Okay, that was progress of a sort, I told myself. At least I now knew that he didn't want me to go off and find him a giant model of the twenty-third letter of the alphabet. "Okay, what do you need me to talk to your ex about?"
"Just-" de St. James started, but he cut his words off halfway through the sentence. "Just do it - you'll figure out what's wrong soon enough."
I frowned at him, feeling a little bit of annoyance myself. This was far too mysterious; what was I supposed to really do? But de St. James had already turned away and was over on the other side of the room, fumbling through some loose and disorganized papers in a corner of the workshop.
I closed my laptop, turning back to him just in time to catch a sheet of paper that he thrust out towards me. "What's this?" I asked, frowning down at the sheet.
"It's the address. Go over there and sort it out." And with that, de St. James turned away, clearly not intending on giving me any more information.
I opened my mouth, trying to figure out what to say, but I couldn't come up with any words. Fine. Apparently my first two tasks were satisfactorily completed. How much harder could it be to accomplish this last task, even if de St. James wasn't willing to tell me what exactly was wrong with his ex?
For all I knew, I probably just had to pick up some box of de St. James' things that he left at her house, I told myself. I'd just go in, quickly try and explain that I wasn't there to deliver messages, just to collect whatever might have been left behind, and try to be out before the yelling started.
Easy. Simple. I could pull this off.
I headed off in my truck to the address on the piece of paper that de St. James had given me, pausing only to slather my hands, and any other exposed skin, with antibacterial goo after stepping out of his house and into the fresh air. I wondered if de St. James' ex-lover had made it far enough to see the deplorable state of the man's house.
Heck, maybe that was what broke them up.
As I neared the address, the apartment buildings lining both sides of the street outside my truck's windows grew nicer, and my opinion of this ex-lover, whoever she might be, slowly rose. If she lived somewhere like here, in this clearly trendy and up-and-coming neighborhood, she at least had good taste.
I found a spot to park at the right block, headed over to the apartment building, and located the bell for the apartment matching the address I'd been given. "Gunn, R." read a small label affixed next to the apartment's buzzer.
I pushed the buzzer, waited, and then pushed it a second time for good measure.
"Yes? Who is it?" came a voice from the intercom. A male voice.
I frowned, quickly readjusting. To be fair, I didn't know how much time had passed since de St. James broke up with this woman. Maybe she'd already moved on to another man - or, I went on, perhaps this was a brother, or a visiting friend.
"I'm here..." I paused, trying to come up with a reasonable lie. No bolts of inspiration came lancing out of the sky to strike me, so I just went with the truth. "I'm here on behalf of Dean Benjamin de St. James."
Nothing came back from the speaker. I waited, holding my breath and wondering if I should have gone instead with the pizza delivery approach.
But then, just as I was about to turn away, I heard the buzz of the door unlocking. I wasn't sure what might have changed the tenant's mind, but I wasn't about to pass on this opportunity.
I grabbed the door, tugged it open, and headed up the stairs to the apartment belonging to "Gunn, R", wondering what I'd encounter next.
Chapter Nineteen
*
The apartment in question, where a Gunn inhabited and a man currently resided, was located on the third floor. I found myself panting slightly as I used the railing to pull myself up to the third floor landing, and redoubled my promise to myself to, at some point in the near-distant future, find a time to go with Portia to her exercise classes.
After taking a minute to catch my breath, I knocked on the door to apartment 3A and stepped back. A few seconds later, I heard the scrape of the chain sliding back on the inside, and the door opened.
Sure enough, a man looked out at me. He looked to be about in his early forties, fit and trim, wearing a blazer over a collared shirt and a pair of slacks, an outfit that wouldn't look out of place emerging from a church service. His eyes looked serious behind a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses, and he frowned out at me.
"So, Dean sent you over here? Why?" the man asked, not moving aside to let me in.
