“Yes, a few, back home.”
“Yes. Connecticut, is it? And how were they received?”
Jessica moved in her seat and wished she hadn’t had Hannah tie her corset so snuggly. “Rather well.” It was almost a question.
“Very good. Then I would love to take a look at what you do, your style, interpretation, use of the medium, etcetera.”
Hardly touching the shallow bowl of bouillabaisse in front of her, Jessica nibbled on a piece of French bread. Style, interpretation, medium? She had been taught all of these things at college and with Mr. Cromwell, but now came the real test, and she wondered who she was as an artist.
Before she could answer, Jilly continued. “If we find you have some talent, you may join our association. We have a newsletter printed monthly. It may be helpful to you. The dues are minimal.”
“Now that I’ve introduced you two, perhaps you may meet again to talk all about your mutual interest,” Margret said.
Jessica smiled and looked at Jilly. “Yes, I would like that.”
Jilly grabbed Jessica’s hand. “I want you to come to a celebration with me.”
“When?” Jessica flushed with anticipation.
“Tomorrow afternoon at the Billingston Gallery. It’s not far from here. My husband and I are hosting a showing of Leo Gosselin’s work. Invitation only. He’s a notable artist from Quebec, Canada, and we are very lucky to have him join our group.”
“I saw several of his paintings on Battery Street,” Jessica said.
“Now that we’ve secured him exclusively, you will no longer be seeing his work scattered around town but shown only in the best places.” Jilly waved her arm. “For example, this grand venue, and of course, the Billingston Gallery.”
Jessica was thrilled. She was already arranging her schedule in her head to make sure she wouldn’t miss this opportunity.
Chapter Thirty-eight
It was a champagne reception. The gallery was packed with people wandering from painting to painting, holding fluted glasses filled with the effervescent wine. Shortly after Jessica arrived, Jilly approached her.
“I’m so pleased you came!” Jilly took her by the arm. “I have only a minute to introduce you to our guest of honor.”
A slight man matching her height stood before Jessica. His suit fit close to his body, and the open coat revealed his high-buttoned waistcoat and watch chain. He had brown eyes and brown hair parted neatly down the middle, accentuating his round, pleasing face. A trim mustache barely covered his full lips. He looked much younger than she’d expected, and she thought him quite attractive. Hiding her nerves, she said, “I’m honored to meet you, Mr. Gosselin.”
“Always a pleasure to meet a fellow artist,” he replied in a thick, French Canadian accent.
A myriad of questions popped in her head, but she could not speak with him standing so close. “My studio is open to new talent. I most enjoy painting lovely women such as yourself. We must get to know one another and share our. …” When he came even closer, Jessica had to take a half step back. She wished she hadn’t noticed he smelled clean, like men’s soap.
Jilly touched his shoulder. “That’s enough of your flirting, Leo. Say adieu to Mrs. Moore.”
“Nous nous reverrons,” he said with a bow.
Jilly turned back as she escorted Mr. Gosselin away. She mouthed, “I’m so sorry.”
With a tilt of her head, Jessica raised a shoulder. Disappointed, yet flattered, and somewhat aroused, she turned to one of his large canvases, then another, studying his brush strokes, his use of color and light. The oil paintings intrigued her. The colors were soft and intricate, and the subjects, mostly women and children, were set in lush gardens, fields of flowers and seaside cottages. She marveled at his use of light, noting it for her future paintings. Joining her was an older woman who looked out of place among the highbrow crowd. Her plain, dark-blue dress had no accents or lace and a large feather adorned a dark green hat tipped to one side. The unpolished, lace-up shoes she wore were clearly worn, and her day gloves were stained. Despite her attire, she exuded a regal manner.
“What a mess,” the woman declared. Her baritone voice vibrated through the room.
Not wanting to encourage her into a conversation, Jessica refrained from commenting. Then the woman turned to her, and in a strong voice, said, “It’s a shame, such good talent going to waste on this imitation of life.”
“I like the sense of calm conveyed in the scene,” Jessica offered, folding her gloved hands primly in front of her waist, her ivory-colored bag hanging from her wrist.
