by Bill Walker
Joanna watched Brian hide behind the partition for the piece she called “Helios 2,” then rushed back into the bedroom. She did her best to smooth out the comforter on the futon and plump both of the pillows. Did that look okay? It would have to do. What on earth was Erik doing here, anyway? He usually called before coming to the studio.
She heard the elevator stop, and with a tiny moan of fear, she dashed into her workshop and picked up the first thing she saw, a piece of white PVC piping laying on her workbench.
Remember your breathing, she thought.
She heard his footsteps approach then stop. The seconds ticked off. How long was he going to just stand there and—
“Joanna?”
She turned, startled. “Erik! My God, you scared me.”
Her fiancé smiled. “I’m sorry, my love. I was in the neighborhood and I wanted to see how you were doing. Surely you heard me coming up the elevator.”
She shook her head, sighing. “You know how I am when I’m working. A bomb could go off.”
“That’s true enough.” He nodded toward the piece of piping she was holding. “New idea?”
“No, at least nothing that’s inspiring me,” she said, putting the piece of pipe down on her workbench.
“That’s too bad. Do you think you have what you need for the show?”
“I guess so,” she said, starting to putter.
“Well, how about we take a little tour and you show me what you have in mind?”
“Can we do this another time? I’m really tired, and I’ve got at least another hour here.”
“I’m tired, too, dear. Wrightson isn’t the easiest client I’ve ever had. But since I’m here....”
Joanna sighed. “All right, but let me wash up, first, okay?”
She moved through the bedroom and Erik followed. In the bathroom, she snapped on the light and turned on the water, splashing it on her face. She noticed her hands trembling, but when she checked herself in the mirror, she saw only her face and nothing of the fear that raced her heart.
When she was through, she brushed past Erik, who stood partially blocking the doorway; he grabbed her arm. “What?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“I’ve missed you,” he said, drawing her to him. It was something he’d done innumerable times, something that had always surprised and delighted her, to be swept into his embrace, smelling his aftershave, feeling his strength. Now it all felt wrong, and even his cologne was cloying.
“I missed you, too,” she said, hugging him. It was then she noticed the faint glow on the nightstand.
Brian’s watch!
“Are you okay?” Erik asked. “You’re trembling.”
Joanna pulled away from him. “I’m fine, just tired, like I said. Let’s go look at the art.”
She took his hand and led him out into the studio where her pieces were arranged.
Ruby’s mind was not on the art. They walked past each piece and Joanna made comments, but they went in one ear and out the other. Where the hell was Weller? He couldn’t have taken the stairs, so he had to be here, somewhere. Unless Mosley was wrong, unless Weller had left while the investigator was searching for a stupid pay phone. But what about his car? The car was still here.
“Erik did you hear me?”
Ruby’s eyes snapped to Joanna, who was staring at him, frowning. “Sorry, I was thinking about the building.”
“I’m glad my art is so important to you,” she said, glaring. “Why am I wasting my time? I’ve still got work I need to do.”
Ruby shook his head. Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. Mosley did warn him that confrontation was ill advised, and he’d been prepared for it, though not this kind.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll see you at home.”
He turned and walked to the elevator, his anger rising. He felt like a blithering idiot and that was something he could never abide.
When Brian heard the whine of the elevator, he stepped out from behind the partition. Joanna stared at him with wide eyes then threw her arms around him.
“I really thought he was going to find you,” she said, sobbing against his shoulder. “And when I saw your watch on the nightstand, I nearly had a heart attack!”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said, but the doubts he’d felt earlier raised their ugly heads. They walked back into the bedroom arm in arm, and Brian retrieved his watch. Joanna moved to the window and stared out through the blinds, clearly agitated.
“Listen,” Brian said, the words catching in his throat, “maybe we should lay low for awhile, at least until after your show.”
Joanna whirled to face him, her lips trembling. “What! What are you talking about? You have to come!”
“It’s not that I don’t want to. I do...more than anything. But with your fiancé there it’s just asking for trouble.”
“He doesn’t know about us!”
“Can you be sure of that, after what just happened?”
A look of guilty panic flitted across her features. “I told him you were helping me work on the mailer. He has no reason to think otherwise.”
“So, he knows who I am?”
Joanna nodded.
“Sweetheart, he has every reason to think otherwise. You’re a young, vital, passionate woman, and if I were your fiancé, I’d worry, too. As much as I want to come, I think it’s just a bad idea. It’ll be like shoving his face in a pile of crap.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re so considerate of his feelings. What about mine!”
“I don’t care about his feelings. I care about you and your show, and I don’t want to be the cause of any scene that ruins it.”
Joanna’s eyes filled with tears. “But I need you there, Brian. You’re my rock.”
Brian sighed. How could he argue with that? He reached for her and she shrugged him off, her body stiffening. “Why don’t you just go,” she said. “You got what you came for, anyway.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Joanna glared at him. “You’re a man, figure it out.”
Brian checked his temper, knowing her words were borne out of pain.
“Don’t you ever think that. You know I’m not that kind of man.”