It took a moment before I connected the name "Dean" with the grumpy artist who, until now, I'd considered pretty much solely by his last name. "Uh, I don't know?" I offered weakly, wondering if this person would just slam the door in my face.
He looked like he was considering it, the way his eyes flatly examined me. Finally, however, he sighed and stepped back, pulling the door the rest of the way open.
"You look blank enough to clearly not know what's going on," he sighed as he stepped aside. "You'd better come in, maybe have a cup of tea. This will take a while."
I really wasn't much of a fan of tea, but I would gladly choke down a few sips if it helped me check off this third task, whatever it might turn out to be. "Thank you," I said, and I stepped into the apartment.
The inside of the apartment, at first glance, made me feel like I'd just arrived at an open house. The place looked like a model showroom, even down to a large glass jar filled to the brim with lemons, perched in the middle of the dining table! In the living room area on the left side of the open floor plan, two couches had perfectly folded throw rugs tossed over their backsides, with symmetrical ornamental pillows plumped and placed on either end of the sitting area. A spotless white marble fireplace held a collection of very small ceramic pots and jars on its mantel, along with, curiously, a single picture frame that had been turned face down.
"Just have a seat anywhere, it's a mess," the man told me as he bustled past, heading into the kitchen. I watched as he withdrew a bright, robin's egg blue finished metal teapot from a cabinet and filled it with water. Apparently, he wasn't kidding about the tea.
I perched myself on a corner of one of the sofas, feeling a bit like I'd ruin the picture-perfect apartment if I let myself settle back and dislodge any of the decorative pillows. "So, I'm Becca Grace, by the way," I called out into the kitchen. "I don't think I caught your name."
"Well, I'm Richard, of course," the man replied, returning back over to sit down across from me. "Richard Gunn. This is my apartment."
Richard Gunn, as in Gunn, R.? This was de St. James' - no, Dean's - ex?
"Dean is gay?" I burst out in surprise, stating the realization out loud before I could stop myself.
Richard, however, just tossed back his head and laughed. "The fact that you didn't know that, honey, gives me a bit of hope for him," he replied, waving a hand at me. "Yes, Dean is gay. And the two of us were quite happy together, at least for a while." His expression turned wistful, and his gaze flickered towards the fireplace.
"Wow," I said, still trying to wrap my head around this. Even now that Richard had confirmed it, I just couldn't see Dean as homosexual. Heck, I didn't want to think about him in any sort of a sexual way; his wild beard and hair, along with the general filthiness of his apartment, made the very possibility of him doing anything sexual seem purely revolting.
I looked back over at Richard, who was still gazing off into space as if lost in his recollections. "So..." I tried to think of a way to tastefully ask if de St. James had always been such a slob. "Was this breakup recent?"
Richard sighed. "Not so much. I'd say that it's been about six months since we finally separated, but we both knew that we had problems even before then."
Six months. Was that why de St. James fell out of favor in the artistic community? Could de St. James' house have gotten that bad in just that short of a period of time? "And before you two separated, how long had you been together?"
He leaned back as he counted it out. "Oh, at least a few y
ears. I'd say that we were somewhere past the two year mark, probably getting closer to three, when it all finally came crashing down. There was a fight, lots of drama, I moved out and ended up here, and I haven't quite moved on since!" He laughed, although I didn't hear much humor in his tone.
So they'd lived together. Looking around at Richard's apartment, I guessed that he had been the one who handled all the cleaning, tidying, and organizing. Apparently, without him, de St. James just descended further and further into uncleanliness.
Now, on to the real challenge. "Well, I'm actually only over here because de St. James - er, Dean - assigned me a task of coming by for something," I said, attempting to be direct. I could hear the tea kettle on the stove starting to whistle, and I really didn't want to have to choke down a cup of whatever green tea concoction Richard drank to stay so thin. Probably because, after tasting that tea, he didn't want to put anything else in his mouth for the rest of the day. "But unfortunately, he didn't tell me what exactly I'm supposed to do."
