“She has all of these lame excuses for not finding a decent, honest job. Can you believe she actually expected to receive child support? She makes her living by turning tricks and sponging welfare, for God’s sake. The woman’s a tramp, not a mother. And we proved it today.”
Marsha’s emotions were a mixture of sadness and frustrated anger. “This has got to be devastating, not to mention frightening, for two small children. What does their father have to offer? Will they be happy with him?”
“I think so. He has a decent home, in a decent neighborhood. They’ll have their own rooms with clean, warm beds and a big back yard to play in. Nice clothes.” He took a sip before continuing. “You wouldn’t believe how she made them dress for school. They tried to play hooky half the time because they were ashamed of wearing the same dirty clothes day after day. But the most important thing they’ll have with their father that they didn’t get from her is love—love and understanding. Two things they’ve needed the most, but lived without.”
“So, the case unfolds with a happy ending.” Marsha wrapped her arms around Jonathan’s neck and hugged him close. “I’m proud of you, sweetheart. What you accomplished today is marvelous.”
“I have to admit, it feels good. Just knowing those kids now have a chance at a better life is reward enough.”
“Why don’t you set the table while I open a bottle of Merlot to celebrate?”
“I’m up for a celebration,” Jonathan agreed in a low, seductive voice, once again slipping his hands beneath her sweater. He cupped her naked breasts, massaging their rising peaks. He was already hard and pressed against her as his lips found the sensitive skin beneath her ear.
“What about dinner?” Her voice was husky with rising passion.
“Later.” He reached for the controls of the stove and turned them off. “Come on. Let’s go celebrate.”
An hour later, content in the circle of Jonathan’s arms, Marsha sighed and snuggled closer. “I should get up and finish dinner,” she purred and placed a kiss beneath his chin.
“It can wait a few more minutes,” he said with his eyes closed, tightening his hold.
“Oh, yeah?” She chuckled low in her throat. “Tell that to your stomach. That’s the third time it’s growled at me.”
Jonathan groaned as she pulled out of his arms and slipped out of their king size bed. He watched with lingering passion as she covered her nakedness with a robe.
“Need any help?
“Yeah. You can open that bottle of wine I mentioned earlier.”
“Done.”
After dinner, Jonathan carried the remainder of their wine into the den. The room was large and comfortable with two dark blue sofas, matching recliners, and inlaid tables. A large, flat-screen TV took up one corner and a rock fireplace engulfed one wall.
“Did you remember to bring in the mail?” Marsha asked.
“Yeah. It’s on the counter in the kitchen,” he replied, reaching for the remote control.
Marsha retrieved the stack of mail and sat down in a corner of the sofa, curling her legs beneath her. Sifting through its contents, she came across a small, gold embossed envelope. Curious, she slit the top open and read the word ‘Invitation’ on the front of the card. A smile came to her lips.
“Hey, Jonathan, guess what I have?”
“What’s that?”
“An invitation. To a grand opening.”
CHAPTER TEN
The December evening was chilled by a breeze whispering through what remained of season-aged leaves. A shining full moon hung heavy in the night sky. It cast its glowing radiance creating moon shadows, a haunting beauty that enhanced Tom’s feeling of expectation as he pulled the Jaguar into the driveway.
“Wow,” Kelly exclaimed. “Tom, the house looks wonderful. You’ve done so much with it. It’s a showplace.”
Tom smiled with pride. The refurbished house did look remarkable bathed in the security lights. The house was white. Rails, columns, and trim were light gray and long, slatted shutters flanking each window were black. The oak front door had been stripped and stained red, a sign of welcome. The oval, etched glass in its center was encircled by a colorful pattern of stained glass that matched the flanking sidelight windows. Light from within and the light outside made it sparkle richly. The house itself seemed to stand proud and, like its owner, welcome the praise it received.
