Canvas for Love

by Charlotte Greene

  “Just enjoying the view. I love looking at you.”

  I couldn’t help but color at her remark and glance down at myself. I’d dressed with more care than usual and spent more time on my hair and makeup in anticipation of this dinner, but I didn’t think I looked that different. But perhaps that was the point of her compliment.

  “Thanks,” I murmured. “You’re not half bad yourself. Did you see the way Teddy was staring at you?”

  Amelia grinned. “I did. I’ve heard she’s always been like that. But I guess she just looks now, seeing as she’s married.”

  “Did you know her before?”

  “I knew of her, anyway. I mean I remember seeing her around at clubs and bars, but we never met. She was much too intimidating. She was around and on the prowl way back—before the hurricane. I think she lived somewhere else for a while, but when she came back to town, just about everyone had a story about her. She always went home with the hottest woman in the room. New one every night.”

  “So you didn’t have the pleasure?”

  She laughed. “No. I wasn’t cocky enough to approach her, and I was much too young at the time, anyway. That was what, ten years ago? Christ.” She shook her head. “Where does the time go? I can’t wait to see the woman who finally managed to capture her. She must be something else.”

  She didn’t have to wait long, as Teddy and her wife Kit came out of the kitchen a few minutes later. I introduced Amelia to Kit and watched in amusement as Kit reacted similarly to her, staring a little too long and watching her a little too closely before seeming to snap out of it. Amelia has this effect on people. It’s hard to tear your eyes off her. I was, however, having a similar reaction to Teddy, so I guess the attraction was a kind of mutual admiration all around. After introductions, the four of us walked around the room, examining the paintings. Amelia and I took turns explaining our choices and arrangements. When we’d finished, we all sat down in a comfortable, circular booth in the corner of the room to wait for the food. It was still an hour until they opened to the public for dinner.

  “I love all the pieces in here,” Teddy said. “I’m more pleased than I can say. I knew we had a lot of talented artists in town, but I had no idea how much I’d love seeing their work all together like this.”

  “We plan to invite some local media here to do a write-up on the show, so I hope that provides business for both of us,” Amelia explained. “Not that you seem to need it.”

  “We’re also going to rotate our artists every other month, if that works for you,” I explained. “That way we can showcase almost everyone we work with in town.”

  “I still don’t understand why you didn’t bring that one painting we loved so much,” Kit said, frowning a little. “I like it so much, I was thinking of buying it for the restaurant permanently.”

  She was talking about my painting. Amelia and I shared a glance, and I looked away quickly to hide my anger. I’d been very upset that she put my work in the portfolio and had demanded that she remove it from future sales pitches. Amelia had been put out, especially after I told her how well Kit and Teddy seemed to like it, but she’d had no choice but to listen to me. My artwork was not for sale.

  Teddy must have caught something in our glance, as she chuckled softly. She touched Kit’s hand. “I think you put your foot in it, honey. There must be a problem with the piece.”

  I looked at Amelia in a panic, but she remained unruffled. “There is a problem. I’m afraid the artist is not selling that painting. It was included in the portfolio by accident. My mistake.”

  Kit looked genuinely disappointed, and I couldn’t help but feel a little flush of pride. I didn’t show my work to a lot of people, and those I did share it with were close to me. To have an outsider deem it worth buying gave me a quiet sense of satisfaction. Amelia was staring at me, one eyebrow raised, and I knew exactly what she was thinking: I told you so.

  “Well, if that artist does paint something new, please let him or her know that I’m very interested,” Kit said.

  “I’ll do that.” Amelia winked at me.

  We had a very pleasant, extremely delicious meal together. Amelia discussed her plans for a new show she was putting on, which would highlight the Mexican artists she’d discovered in Puerto Vallarta. She invited Kit and Teddy, who seemed interested in it, which led us to talking about our trip to Mexico and how comfortable we’d been there.

  “It’s certainly nice to go somewhere that caters to us. I hate having to justify wanting one bed when we go most places,” Kit said. “We stayed in a little lesbian B&B in New Hampshire last year after our wedding, and it was just marvelous. We went skiing and sledding—all of the stuff I grew up doing in Colorado.”

  We then started to talk about weddings, the four of us lamenting the fact that Louisiana would likely be one of the last states to legalize gay marriage. Not long ago, the state had been the last bastion of the Democratic South, but recent inroads by the religious right had changed all of that. Now the state was as red as its neighbors. New Orleans and some of the other cities in the state were different, but it would likely be a generation before we elected another Democrat for anything more powerful than mayor.

  Other topics arose, including careers and schooling, and I was surprised to learn that Kit used to be a literature professor in California. She explained that she’d moved to be here with Teddy and had never regretted it. Amelia gave me a level stare, and I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. I hadn’t yet told Amelia about my teaching demo the next day, but this wasn’t the time to bring it up.

  By necessity, our dinner had to wrap up once the public began to appear. Kit and Teddy immediately began to seem anxious, and Amelia and I excused ourselves as quickly and graciously as possible. We all agreed, however, to meet again soon, and Teddy promised to call us for their next get-together at their place in the Marigny. I was happy knowing we might finally have some lesbian friends in New Orleans.

