And then the clock struck Aero.
CHAPTER NINE
“This place looks incredible.” He came in like a breeze off the ocean on a winter morning, fresh and sharp and senses-heightening. His eyes pierced right through me, their blue bluer than before. If I hadn’t known how ridiculous it was, I would have thought maybe he wore colored contacts. I don’t know how long I got caught up in them before I finally returned to reality again.
“This must be your grandmother. I’m Jillian Price.” I shook hands with a snow-white-haired woman at his side dressed in a sharp amethyst suit with a large diamond and amethyst brooch on her lapel. If classiness could be personified, I’d just seen it.
“This is my grandmother, Beatrice Jantzen.”
“Trixie,” she corrected him. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Before I could probe that statement or get an anxiety attack over it, her attention darted away. “Oh, is that Heidi Fitzgerald? I’ll be right back, dear.” Beatrice, or Trixie, walked off to chat with a woman in a tube dress.
That left Aero and me alone. He stepped close, and my breathing tightened as I looked up at him, a question of what he’d told his grandma about me poised on my lips, but he beat me to the conversation.
“Talk about art appreciation.” His eyes appraised me, rather than the room. Of course he meant the patrons. Didn’t he? His eyes devoured me. I let them.
“Yeah, it’s been steady,” I stammered. He was so beautiful. “People streamed through from the minute the doors opened at seven. This is winding down, in fact. Maybe half of peak. I’m just blown away.”
“No, I mean you— look at you. You’re a work of art tonight, Jilly.” My name on his lips was nectar, and I was the bee, a little place behind my ribcage buzzing at an energizing frequency just being in his orbit here tonight— the way he smelled, the way his eyes played against the light gray of his suit, the way he was looking at me, like I was the reason he came here.
My face turned to flames. “Thanks.”
Without Ryker around to pressure him into showing feigned affection for me, I hadn’t known how he would act around me. What could there be between us? Anything? Everything? My fingertips tingled.
“How are you feeling about all this?” He walked along beside me as I took him on the standard tour of the rooms, minus the standard commentary. “Quitting a gig as big as BGG took a leap of faith. I’m impressed how well it’s come together.”
“None of this would have happened without your catalyst of a pep talk.”
“I didn’t do any of this. It was all you, Jilly. You amaze me.”
Our fingertips brushed as we passed a display of carved wooden whales done by the star of a daytime soap opera. I let the back of my hand linger near his, risking the danger. After all, even if Ryker had declared both of us single on that day at Thrillsville when we first met, he hadn’t updated me on Aero’s status since then, and several weeks had gone by. I could be swimming into emotionally shark-infested waters … for example, if Aero were to tell me he’s seeing someone, or if he were to say he wasn’t into me.
On the other hand, his eyes’ little roam across my black dress earlier had suggested otherwise.
“What’s the reaction been like tonight? I know my grandma is curious about the Mars Yuber painting. You didn’t say what it’s called.”
I hadn’t? Somehow it felt like I’d told him everything.
“Woman Draped in Red.”
“Ooh, kind of sensuous.”
“You’ll have to see it to believe just how right you are.” We strolled around to another wall where the display featured pastel drawings of Big Bear ski resort by a martial arts actor who had recurring roles in all the fight movies but no big leads yet. “I was worried photos of it would leak, and wanted to keep it as secret as possible. So I don’t know if anyone could tell— I took a cue from the seventh Star Wars movie.”
“You invented a cute robot and brought it tonight to keep things light and humorous?”
“If only. I’ve tried to convince patrons to keep the painting itself an insider secret, a secret they’re in on with the cool people who get to see it early, and not to post pics of it on social media before the news and magazine articles come out.”
“How’s that working?”
“I have a friend checking for me, and so far so good. Not that it’s likely to last. Things get out. But meanwhile I’ve got a cute little conspiracy camaraderie going— I think.”
