They made quick work of the hardware store, and then they started dropping off postcards and flyers. The largest stack of postcards went into the mailbox outside the post office. He’d gotten permission to send them out to the mailing list for the Heritage Center, and others were going to arts organizations all over the city, with packets going to some of the museums.
The flyers were going to specific businesses in the area that allowed postings, like cafés and restaurants. This meant a bunch of little stops, some with permission inquiries. They did what they could and stopped for dinner at seven. Then Darien dropped his brother off at his apartment with a thankful hug and headed home.
It had already been a full day, but Darien had a full night ahead of him. He had some small tables from the hardware store to put together. He also had some pieces he was still working on and several he wanted to seal. Others needed holes or metal pieces for hanging. Some he just needed to make decisions about.
When all that was done, he started working again on the Safire piece. It wasn’t going in his art show, but it was almost finished, and he wanted it completely done. Coincidentally, this is what he was doing when the phone rang.
It was Safire, and Safire wasn’t happy. In fact, even the way she said hello made it sound as if she wanted to pick a fight.
“Safire? Is anything wrong?”
“In fact, yes. I want to know why you disappeared in the bookstore, sneaking off behind my back. I couldn’t let you have it at the fund-raiser, but now you better have a pretty good explanation.”
Darien sighed. “So you’ve called. Did it take you this long to miss me?” He could almost feel Safire rearing up to strike. “Did I hit a nerve?”
“You can miss my black—”
“Let’s not be vulgar,” Darien cut in.
“You have no idea what I can be. And I won’t be dismissed either.”
Darien put down his chisel and took off his goggles. “You want to have it out, Safire? Let’s have it out.”
“Why did you leave?” she said.
“I was not going to stand around and argue with you in the bookstore. As touching as your jealousy was, I’ve never been the one giving you a reason to be jealous.”
“Next time, be a man and take your leave. And I was not jealous, only surprised by how quickly Mr. Let’s-Go-Slow filled my shoes.”
Darien tried to be level, yet this woman disturbed his calm so easily. “As I said, it wasn’t like that. I was not encouraging the attention.”
“You didn’t seem to be running her off, either.”
“So you are jealous,” Darien said. “I guess this is a nice change. But for the record, you’re the one who doesn’t want to commit. I’m the one who’s not interested in the casual.”
“Here you go again with that nonsense. Casual is your code for loose, and that’s not what I offered,” Safire said, seething. “That’s your hang-up from being burned before.”
“Hold up,” Darien said, ready to tell this woman what was what. “You think you had my number the first day we met, but I’ve seen a few things about you, too. You know what I think? I think that losing your parents made you afraid you’ll lose anyone you get too close to. So you play the field, and you play it light. But all that means is that nobody stands a chance.” In the brief pause that followed, Darien quieted down. “But you did miss me, didn’t you?”
“The world doesn’t revolve around you, Darien James.”
“Or—”
Safire hung up, cutting him off. Darien let out a guttural roar and banged down the phone. This woman made him psycho, but she was all he wanted. Only Safire would call him, missing him, actually, and proceed by picking a fight. Only she would call him, still jealous, mind you, and go on to test his cool.
And he had stepped right into it and gone where he didn’t intend. He didn’t mean to bring up the whole question of the casual again. In fact, he’d meant a casual relationship, not casual sex. He didn’t think their intimacy was casual to her. Or did he?
Darien was still in his studio, and he walked around his Safire piece. The contradictions she embodied could confuse even a thoughtful man.
He thought about what his brother had said about waiting, not pushing. He’d messed that up—again. He wanted her to take him and their relationship seriously. He hadn’t advanced that cause—at all.
He also thought about Safire, who she was and what his piece was turning out to be. He looked at it, really looked. In some ways, Safire was turning out to be an amalgamation of every woman he’d ever known. Mostly, however, she was turning out be her own unique, evolving creation.
Darien sat down at his table, holding his gaze on the Safire piece. For the first time it made him think of the other women he’d known—the ones who’d burned him. He was carrying baggage, and it did shade his perspective on Safire. It did make him misread her or read into her, especially at first. Was he still doing that? Was that why he’d jumped at the first chance to keep pushing? Deep down, his experiences in the past made him assume that she wouldn’t commit. Darien swallowed this dawning self-knowledge like a bitter cube of ice.
And what now? He’d been wondering how much time she needed. Now she probably needed years. Darien stood and put on his goggles and picked up his chisel. He didn’t want to wait years, not even one, and he was going to get this piece done. One way or another, he was going to capture Safire.
Chapter 19
Safire knocked on Mr. Benson’s door. “Here is the research for the Coles case,” she said.
“Thank you,” he replied and looked at his watch. “Hey, it’s after six. Get out of here before I find something else for you to do.”
“I’m almost finished packing up already.”
Mr. Benson laughed. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Safire returned to the law library, finished shelving the last of the books she’d been using and grabbed her blazer from the back of the chair.
