Magnus. On the surface, everything Forrest wasn't: calm, peaceful, unconcerned. His fierce devotion to the team, though, moved me. He could have hated Forrest for the disruption he'd caused, but I'd seen the little things he did to make the other guys see him as a teammate. He'd expressed concern for Forrest at each of our three sessions so far, concern I knew wasn't feigned, and when we'd won the game Saturday night his delight had been obvious. Magnus was so comfortable sharing his feelings, not afraid I'd think him soft or weak.
Forrest, on the other hand, would make a CIA undercover agent seem loose-lipped. He'd worn his MP3 player for every massage since I'd started working with Magnus, rap music blaring so loud I could hear the throbbing beat, and we hadn't said more than the bare minimum. He hadn't even wished me luck with his mother. We'd been so close before Denver. I missed him.
I missed Jen too, more than I'd expected. My house was so quiet. Her toilet finally installed, she'd gone home Sunday morning, a bit before she'd anticipated and more than a week later than the contractors had promised.
"About time, too," she'd said while we hauled her suitcases to her car. "Got a date."
"You do?"
"Me and the Mona Lisa."
"Kegan?"
Her grin said it all. No doubt I'd hear more than I wanted or needed at dinner tonight.
I bent sideways, looking into the bag at my feet. My five little pieces. Would Jayne like them? I loved the starfish lemmings, and the city hall weasels always made me grin. When I'd finished the riverbed piece Saturday night I'd been exhausted but unable to tear my eyes from it, so happy with how well I'd captured my vision. But those pieces didn't really follow her guidelines.
I wasn't so keen on the ones that did, especially not the piece I'd built in two marathon sessions on Sunday. I'd taken an idea I'd had in Denver and changed its every detail to something Jayne had requested or I'd thought she'd want. To me, it was a monster, stapled together from disconnected fragments. It met every rule, though, so with any luck--
"Ms. Grayson?"
I straightened, startled. A woman stood beside the table, so tall and thin she might have been stretched, snow-white hair in an immaculate bob brushing the shoulders of a sharply angled black jacket. Her hazel eyes, too like Forrest's, widened just as his had when he'd first seen me, and her red-lipsticked mouth formed a shocked circle.
"Dear Lord, look at you." She settled elegantly into the chair opposite me. "It's remarkable. And he never told me."
"Told you what?" I said, feeling like I'd walked into the middle of her conversation.
Her eyes widened even more, then she drew her face under control and I knew at once where Forrest had learned his neutral expression and tone. "If he didn't tell you, I won't either. I must say, I'm delighted with his play lately. You've done well there. Now, let's see your work."
"Ms. Smyth, I--"
"Call me Jayne." She turned to the arriving waiter. "Lovely. Red wine, please."
I ordered the same, hoping to please her, but she was too busy staring at me to notice.
When the waiter left, I said, "I'm confused." I had to know what she meant, and I sensed she'd appreciate my bluntness.
"Well, me too. Don't you read the papers? Watch the news?"
If this was supposed to clear things up, it failed.
She sighed. "You do know about Forrest's fiancée, I assume."
I nodded. "It was tragic."
"You're with him a lot, aren't you?"
"Every day." I felt my cheeks warming at the thought of certain moments I'd spent with Forrest, and willed the blush to recede.
It wouldn't. In fact, it intensified under her scrutiny.
A strange sympathy filled her eyes, scaring me. She didn't make me wait long. "You and Marika could be sisters."
My heart slammed such a hard beat that sick dizziness spun through me. I jerked in a quick breath then tried to sound only casually interested. "We could?"
"You're older, and a lot bigger, but the resemblance is stunning."
Good word choice. I was stunned all right. Shock after shock hit me as Forrest's every action filtered through this new knowledge. His hiring me in the first place, his kindness when I'd cried at the movie and in the massage room, and especially, and most horribly...
