"We'll say four, then. I'll tell Harold four-thirty so we have time to look at the new pieces, and you can leave by five and be on time for Forrest. Yes?"
I was actually seeing Magnus at five-thirty and Forrest at six, since at Forrest's suggestion the guys had decided to each take multiple shorter sessions instead of a longer one once a day, but that didn't matter. "Sure." It wasn't ideal, since I'd have to wear something nice to the gallery and then change at the arena, but she wanted it and I couldn't refuse.
Unlike Jen, who at that very moment was snapping, "Not a chance. Forget it. If I ever see you again I'm calling the cops."
Not five minutes ago she'd wanted to keep seeing him and now she was threatening him with the police?
I got off the phone with Jayne, after arranging to have lunch with her the following Saturday when I brought her my new pieces, as Jen said, "I am serious. Don't you dare threaten me, I'll be fine without you," and slammed her phone shut with such force a piece of its cover flew off and landed on the floor.
I bent down to retrieve the piece and flipped it onto the table.
She didn't pick it up, just sat staring at me, her eyes wide and shocked.
"What did he say to you?"
"Told me he could replace me in a second but I'd regret this for the rest of my life."
"He said that? Unreal."
"Yeah, and then he said I shouldn't complain, most single girls would be glad to have them in their house all the time, and I fired him."
It took a second but I got it. "That was one of the contractors."
"Yeah, Steve. Who'd you think it was?"
"Kegan," I admitted, and giggled.
She didn't. Her phone slid from her hand onto the table. "I fired them. My bathroom is in bits and I fired them. What have I done?"
"The right thing," I said. "We'll find you a--"
She picked up the phone. "I have to apologize, I have to get them back."
I caught her wrist before she could dial. "Look at me." She did, and the pain in her eyes, mingled with an awful fear, caught at my heart. "Oh, Jen."
She dropped the phone onto the table and I released her wrist. "I have to finish it." Her voice was thick with tears but she forced the words out. So tough. "I need the house perfect so, so I know I can make a life for myself without a man. Now I have to start over and I don't know how. And more than start over, I have to backtrack and fix everything and then start over."
She pulled in a huge breath and wiped her eyes. "I know they were killing me. Possibly literally, given how much they smoked. But what do I do now?"
"I'll help you. We'll find someone new. Or we'll do it ourselves. If those two idiots could do even part of it, us non-idiots can do a great job."
She gave me a watery smile. "You're the best. Hey, forget my many issues. Tell me about your sale!"
"We won't forget, but I will tell you."
I couldn't give her the full story of the riverbed, but I told her how the piece had come to me all at once and therefore had meaning for me, finishing with, "So it feels weird that it's gone."
She studied me. "This'll sound rude."
"I'm used to you."
She slapped my arm and went on. "Why'd you give it to her if you didn't want it sold?"
I shrugged. "I guess I didn't realize how much it meant to me. It's hard to get my head around that I'll never see it again."
"Does she have any other personal ones?"
Starfish lemmings. I'd essentially be selling the evening I'd spent with Forrest, the dinner and movie and even that bizarre autograph session, to the highest bidder.
When I'd explained it, Jen said, "Get it back."
I turned my hand palm up on the table. "I can't. She needs more pieces, not less." I let my hand topple over again, as defeated as I felt.
"She'd probably give it back if you asked, especially if you made a replacement."
"Could be." Good idea, anyhow.
"Can you keep up the pace she wants?"
"This week went okay," I said, neglecting to mention my two crying fits and the drinking glass I'd thrown into the sink just to hear it shatter. "I'm pretty tired, though. Next week'll be rough if I make an extra one."
"All you want is your career to go well," Jen said, "and all I want is a bathroom that doesn't look like an ape built it. We're not asking too much, are we? Why's it so damned hard?"
"The universe hates us?"
"Hates you, maybe. It's always had a crush on me."
I grinned. "So it sent you Dimwit and Doofus to do your bathroom?'
She widened her eyes dramatically. "It does hate me. Curse you, universe."