It was a Friday night, and she had decided to go to happy hour at Jake’s. It had been a long week, and she wanted a little recreation. Unfortunately, she found herself at a table with hot wings and a virgin strawberry daiquiri, and she couldn’t help thinking of the first day she’d met Darien James.
It had been almost a week since she’d called him to let him have it about ditching her in the bookstore. That hadn’t gone as planned; in fact, she hadn’t really had a plan. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but an apology would have been good. Instead, she got an argument.
But the truth was that she did miss Darien. She had probably even come here because she missed him. She knew that the memory of him was waiting here for her. She’d missed him in Houston. She’d missed him when she got back. Why hadn’t she just said so? He might have had an idea about that, about why it was so hard for her to get close to people and stay close. Even Angelina had guessed that she was sabotaging things because...because she wanted it to be serious.
Her own jealousy showed her how deep the river of her feelings ran. She didn’t want to keep hurting, and Darien was the salve for her turmoil. Anger helped her to avoid the sting, but it didn’t make the misery go away. Her feelings for him had been growing like roots all along, but she couldn’t say that to him when she hadn’t been ready to admit it to herself. He’d been right about practically everything. Now she could lose this man because of her own misdirected rage. She could lose him over the silence she had pledged to break. Maybe she already had.
Safire pulled out her phone and called Darien’s number. She didn’t know what she was going to say, only that she wanted to see him, only that it was time for the truth.
She needn’t have worried. He wasn’t in. Oh, yeah, this was one of his days at the Heritage Center. She didn’t get him, but his answering machine had changed. He was on it talking about the exhibit he had coming up.
He’d mentioned that. The opening was next Saturday night.
Safire called back and took down the information. Before she knew what she was thinking, she was already planning to surprise him that night at his show. She also had a favor to call in from her soon-to-be brother-in-law, so she could do a little more than show up; she could help get the word out.
She was excited to do something for the effort. In fact, she was excited that she’d be seeing Darien again and anxious to say what there was to be said. There would be no turning back this time, not on account of her. But regardless of what happened to them, Safire had seen Darien’s art, and it was worth supporting.
Safire checked her watch and decided to visit the gallery where the opening was taking place. She had a few things to put in motion and just enough time to do them.
After a few stops and a few calls and a visit to her sister, where she had a powwow about the wedding plans and checked on her little brother, Safire headed home. She was tired, and she wouldn’t be seeing Darien until next weekend. She could have gone out with her girls, but she wasn’t in the mood. She called Camilla and made plans to meet with her friends for dinner during the week.
By the time she changed for bed, it was after eleven o’clock, and within minutes, Safire was fast asleep.
She woke up to the ringing of her phone.
She checked the clock, and it was already nine. She picked up the receiver and answered the call.
“Hello, Safire.”
It was Darien. Safire sat up, wondering what had made him call her. Had he found out that she’d gone to the gallery and was snooping around?
“I’ve wanted to talk to you,” Darien said, “not argue but talk.”
“I called you yesterday,” Safire admitted.
“I know. I saw your number on my machine.”
Safire pushed the covers off and put her feet on the floor. “I didn’t call to argue. I...I thought we should talk, too.”
“I have my Saturday classes at the Heritage Center, but maybe we can have dinner tonight.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“I’ll be ready.”
Safire was kept busy during the day, but that evening she turned her attention to the thoughts that has been threatening to surface all day. She was seeing Darien again, and this time she didn’t want to argue. It was time to tell him the truth.
Safire changed into a short, knit teal dress. It had a belt that went around the waist and crossed over her chest to form the shoulders, and she liked the way it hugged her body. Darien picked her up at seven wearing his denims with a white shirt and a bright purple vest. They hugged briefly in a cordial way, but it was clear that they hadn’t broken the ice as yet. They were saving the heavy stuff for later—after dinner.
They went to a quiet seafood restaurant, where they ordered and ate. It wasn’t until after dessert that they really began to talk.
“Safire,” Darien said, “I want to make things work between us. Or at least give them a chance to work. I haven’t done that.”
His tone was sincere, and Safire felt her heart surge and any remaining resistance fall away.
“My exhibit opens next weekend,” he said, “and I can’t imagine you not being there. I can’t imagine you not seeing how much you’ve been an inspiration in my art since I’ve known you. I—”
“I want to say something, too,” Safire said. “You asked me if I missed you, and I guess I never answered. I have missed you. I do miss you. And it’s never been just physical with you for me.”
“I’m sorry I brought that up again on the phone,” Darien said, taking her hands. “I think our hang-ups work against each other.”
“What?” she asked.
“Because I’ve been burned,” Darien said, “part of me figures that nobody wants to commit. So I pushed when I shouldn’t—”
“And because I’ve lost people I love,” Safire said, “part of me figures that maybe I’ll lose anyone I love, so I push people away or sabotage things when—”
“When things get too serious.”