I'd only been thinking of him that night, and he'd been making love to a ghost. He'd called Marika beautiful, not me, looked into her eyes with tenderness, kissed her and held her and lost himself in her. And when he'd realized it was me and not her, he'd fled.
Ignoring the waiter delivering our wine, Jayne sat looking at me, waiting for a response.
I didn't have one. So amazing. So passionate. So not for me.
"This really bothers you, doesn't it?"
The concern and confusion in her voice slapped me alert. I should have pretended I didn't care. Now she'd tell Forrest she'd told me. We were awkward enough with each other as it was; if he knew I knew, we'd have to discuss it, and that would only humiliate us both. I had to stop her.
Figuring some form of honesty was the best offense, I said, "It does, a bit. We have spent a lot of time together, and I guess I'd have thought he'd tell me." I managed a laugh. "But then, why would he bother? I wouldn't massage him differently because of it."
Her eyes searched my face in such depth she probably saw my skull. I tried to keep my expression neutral, even surprised she'd think I cared, until she said, "That's true, Ms. Grayson."
She'd gone right where I'd hoped. "So there's no reason for him to know you told me, don't you agree? And please, call me Tess."
She pulled her mouth to one side, but it gradually returned to center, dragged back by a smile she couldn't stop. "All right, Tess, I won't tell him. Since, as you say, it makes no difference to you. For massages."
I'd apparently been as transparent as an ancient bathing suit, but I could handle her thinking I had non-therapist-related feelings for her son. What I couldn't handle, she'd agreed not to do. Time to move on. "So, should I show you my work now?"
Mercifully, she let me wriggle away. "Absolutely. The one you think best fits my guidelines."
Stapled monster, no question. I leaned over to grab the bag and my blood was replaced with pure adrenaline in an instant. After her revelation I'd nearly forgotten why we were here, but my career depended on this.
I found the right box, but my trembling fingers failed me and it fell back into the bag. On my second attempt, I managed to slow my movements enough to find and open the box without too much fumbling, then slid the piece out and set it in front of her.
Utterly focused, she looked down on it for a solid minute, then pushed her chair back and bent forward to see it from the side, rotating it every so often.
I waited, not even daring to sip my wine.
When she looked up, would she say she loved it or laugh me out of the restaurant? Her face gave no clue.
I waited.
She looked up.
I forgot how to breathe.
"Good work. Very good."
I gasped and laughed at once, grinning at her. "Thank you."
"No, thank you. Let's see the one you love the most."
I reached for the riverbed piece.
"I don't recommend that, by the way."
Frozen halfway down, I tilted my head and looked up at her.
"Nobody needs art in their lives, Tess. People like it for all sorts of reasons, many having nothing to do with the art itself. If you love a piece, it'll hurt more if it doesn't sell. You need a thick skin to survive. Besides, artists fall in love with the weird ones, the wildly unusual pieces, and those are hard to sell. The public wants what it's already got, only different. Go on, get it."
The urge to refuse flooded me like the Zamboni flooded the hockey rink, leaving a cold layer over my heart, but I made myself find the box and begin to open it.
"Not too different," she said. "That scares people."
Unsure where the riverbed fell on a difference scale I hadn't kn
own existed, I laid it down. She studied it for only a few seconds before saying, "Too different. It's brilliant, I have to say, but too different."
"But if it's brilliant, then--"
"People will want to know what they're getting when they buy a Tess Grayson original."
I did so love the sound of that phrase.
"They'll expect consistent quality. Even slightly lower quality is fine, if you're consistent. I will try to sell this, but make more like the first one, okay?"
I nodded, still confused. If they should all be the same, why bother? Why not mass-produce them in China? Wasn't brilliance, even occasional brilliance, a good thing?
Apparently not. The starfish lemmings piece was, again, too unusual for Jayne's customers, although she eventually agreed to take it, but she liked the city hall weasels and loved the one Jen and I had dubbed 'baby daddy'.
I couldn't resist. "Jayne, in your notes you said the meaning was obvious, but I'm afraid I don't get it. What does it mean?"
