Canvas for Love

by Charlotte Greene

  “But you decided not to?” I asked. I wanted her assurance that she wasn’t suicidal.

  She hesitated. “I probably would have gone through with it, but Daphne figured it out. I’ve been staying with her this week, and she saw something…she talked me out of it and helped arrange this little meeting to clear the air.”

  My fear was back, tempered by anger. This woman had hurt me and wanted to hurt me again. Yet I sat listening to her as if she deserved an audience for her lunacy. I needed to leave, and I needed to call the police. It was madness to be here.

  I shifted as if to get up, and Sara grabbed my arm, the movement viper-like in its quickness. I froze, halfway out of my chair, her fingers digging into my skin.

  “Please,” she hissed. “Please just listen to me. If you listen to me now, I’ll never bother you again. I swear it.” Her voice caught and she swallowed a few times, choking back tears. “If I don’t talk to you now, I-I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  I was looking into her eyes as she said this and finally saw the depth of her pain and panic. All of the casual nonchalance of the last few minutes had been a front. She was deeply, unmistakably wounded. I also thought she might be telling the truth. If I listened, this could all be over.

  I took my seat again and watched as she calmed down. Once again, that composed mask slipped back into place and her tears dried up. Her madness, if that’s what it was, was hidden again, but the earlier illusion was shattered. I knew now what was underneath her calm veneer, and I couldn’t help but pity it, at least in part. This was a woman in pain.

  She couldn’t meet my eyes anymore, clearly embarrassed by her outburst. She stared down at the tabletop, playing with a fork on the table. I could see her willing herself to speak, and I waited, knowing words would come when she was ready. Finally, she stopped fidgeting, took a long, calming breath, and looked up at me.

  “Let me tell you a story. About a girl, younger than you are now.”

  I nodded, trying to keep my expression neutral. I wanted her to have her say and be done with it. It was already clear she was talking about herself, but she could tell me the story any way she wanted to—that was her choice.

  Sara looked as if she couldn’t quite believe I was willing to listen to her. She went on.

  “This girl grew up here in town. She was lucky. She was born into wealth and privilege. She attended all of the best private schools, grew up in a large house in the best part of town. She spent summers in Europe and the Caribbean. She had simply to ask and she received. She even had a coming-out party at a debutante ball, if you can believe it.”

  She had tears in her eyes and once again blinked them away before they fell from her lashes. She shook her head a little as if to clear it.

  “As she got older, things changed. Her life was not as it appeared. For one thing, she wasn’t interested in dating the young men her parents tried to set her up with. She knew at a young age that her interests lay elsewhere, were of a female persuasion, if you will. But she told no one.

  “Finally, unable to keep her feelings to herself any longer, she told all to the only person she knew who would listen: an old family friend, Daphne Waters.”

  Ah, I thought. This explained their closeness.

  “Daphne helped the girl accept herself for who she was and helped her come out to her parents.” She paused and, her voice breaking a little, she then continued. “Daphne even helped the girl when her parents disowned her. She helped her through college, supported her through her first forays into love.” She looked me in the eyes. “And she helped the girl land her first job out of the university.”

  I knew where this was going now, and while I didn’t really want to sit here and listen to her anymore, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of excited curiosity. Amelia had told me next to nothing about Sara or any of her other ex-girlfriends. Judging by Sara’s violent behavior in the past, I knew she was a woman I shouldn’t trust, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to hear more about what happened.

  “The girl fell in love with her new boss, and she fell hard and fast. And it seemed like her boss fell in love with her, too. The trappings of love were there, at any rate. Her boss showered her with gifts and vacations, took her to the best restaurants in town, introduced her to friends and family. Everything seemed to be going very well. The girl, who had held herself back all those years, terrified lest she be hurt the way her parents had hurt her, let herself fall in love completely, wholly.”

  This sounded eerily similar to my own experience with Amelia, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I reminded myself of what Billy, Emma’s boyfriend, had told me: that it was clear to everyone that they had loved each other, and for the first time, I was a little jealous.