Tom pulled through the colonnade to the back of the house and parked. A soft smile played along his lips as he turned to admire the woman sitting beside him. She wore her thick auburn hair gathered in a French twist, revealing the tempting curves of a slender neck. She pulled her white cashmere wrap tighter around her and he lifted his gaze. The eyes he saw staring back at him caused his breath to quicken, but he’d noticed how she had used her wrap almost like a shield. He’d also noticed how quiet she had become as he drove and they drew closer to the house.
“Is there something wrong, Kelly?”
Surprise flashed in her eyes before her expression softened and her smile became more genuine. “No. Of course there isn’t.” She placed her hand on his forearm. “I’m looking forward to tonight, Tom. I have been all week.”
“Shall we go in, then?” he asked.
“Oh, yes.”
Kelly watched Tom’s sleek form as he rounded the car and opened her door. With a becoming smile, she accepted his hand and stepped out.
As Tom watched, Kelly glanced up at the back of the house to the dark dormer windows protruding from the roof. She shivered and pulled her eyes away to meet his gaze.
“You’re cold,” he said.
“Only a little.”
“Then let’s go inside.”
With his hand resting lightly on the small of her back, he guided her across the footpath leading to the porch and to the front door. They entered the house and were met by soft instrumental music coming from speakers Tom had installed throughout the first floor. Two long tables laden with food were set up in the spacious foyer. A short, well-rounded woman in her early forties, giving last minute instructions to a young man in a waiter’s uniform, greeted them with a wide smile. She advanced toward them.
“Ah, Mr. Shear, you’re back. A few more minutes and everything will be ready.”
“You have plenty of time. My guests shouldn’t start arriving for another thirty minutes or so.”
Tom took Kelly’s wrap from her shoulders and felt an uncomfortable tightening in his crotch. Her long-sleeved, ankle-length pearl white dress hugged her body, caressing her slender curves. The low dip of the neckline revealed satiny mounds and tantalizing cleavage. He wondered what would happen if she bent over too far, then wrenched his gaze away before he was reduced to an ogling schoolboy. He hung her concealing wrap on the coat-rack, then turned back to introduce the two women.
“Kelly Stafford, my caterer, Mrs. Reading.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Kelly replied. She smiled as her gaze swept the preparations. “Everything looks and smells wonderful.”
“Thank you. We aim to please.” The caterer’s hearty chuckle made her plump body shake. Eyes the color of blueberries twinkled.
“Have there been any problems?” Tom asked, grinning as he shrugged out of his dress coat, to reveal the tuxedo he wore.
“None whatsoever,” she answered. “The bar is set up down the hall. Would you care for anything while you wait? I can have a server bring whatever you like.”
Tom gave Kelly a questioning look.
“Chardonnay.”
“Make that two.”
He smiled as Mrs. Reading flashed him a grin and waddled off.
“She’s a remarkable woman. I was lucky to find her,” he said, turning his gaze on Kelly. “Would you like a tour before the others arrive?”
“I’d love one.”
With a light touch, he guided her into the room of Life.
“Oh, Tom, they’re beautiful,” she said as she stepped into the yellow room and looked around wide-eyed at the painti
ngs hanging on the walls. “The color is spectacular. They seem to come alive and dance with the joy they display.”
“You seem to know quite a bit about the expression of art,” he said, surprised. “This happens to be my room of Life.”
“Your room of Life. I can understand why you chose the name. It fits the atmosphere you’ve created perfectly. My cousin Katie is an artist, pencil, and charcoal mostly. When we were kids, I used to sit and watch her draw. I became fascinated by the concept of art’s creation. I guess it’s my secret passion. I even took a few courses in college. That’s where I discovered my true talent in the art world.”
“Which is?” he asked, intrigued as he handed her a glass from a waiter’s tray.
Kelly flashed a grin. “My talent is definitely observing. When it came to creating, I had two left thumbs. My work was terrible. I’m glad I took the courses, though. It taught me how to appreciate a true artist.”
“I have to admit, I’m pleasantly surprised by that admission.”
“Why?”