“I told him to put his soul out for all to see. No, he caved to the rich and painted these abominations for a quick sell!” She threw her hands in the air. Jessica began to move away, but the woman stuck out her hand.
“I’m Glendora Sangroven. People call me Lenny. And you are?”
Politely, she shook Lenny’s hand. “Jessica Messing. I mean, Mrs. Frederick Moore. I’m newly married.”
“Oh, you poor thing.” Lenny laughed.
The woman’s grip was like that of a man’s. Gently, Jessica recoiled and fixed her eyes on the painting in front of her, searching for a way to make a graceful but quick exit.
“Are you an artist?” Lenny asked.
“Yes, I think so. I’m trying to be.” It was the first time she had accepted the title of artist. She settled her nerves. After all she certainly didn’t have to impress this woman, and she liked playing with the notion.
“What do you work in?”
“Watercolors,” Jessica replied thoughtfully, “but, I do like the look and feel of oils.”
“Yes, that’s my medium as well. Oils, I mean.” She raised her chin and looked down her nose. “So, you’re trying to be an artist? I got news for you. It’s a difficult road for any artist, but especially for a woman.” She turned back to the painting and shook her head.
“Yes, I’m beginning to understand that.” Jessica looked over at the woman who was now leaned toward the art in front of her with examining eyes and deeply furrowed brows. “But I can’t stop painting. When I’m not painting, I’m thinking about painting, and when I know I won’t be able to for a day or so, I’m miserable.” She felt she had said too much. The woman’s attention was now on her. “I’m sorry for going on like that.”
“Save your apologies. Tell me what you like to paint.”
“I love to paint landscapes, faces, flowers, and. …” Jessica stopped talking when Lenny closed her eyes and shook her head.
“Landscapes, faces,” Lenny repeated. Jessica searched for a way to escape this pushy woman, yet, she had nothing to lose. She could reveal to a stranger exactly what she wanted to paint and the artist she truly wanted to be with no apparent fallout. A waiter with a tray of fluted glasses came around and Jessica took one. After half a glass of champagne she felt the words flow out of her. “The truth is, I want to paint the world that no one sees. I want to paint with vigor. I’d like to show the world how I feel about it. And I want my work to hang in famous galleries and inspire other artists–women artists– to take chances with their deepest passions.” She finished the bubbly wine, her cheeks warming.
Lenny’s eyes widened, and with a playful grin, she said, “I can help you.”
“Help me?” Jessica placed her empty glass on the waiter’s tray as he passed by.
Lenny surveyed the room, then leaned into her. “I’m not what you call high society, but all these folks know me and know my art is worth its weight in gold. Several of my pieces hang in their homes. They just don’t want to be seen around me.” She turned to the crowd. “Hypocrites!”
“You’re an artist?”
“Don’t I look the part to you?”
“Well, no. I don’t mean to judge, but, no.”
“Oh dear, you have been sheltered. Ah, that’s fine if you want nothing more in life than to please a man. They prefer it that way.” Before Jessica could tell her about her recent unsheltered adventures, Le
nny continued. “I teach now, mostly to students like yourself who have grand ideas and nowhere to put them. Who knows, you may get something out of it. I’ll have to see an example of your work before I take you on. My lessons are one dollar per hour.” She reached into her pocket and came out with a small, brown card and offered it to Jessica.
Jessica read the card: Sangroven Art Lessons. She also noticed the address was in the Tenderloin District. She wasn’t sure about any of this. Yet, Jessica warmed to this spirited woman in spite of her rough exterior and condescending way. She felt free to say what was on her mind. “That may work for me. Is it Miss or Mrs. Sangroven?”
“Miss. I prefer madame in polite company, but please, call me Lenny.”
“I would love to come by your studio and show you a few of my paintings, though I’m sure my husband would disapprove. I had planned to enter art school once we got settled, but that’s been put to the side. I’m very busy with dinner parties and. …” Jessica went no further as Lenny’s attentions drifted to another piece of art. “He did give me a small studio to work in.”
Lenny returned her attentions with a frown on her face. “He has you captive? Are you even supposed to be here, talking to the likes of me?”