We laughed, and I said, "So I basically need to build miniatures until I keel over dead. That's my problem solved. Let's work on yours."
*****
I arrived at Smyth Gallery right on time, but I didn't go in. I couldn't. Four rotating black velvet pedestals filled the gallery's window. One of my pieces topped each pedestal, riding along like kids on an elegant merry-go-round. They looked aloof and distant, somehow both better and worse than I remembered.
I studied them all several times, trying to believe it was real, and read and re-read the card in front of them calling me 'a powerful new talent', before dragging myself away and into the gallery toward the waiting Jayne.
Last time's severe black suit had been replaced by an equally severe emerald one which made her hazel eyes glow. Forrest should wear more green.
Forrest green, I thought, and grinned at Jayne.
"And don't you look happy. I'm so glad." She smiled. "I love watching artists see their work in my window for the first time."
"I'm sorry about earlier," I began, but she cut me off.
"I understand. As we go on you'll learn to be less attached. All right, come show me."
Nervous she wouldn't like the new batch, I followed her into the back room, a chaos of paintings and delicate objects and sculptures that all looked much better than my work. I drew out the three new pieces, each inspired by an idea I'd had in Denver but twisted to follow the rules, and her eyes lit up.
She pushed out a chair for me and sat in her own. "Good girl, again exactly what I asked for. It's so nice to find an artist who's reliable."
"It was tough getting them all done," I admitted, easing each piece from its box onto the table then taking the seat she'd given me. "One less a week would be a lot easier."
She tapped a gold-painted fingernail on the table. "Do we have to cut back already? I'd rather build up a good inventory first, at least fifteen pieces. Can you handle that?"
I was living my dream. What did a bit of fatigue matter? "I can."
"Wonderful."
She reached for a piece and I said, "There's one thing, though. I kind of want one back."
"One of the pieces in the window?"
Her cool tone chilled my nerves but I forced myself to go on. "The starfish."
"Why?"
I used her own language against her. "I'm too attached to it. I can't sell it."
Her little finger's nail hit the table, followed by her other nails. Five clicks, with a distinct pause between each, and not a hint of her thoughts visible in her face. Once her thumb touched down, she said, "You'll make one to replace it?"
I nodded.
"All right. But from now on, once something goes on display you can't have it back."
I nodded again, resisting my body's desire to slump in relief. "Thank you."
She drew the piece closer. "Thank me by making four next week."
Four. I'd barely survived three. Should I just sell the starfish lemmings? But I'd regret it. Wouldn't I?
Once Jayne had examined all three pieces, she nodded slowly, clearly considering. "Yes. Good work, Tess. Very nice. Now, let's talk about next week's pieces."
Before we could, the front door chimed. She glanced into the main room. "Harold's early. Figures. He's been here three times, and he's always late or early, whichever is more annoying."
She started out to meet him, then turned back and plucked an envelope from the bulletin board by the door. "Here. Congrats. May there be many more."
Once she'd gone, I opened the envelope and pulled out a check written in Jayne's tightly controlled handwriting. Three hundred and sixty dollars, for my art. For the riverbed. This small rectangle of paper made me a professional artist. I waited for delight to fill me but it didn't.
I sat staring at the check, waiting, until Jayne called, "Tess, come out here please," then I stuffed it into my purse, plastered a smile on my face, and headed toward them.
Harold, his face and bald head gleaming with sweat despite the cool late November day, stuck out his hand as I neared them. "Nice to meet you, Tessie."
We were the same height, and his clammy hand felt squishy in mine, like a peach that's gone bad. I managed not to wipe my palm on my skirt when he released me, but it was close.
"I told you, it's 'Tess' not 'Tessie'."
He laughed. "And I told you, Jaynie, girls should have girly names. And she doesn't mind, do you, Tessie?"
I shook my head but couldn't bring myself to say it out loud. Jaynie? Instead, I said, "I'm so glad you like my piece."
He smiled. "I've been looking for that for a long time."
His voice rang with sincerity, and the joy I hadn't felt earlier was beginning to bloom when he added, "Makes the railway complete."