  “Then, out of the blue, a career opportunity for the girl presented itself. The girl had trained in business, and Wall Street came calling—recruited her, of all people. She’d only taken the job with Amelia’s company as a stop-gap while she waited for just this sort of position to appear. When she told her boss about it, her boss seemed happy for her, even encouraging. At first.”

  She stopped long enough to drain the little glass of water in front of her, and when she set the glass down again, I saw that her hands were badly shaking. She clasped them again in her lap to hide them from me.

  “As the moving date approached, her boss became more distant. Small changes occurred. Fewer phone calls and then fewer nights over. A missed night or two turned into three and four, and then a whole week could pass without the girl seeing her boss outside of work. Eventually the girl sensed a distinct coldness growing between them. Desperate to mend the growing gap, the girl offered to give up the job in New York, to stay in New Orleans and work for her boss forever, if that’s what it would take. It didn’t help—her boss had frozen her out.

  “On the plane to New York, the girl knew she’d lost everything, all over a stupid job. She’d given up the love of her life for work, of all things. She tried to forget her first love. At times it seemed like she’d dated every available woman in New York. Nothing worked. Nothing helped her forget what she’d lost.”

  Then Sara was quiet and looked calm again. She stared outside at the golf course, her eyes distant and removed, locked in the past of her story. I was relieved, however, that I finally knew what had happened. It certainly didn’t paint Amelia in a very good light, but I also knew that one of the reasons Amelia didn’t like to talk about her ex-girlfriends was precisely because so many of her previous relationships had ended this way. Amelia had told me that she and Sara simply drifted apart, or at least it seemed so at the time, but clearly Sara remembered the breakup differently. It troubled me that Amelia hadn’t recognized how badly she’d hurt this woman, but that didn’t excuse Sara’s violence and meddling. I didn’t like the idea that Amelia had been so careless with her, but Sara had no right to try to cause us grief, either. Still, I couldn’t help but feel a little remorse on her behalf. It must be galling to see someone else receive the love you thought you deserved.

  I wanted this encounter to be over now, and I shifted in my chair to draw Sara’s eyes to mine. Her expression was bleak, depressed. I held out my hand and after a moment of evident surprise, she took it in hers.

  “Sara, I’m sorry Amelia treated you that way. You certainly didn’t deserve it—no one deserves to be treated poorly. I don’t excuse Amelia’s behavior at all. It was cruel.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, and this time she let them fall, unheeded, down her cheeks.

  “But you have to let it go,” I said. “You have to let her go. And you have to leave us alone. It isn’t going to help you to hurt me or try to hurt yourself. In fact, I can promise it will only make you feel worse.

  “Get some help. Please. Find someone you can talk to about this—someone impartial. Not Daphne, not a friend, but a professional. I know you can get past this.”

  I stood, and she touched my arm one last time. Our eyes met.

  “Chloé?”r />
  “Yes?”

  “Thank you. Really. You didn’t have to sit here and listen to me.” She paused, eyes welling with tears. “I-I think I understand why she chose you now. You’re a good person.”

  “Good luck, Sara. I hope you find some peace.”

  I walked directly from Sara over to Daphne, who looked incredibly pleased with herself. My expression must have spoken volumes, as I saw her smile falter when I drew closer. I was calmer now and could keep my voice at speaking level, but I was absolutely furious.

  “How dare you?” I told her. “Have you lost your fucking mind? Why on earth would you do that to me? Or to Amelia?”

  She seemed far less certain than she had for the last hour, as if suddenly recognizing her tactical error. She shook her head, and then the faux confidence slid back into place.

  “I care for Miss Sara very much. She’s like a daughter to me. I’ll do anything I can to help her—I always have.”

  “Well, this is not helping,” I snapped. “And it’s very, very clear that she needs psychological evaluation and treatment. Now. Immediately. If I were you, I’d take her to the hospital today.”

