Mergers & Acquisitions

by Jennifer Griffith

  “Yeah,” was all he said to that. Then he ran a hand down my arm and laced his fingers between mine. We walked down a leaf-strewn path, the tang of autumn strong in the air.

  “This might be early in the game, but I can already see it’s making some of them into more well-rounded people.”

  Mindi had laughed on the phone last time I called her to tell her about some of the reactions I’d been seeing to her work. It was a joyful, bubbling sound, so different from the hard characters I’d ever seen her play on TV. Following that laughter, she’d told me she had created something she hoped I’d like to see next time we met. Confidence, growth, warmth had all blossomed, just like the flowers her drawings of wild blooms in the desert depicted.

  “That sounds like a good pursuit.” Aero leaned a little closer to me. “Maybe it’s the opposite of microfinance, basically. Since meeting Ryker, that whole world has opened my eyes to what’s needed out there. I’d done a little of it before, but nothing on the scale he’s shooting for. Lives are changing dramatically, especially on a day-to-day-living basis. His work is helping so many people get access to medicine and shelter and things. I actually feel pretty honored to be part of his scheme.”

  I could see that. “Ryker’s work is unquestionably important. He’s helping the less fortunate, and I’m sure they are immeasurably grateful.”

  “But what you’re doing has an important effect, too,” Aero said. “When it comes to individuals and their need for nurturing, it’s cumulative, worldwide. Helping here isn’t any less important than helping on the other side of the earth. We all need reassurance.”

  As he said these words, a little vulnerability resided in his countenance, and I realized that what he was saying applied to him, as well. While I loved that he understood the effect my gallery was having and could back it up, I ached to reassure him personally, and to tell him that when, as Ryker said, I’d ‘rejected’ him in the streets of Old Town the other day, it wasn’t about him. Not at all.

  “Have I ever told you, Jilly, that talking to you is so different than talking to anyone else? I can just say what I’m thinking.”

  His words sent splashes of cool happiness through me, and I wanted to be totally open with him about what I was feeling all the more.

  We found a large granite rock and sat in the cool shade together, breathing the same air for a minute. I’d kissed this man to the point the rest of the world fell away, but I’d never felt as one with him as I did at this moment. If his amethyst ring were to appear right now, I’d take it, and offer him everything I could devote in exchange.

  A chime sounded from his phone.

  “Grandma says lunch is nearly ready.” He took me by the hand and we started our walk back toward the house, leaving my unspoken words floating near the rock where we’d sat.

  We passed a stand of ginkgos, brilliant yellow dressed with their point-end round leaves. A bright red maple stood in the center of the yellow, different and unashamed.

  In spite of the other concerns pressing on me, the task at hand resurfaced, and I couldn’t ignore the worrisome question worming its way to my surface. “Do we tell your grandma that Mars Yuber wants her contact information?”

  Aero paused a moment, as if mulling over this decision. Finally he responded with, “I’m not sure he’s trustworthy.”

  I hadn’t considered that possibility. True, Yuber might be brilliant, but a lot of brilliant men also had a creepy side. “Okay.” I couldn’t necessarily defend him, as I knew nothing about him.

  “I am convinced that was the real Mars Yuber on the phone, but I don’t want Grandma Trixie getting stalked by someone weird and supposedly dead.”

  The supposedly dead part was a worry, for sure.

  “Another thing is, what if he’s just been in hiding, and now that he’s newsworthy he decides to pop back out into the limelight?”

  I voiced the unspoken, worrisome addendum to that. “And tell the world about your grandma.”

  Aero tensed beside me.

  “I guess,” he finally said, “there’s one best choice.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “We’ll tell her the whole truth and let her make the decision.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  We entered the kitchen, where the world smelled of garlic and basil and everything I loved most about food.

  “I hope you like a Caprese salad.” She placed three beautifully designed plates on the table with slices of fresh mozzarella and Roma tomatoes, decorated with sprigs of torn basil leaves, all drizzled in lovely balsamic vinegar and olive oil. “Do you take cracked pepper?”