“I was afraid you’d be bored out of your mind tonight. Most people don’t know enough about art to appreciate it.”
“You don’t have to be an expert to see the talent hanging on these walls, Tom.” She looked up into his eyes.
Tom suddenly felt himself engulfed in her emerald gaze. Unable to pull his eyes away, he felt himself sinking in an emotional undertow. The chiming doorbell broke the spell and his expression slammed shut, concealing the emotional mael-strom he had just experienced.
“Someone’s early,” he said. “Will you excuse me?”
“Certainly.”
Tom turned toward the foyer and felt Kelly’s green-eyed gaze follow him from the room. The smile playing along his lips widened as he opened the front door and found Jonathan and Marsha waiting on the other side.
“Hey, buddy,” Jonathan greeted as he followed Marsha inside. “The parking lot out back was a great idea. But I see you have the coveted space in front.”
“Of course. It’s my gallery,” Tom said, closing the door. “I take it you saw the parking sign and followed the arrow?”
“Naturally.”
“Come here,” Marsha said, wrapping her arms around Tom’s neck. “Enough about parking. Only a man could get excited over such a thing.”
Tom laughed and hugged back. Jonathan wore a lopsided grin and nodded. “You’ve got us pegged, babe.”
“Marsha, you look sensational,” Tom said as he took the black, quilted satin stole from her bare shoulders. Her hair was artistically piled on top of her head leaving wispy bangs. Her dress was long, black, and shimmered. It clasped at the back of her neck revealing her back in a daring display.
“Thank you,” she cooed. She ran a hand over the soft lapel of his tux. “You look pretty spiffy yourself. The sight of the two of you is enough to make a proper lady swoon.”
Jonathan turned from hanging his coat and held out his arms. “Here then, darlin’, allow me to catch you.”
“Sorry,” she said, laying a caressing hand on his chest. “I’m not the swooning type.”
Jonathan pulled at his collar. “Mercy. Did the temperature suddenly rise or is it just me?”
Tom’s laughter rumbled. “I think it’s both of us. And just think. The night’s just beginning.”
“Yeah well, I know we’re early, Tom, but Marsha couldn’t wait. It’s all she’s talked about since we received your invitation.” Jonathan directed a sly grin at the woman beside him. “Isn’t it dear?’
“Oh, you just hush,” she retorted. A soft blush colored her cheeks. “Of course I’m excited. This is Tom’s big night.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re early. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
“Oh, really,” Marsha said, her brow rising.
A grin lit Tom’s face as he crooked his finger in a gesture for them to follow. At the sound of their footsteps, Kelly turned from the painting she had been studying. It was one rich with color, and if you looked closely, delicate wings could be seen attached to the tiny bodies of fairies dancing in flight.
“Kelly, I’d like you to meet my two closest friends, Marsha Webster and Jonathan Fields. Guys, meet Kelly Stafford.”
“It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Miss Stafford,” Marsha said. Her pleased smile broadened. “I see that Tom’s been keeping secrets.”
“Am I a secret, Tom?” Mischief glimmered in Kelly’s eyes.
His seductive expression brought a blush to her cheeks as he held her gaze. “Not anymore.” He motioned to the attending waiter. “Would anyone care for a drink?”
“Capital idea.” Jonathan turned to the waiter.
“I’ve just been admiring Tom’s work,” Kelly said. “He’s wonderful.”
“I’ve been telling him that for years.” Marsha tossed Tom a mocking smile. “I’m just glad he’s finally able to open his own gallery. He deserves some recognition. Are you in the art field as well, Miss Stafford?”
“No. I’m in real estate. And please, call me Kelly.”
“Marsha.”
Tom watched the two women exchange smiles only females understood as Jonathan clapped him on the shoulder and asked, “How about a tour before the other guests arrive? I want to see what you’ve done.”