“No? You waited until after we made love to tell me you’re abandoning me just when I need you the most!”
Brian shook his head. “I’ll admit my timing stinks, but I’ve been struggling with this for days. I’m not abandoning you, Joanna, please try and understand.”
She hugged herself, her expression like that of a lost little girl. “I do understand. You’re afraid of Erik. I just thought you cared more about me than yourself.”
“Hey! That’s not fair, and you know it. I’m not afraid of him. I’m afraid for you.”
He moved closer to her, but she turned away and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I love you, Joanna. Please don’t take it this way.”
“Just leave....”
“Please...don’t do this.”
“I want you to leave, now.” She turned and pushed him away. “GET OUT!”
The last two words reverberated off the walls, punching him in the gut. Feeling powerless and seeing no other way, he left the bedroom and called the elevator. Waiting for it was agony. When he closed the gate and reached for the lever, he heard her sobs echoing through the studio and blinked back tears of his own. It felt as if a vital part of him had been cut out and left bleeding on the ground.
Brilliant move, Weller. You should have just sucked it up and gone to the show. Screw her fiancé. How could facing him be any worse than this?
Outside, he was only mildly relieved to see that his car was un-touched. He got in, started the engine, made a U-turn and headed home. With every second that elapsed and every foot of ground he covered, he felt as if a little more of his soul were dying—piece by agonizing piece. He wanted to go back, almost made U-turns in the middle of busy intersections several times, but stopped himself. She would never listen to reason or apologies
right now.
Only a little time would give him that chance.
And only if she truly loved him, as much as he loved her.
The bitter irony was that she’d accused him of being selfish, when all he’d wanted to do was spare her embarrassment and give her art the shot it deserved. And the critics they’d invited would only give her one shot.
Now this.
He slammed the steering wheel till his hand ached, cursing everyone he could think of, including her fiancé. It couldn’t end like this, it just couldn’t. He wouldn’t let it. But the one thing he didn’t know how to do was fix the unfixable.
“You’re fired,” Ruby said, to a stunned Cary Mosley.
The black man gaped at him through the open car window. “He’s in there,” he replied.
“No, he’s—” Ruby stopped speaking when he saw Mosley’s expression change from stunned surprise to a wary watchfulness.
“Look.”
Ruby turned in time to see Weller emerge from the building, get into his Toyota, pull a screeching U-turn and speed off. Ruby turned back to Mosley, feeling twice the idiot he’d been before. “I’ll never doubt you again,” he said. “Meet me at my office tomorrow afternoon. It’s time we discussed your future in more detail.”
21
RUBY PILOTED HIS JAGUAR through the traffic on the Mass Pike, expertly weaving in and around the slower cars. He glanced at Joanna, feeling a swell of pride. God, she looked stunning tonight. She wore a black cocktail dress with her hair piled up in that way he’d always loved, just the right amount of makeup and a minimum of jewelry, only the one-and-a-half carat diamond earrings he’d given her a few hours earlier in honor of her first show. He caught a gleam of them in the oncoming headlights from the westbound traffic. They were as flawless as Joanna.
The only fly in the ointment was the fact that she’d been so down the last few days, moping around the house as if nothing mattered. He hated seeing her like that, even though he was secretly glad. It meant only one thing: a certain would-be-writer was out of the picture. Ruby had done his best to hide his glee and played the attentive, solicitous husband-to-be, anticipating every shift in her moods. It seemed to have worked.
“Excited?”
She turned and gave him a wan smile. “Yes.... Nervous, too.”
“Stop worrying, you’ll be fine. Wait until you see the building, they’ll be agog before they even get upstairs.”
She looked at him and nodded. “I’m sure it’ll be lovely.” She turned and stared out the passenger window, lost in thought.
Ruby gripped the wheel, his knuckles turning white. He wanted to make Weller pay for the pain he’d caused her—and him. Oh, yes, most certainly for that. But that would have to wait for another time. Tonight was Joanna’s night, and he intended for it to go off without a hitch. The one detail that nagged at his mind was Joanna’s new piece, the one she’d been so secretive about. She wouldn’t tell him anything about it, wouldn’t even let him see it in progress, telling him only that it was unlike anything she’d ever done. Even now it sat under a black cloth, set off from all her other pieces, waiting for its unveiling at the height of the show. He hated surprises.
“What time is it?” Joanna said.
Ruby glanced at his Rolex. “Five-thirty. No one’s arriving until seven. There’s plenty of time.”
“Plenty of time,” she echoed.
He frowned, glancing at her for the umpteenth time.
The car passed under Mass Avenue, entering the long tunnel. He moved over into the right-hand lane, watching for the South Station exit, an uneasy feeling squirming in his gut.
There was still plenty of time for Brian to show up, Joanna thought. God, she’d been such a bitch, had realized it the moment she’d heard him descending in the elevator that night. She’d wanted to call him back, had run to the empty shaft, to no avail; it was too late.
Silly stupid pride!