"Well, isn't that something?" Richard frowned at me, tilting his head slightly to one side like he wasn't sure what to make of me. "And how did you get roped into that?"
"I'm the manager for an art gallery downtown," I explained. "Ever heard of the Halesford Gallery?"
For a moment, Richard started to shake his head, but then paused. "Oh, yes! The little one off on that side street, just a couple of blocks from where all the warehouses start! Oh, it's a cute little place," he exclaimed.
"Thank you," I replied. "Anyway, my boss - Preston Halesford, he's my uncle - called me up and told me that Dean Benjamin de St. James was this artist who was getting lots of national publicity, and it would be great to sign him on at the gallery as a contributor. So I went to go see him, and he demanded that I complete three tasks before he'd agree."
"Oh, that sounds just like the man," Richard sighed, resting his chin on one hand. "Always has to make things difficult. And here's the artwork, those silly statues, popping up and causing trouble once again!"
I leaned back a little at the vehemence behind these words. It sounded like these statues had at least a partial hand in the downfall of Richard and Dean's relationship.
"They caused trouble before?" I asked, hoping that he wouldn't blow up at me.
For a moment, he looked like he might - his lips tightened, and his eyes grew cold behind those horn-rimmed glasses. But instead, he let out a long, slow breath and just nodded.
"They always seemed to be at the center of our fights," he said, the words soft and sad. "I didn't have a problem with them, at least not at first. But when I'd roll over every night to find the bed empty beside me, and I'd just hear the sound of him hammering away with a chisel, refusing to come spend time with me because he had his art..."
Richard paused for a moment to reach up and rub his eyes, pushing his glasses up on his forehead. "Any idea what it's like?" he asked me. "To try and deal with someone who just keeps on pushing you away?"
A little twinge of self-consciousness shot through me as I thought about how I'd been avoiding talking with Carter about our own relationship. "I kind of know, yes," I admitted, wishing that he hadn't brought it up.
After another minute, Richard took a deep breath and stood up, turning towards the whistling kettle on the stove. "So, yes, that's Dean and me, summed up in a few sentences," he said, trying to keep his voice brisk and leave the pain behind. "As to why he'd send you over here, I really don't have the slightest clue, I'm afraid. I made sure to take all of my things, and none of his, when I moved out. Anyway, would you like some tea?"
"No, that's all right," I said to the tea, as I puzzled over the mystery of why de St. James wanted me here. Clearly, my arrival had stirred up negative feelings in Richard, given how the man was struggling to keep himself together. And if de St. James' disorganized house and constantly angry personality were any indication, he wasn't over the break-up either-
Wait, was that it? I sat up a little straighter on the couch. Did de St. James secretly send me here because, in his heart, he wanted me to try and do something about this failed relationship?
But how could I even try and do anything to reconnect these two? Richard looked dejected, but he didn't seem broken, not like how de St. James came off. And somehow, I doubted that he'd be ready to take back a dirty, unshaven, wild-haired and smelly de St. James, along with a filthy house.
I needed to think about this, try and come up with a plan. As Richard took the kettle off of the stove, I stood up from the couch, coughing politely to capture his attention.
"Listen, thank you for taking the time to talk to me," I said, "but I'm afraid that I have to get going."
"Without figuring out what Dean wanted from me?" Richard asked, grabbing a mug from one of his cupboards. "Not that I'm likely to go along with whatever it is that man wants from me now, but I do have to confess that I'm at least a bit curious, especially after not hearing from him in so long."
"He hasn't talked to you at all?" I asked.
Richard shook his head. "Not a word. It's probably because he's forgotten all about me, but I like to hold out a little hope that he's just too heartbroken to even reach out." He sniffed. "Although given as how I just saw him pop up on Facebook recently, I suspect that he's had much less trouble moving on than I did."
I felt a little twinge of guilt. "Actually, that was me," I confessed.
"What was you?"