A small group of ladies passed in front of them. “Hello, Miss Sangroven,” one said quietly, discreetly.
“Hello, Mable,” Lenny answered. “Your son’s improving. Give him some time, and he’ll grow into a decent artist.”
Shocked, the woman quickly caught up with her group.
“Hypocrites!” Lenny said to Jessica.
Jessica laughed and shrugged her shoulders.
“So does your husband have you captive?”
Jessica hoped they had moved on to another topic. She paused before speaking. “I suppose you could say that, and I’m not supposed to be here, but I am.” Her insides trembled. “Does Monday at three work for you, Lenny?”
Chapter Thirty-nine
Braving the horse ride through the dusty alleyways of the Tenderloin District in the late summer heat, Jessica told herself she could not miss such an opportunity. Once she secured her horse to the post, she pulled a small, leather portfolio out of her saddle pack. Hurrying down the back alley and into the entryway of Lenny’s building, she checked the map and address. This was the place. She knocked and looked in both directions for any trouble while she waited. The pungent odors of rancid meat, oily fish, and steamed potatoes invaded her nostrils. The wait seemed an eternity until finally she heard a commotion behind the dark, wooden door. It was flung open by Lenny. “Welcome, welcome.”
A peek inside and Jessica’s fears vanished. The house was cheerful and full of color. It didn’t seem to reflect the drably dressed woman who lived there. The aroma of oil paints and thinner, and incense mixed with the sweet smells of lavender and gardenia, erased the stench outside. It conveyed the vast world of art.
The small hall had hooks for coats and hats, and Jessica added her yellow, paisley waistcoat to the others. It looked precious alongside the plain, brown cotton vests and newsboy hats, and she buried it under the rest. She entered the parlor of mismatched furnishings. Another scent caught her by surprise–the sweet scent of pipe tobacco. She had to remind herself it was Miss Sangroven, not Mrs. Who could the pipe belong to?
“You have an interesting home.” Jessica slowly turned around, taking in the rainbow of colors. In one corner, there was a large, red-striped chair next to a table draped in a silk, multi-colored scarf. The rug looked Chinese with its painted symbols and pictures, as if telling a story. To Jessica’s envy, Lenny had a few Chinese lanterns hanging from the ceiling. A flash of the huts of Chinatown crossed her mind, and she swallowed the bile that rose to her throat. She continued her survey of the room. A divan of purple velvet lay in front of three tall windows where gauzy curtains lightly shaded the view of the brick building next door. A pair of large, ivory elephant sculptures flanked the divan. The walls were crowded with paintings that gave their own color to the room. A cabinet painted orange, held plates, cups and saucers of creamy, almost yellow, glaze. Jessica didn’t know where to rest her eyes. Fringed lampshades, and lace pieces were draped everywhere.
“I’ve traveled the world over and these come from my adventures. Come in and meet the other students. My studio is right through here.”
The hallway was covered with art of every size and color, a gallery in itself. Jessica entered the studio and stiffened. Leo Gosselin rose from leaning over a student sitting at his easel and rushed to her. “Ah, madame, we meet again!”
Jessica felt him reach for her hand and it was at his lips. “Vous êtes si belle.” A tingle went up her spine. His touch was most intimate.
“Do not be persuaded to pose for him, my dear. He is a talented womanizer.” Lenny turned to Leo. “Now that you have seen her, you may leave. I will meet you tomorrow, and we can discuss your latest work.”
“Oh, you women are so cruel to my heart!” Leo scoffed. “Very well, I wish you both a pleasant afternoon, and do not let her intimidate you, ma petite oiselle”
Smiling, Jessica refrained from tweeting as his “little bird.” Then she wondered what kind of cage he kept his women in. The thought disturbed her, and she quickly dismissed it from her mind. She was here to become a real painter, not to indulge his flirtations. He snapped his cape over his shoulder and cracked open his top hat, bowing as he made his exit. Jessica returned her attention to the room of students bent toward their work, their faces in artistic concentration. She wished to be doing the same.