“Brilliant.” He flashed me a smile I hadn’t expected. Was it possible it actually had light in it? Because I swear it lit not only his face but the area around him as well. “I’d imagine the longer it lasts, the greater the mystique surrounding the painting, too. In fact, seeing all you’ve done and the smart tactics you’ve used, I’d say New Holland Savings would consider you a strong candidate for investment.”
Now he was teasing me, but I appreciated his compliments. I glowed with them on the inside.
We strolled past a display of painted tiles by an aging buddy-cop TV show actor.
“How’s Ryker?” I hadn’t seen the kid in a couple of weeks, but he’d been all over bus ads for a new cold cereal— not one with a high fiber claim as its main hook, either. Good for Aero, because that had to have been his doing. “Has he taken over all your free time yet?”
“Not that I had any to start with, but basically. Yeah.”
“How did that all come about, anyway?” I’d been dying to know since we met.
“He came in for a loan, actually. I think he originally had a side investment project he wanted to do. He was with his agent at the time.”
I remembered the woman.
“She and Ryker got in an argument, and he tried to hire me on the spot. At first I was thinking not my circus, not my monkeys, but then— I don’t know. He seemed like he genuinely needed guidance.”
“I bet you’re the type that takes in stray dogs, too.”
“Well, that’s the thing. Not generally. I mean, I like dogs and all, but no. Although now that you mention it, Ryker did have a bit of the lost puppy about him at the time.”
I could picture that. “So you added him to your career. Now are you thinking about making a transition to talent agent? You could pick up other clients, make the big dollars.”
“Heavens, no.” We squeezed through the doorway to the Mindi Dresser display room, our shoulders pressing together, my hip brushing his and getting electrified. “This is a one-off. Nothing more. Money only takes you so far, and Hollywood isn’t my fascination.”
I wondered what was his fascination, and almost asked, but up walked Grandma Trixie.
“Oh, my darling. You two make the most gorgeous couple. I’d love to get a picture. Here. Stand near that nice drawing of a desert coneflower. Perfect.” In a split second she had her camera out and was posing us, and I was getting radiation burns from the place where Aero Jantzen touched my waist with his arm around me. Seriously, I could have demonstrated human combustion right then. His breath teased near my neck, and he said something I couldn’t hear— or at least couldn’t process because of the rushing in my ears from his touch. I looked up at him to ask what he’d said, and our eyes met— and his Grandma Trixie snapped the photo.
“Nice. Very, very nice. It’s candid and real— much better than a posed shot. My photography teacher will appreciate it a lot. Hold that pose, I want to snap a few more before we amble on in to see the main attraction.” Her camera had a fast shutter, and I heard it flying through dozens of shots.
“You look so much like your grandfather in that color tonight, Aero. I can’t help myself from taking this many pictures.”
“How did you meet Aero’s grandfather?” It was forward of me to ask, but I didn’t hear any trace of an accent other than California in Trixie’s voice, and Aero had said something about his grandfather having come from Holland. His grandma kept snapping pics, and I stayed in Aero’s arms, not unhappily.
“I was a college student. My parents t
hought I was sowing my wild oats at Cal Berkley. They were probably right. After one semester, they wisely yanked me and put me in USC where I belonged— and where I met Bram Jantzen.” A sigh was in her voice for her lost love. I could hear it plain as sunrise while I luxuriated in the delay that kept me tightly in Aero’s embrace. “He had that European allure. Suave, debonair, mysterious. I was a goner for him after one meeting, forgetting everyone else I’d ever met, no matter who they were.”
Uh, I wouldn’t have said it aloud, but I could totally relate. After being swept away on one tunnel of love ride with the suave, debonair heir to that European charm, I’d gone blind to any other man. Thoughts of Aero Jantzen had decorated my best dreams at night. Speaking of hopes and dreams— here he was beside me at opening night, telling me I was appreciable art, holding my waist, pulling me closer than I should ever be to a man in his grandmother’s presence.
“What are you doing when this is over tonight?” Aero asked. “I know you’ll probably want to go put your feet up somewhere, but maybe, do you want to come by my place? We’ll grab Thai take-out, you can relax. I’ll give you a foot massage?”