  I did indeed take cracked pepper, and it took all my willpower not to devour the food at a rate beyond Emily Post’s approval.

  “Thank you for the lunch. It’s delicious.” I managed to say this between bites. “And thank you for the photos, too.” I blushed a little, remembering how accurately they’d portrayed the sparks flying off me at her grandson in them.

  “There was too much chemistry between you in some of them, and I didn’t print them. Didn’t want to overheat the machine down at the local drugstore’s photo department.”

  I probably went as red as the Roma tomatoes on my plate.

  “Grandma!” Aero aimed a fork at her. “Don’t torment Jillian. She’s our guest.”

  “I’m just saying.”

  It cracked me up a little to hear a seventy-plus-year-old woman use that phrase, and it diffused some of my embarrassment. She took a bite and spoke through it, putting me at ease and showing that my manners didn’t have to be as perfect as this house appeared to be.

  “Your electric connection makes the two of you photogenic. It’s intense. I’d think my friends at the photography class I take on Thursday nights would appreciate your coming in to model.”

  She must have realized what she’d just said and its connection to the heavy topic of the day because she set her fork down on the side of her plate and got quiet.

  “I need to tell you, Trixie.” I couldn’t keep it from her any longer. “The phone call I received this morning wasn’t from a family member or a friend or a colleague of Mars Yuber.” How to put this gently enough, I wasn’t sure, but I pressed ahead anyway. “It was from Mars Yuber himself.”

  I watched her carefully to see how she’d take what could be earth-shattering information, depending on her feelings after all these years. She didn’t reveal any emotion, so I kept plodding ahead, my eyes flicking to Aero’s face for approval first.

  “He’d seen the news article in Art World. He wasn’t asking me to take the painting down, or to give it back or anything else.”

  Trixie kept her face a stone, only the occasional blink of her eyes to let me know she was alive. I remembered her heart condition and trod with great care.

  “Are you okay, Grandma?”

  “Well,” she said at last. “I’m thrilled he’s alive. His family will be happy.” She frowned. “Of course, I recall reading he didn’t have much in the way of family, so I guess his friends and fans will be thrilled.”

  I needed to break it to her now.

  “That wasn’t the main point of his phone call. He wasn’t necessarily letting us know he was making a comeback. He had only one question. He … asked about you.” There. I’d dropped the first bomb. And now for the second one: “He wanted to know if I had a way to contact you.”

  I gripped my fork in midair, not even able to take another bite— which was saying something, considering it was the best thing I’d eaten in months or possibly years.

  Ten different guesses as to what she might be thinking shot through my mind. How was she going to react to the possibility of Mars Yuber’s return to life— and his inevitable announcement of her identity as the woman draped in red— and not draped nearly enough for a classy lady like she had become?

  I held my breath, waiting for her next words. When they came, they stunned me almost as much as her reaction when she first saw the painting.

 
“How soon can I see him?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The next morning, I only went to Red Drape to check messages and make a few arrangements to keep the gallery closed until further notice. It pained me to have to put off all the requests I was getting from groups wanting to come and see the Mars Yuber, but I knew that for now, there was no way I could still display the nakedness of Grandma Trixie, not in good conscience. Not until I had her personal permission.

  Since I had nothing else to absorb all my time, Aero took pity on me and asked if I’d like to come along to, for lack of a better word, chaperone Grandma as she met up with Mars Yuber.

  “Huntington Gardens is perfect. It’s public, but you can still have a private conversation in a rose garden.” Aero helped her out of the back seat of the car and then came around to get my door. I loved that he held my hand as we walked toward the gate.

  Huntington Gardens had to be my favorite spot in southern California, with the possible exception of a cliff-lined beach I’d been to once. It had acres of manicured gardens in varying styles, a huge glassed-in arboretum, a whole greenhouse full of orchids, rose gardens from here to eternity, and a magnificent art collection.

  I had bought a yearly pass with my first paycheck from BGG.