Lenny turned to her. “Well, let’s see what you have there.” She pointed to a long, old, wooden table.
First, Jessica took out the painting of the tree by her art studio. Lenny tilted her head but said nothing. Then she showed her the drawings she had done from the train and small renditions of the landscape around her home. Finally, she pulled out the painting of two people sitting under a tall oak tree by a sparkling pond. Lenny examined all of them, squinting with a hand to her chin. Jessica began to return the paintings to her folder, but Lenny stopped her. “This one of the two under the tree. Are they lovers? It’s very provocative.” Jessica could not speak. “Never mind. I see you have talent, my dear. It’s a bit raw but certainly there. Grab an apron and find an easel. Let’s get started.”
Jessica unhooked a stained apron and sat at an easel. She was thrilled and petrified.
~
With each class, she took away something new. Her talent was unleashed. Jessica was in a giddy state of discovery. At first, she was intimidated to be critiqued along with the other students as Lenny stopped at each easel to give commentary on their works in progress.
“Too much blue, Kurt! I love your perspective, Delilah.” And what seemed to be a constant statement, “Not so rigid, Jessica!” She once even took Jessica’s hand and lifted it above her head, brush and all. “Now, make circles. Large, swiping ones! Good! Good! Now, slap the brush onto your canvas!” Although the other students didn’t look away from their own pieces of work, Jessica sensed their amusement. She lowered her head into her work and tried to loosen her technique. After each session she would stay late, scrubbing the paint off her fingers and from beneath her nails while Lenny chatted away, cleaning up her studio.
“If you can become more fluid, you may very well develop into an artist of worth. We need more women painters to be recognized. I’ve done my part, Jessica. It is young women like you who can continue what I and other women artists have begun. Those damn men can’t rule everything.”
Jessica would leave each time feeling inspired and honored to be a part of this women’s art movement. She practiced Lenny’s methods in her own studio using watercolors by adding small amounts of liquid so they might resemble the thick, greasy, smelly oil paints she was falling in love with. She was saving her money to invest in the medium and its special brushes.
This afternoon, as Jessica scrubbed the oil paint out of her nails with a cloth soaked in turpentine,
she noticed Lenny watching her. “Is something wrong?” she asked her teacher.
“What would happen if your husband saw your hands?”
Jessica turned back to cleaning her nails.
“I see. I remember you said he wouldn’t approve of you taking art lessons. Does he know?”
Jessica shook her head as she examined the last of the red stain on her finger.
“Hmm … are you happy?” Lenny didn’t wait for an answer. “Does he beat you?”
Jessica looked up at her in shock. “Oh, my Lord, no! Frederick has a temper, yes, but he’s never beaten me.”
“When he does, Jessica, don’t hesitate to come see me.”
“Lenny, I … I don’t think that will ever happen.”
Lenny nodded. “Yes, I know you think so. I’m just offering.”
Jessica looked into the older woman’s knowing eyes. “Thank you.”
Chapter Forty
The omnibus was overcrowded and smelled of sweat mixed with odors from the various occupations of the passengers, mostly fish and sea salt. Jessica had no choice because today, the horses were being re-shoed. A few of the women had their handkerchiefs to their noses, and Jessica took hers out as well. The horses drawing the bus had deposited their waste as the driver waited for the last passenger to enter. A sick feeling rose from her gut, adding to her already shaken insides. Lenny’s keen observation disturbed her. Instead of preparing herself for dinner, she went directly to her studio. She opened the leather portfolio that held many of her drawings, including the series she’d done of Jacob. Holding up one of her favorites, she lost herself in memories of their many tender moments together. As she looked at the loving expression on Jacob’s face, she wondered if she would ever be as free as Lenny Sangroven, to live her life and express her thoughts as she pleased. Mostly, would she and Jacob ever be together again? Where was he and her brother? She hadn’t heard a word from home about them.
Hearing someone coming, she quickly placed the paper back into the case. “Yes, Hannah, I’ll be there soon.” She turned around and was surprised it was Frederick. Stepping back, her heart thudded in her chest. He only came down to her studio to make love to her on the pink chaise, but she was in no mood for it this evening.
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