Tom grinned, nodded, held out his arms, and said, “This is my room of Life.” He then guided his guests through the other two rooms he had opened for the showing. Each room was illuminated by track lights in the ceiling and lamps above each painting. The hardwood floors glowed warmly and tapped out their footsteps as they passed from room to room. When they emerged from the last, the room of Ice, he led them back into the foyer where candlelight danced from sconces hanging on the walls and from centerpieces on the tables. The crystal chandelier high above their heads sparkled brilliantly.
“What you’ve accomplished here is marvelous,” Jonathan said. “And you’ve managed to put it all together in a remarkably short period of time. I’m impressed.”
“I think we all are. But haven’t you forgotten something?” Marsha asked expectantly.
“I don’t think so,” Tom replied.
Marsha turned and walked down the left side hall to the closed French doors covered with thick red velvet. She placed her hands on the knobs. “Have you decided what to do with this room yet?”
“Marsha, wait,” he called, but was too late.
She threw the doors open and entered. When light flooded the room, they heard her startled gasp. Jonathan hurried into the room and stood frozen as he gazed at the exquisitely poignant horrors displayed.
Kelly looked up and caught a glimpse of Tom’s anguish before his expression shut down. “Tom, what’s wrong? What’s in there?”
“Something I hadn’t planned on showing tonight,” he replied. “Come on. You can see for yourself.” He gathered her hand in his and led her into the room of Rage.
“Tom, how—” Jonathan started, but was unable to find the words to express his thoughts.
“This is my room of Rage,” Tom explained. “I hadn’t planned on opening this room tonight.”
“Why not?” Marsha insisted. “You have to. I admit it’s a bit frightening, but it’s the best work you’ve ever done. The paintings are exquisite.”
Kelly looked around the room with wide eyes. “They’re heart-breaking,” she said. “But they’re so beautiful and alive. It’s almost as if I can hear them calling out to me in their anguish. The vibrations of the room are so vivid, it’s uncanny.”
Tom looked at her sharply and watched her walk deeper into the room. He hadn’t expected to hear her say the very words that matched his own secret thoughts.
“I agree with Marsha, Tom,” she said, standing in front of Emmy’s portrait. “You’ve got to show them. Not just for the possibility of making a sale, but for the very statement and impact these paintings make. This room exhibits more real-life heartache than mere words could ever express.”
“The ladies are right
, Tom,” Jonathan conceded. “You really have no choice. These paintings have to be seen. If only for the thousands of children who are being abused as we speak. What you have here is a testimony on their behalf. Mental and physical abuse of children happen every day. I know, because I’ve seen its effects too many times in court. But maybe you’re right about tonight not being the appropriate time,” he finished thoughtfully. “You apparently have your reasons.”
“What are you talking about?” Marsha demanded. “Tonight’s perfect.”
“Perhaps,” Jonathan responded.
“It seems I’m outnumbered,” Tom said, giving in to their logic.
“Why were you going to hold back?” Marsha asked. “You should be proud of what you’ve created here.”
“I’m not sure. I guess it’s because, right now, they’re so private. They’re a part of me like no other work has ever been.”
The chime of the doorbell sounded loudly in the soft silence that fell around them.
Jonathan gave Tom a pat on the back. “Get ready. The troops have arrived.”
Before long, the gallery rooms were filled with a vast assortment of people, and the one thing they all had in common was their love for art. With Kelly by his side, Tom passed from guest to guest. They ranged from art dealers to collectors, with a few critics mingled in. Some were gallery owners as well.
People shifted from room to room admiring Tom’s work. He received praise from all corners and felt his confidence crest. Although offers were made for several of his other pieces, the initial shock came when an offer was made for the entire Rage collection.
“I’m sorry, but the paintings in the room of Rage are not for sale,” Tom replied. “I plan to add to the collection in the future and I need to keep it intact.”
Craig Raymond smiled politely at the rejection. The smile barely reached his cobalt eyes. He had a straight and narrow Norman nose and a thin lipped mouth. His thinning gray hair was neatly trimmed and his robust, barrel-chested frame filled the tux he was wearing with only a hint of a thickening midriff.
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