  “Hello, Mrs. Jantzen.” A docent came and greeted us, taking Aero’s grandma by the hand with warmth. “Good to see you here again.”

  Of course they knew her. Unlike me and my dinky yearly pass, Trixie was probably a major financial supporter of the massive greenspace.

  “Will you be sitting down with the director today, ma’am?”

  “Not today, Madelyn. Today I’m meeting a friend.” A lilt was in Trixie’s voice. I couldn’t help but feel some butterflies for her. We walked on past the grand entrance and deeper into the park.

  “Are you sure you want to go meet him alone?” Aero paused near the huge, glass botanical center, a protectiveness in his voice. “I’d be glad to go along. Just for safety.”

  “I’ll be fine. We’ll meet back here in a few minutes for hot cocoa.”

  “Text me.” Aero leveled a stern gaze at her.

  She shooed us away, and I sent a little prayer heavenward for her safety— both physical and emotional. I couldn’t imagine what meeting up with your first love after fifty-some years would be like.

  Aero and I had meandered in stressed-out silence past the orchid greenhouse, through the botanical center, and down through the Chinese garden. There we circled the reflecting pond, paused by the waterfall, and then made our way up the path to the Japanese garden with its arched bridge and replica Japanese house with straw mat floors and rice paper doors separating its rooms. We might have said a dozen words to each other in all that time, despite the many other topics on my mind, and Aero kept a death-grip on my hand. Just as we got to the bonsai display, Aero seemed to unwind a bit and began to speak.

  “Jillian,” he said, his voice earnest and my breath bating. This could be the moment we finally talked about the big things looming between us. My heart skipped a beat as our eyes met.

  Just then, a call came in on Aero’s phone.

  “Grandma already?” I asked as he broke eye contact and pulled out his cell.

  “Ryker.”

  Of course. Why hadn’t I guessed Ryker first? He always seemed to call when Aero and I were on the verge of a real conversation.

  “Hey, Ryke.” He put it on speaker phone and held it flat in his hand. “I’m with Jilly.”

  “You are? Great! I knew it.” He chuckled, and I could almost hear him grinning through the phone. “Have you eloped yet? Just kidding. No pressure. No more tricks, I promise. I’m taking what you said to heart, and letting things grow naturally. Trees, not chia pets, right? Those grow really fast, you know. I have one shaped like one of those duck-call moguls on TV. The seeds grow him a green beard.” He laughed and mimicked the duck call, and then laughed some more.

  Some people’s children.

  “What do you need, Ryker?” Aero moved the conversation along. “Did you have a problem with the director yesterday? The commercial not working out?”

  “Oh, he was fine. The commercial’s great.” Ryker went on about the commercial for a few minutes, until Aero made impatient noises and pulled him back on topic by asking him why he’d called. “Okay, fine,” Ryker huffed. “I’m really calling about the painting. I asked Phoebe, and it turns out she hates Van Gogh. Who’d have thought, right? The internet said everyone likes him. But not Phoebe. She says she barely even likes paintings. She’s way more into crafts than art, so I can’t even give it to her as a birthday present for a backup if you two don’t want it as your buffer artifact.”

  So that’s what he was calling it? A buffer artifact. Weird kid. But I had to love him. Moments like this, adopting him didn’t sound half bad.

  “Are you calling to tell me you want me to auction it?”

  “No!” Ryker went breathless. “I’m calling to say I want it to be displayed in Jilly’s gallery— even if she still has to keep showing that picture you wanted to buy. Since she did name the gallery after the Woman Draped in Red I can see why she’d want to keep it, or the whole theme wouldn’t make sense, right? So, yeah. Tell Jilly— it’s hers. A wedding gift.”

  Wedding gift!

  “Let things grow, Ryker. Naturally.”

  “Right. It’s an advance wedding gift. One you don’t have to send back if things don’t work out.”

  “Pressure, pressure.”

  Hilarious, heartfelt, delightful pressure.