It took everything inside me not to overreact, to hold back the gushing tide of desire to throw myself at him at that second, with his grandma and any lingering reporters and the security cameras and all the angels and stars watching.
“That sounds … ” There was no adjective superlative enough. “ … great. Thanks.”
He smiled down at me, and that light from a moment ago ignited again, but now it was backed by a flame I couldn’t begin to approach since it already singed my lips and eyelashes at this distance.
Aero Jantzen— inviting me for dinner and a relaxed evening after the biggest day of my life: did things get better than this? Oh, and a foot massage! Heavenly days!
“Are you ready to see the painting yet?” I led the way to the third and final room, reveling in the fact that Aero hadn’t taken his hand off my waist, little surges of energy from his touch rolling up my spine with every step.
Grandma Trixie put her camera in her purse and came along a step behind us. “I’ve always loved the Yuber landscapes.”
“I didn’t know you were a fan, Grandma.”
“This isn’t a landscape. It’s a portrait.” I pressed through the doorway and lit the painting for dramatic effect.
“But from what I read, he didn’t do portraits.” Aero had done his research. Cool. That meant he had been thinking about tonight’s event, and maybe also about me. His wonders drew me toward him more and more, luring me, moth to flame. “You haven’t had any criticism of the authentication, then?”
I liked that he knew enough about art to ask an intelligent question.
“Take a look and tell me what you think.” I pressed the switch that lit the painting.
“Whoa.” He held on the oh, and then let out a breath. I watched to see if he liked it, but I couldn’t tell.
Art was so subjective, impacting people individually and uniquely, especially fine art. It created a different reaction in each soul. I’d had no idea how Aero would react, or how Trixie would, for that matter. She might be like Iron Maiden Man’s wife and recoil, considering it obscene. I bit my lip in anticipation— and not just of the foot rub Aero had promised me.
“Do you like it?” I asked, concerned at his initial non-reaction. Suddenly it meant everything to me that he like it. If he didn’t, what would that mean for the two of us?
“I mean—” He trailed off, stepping closer, his head at a skeptical tilt.
“It’s not to everyone’s taste, I know.” I stumbled on, talking like a fool. “No art is. There are even some people out there who think Van Gogh is just meh, or too sloppy.” I went mouth-rambling, looking at the painting, seeing it with fresh eyes, like I did every time I unveiled it for someone new. This time I gazed at the balance of the face, which had almost a Fibonacci perfection in its ratios. “There’s an ethereal quality to—”
But then I heard it. At first I’d been too swept up in the big reveal to notice, but Trixie held a hand to her heart and had turned away from the painting, her breathing labored.
“Call an ambulance.” Aero ran to her, taking her in his arms. “She’s got a pacemaker. This has all the signs of a heart attack.”
CHAPTER TEN
I yanked out my phone and dialed 9-1-1. With security’s assistance I cleared the remaining patrons from the gallery, as it was closing time, and then I dug out a couple of aspirin from my purse, remembering what I’d heard once somewhere.
“Here. They say aspirin will help.”
Aero had his grandmother stretched out on one of the leather sofas in a viewing room, and she took the aspirin with water. Within a few minutes, she’d been loaded into the ambulance and taken away.
Aero was gone along with her.
Maybe my chances with him were gone as well. Any girl who sent your grandma into cardiac arrest had to be bad luck.
Biting my lip in worry, I sent him a quick text— Rain check on dinner. He could redeem the offer or not, and I didn’t hear from him that night, not that I’d expected to.
The next day I shot him a message to ask how she was doing, but I still didn’t hear, at which point I was getting really anxious— naturally about Trixie and whether she’d gotten far worse once she hit the ER, but also about whether Aero would take this heart attack as a sign we couldn’t ever be together.
I texted again my concern for her. Still I received nothing in reply.