  She looked uncertain again, and I saw her eyes travel back to Sara, who was staring out the window again, appearing hunched and small.

  “You think it’s that serious?” Daphne asked.

  “Of course it is!” I hissed. “She told me she was going to hurt herself in front of me. You don’t think that’s serious?” Daphne tried to wave the threat away, but I wouldn’t have it. “She said you caught her and talked her out of it. What did she plan to do?”

  Now she looked distinctly uncomfortable, even a little panicked. “Well, you see, I found this gun in her luggage yesterday.”

  My heart skipped a beat, and I stepped closer to Daphne, making her meet my eyes. “You found a gun, and you didn’t do anything about it?”

  “I thought it was a gesture—for show!” Daphne looked as if she barely believed this explanation herself.

  I pointed at Sara. “That woman is suicidal. She had a gun and a plan. If you don’t promise me right now that you’re going to get her some help, I swear to God I’ll call the police this minute.” I held up my hands. “No—actually, your promise isn’t enough. I want to see you contact someone right now. I’m sure you know some fancy doctor here in town you can get in touch with on a Sunday afternoon. After all, you seem to know everyone.”

  Daphne’s eyes flickered back and forth between me and Sara a few times, and I finally saw her accept what I was saying. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. She put a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.

  “My poor baby,” she whispered, staring at Sara. “My poor darling.”

  “So you’ll call someone?” I asked.

  She nodded, quickly, with no hesitation. It was enough.

  I started to leave, but she touched my sleeve. I turned to meet her tear-stained face.

  “I have no right to ask you anything, Chloé, but do you think we can keep this between us?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t make a habit of hiding things from Amelia, Daphne, and I don’t intend to start now.”

  “Well, do you think you could at least wait a couple of days? I mean, while I get Sara settled in a treatment center? Amelia can be a little…temperamental. I want Sara safe first.”

  I hesitated and then nodded. It wouldn’t help to have Amelia on the warpath before Sara was tucked away somewhere.

  “Thank you, Chloé. I owe you.”

  I pointed at Sara again. “You help that woman get her life together, and we’ll be even.”

  I strode away and out the door before she could say another word.

  Chapter Eleven

  I waited too long to tell Amelia about my encounter with Sara—I’ll be the first to admit that. I let several things distract me, accidentally on purpose as they say. For one thing, I had to go back to work the next day, Monday, and as I hadn’t seen Amelia since Friday night, I didn’t want to spoil our mini-reunion. Also, Daphne had asked me to wait a couple of days before I told her, so it was too soon the first time we saw each other to say anything anyway. At least that’s what I told myself at the time.

  Work was incredibly busy that week, too. After a couple of delays due to scheduling conflicts, we were finally doing the installation at Teddy’s in the Marigny, and I was rushing back and forth between the office and the restaurant on Monday to make sure everything ran smoothly for the installation on Tuesday. It didn’t. Three blocks from the warehouse, the moving vehicle managed to drive over several nails, puncturing almost every tire. I should have simply called our backup truck over and transferred everything, but I waited too long. By the time I realized they had to tow the truck over to the tire shop to get it repaired, our other moving van was out on a delivery.

  I had to accompany the truck with the flat tires and our artwork to Peanut’s Tires and sit there all morning and afternoon as the mechanics scrambled to fix them. Of course they didn’t have the right tires in stock, and someone had to drive all the way to Baton Rouge to get more. By the time the tires were installed and the truck was ready to drive again, it was much too late in the afternoon to begin the installation. We’d planned on a one-day, morning-and-afternoon setup to help the restaurant avoid closing for dinner, so I had to call them and reschedule for the next day, which made me sound like an unprofessional idiot.

