. If anything, she’s too good for me. I don’t want anyone hurt. Bethany lost someone she loved. I lost someone I loved. We’re vulnerable. And she’s a lovely human being. I wouldn’t want her to give up everything she has here to follow me. She might be disappointed in life there. Maybe disappointed by life with me.”

  “That could certainly happen,” Esther said with honesty. “I wouldn’t want to think of a lifetime with you.”

  “Are you just being bitchy, or is it true? I’m that bad, right?”

  “Not all the time. But Danielle, you’re in another world. Being involved with astronomy, I’m very much in other worlds as well. But you stumble around unconnected entirely. Look at yourself.” She began to itemize my fashion flaws.

  I took note of her very stylish blaze-blue angora tunic with decorative stitching. Her denims were pencil-legged and tucked into ruched boots. I wore a stretched-out red T-shirt with sand-colored overblouse and nondesigner jeans.

  I fumbled for an excuse. “Remember, I’ve been painting all day.”

  “I swear, as long as you can fog a mirror, you’re going to look dismal.”

  We both chuckled at the same time.

  I returned to the subject at hand. “Esther, I do care deeply about Bethany, but I don’t want anyone hurt. She’s had enough pain and loss.”

  “Pain and loss are part of the challenges of love, Danielle. They hang directly above. Not all of life is validated with a guarantee.”

  “Validity may be nothing more than self-approval. I’ve thought about that many t
imes before. It seems everything ends in sadness.” I turned my head to examine the collection of teapots they had on shelves and closed my burning eyes to rest them.

  “Life shows torture at times, and at other times, tenderness. But you have to ignore thoughts that it might be negative,” Esther said. “You’ve gone into a funk since the moment you saw Molly. Bethany has cheered you. What the hell else can you expect from life?”

  “Okay, so I want masterpieces in a world of trash. Maybe I’m not up to creating that world for someone else.”

  “The Danielle I knew lived masterpieces. You could see jewels in light beams. Now you act as though you’re confronted by some supernatural dejection. If you want to get so damned philosophical about it, then fine. But remember, to find true happiness, you sometimes trudge through mistakes, accidents, and great losses. Get a grip before I’m very much older. I’m nearly out of pep talks.”

  “Sorry to have such an exclusionary life.”

  “Death is a terribly hard bench. But you don’t have to sit on it forever.”

  “I love Molly so much.” Tears filled my eyes. “I need to get over this feeling before I can give love totally again. Bethany deserves that.”

  “Come on, Danielle, do you think Bethany is over it with Tricia? She isn’t, and you will never be over Molly either. Grieve and get on with it.” She brushed her hands together. “That’s my free course from the University of Potpourri. Take it or leave it. I’m tired of listening to you moan.”

  “You’re tired of listening to me?” I asked, irritated. “I promise you I’m tired of being me. I’ve been on a damned roller coaster since I arrived here. I have every right to be confused about my emotions.” My words tumbled out raw and angry. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I wiped them furiously. “Don’t you understand? It’s all going too quickly.” I took a deep breath. “Well?” I nearly shouted.

  “I’m not sure when you became a fussy boots. That’s Carrie’s saying. Be that as it may, you have become one. And I can’t shake you back to reality.”

  “What the hell do you know about reality?”

  “I know the concentration of neon allows scientists to determine the time a tiny grain of sand has spent in interstellar space. That’s my kind of reality.”

  In amazement, my jaw dropped. “And I’m coming to you for my advice to the lovelorn. Someone fresh from a Mars science laboratory. What the hell do you know about true romance?”

  She started laughing. “I’ll tell you what I know about romance,” she said, sputtering through gulps for air. “Carrie asked me this morning if I Twitter. I said only if someone touches my G-spot. She thinks I’m a hoot. She says I’m barking nuts.”

  “I didn’t even think you knew what a G-spot is.”

  “I do. It’s part of the Constellation Erogenous.”

  While giggling, I stood. “Esther, our dates are probably waiting for us. And Carrie is probably waiting for the Constellation Erogenous.”

  By the time we pulled up to the hotel, Bethany and Carrie had arrived. The four of us decided on a walk and a late dinner at the hotel’s dining room. Our trek offered witticisms and was a diversion from thoughts that troubled me.

  After dinner, Esther and Carrie departed for Esther’s room.

  Bethany glanced my way. “Would you like the evening alone? I know you’d like to paint, and I think I’m sensing conflict in you.”

  “I’d like you to come up. Spend the evening with me. Yes, I’d like to paint, if you wouldn’t mind. But you’re right. I’m experiencing some conflict. You’re very observant.”

  “I need to be, in my line of work. Remember?”

  As the elevator lifted, she took my hand. “Would you like to talk about it?”

  “I want you to know how I’m feeling. I’m so confused about my emotions. I really don’t want either of us to get hurt.”

  “That’s why you’re holding back? Why the words aren’t being said?”

  “I suppose.”

  “I’ll give you a backrub and then you should paint. There’s total honesty in your work. The great illusion of living is that justice saves you. But life isn’t just. Fate isn’t at all equitable. I felt guilt each time I was happy. It was as if I went into Tricia’s grave with her. Then it occurred to me she wouldn’t have wanted that. She wouldn’t have wanted me to linger without hope of happiness. I had been doing exactly that for years. Before I met you, I accepted those wasted years. Perhaps I was only waiting for you.”