Safire’s eyes had become moist as she spoke. She didn’t know why, only that this man had always been a haven for her tears.
Darien scooted over next to Safire in their booth and drew her into his arms.
“If you promise not to sabotage,” he said against her ear, “I’ll promise not to push.”
Her eyes were still wet, but Safire smiled and wrapped her arms around Darien’s shoulders.
“It’s a deal,” she said, holding on tight.
When she let his shoulders loose, Darien pulled back just enough to find Safire’s lips with his own. They remained locked to one another until their waitress cleared her throat, depositing the check on the table.
Darien paid the bill, and they walked to his car.
“Where to now?” Darien asked.
Safire put herself in Darien’s embrace and tangled her arms around his neck. She kissed him deeply and then rested her forehead along his cheek.
“Take me home with you tonight,” she said.
“Are you sure?” Darien asked.
She nodded, and he pressed her hard against his chest.
“I’ve missed you, too, Safire,” he said. “I’ve missed you so much.”
* * *
Safire parked her car and checked her face. It was the opening night of Darien’s exhibition, and although he knew she was coming, he didn’t know that she had invited her family and friends and their friends.
Safire had wanted to wear something special for tonight. She settled on an orchid gown made of woven satin. The skirt of the dress was short and had rhinestones emblazoning the bottom hem and covering the bust. It also had an empire waist, and the bodice was low cut in front and in back. It had spaghetti straps and showed off all of her curves.
She had on three-inch heels and had a matching purse, and she also wore a large silver cuff bracelet and a thin silver necklace. Her long, freshly done curls hung down her back, and she’d done up her face and painted her nails. Now she walked toward Darien’s exhibit with a bouquet of roses in her hands.
The gallery had been operating all day, but the official opening was from six to ten. The Elizabeth Hellard Fine Art Gallery was in the heart of the Wynwood Art District in Miami. It sometimes represented emerging artists and had apparently seen what Safire had seen in Darien’s work. They’d offered him a solo exhibit in what was actually a large exhibition space.
It was six-thirty when Safire got there. She wanted to be early because she knew it would be busy later. She found Darien talking to the gallery owner at the reception area just inside. He had on a blue suit and a matching kente cloth tie with a white shirt, and when he saw her, a broad smile emerged from his face. He stepped toward her, and she held out the flowers.
“Thank you,” he said, taking them from her.
“Let me go find a vase,” said the owner.
Before she got back, Darien took out one of the roses and handed it to Safire.
“You look exquisite,” he said and then kissed her.
Safire smiled and smelled the rose. Darien laid the bouquet on the table next to the champagne glasses and took Safire’s hand.
“You’re early, so it’s pretty quiet. Do you want a tour?”
“I was hoping for one.”
“We’ve partitioned the space into four rooms. This is the first one, my favorite.”
A plaque indicated that the room had two themes, “The People Could Fly” and “The Ibo Landing Story,” both based on African-American folk narratives about slaves flying or walking on the water back to Africa. Sky-blue fabric and batting covered the ceiling, and wood carvings of black people flying east were suspended from the ceiling, some as low down as eye leve
l. The closer ones were life-size, and the ones farther up were smaller, giving the impression of altitude.
“The way you capture their movement is amazing,” Safire said. “I feel like I’m in the clouds with them.”
“Excellent,” Darien said. “That was my goal.”
Farther into the room, shiny cobalt-blue fabric covered the floor—an ocean—and here the wooden figures were walking toward the east—slaves, nineteenth-and twentieth-century people, modern people. The impression of distance was given by making the farther ones smaller. Safire was astonished. The installation was awe inspiring.
The next room was smaller and had a plaque reading, The Trickster Across Cultures. Here the figures were mounted on pedestals or tables with fabric backdrops in black velvet, white cotton and African prints. It was impossible to take in all of them. Safire walked around the room, looking at individual pieces. One was of an old black man with two faces pointing off in opposite directions like the god Janus. One was of Anansi the spider from Ashanti lore; the spider had a man’s head. One was of three black women whose gowns billowed over a cliff—sirens, she presumed. There were many others, and they were all so detailed, so realistic.
The next room was “Family Routes” and amid a host of Africa family tree statues of all sizes and configurations were carvings of people—all kinds—on backdrops of grass-green fabric that also covered the floor. One walked through the room as if on a path through the park, and two of the life-size carvings were of people on park benches with space for actual people to sit. This room also had sketches and paintings.
The last room was “The Growing Tree,” and it was a collection of just about everything. Wood carvings and reliefs were on beige-fabric backdrops, and ceramic pieces were on bright red backdrops. There were sketches and paintings, as well as lamps, bowls, partitions, figures—too many things of too many different kinds to name.
“What is the theme here?” Safire asked, turning to Darien.
He was staring at her, and instead of answering her question, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Captivated Love Page 19