That’s all it had been. Of course, she understood why he’d been hesitant to attend her show. He’d wanted to spare her any chance that something would go wrong. And to think she’d accused him of callously using her body. For the millionth time since that night, Joanna held back the tide of her tears, not wanting Erik to see how upset she really was. That he knew something was wrong was obvious. She’d made up a story about her sister being ill to cover the real reason. It seemed to mollify him.
To his credit he’d been sweet as could be and the diamond earrings were beautiful, but she didn’t want them, and only wore them to make him happy. She would gladly trade them without a moment’s remorse for the chance to tell Brian how sorry she was and how much she loved him. She’d picked up the phone so many times she’d lost count, had dialed his number only to hang up before the first ring, her heart in her throat. What if he rejected her totally? What if he was waiting until after her show to call the whole thing off? She couldn’t bear that thought.
Her nerves were raw to the point where even her meditations didn’t help. She’d wanted this show so badly, and now it was all she could do to show up and go through the motions, something she’d promised herself she would do. No matter what.
And she’d made herself another promise.
If, after the show, she and Brian could patch things up, she intended to leave Erik.
There, she’d allowed herself to think the unthinkable.
While a small part of her still had feelings for her fiancé, she knew in her heart it was over. With Brian, she felt as if she’d always known him, felt connected to him in so many ways both subtle and profound.
Soul mates....
That was the phrase her mind had struggled to recall over the last few days. It described her feelings and intuitions to a tee. She wanted to be with Brian for the rest of her life...if he would have her.
The car exited the Pike at South Station and made the loop onto Atlantic Avenue. When they turned onto Summer Street and crossed the bridge over the channel, Joanna leaned forward in her seat, stunned. The building, her building, looked as if it were lit up like a Christmas tree, with large searchlights aiming up at the structure from all sides. More lights, positioned on the roof, shot bright white beams of light skyward.
“Erik, what did you do?”
Her fiancé grinned. “Called in a few favors. Didn’t I tell you they’d be blown away?” He laughed, pleased with himself.
They drew up to the front of the building and a valet parking attendant in a crisp starched uniform opened her door and then Erik’s. He handed Erik a ticket, climbed into the Jag and drove off toward the Channel’s parking lot.
Erik held out his arm and Joanna slid hers into his, hesitating for only the briefest of moments.
“Let’s show them how it’s done,” he said, and walked her toward the entrance.
Brian paced the floor of his apartment, his eyes darting to the clock radio so often he’d begun to wonder if it had stopped.
6:05.
In less than an hour Joanna’s show would start...without him.
Stop it, Weller. You keep thinking like this, you’ll go nuts!
The problem was he couldn’t stop thinking about Joanna, the show, and the mess the other night had become. And the more he thought about that night, the more he kicked himself for not giving in to his instincts and going back.
Still 6:05.
Maybe the stupid thing had stopped. Too bad he couldn’t turn it back. That would solve a lot of problems. Sitting on his bed, Brian picked up his guitar and began strumming a few chords, only to put it back on its stand. At other times, the instrument was both therapy and inspiration; now it barely distracted him.
6:06.
Stop it! Just stop it, now.
He tried to imagine what she was doing at that very moment. In his mind’s eye, he saw her walking through the studio making sure everything was in place, the caterer setting out food and drink and—
—her fiancé gloating.
Brian ground his teeth, seething. Whether the
man knew anything about what was going on, or not, he’d won by default. He’d won because Brian had tried to do the right thing, only to have it blow up in his face. He’d wanted to give Joanna some space, a little time to figure things out. Had resisted every urge to call her and do whatever it took to make amends. Now, here he was climbing the walls and missing what he hoped would be a night of triumph for the woman he loved.
Well, enough was enough.
He stood up and began pulling off the clothes he’d worn all day. If he hurried, he could take a quick shower, get dressed and get down there. He’d miss maybe twenty minutes, but that was fine. He went to his dresser where the invitation sat propped up against his mirror. It had arrived a couple of days ago, and he’d kept it, because he couldn’t bear the thought of throwing it away—throwing her away.
With his resolve more firmly entrenched, he hurried into the bathroom and turned on the water, groaning with pleasure as the hot spray needled into his back.
Twenty minutes later, he was behind the wheel of his Celica, racing down Boylston Street, one hand on the wheel, and the other trying to comb his scraggly hair and straighten his tie. His mood plummeted when he spotted the snarl of traffic at Tremont Street. He glanced at the clock.
6:40.
At this rate, he’d be lucky if he got there at all.
For a while, at least, Joanna was able to lose herself in the last-minute preparations for the show. Some of the larger pieces needed relighting and some had to be repositioned when changing the lights proved inadequate. She’d taken Brian’s advice and redesigned the layout for her partitions and artwork, so as to make the arriving guests move through an informal maze, thereby forcing them to view her art before coming into the main area where the food and drinks were set up.
“Think of it this way,” he’d said. “Every hotel-casino in the world makes you walk through its casino to get to anything else in the complex. This way, by the time your guests get to the food, their appetites will be whetted in more than one respect.”