"Railway?" Jayne said, saving me from asking.
"Yup. I do model trains with my little grandson, only four years old but smarter than anything, and we've had a gap in our river for ages. Your piece fits right between a painting and a sculpture. It's like it was made to go there."
Made to be played with by a four-year-old and this man? Not even close.
Harold gave me an I'm-a-bad-little-boy smile, sheepish and devious at once. "My grandson didn't like how it had only half a river, though, so he suggested we fix it up with leftover blue paint from his tree house. Glow in the dark stuff. I wasn't sure at first, but I tried it because he wanted me to, and it sure looks great when I turn out the lights. Now it's perfect."
Chapter Twenty
I stared at the arena door, wondering how I'd reached it. I remembered somehow managing not to rip Harold to pieces with my bare shaking hands, remembered even forcing a smile before asking Jayne to pack up the starfish lemmings, remembered the horror in her eyes as she handed me a bag, and then nothing. I'd parked at the arena before walking to the gallery, so I must have walked back, but I couldn't recall even a single step.
I took a deep breath and went into the arena trying to push it all aside. I couldn't let it back into my mind. Time to focus.
I changed into my jeans and sweater, then let Magnus into the room for his treatment. I massaged and chatted and even joked with him about the ridiculous heat a broken thermostat was pumping into the massage and dressing rooms. I was my normal self.
And really, why not? Yes, Harold had... done what he'd done. But he hadn't punched me or kicked me or stabbed me in the heart. I hadn't even seen the damage, and I never would. I had to toughen up. Thick skin, like Jayne had said. I watched my hands working Magnus's muscles and imagined my skin growing thicker, keeping bad things out and my heart locked away inside me.
When we finished, Magnus let in Forrest, who barely acknowledged Magnus's friendly greeting. Forrest closed the door behind himself, his MP3 player nowhere to be seen for the first time since I'd begun massaging Magnus.
I headed for the door. "I'll let you get settled."
He laid his hand on my shoulder as I tried to pass him. "Tess."
His voice, so soft and sweet, froze me in place, and the toughened skin I'd imagined began to thin beneath his touch. I pulled away sharply, afraid. "What? I'm fine."
"My mom called me."
"Why would she do that?"
"She's worried about you."
Suddenly cold despite the room's excessive warmth, I wrapped my arms around myself. "Why?"
His eyes filled with a strange blend of anger and fear. "Tess, I know what he did." So gentle, like you'd talk to a wounded dog by the side of the road.
I looked down, tightening my arms to hold myself together.
"I can't believe he ruined your piece."
The word 'ruined' rebounded inside me, bouncing off my heart and soul, then exploded, sending fragments of shrapnel tearing through my supposedly thickened skin. A shudder shook me, then another, and I clutched myself, shaking.
Harold had ruined it. Ruined it. Ruined. God, what an ugly word.
I shut my eyes, but that made it worse. The piece, so exactly as I'd envisioned in Denver, swam in my mind for a brief shining moment before disappearing beneath a flood of dreadful blue paint that washed away everything it had meant to me. I opened my eyes so I wouldn't see it any more and bit my lip so I wouldn't scream, anger and pain and self-loathing at having sold it intensifying my shuddering.
Forrest gripped my shoulders and drew me toward him. I tried to make myself pull away, knowing I should, but I fell into him instead and locked my arms around his waist, burying my face in his chest.
He held me close, his arms strong across my back and his cheek pressed to the top of my head. His warmth soaked into me but I couldn't stop shaking, dizziness sweeping my body in nauseating waves. My fingertips tingled, buzzing as if full of furious bees, and even my teeth seemed to vibrate. The shaking reached a peak and I sagged, unable to hold myself upright.
Forrest caught me up in both arms and moved to the couch. He sank down, settling me beside him with my legs across his lap, and enfolded me in his arms again.
I pressed my forehead to his collarbone, my eyes dry and burning, and wrapped my arm around his ribcage, drawing strength from his firm hold on me and comfort from his gentle stroking of my hair.