"Facebook. One of his tasks for me was to get him set up on all of the different social media sites. I figured it was just so that he could advertise his work." I coughed, wondering if I should reveal my other insight to Richard, but decided that he had the right to know. "He's not exactly together at the moment, so I didn't even figure on there being... anyone else who might be involved."
Richard smiled a little. "Well, that's good to hear, at least. Are you sure I can't tempt you with some tea? Might help that cough of yours."
"No - but I'll be in touch, I promise." I moved across the man's elegant apartment and grabbed the door handle - but then paused. "Actually, could I get your phone number?"
Still looking a little wistful at the memories I'd dragged up, Richard gave it to me. "Thanks. Really, I'm going to figure out how to make this better," I promised him. "Just give me a little time, okay?"
I just needed to figure out the right way to approach this, I told myself as I climbed back down the three flights of stairs. I still wasn't completely sure on how I'd accomplish this third task, but I at least had a slightly better idea of what I was up against.
Chapter Twenty
*
"So, can you believe it? He's like that because he's heartbroken!"
I sat back and, proud of my discovery, rewarded myself with a big bite of my sandwich. As I chewed, however, I noticed that Carter, sitting across from me, didn't look totally convinced.
"And now he's tasked you with fixing this?" he asked skeptically. "That really seems like a lot to demand, just to get permission to sell his art. Maybe at some point it might be time to give up on chasing after de St. James at all."
It was hard to pout with a mouthful of sandwich, but I gave it my best shot. "Come on, Carter, don't you feel a bit bad for him?" I asked, once I'd managed to swallow. "I thought that he was always mean, but I didn't understand why he seemed together and composed in previous interviews, but now he's so crazy."
"But that's precisely the problem," Carter jumped in. I noticed idly that he had barely touched his own sandwich from the deli counter, and wondered if I could manage to sneak some of it away from him. "The two of them, Richard and Dean, didn't work out. That was when they were really trying. Now, de St. James is just a shell of his former self, dirty and disheveled. How could Richard possibly want him back?"
"Love," I said, with a lot more conviction than I actually felt. "Because Richard still loves him. And love trumps all."
Carter, however, still kept on shaking his head. "I wish it worked out that easily."
&nbs
p; I sighed. Even another bite of my sandwich didn't make me feel much better. After leaving Richard's apartment, I decided that I needed both a nice bite of delicious food, and someone else, for me to work through this new development in de St. James' life. I'd hesitated for a second before calling Carter and asking if he wanted to get lunch with me at the local delicatessen right near my work, but I thought that maybe I could handle the bit of conflict between us that I'd felt the other night at the same time.
"Well, I'm going to come up with something to try," I insisted. "Maybe it won't work, in which case I could come back to just walking away and giving up. But I still feel bad for de St. James, and for Richard, too, and I want to try and help them."
For a moment, I saw Carter squeeze his lips together, like he was biting back a comment. He didn't say anything aloud, however, and a moment later gave me a nod. "Okay. So what are you going to try?"
"Well, that's where I'm stuck. How do I take these two people, who are clearly still attracted to each other but both too stubborn to do anything about it, and bring them together?"
This time, for the briefest of seconds, I thought that I saw him smile before the expression vanished. "That's a tough one. I mean, you could always keep on pushing them together, hoping that, if they go on enough dates, they might realize that they belong in a relationship together?"
Was he talking about us, or about Richard and de St. James? "Sure, but I'm not sure that's enough," I answered cautiously.
He nodded. "Indeed, it seems a bit slow. You said that de St. James was too invested in his work, and eventually Richard just couldn't stand it any longer and walked away? He was tired of coming second to his partner's focus on work?"
Again, this sounded suspiciously like Carter was talking about the two of us, not about Richard and de St. James, but I nodded. "So I guess maybe de St. James needs to make an apology of some sort?"
"It will need to be a big one, something really heartfelt, maybe even with a gesture involved." Okay, now Carter was definitely talking about our relationship. "It will probably take a bit of humility from de St. James, that's clear."
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