  Outside, the air had turned from chilly to downright cold. A slight hazy fog was in the air, and a few drops of freezing rain were falling. Amelia looked distinctly underdressed now without a coat, and I rubbed her arms a few times to warm her up.

  “So, are you coming over?” I asked.

  “I can’t. I have that damn phone call tonight with our client in Hong Kong.”

  “That’s tonight? I thought it was tomorrow.”

  “They rescheduled at the last minute. Anyway, I’m calling them at eight thirty.”

  “That’s still hours from now. Can you come over for a little while at least? We’ve barely seen each other all week.”

  She looked uncertain but agreed. Despite the short distance, we took her car back to my place so she wouldn’t have to walk back over here later. I have my own parking space—a rarity in any city, let alone near the French Quarter—and it’s just big enough to park another car behind mine without blocking the sidewalk.

  I’d left the heat blasting in my apartment when I left this morning, and it was almost hot when we got inside. I saw Amelia relax a little and rub her arms, and I was reminded of Emma. Not wearing a coat must be a genetic predisposition.

  I was strangely nervous with her and bustled around anxiously in the kitchen as she waited in the living room. Things had been a little off since our pseudo-fight last Friday, and neither one of us seemed to know how to get back to normal. It didn’t help that I had two very awkward things to talk to her about: my demonstration tomorrow and my run-in with Sara and Daphne. Neither topic was likely to go well, but, coward that I am, once again I decided to lead with the easier one.

  I brought our mugs out a moment later and found Amelia flipping through my sketchbook. I’d left it on the coffee table this morning. I wasn’t exactly upset that she was looking at it—it was there, after all—but it reminded me of our earlier tiff about including my work in the local portfolio without my permission. My art was deeply personal. Even when I’d fancied myself something of an artist, in my youth and
arrogance, I wouldn’t dream of letting people buy it. It wasn’t good enough to sell. I didn’t even hang it anywhere in my house outside my studio—it was mine and mine alone.

  She heard me and looked up, her smile changing to a slight frown. “Is something the matter?”

  I shook my head, swallowing my annoyance. I needed to stay focused if I was going to get through this. I sat down next to her, handing her a cup of strong tea. She drank it black, and she rarely let it cool.

  “So,” I said, “I have some things to tell you.”

  She looked puzzled and set her tea down, turning her focus to me completely. Her eyes were beautiful, the color of her blouse making them seem even darker than usual.

  “Shoot,” she said.

  I took a deep breath. “New Orleans State called me back.”

  She smiled. “Was there ever a doubt?”

  I laughed, relief flooding me. “Of course. It was a formal interview, after all. They might have chosen someone else.”

  She kissed the tip of my nose. “Then they’re smart. You’re the best candidate anyone could ask for.”

  “I have a teaching demonstration tomorrow morning.”

  Her smile faltered and she looked away. We sat in silence for a long pause, and then she looked at me again. “So soon?”

  A flash of temper sliced through me. I wanted and needed support. “Yes. I told you it would be this week.”

  She pushed a lock of hair behind one of my ears, her eyes definitely sad now. I could see her struggling with herself, and some of my anger died away. She clearly wanted to say the right thing but was having a difficult time.

  Her lips were quivering a little when she spoke again. “And how soon will you leave me?”

  I drew her into my arms and kissed the side of her head. I could feel her shaking, and she squeezed me back, hard. I drew away and met her eyes, and now I could see tears there.

  “I’m not leaving you, Amelia. You know that. I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

  She took a long, shuddering breath and blinked before laughing weakly. “I know, Chloé. I know. Well, at least part of me knows. But another part of me thinks that you’ll start this new job, and I’ll never see you again. It’s stupid, but that’s how I feel. I don’t mean to be like this. I want you to have everything you want. I want you to be happy. I don’t want to be selfish.”

  I squeezed her hands in mine. “I love working with you, Amelia. I love what we do together. Days like today—when we put up lovely pieces of art and a whole room is revitalized and everyone is happy—I didn’t know I could enjoy myself like that in any job.” I paused and made sure she met my eyes. “But I’ve wanted to be a professor my whole life. I worked very hard for this chance. And I think, no, I know I’ll be good at it.”

  She took another long, deep breath. “You don’t have to justify yourself to me, Chloé. I know you’ll be an excellent professor. And I know you’ll do great tomorrow.” She paused and seemed to look inward for a moment. “I have a hard time letting go—that’s all. I’m afraid you’ll find something that will take you away from me. It has nothing to do with you. I’m just insecure. It’s not your fault—it’s mine.”

  I pulled her into an embrace again, and we stayed in each other’s arms for a long time. I couldn’t help but think of Sara. She had gotten a job out of town, and Amelia had basically shut her out of her life in response. Amelia’s insecurity didn’t seem to have spontaneously appeared. It appeared to be a long-entrenched defense mechanism. Where had it come from? Was it from someone before Sara?

  Amelia sat back again and appeared much calmer. She was a little pale and a little sad, but I could deal with a mourning period. What I needed, however, was some support.

  “So anyway, I won’t be in to work tomorrow until after the demonstration,” I told her.