My shaking began to slow. When it finally retreated, it left me feeling I'd been hollowed out, scraped empty, and refilled with only one thought. A thought I couldn't hold back from Forrest.
"I can't do it," I said without raising my head, my voice sounding as desolate as I felt.
"You can do anything you want to do."
I squeezed him in gratitude for the certainty of his tone, and he squeezed me back and said, "How're you feeling? Any better?"
"A bit. Thank you."
"You're more than welcome." The hand on my hair slid onto my back and he drew me closer. "I'm sorry about how I've been lately. The MP3 player and all that. I couldn't handle everything. With us. We were getting to be friends, and then... I miss you, Tess."
The crack in his voice on 'miss' ran right through my heart, and I wound my arm further around him and snuggled into his chest. "I've missed you too." I tried a laugh, which came out more like a sob. "I haven't learned anything new about hockey in ages."
One warm hand cupped the back of my neck. "Some teacher I am," he murmured. "Ottawa's playing Montreal Monday night. We could watch at my place. If you want to."
Just two friends watching the game together. "I'd like that."
I rested in his embrace until the pain's resurgence made me bury my face in his chest again. "I can't believe he did it. It's only a bit of paint, so I guess it shouldn't matter but--"
Forrest caught my shoulder and held me away from him, and my heart skipped a beat at the anger and outrage in his eyes. "Shouldn't matter? Of course it does. Hell, even Mom was horrified. Trust me, Harold won't own any more of your work."
I sighed. "I'm glad." And I was, but it didn't help my poor riverbed. "If only he didn't own that one."
Forrest pulled me close again, and as I shifted to rest my head on his shoulder I caught a glimpse of the wall clock and gasped. "We've only got ten minutes left."
His arm tightened around me. "No way I'm making you do that massage."
"But you need it."
"What I need is ten minutes of peace and quiet before the game." His mouth twitched into the faintest of smiles. "So quit talking, would you?"
"But--
"
He pointed a warning finger at me. "What did I just say?"
I couldn't protest again, because I didn't want to. The thought of pulling out of his arms was too much to bear. "If you insist."
"Shh," he said, drawing my head down to his shoulder.
I shut my eyes, picturing the piece I'd made for him so I wouldn't see the riverbed, and we held each other close in silence, his hand again stroking my hair.
*****
Jen was literally bouncing in her seat. "Can't believe we're this close."
Since Forrest had been so distant I'd asked Magnus if he could get tickets for me. He'd come through: we were only two rows up from the ice, right behind the bench. "Yup, it's great," I said, working to put something even close to her enthusiasm into my voice.
She turned to me. "God, Tess, I'm so sorry. I keep forgetting."
I shook my head. "Honestly, I'm fine now. And we have to have fun or else Harold wins."
"Are you sure you're okay?"
I wrapped my arms around myself and imagined Forrest still held me. "I swing between thinking it should be no big deal and being horrified."
"Well, quit swinging. Of course it's a big deal, and especially to you. When you phoned me I thought someone had died."
Apparently I'd called Jen while walking from the gallery to the rink, leaving her a message so garbled she'd had to listen to it four times to understand it. She'd tried to call me back but I'd turned off my phone. I didn't remember.
"I wish you hadn't been alone," she said. "I hate that I wasn't there."
I hadn't told her, not sure what it all meant, but I couldn't let her feel guilty. "Jayne called Forrest, and he took care of me."
Her eyebrows rose. "Well, good. Was he any help?"
I remembered how delicately he'd eased me out of his lap and onto my feet after the ten minutes had been up, how he'd kept his arm around me until he'd been sure I could stand alone, how he'd made me smile by promising to buy me Harold's weight in chocolate for Monday's game. "He was great."
Jen must have heard the dreaminess in my voice, but she said only, "I'm glad. And you're sure the starfish one is safe?"
"We locked it up."
"Good," she said, then applauded the players' arrival. I joined her, refusing to let Harold wreck our evening. Forrest gave me a thumbs-up sign when he took his spot on the bench but otherwise stayed focused on the game.
Toronto Collection Volume 1 (Toronto Series #1-5) Page 44