Another worry scraped against me: the newsworthiness of Mrs. Jantzen’s episode. Despite efforts to clear everyone from the gallery, a few reporters had still milled about at the refreshments table when the ambulance wailed up. If one of them chose to write about the painting’s likelihood of inducing heart attacks in older women, it could embarrass Trixie, and also not help my chances with Aero ever trusting me.
I sent one last message of get-well-soon, and then there was nothing else I could do. It might be that I’d both permanently damaged her and that I’d lost Aero in one fell swoop.
With no other alternative, I did the only thing I could: I got back to work. My parents were coming for day two of the grand opening and bringing some relatives and friends from inland California where I grew up. They hardly ever came to see me since they hated the traffic so much, so I’d done a lot to make it nice for them. At least that took up the rest of my time, if not my thoughts, which all sang alternately between anxiety for his grandma and Aero, Aero, Aero.
______
Several long, exhausting and no-word-from-Aero days later, Tyanne called.
“So far so good,” she said with no preface.
“How’s that?” I was prepping the gallery to begin actual sales of art now that the grand opening was over. Patrons for the event had left bids, and I needed to tend to those first this morning.
“So far I’ve scoured social media and no one has leaked photos of your Woman Draped in Red.”
“Not even reporters?” If that was true, I might fall off my desk chair into the stack of additional Mindi drawings waiting to be priced.
“They all must have respected the painting that much. I mean, I can see why. The party line is ‘You’ll have to experience it in person.’”
“That? That’s amazing.” No, that was phenomenal.
“Totally. On the other hand, every single one of them speculated on the identity of Mystery Artist.”
“Have any of them guessed right yet?”
“None.”
Thank goodness, or Mindi might think I had leaked something, which I would never do.
“Do you think she’ll ever own up to them?”
“How many have sold?”
“Six, so far.” I had bids on them, at least. The work today would be finalizing sales.
“Six. In two days? That’s not bad for an amateur. I’ll let her know.”
If Mindi Dresser were to let the world know she was the artist, I’d be sitting pretty. H
er fans were notoriously rabid, as her character on Dingo Nights was such a well-written heroine, and she played it to the hilt. They lined streets to see her, followed her to clubs, made mock-ups of her latest outfits, cut their hair like hers in a Hairstyle Phenomenon not seen since Jennifer Aniston’s on Friends. So, if Mindi told the world she’d created those pieces of art, the world would flock to Red Drape Gallery in droves and hordes, no question. All she needed was a little more confidence.
Ha! To think, Mindi Dresser, short on confidence. It went to show, nobody really knows the insecurities and misgivings or secret heart of another person.
Through the phone line, Tyanne’s footfalls on the BGG treadmill pounded in rhythm. “Tell me about that guy who came in just as Grady and I were leaving. He was all over you.”
“He wasn’t.” Please. “He’s Ryker’s new agent.” I didn’t tell her the gallery was Aero’s idea.
“I thought Hugh was.”
“Hugh is, but he’s not. Ryker always has legal and talent agents. You know that.”
“Right. I forgot. Anyway, so, you’re not seeing him? Because he was totally seeing you.”
Yeah, maybe last night before the big painting reveal that put his grandmother into the care of paramedics. But after the disaster, he was pretty much done with me.
“We’ve never gone out.” Other than dinner, when he’d fed me salmon straight from his fork and let my leg rest against his under the table for a full hour. “He’s asked, but the timing has been bad.”
“Girl.” Tyanne’s footfalls silenced. “The whole reason you left BGG was to make time for a life.” Her volume went up a notch. “If you blow off a gorgeous, kind-faced guy who’s totally into you because of ‘timing,’ you’re trading one empty life for another.”
Wow. I’d never heard Tyanne become so impassioned about building a life outside work. Maybe she and Grady were getting closer.
“You really think he was into me?” Speaking of insecurities, I had to ask. Yes, his touch was electric, and no question the chemistry was there. But I could never trust myself to tell whether it was one-sided or not in the past when I’d gone crushing on guys I didn’t have time to be interested in. “He’s a little hard to read.” Yeah, like when he didn’t answer my texts for a couple of days about his grandma’s well-being.
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