  “You also said time is short and fleeting. I don’t want you to wait for me. It isn’t fair. The things we can make equitable, we should.”

  “Why don’t you let me decide what’s fair, luv?”

  Chapter 48

  In the morning after Bethany left for work, I meandered over to the gallery. Only a few days remained until the closing of my exhibit. Then I would fly back to my life in Colorado. I would enjoy returning to my family, friends, and Clover.

  With these thoughts of home came the memories of small and precious portions of my life. I recalled the scent of the autumn ground as I turned my garden for the final time before winter’s snow blanketed it. I knew the feel of the doorknob as I entered my small studio. The studio was at the side of my home, and I could mentally see the stepping-stones. Massive windows on all sides, along with two skylights, captured Colorado’s brightness.

  “I’ve been calling you,” Fiona said when I entered. “The gallery has decided to host a huge closing party on your final night. Huge. Not a fiddling, diddling little event. An all-inclusive affair. Patrons, art critics, media, and so on. I’ve been working with Max on the promotion. Large e-mail message campaign, daily newspaper adverts, all the bells and whistles. They estimated the gathering will be triple the opening attendance. We’ll need Roxie to ship a dozen of your paintings. Can she do that today?”

  I glanced at my watch. “It’s the middle of the night in Colorado. But yes, I’ll phone. Roxie’s always willing to help.”

  “Get hold of her and give her the directives. She shouldn’t mind getting out of bed for art’s sake. Probably needs to let the dogs take a leak anyway. One of the three ought to need a piss. Tell her I can have a twenty-four-hour-shipping company crate them and ship them immediately. Roxie may miss a few hours sleep, but she’ll be handsomely rewarded, I assure you.”

  “She’s a student, so a few extra bucks will come in handy.”

  “Danielle, she’s been such a great help. I was thinking more about paying off her college loan or some damned thing. Give her a grant. Always a good tax deduction.”

  “Wow, Fiona. You amaze me. A benefactor of the arts.”

  “Friends are hard to come by. Tell her a dozen or more.”

  “Okay. A dozen it is. I’ll have her clean out a closet.”

  “As soon as my European exhibits are complete, I want to come out there to Colorado to see exactly what you’ve got hidden away. With relative certainty, I believe you’ve stashed away some great work. Your remaining paintings need to be accurately categorized and photographed. We’ll want an entire array, including early work for Boston. We plan to have that catalogue of your work become an art piece in itself. Best printer in the United States. We’ll need all available work included.”

  “I’d like to do the selecting. Some work isn’t really ready.”

  “You say some of your work is terrible, and actually it’s superb. I’m afraid you’ll try to be your own critic. You won’t shoot photos of all your work. I must come to Colorado and scrounge.”

  “Can’t fool me. Any excuse to come to Colorado. You’re a good Ladybugs Rock mascot. Love that Colorado.”

  “You are my very favorite Saph, but you really get on my nerves sometimes, Danielle. Now, as to what you have in your current inventory. At your hotel room.”

  “I have Bethany’s Smile, Arrival of Hope, Together, and Noonday Bison Picnic completed. There are three in various stages of completion: Invited Guests, Ladybugs Rock London, and Perpetual Smile. I�
�ve promised the one of Bethany and me, Together, to Bethany.”

  “Did it occur to you to give her flowers and candy? Nothing like handing over a painting worth thousands when a nice bundle of roses would do.”

  “She’s not just any woman, Fiona. She deserves roses, of course. I haven’t even sent those. She’s been an enormous help, as well as my model and muse.”

  “I’ll send Spencer over to pick up the three completed works when you’re ready. Ones you haven’t given away, that is. Now then, get your bum over to the hotel and paint your heart out. Load those brushes. We need stock. Once again, we’re nearly sold out.”

  “I always paint my heart out,” I said a little too curtly. “Not because I can make more sales. Because I do.”

  “Well, keep doing. I do live for your making more sales. That’s my job. About Friday night after the show. I’ll book a lavish dinner at The Scripted Banquet.”

  “We’ll love that.”

  “Go to the hotel and call when you’ve completed each painting. I’ll get the staff here to frame them as soon as they arrive. If you need any more blank canvases, just holler.”

  “Will do. I’ll call Roxie before I go on a little excursion this morning. After which I’ll sit down and paint.”

  “Excursion?”

  “Something I need to do. I want to go to the open-air market again. Afterwards, I’ll have an early lunch at a certain restaurant before I get back to painting.”

  “Places you saw Molly. Am I right?” Fiona asked gently.

  I nodded. “I want to paint one final picture of Molly, and I’d like to add some things.”

  “It’s pretty much all emotional with you, isn’t it?”

  “I’ve never done assembly-line art, and I won’t ever do stamp-out art. You know that, Fiona.”

  “You’re beginning to sound like a counterculture bitch.”

  “That description will look dandy in my fancy-dancy Boston promotional materials. Feel free to use it in our shiny new catalogue. Counterculture bitch paints.”