  “What are you going to teach them?”

  “It’s a contemporary art-history class, so I have a lot to choose from. The regular professor emailed me the syllabus, so I’ll try to fit my choices in with his lesson plan as much as possible.”

  “I wish I could be there to watch you. I know you’ll knock them dead.”

  It was the best thing she could have said. My heart swelled with happiness, and I gave her another long hug. She kissed me once, deeply, and my spirits lifted. Things weren’t perfect yet, but maybe I shouldn’t expect that from her. She was allowed to have mixed feelings.

  When she sat back, her eyes were dark with desire, and my insides warmed up. She could clearly see the response in my eyes, and her lips twisted into a satisfied grin. She glanced at her watch and then cursed.

  “Damn it! I have to go.”

  “What? Now?” I was still befuddled.

  “I’m supposed to go over the contracts with one of our lawyers before the conference call. Something about a recent change in tariffs. He’s going to be there at seven.”

  I gave her my best pout, and she laughed before kissing me and then stood up.

  “Can you come back after?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “It will probably go until at least midnight. We have to work through an interpreter, so it’s going to take twice as long as usual. Let’s have a long lunch tomorrow, and you can tell me all about your demonstration. I’ll have Janet make a reservation somewhere.”

  I stood up and gave her one more hug. “I’ll miss you.”

  “Me, too. I already feel like I need another vacation.” She paused and linked her hands with mine. “And, Chloé? Good luck tomorrow. Really.”

  “Thanks, Amelia. I appreciate it.”

  “I always wanted to date another professor,” she said and winked.

  “Another?”

  “How do you think I got such good grades?”

  I was still chuckling as she walked out the door.

  Much later that evening, surrounded by books and notes from graduate school, I remembered that I still hadn’t told her about my run-in with Sara. I suppressed a twinge of unease but made myself dismiss it. I have enough to worry about, I told myself.

  Only later would I realize how stupid I’d been.

  Chapter Twelve

  I stayed up late preparing for the teaching demonstration the next morning. I debated with myself for a long time before settling on a topic. I would be taking over a section of a class for fifty minutes, and the professor I was standing in for had given me free rein. It was a survey class of contemporary art history, framed in the time period after World War II. From the syllabus, I could see that he’d focused primarily on American art, which gave me some options. I could continue to concentrate on Americans, or I could do something different. My specialty is European and French contemporary art, but I was schooled in American, too. After going back and forth with myself, I settled on French contemporary, guessing correctly that they had discussed very little about it in the class so far. I was up quite late getting my slides together, and when I finally went to bed, I tossed and turned most of the night.

  I rose early and dressed carefully, and as I drove to campus I was quaking with nerves. I met the hiring committee in the parking lot, and all of us walked to the classroom together. They kept the talk light, clearly sensing my nervousness. When we finally stood outside the classroom, I had to suppress the desire to run away. I was that scared.

  The moment I walked through the door to the classroom, however, things changed. My confidence returned almost instantly. I was still shaking a little when I handed my slides to the TA, but by the time the class officially started—the hiring committee sitting at the back of the room—I hit my stride. I managed to make a quick joke that broke the ice and jumped into my lecture immediately. I had left blank periods in my talk for discussion, and the students immediately raised their hands, clearly wanting to help me out. The entire class period passed quickly, and I was amazed to find myself running out of time as we got close to wrapping up. After the students left, I could see the committee chatting with each other quietly at the back of
the room, and when they got up to come greet me, they were all smiles. The professor for whom I’d taught today walked me back to my car, asking insightful questions about the art I’d shown to his class. When I drove off campus, I was certain they would offer me the job.

  Janet had texted me the information for lunch today with Amelia, and I arrived just as she was parking. She waved as she got out of the car, and I walked over to meet her. We kissed briefly, and then she held my shoulders, looking me in the eyes.

  “I’m trying to tell if this is the face of a professor,” she said.

  I laughed. “I think so. That is, I hope so.”

  “Let’s get inside, and you can tell me all about it.”

  Despite the fact that it was a weekday in a neighborhood far from the business district, Café Degas was bustling and busy when we walked through the door. Designed like a French bistro, the space is tight and cozy, with large windows and intimate tables. The food is French with a New Orleans kick, made fresh with local ingredients and by local bakers. I hadn’t been there in a few years, but I was pleased to find it exactly as I remembered it. With so many changes in the city lately, it was comforting to find that some things stayed the same.

  The menu was a little different from the last time I was there, however, and it took me a long time to choose between the appetizing options. Amelia, who always picks the first thing that looks appealing, watched me debate with myself with a grin. When the waitress came back for the third time, looking distinctly annoyed with me, Amelia finally chose for me and gave her our menus.

  “Thanks,” I said. “We would have been here all day.”

  “I figured.” She paused and lifted her eyebrows. “So? Are you going to tell me about it or what?”

  I launched into the story of the demonstration, sharing every little detail. I described my nerves and my shaking hands and how all of that had disappeared once I stood in front of the class. I described the bright students and how helpful they’d been, as well as the clear approval I’d sensed from the hiring committee after I was done.