  “Thank you, Ryker.” I had to chime in. “You’re the best.”

  “I know, right? Phoebe tells me that all the time and I believe pretty much every single thing she says. She’s the wisest person I know for her age.” He made a weird sound like maybe he was kissing her in the background. “Just imagine how wise she’ll be when she’s as old as Grandma Trixie. And how well she’ll be able to cook.”

  He signed off, and I stood looking at Aero, the shock of the moment suddenly absorbing into my body.

  “I’m the owner of a Van Gogh.” My face probably drained of color, because Aero took me by the arm to steady me. “How does that even fit with my reality?”

  “Good things come to those who do good. It’s karma. It’s in the Bible, too— cast thy bread upon the waters and all that. It’s a natural law.”

  Maybe, but it didn’t change that I couldn’t believe it was happening to me.

  In a fit of happiness, I threw my arms around Aero’s neck. “Thank you!” On my tippiest tiptoes, I stretched up and kissed him in a blaze of gratitude and joy. He kissed back.

  “I don’t know what I did to deserve this.” He waved his hand between our two faces, pointing at his lips and then mine. “I’m not the one who gave you the Van Gogh.”

  I kissed him again for a second until a woman passing with a double stroller and two kids with balloons said, “Yes, sweetie, it does look like they’re in love.” And then, “No, you probably won’t see Daddy and me kissing like that at the Huntington today.”

  Pulling away, I laughed and apologized. “We just had some great news. Sorry.”

  She smiled. “I was there once. Where do you think I got these?” She pointed at the twins.

  Aero’s phone rang again. “Grandma.” He picked up.

  I could hear her voice as she said, “I want you to meet Mars.”

  ______

  We met at the rose gardens, with its vast field of hundreds of rose bushes, just to the east of the gallery of European art. Grandma walked up her arm linked in that of an elderly man with grizzled sideburns and a high forehead that made him look wise and sincere at the same time.

  I knew that face: it had graced the cover of Art World Magazine’s latest issue.

  “I had to make sure it was really him before I threw the two of you into the mix.” She shot a giddy glance at him. “And it is.”

  We made our introductions.

  “Before you start asking m
e the questions I’m sure are on your mind, I’m going to just jump in and tell you and spare everyone the awkwardness of asking.” He was gruff and direct and jolly all at once. I could appreciate this guy.

  In the course of one lap of the enormous rose garden, he explained his disappearance, his reappearance, and the reasoning behind all of it.

  “I needed more time to paint. Hello, busy painter here. Don’t call me all the time. I’m busy painting. Sick of reporters and lectures and all the business of art, I just wanted the art part. I was old enough to retire from that and just wanted to do my hobby. But they wouldn’t bloomin’ leave me alone.” He didn’t use the word bloomin’. “The last thing I meant to do was give the tabloids fodder or an excuse to use the term ‘faked his own death,’ but—” he sighed, “— that’s the way the ball bounces.”

  Next, he gave us a brief sketch of how he brought his so-reported death to pass.

  “I called the police and said I’d disappeared. Claimed I was Mars Yuber’s gardener. Then I left all my possessions behind, including your painting— the only thing that pained me to part with. I checked myself into a facility: a retirement home in Loma Linda. Nobody ever looks for lost celebrities in Loma Linda.” Loma Linda was a small city in the San Fernando Valley, not far from Grady Ingliss’s place. Yuber was probably right about that. “Hollywood, yes. L.A., sure. Wandering the beaches of San Diego, of course. But Loma Linda? Never. I told the caregivers my name was Ares— you know, the Greek form of Mars— and they bought it. None of them had ever heard of me, and I paid in cash monthly, so that worked out just dandy for everyone. I had my own room, ordered in my art supplies, acted a little addled when it served my purposes, and boom— fresh life and all the time in the world to paint.”

  “Wow. That’s quite a scheme.” I marveled at his bizarre resourcefulness.

  Grandma Trixie sniffed. “I told him Ares is too close to Aero. I’m never calling him that.”