  I had other distractions as well. On Wednesday, as I stood in the middle of Teddy’s restaurant, directing the installation, I got the call I was waiting for. The art-history department at New Orleans State wanted me to come the next day or Friday for a teaching demonstration. I scheduled it sooner rather than later, wanting to get it over with, then immediately regretted my decision. I would be tied up at the restaurant all afternoon, and Amelia and I were going to receive a special early dinner at Teddy’s today to celebrate. I wouldn’t have any time to prepare. Still, I decided to forgo sleep rather than call the hiring committee back. I’d be just as busy tomorrow evening, after all.

  When the last painting was hung and the last sculpture was placed, Teddy invited me to join her at the bar while we waited for Amelia. The light was different from the last time I’d been there with Emma. We’d changed all the bulbs to a soft, low white. It’s amazing how much a few lightbulbs can change an atmosphere. The artwork was also dramatically different, so between the lights and the art, the dining room seemed like a new place.

  Teddy insisted on opening a bottle of champagne to celebrate, and we sat close to each other at the bar. She was already in her black chef’s uniform, but despite this, her athletic frame was still visible under the heavy material. She rolled her sleeves, leaving her forearms exposed. I’d noticed her tattoos the last time I was here, but now, alone together and sitting down, I had the opportunity to look at them closely. She noticed my gaze and held an arm out for inspection. The tattoos had been expertly designed. Hers were uniformly black with lighter shading, clearly inked by a master. I don’t have any tattoos myself, but I appreciate them if they’re done well, and hers were beautiful.

  “I’m friends with a tattoo artist here in town,” Teddy explained. “She’s the only person who works on me. She’s incredible. I can get you her number, if you want.”

  I laughed. “Oh no. I’m much too chicken.”

  Teddy grinned. “That’s what my wife said until she got her first one. Now she’s catching up with me. It’s nice, because I always know what to get her for her birthday or Christmas: another tattoo.”

  We chatted a while longer, and then I saw a flash of movement and dark hair outside. A moment later Amelia walked in through the front door. She took off her sunglasses and stood blinking for a moment, taking in the room. She and I had done the mock-ups of the space together, but she hadn’t actually been in here since we started work on the project. I saw her look around, carefully, and then she moved around the room to inspect some of our choices. Finally, she seemed to sense our eyes on her, and she tur
ned until she spotted us and then laughed before walking our way.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, holding out a hand. “I thought I was alone.”

  Teddy shook her hand, clearly appraising her as they greeted each other. Amelia was at her prettiest today. Her cheeks were rosy from the slight chill in the air, making her color much higher and brighter than usual. Also, knowing that we had this dinner with our clients this afternoon, she’d dressed carefully to highlight her best features. Amelia always looks great, but she looks especially attractive in dark gem tones. She was wearing a silk, navy blouse with pearl buttons and a charcoal-gray skirt and heels. She kissed my cheek and remained standing next to us.

  “Please, sit down,” Teddy said, moving to get up and give her the barstool.

  “Oh no, Miss Rose. Please stay seated. I’ve been at the computer all day. I’d rather stand for now.”

  Teddy handed her a glass of champagne, and Amelia took a sip, closing her eyes and rolling the wine in her mouth. I was amused to see Teddy watching her every move. After a moment, she swallowed hard and wrenched her eyes away. I could relate. Watching Amelia enjoy herself, with food or drink or something more carnal, was intoxicating. It made you want to please her over and over again.

  Teddy shook herself out of her trance and stood up. “Now I really must go, Miss Winters. I have some things to look over in the kitchen. Please take my seat. I’ll be serving our dinner soon. My wife and I will join you then.”

  Amelia took her spot and then cradled one of my hands in hers. She was still a little chilled from being outside, and I chafed her hand to warm it. We were having another series of chilly days. While it wasn’t as cold as it had been in January, it was unusually cold for us this late in February. Amelia had neglected to wear a coat, I realized, and I almost chided her for her oversight, but she looked so happy that I didn’t want to say anything. Her eyes were dreamy, dazed almost, and her lips were curled into a loose grin.

  “What is it?” I asked. “Why are you smiling?”