*****
"It was supposed to be a trashy TV show?"
Wiping tears of laughter from my cheeks, I said, "Yup. It's a commentary on the way we expose ourselves on television. Apparently."
Jen grinned. "Well, at least she wants to sell them. So what now?"
I started to tell her, but was interrupted.
"Good evening, ladies." Kegan smiled at me but turned the full force of those rich blue eyes on Jen. "If there's anything you need, let me know."
"Count on it," Jen said, her voice like satin sheets.
When he'd left, I said, "Date went well, I take it?" and picked up my wine glass.
She leaned forward. "I came three times."
I choked on my wine. Once I got my airway back, I said, "Wasn't that your first date?"
She grinned, eyes dancing. "Second, if you count the time we were here."
"Which I wouldn't."
"Gotta go for the gusto, my friend. And that man has gusto."
As did Forrest. But Jen didn't know we'd made love.
I'd decided to never tell anyone about Forrest's final confrontation with Marika. He'd chosen to only tell me, and I'd keep that trust.
I'd nearly told Jen I'd been with Forrest, but I hadn't known how to explain it all. But I could tell her something else, and I needed to. "Listen, do you know what Forrest's fiancée looked like?"
She shook her head, still grinning but looking confused. "Nope. Why?"
I sighed. "According to Jayne, she looked just like me."
Jen stared. "Really?"
"Younger and much smaller, but otherwise, yeah. Jayne was shocked to see me."
"She actually said smaller?"
"I think she said I was a lot bigger. But either way, the effect was, 'My, you're a big brute, aren't you?'"
Jen shuddered. "Charming." Her eyes sharpened and she leaned forward. "Forrest never mentioned it?"
I shook my head, knowing she was reaching the same conclusion I had.
"He wanted you hired because you looked like her. But wouldn't that be even more uncomfortable, seeing her, but not her, every day?"
"You'd think. I don't get it." Especially not the part in Denver. Again the urge to tell swept me, and again I put it aside. "He has cut back on our sessions, though, so maybe it's harder on him than he expected."
"Are you going to confront him?"
"Part of me wants to, but most of me thinks it'd be terribly awkward. 'So, Forrest, I hear I look like your late fiancée. How does that make you feel?' There's no point. He's got enough problems."
I'd told Jen about Filmore's trading plans, needing her advice on whether to tell Forrest, but she'd promised me he already knew, saying, "Not living up to his potential is the worst offense a player can commit. Trust me, he's well aware he's in trouble."
She sighed. "Poor guy. You know, I thought he liked you. When he waved at you at the game where he first scored, he looked so... sweet, somehow, if that's not weird."
Not remotely weird. I threw caution, if not to the winds, then at least to a stiff breeze. "I thought so too. I really did. And I could have liked him back. But I guess not."
I hadn't meant to say I could have liked Forrest, and I didn't want to accidentally reveal how much further than that one sweet wave our relationship had gone, so I said, "Tell me more about you and Mr. Sexy Eyes. Three times, huh?"
"If we could stay in bed, he'd be the perfect man, but I don't think he's ever had a girlfriend stand up to him. He wants everything his way, and he's in charge every second. Sometimes, sure, but I want a say too, you know?"
"I hear ya."
We sat in silence then reached for our wine simultaneously and burst out laughing.
"Men. They'll drive you to drink."
"Totally," I said. "So let's forget them. Jayne says she wants three new pieces a week."
"Can you do that?"
"Sure."
She raised her eyebrows.
"If I don't eat, sleep, or spend too long in the bathroom."
"Tell her it's too much."
"She says we need to give people choices right away, let them see everything I can do."
"But didn't she say to make more of the same?"
I nodded. "I'm supposed to show what I can do, but make it the same but different, but not too different because that scares people."
"The art world is a dark and insane place," Jen intoned.
"Amen."
"Not to be mercenary, but how much does she plan to charge for them?"
I could hardly say the words. When Jayne told me, I'd spilled my coffee. Fortunately, on myself instead of her. "She's listing them for six hundred but she'll let them go for five."
"And you get?"
"Sixty percent. So three hundred or three sixty."
"Wow." She raised her glass, grinning. "Here's to you and your awesome new career!"
We clinked glasses and drank.
I shuddered and didn't know why.
Chapter Nineteen
I'd promised myself a relaxing lunch with Jen on Saturday if I did all my work like a good girl during the week. Though I'd managed to finish three and a half miniatures while massaging Forrest and Magnus several times a day and resuming my swimming after the doctor confirmed my ear was fine, I felt guilty sitting at the café she'd chosen.
I needed a break: I had a constant low-grade headache, my hands were so tired my fingers shook, and my life had taken on a dull sameness I knew showed in my art. But still, I felt guilty.
After we'd ordered, a question struck me. "Why are we here instead of Steel?"
Jen pulled her dark hair back into a ponytail with both hands then let it fall on her shoulders again. "Because Kegan told me to take you there. Didn't suggest, told. And before I knew it I was saying we'd already planned to come here."
She sighed. "He expects to have everything his way. I tried so hard with Josh to be what he wanted, and he dumped me anyhow. Now I want to be me. Whoever that is."
"Makes sense. So are you going to stop seeing him then?"
She shook her head slowly, her eyes going distant and glazed. "Not quite yet. He's too good in bed. Maybe I can train him not to order me around."
"Don't you always say men aren't trainable?"
She laughed, but my phone rang before she could admit I was right.
I checked the screen and my already shaking hands developed a new tremor. "It's Jayne."
"So answer it."
"But that's rude to you."
She stared at me. "Answer. Now."
Surprised at myself and my reluctance to talk to Jayne, I did.
"Great news, Tess, I sold your first piece this morning."
I couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. My dream, now reality. I was a professional artist. The back of my throat locked itself against the front, silencing me.
"You still there?" Her voice danced with delight and pride.
I grabbed my water glass and forced down a swallow. "I am. Just stunned."
"And happy, I hope."
"Of course. Thrilled actually." And I was. As it began to sink in, excitement pulsed through me. I mouthed, "Sold one," at Jen, who shrieked, terrifying the nearby diners.
"What on earth was that?"
"My friend Jen," I told Jayne, laughing. "Oh, thank you so much. Which piece?"
"The one with the river. And I got the full six hundred for it."
She went on, but I could barely hear her. That one. The riverbed piece that had sprung to my mind after making love, starring a man I'd eventually realized was Forrest. He didn't look like Forrest, but it was him. Stuck in his scarred and broken life and unable to move forward.
And I'd sold it.
Jen's phone rang, and I covered my free ear so I could hear Jayne say, "Harold's new to Toronto, and he said he's never seen anything like your work before. Isn't it great?"
"It is, it's amazing." I put as much energy and enthusiasm into my tone as I could.
Not enough. "Tess, you're not happy. Tell me why. I can't work with you if I don't know what you want and need."
Shades of my early conversations with Forrest. I struggled to find the right words and realized Jen wasn't having trouble finding her words.
"Listen, you can't treat me this way. It's not all up to you. I get a say, more than a say, in how it happens."
Whatever Kegan had suggested, Jen wasn't a fan. I refocused on Jayne. "I am happy, honestly, and I'm so grateful too. That piece is kind of personal, that's all."
"Would it help to know he loves it?"
A sunburst of relief and happiness filled my chest with brightness. "It would. Definitely." At least it had a good home.
"He was ecstatic, kept saying it was perfect."
"I'm so glad."
"Could you be here at three to meet him? And bring the newest pieces too."
I hesitated.
"You do have more ready, right?"
The warmth had gone from her voice as if she'd thrown a switch. I hastened to reassure her. "I do. Three. But I need to be at the arena by five-thirty and I don't have them with me."
Toronto Collection Volume 1 (Toronto Series #1-5) Page 43