Finally, we completely broke contact, taking a step back from each other to create actual distance. I was dazed with desire. For a second there, I had completely forgotten where I was. I was so mesmerized by the kiss that I actually forgot I was in my new room. I stared up at my lights, and the reality hit me.
"Okay, that's better," I said. "It's out of our systems."
"Is that what you said earlier? I thought that was what you said."
I opted for shrugging off his question because I knew if I said anything, I would end up giving myself away for overhearing them earlier. I smiled at Lane through the heartbreak I suddenly felt. I knew he was completely serious about not being able to be with me, and after that kiss, the reality of it felt like a blow to the heart.
"Did you say you needed me to go downstairs to meet Theo?" I asked. I took a few steps backward, sitting on the side of my bed and kicking my feet out in front of me in an effort to look casual.
"He's down there, but you don't have to go tonight," Lane said. "He wants to meet you soon, but he's in town for a couple of weeks, so he's not in a huge hurry. I mostly just wanted to come up here and tell you about your package…" He hesitated, smiling wryly at me. "And get that out of my system."
"Did it work?" I asked, loathing our one kiss fate.
"No," he said. "But a second one wouldn't either, so we should probably just quit while we're ahead."
"Yeah," I said. "You're right. Plus, I need to go downstairs, anyway, to go get my package." I popped off of my bed and headed for the door with a big smile on my face.
Lane caught me by the arm as I walked past him. "One more," he said. He leaned in as I passed, and placed his lips on my cheek.
"You missed," I said. Without thinking better of it, I sprang up and pressed my lips directly onto his in a sweet but chaste kiss. "That's the last one," I said regretfully.
"I know."
I gestured with a flick of my head toward the door. "Let's go."
"One more thing," Lane said. To my utter satisfaction and relief, he took hold of my arm, gently pulling me toward him. I fell into his arms, and he wrapped himself around me in the best bear hug in the history of all bear hugs. Lane held me. He hugged me so securely that uncontrollable tears of relief and happiness sprang to my eyes. I relaxed into his arms, wrapping my arms around his middle, and gratefully returning the embrace. He was solid around the middle, and I smiled against his chest as I relished the feel of hugging him.
"Thank you," I said. "I really needed that."
He squeezed me tightly before letting go and taking a step back. He shook his head and smirked at me, leaving me at a loss for words. "Okay, now we can go," he said.
I told Lane on our way downstairs that I had been looking forward to meeting Theo, and as long as everyone was okay with it, I'd go ahead and do it right then while I was getting my easel. We walked down the stairs and through the gallery to Theo's office, which was right next to Lane's.
"Mademoiselle Zoe Etheridge from Texas, I presume," Theo said, bowing with a flourish as he stood up from his desk.
Lane had come in with me, and he came to stand on my right.
Theo stuck his hand out to shake mine, and I took him up on the offer, giving him a firm handshake like my dad always taught me.
"This place is a miracle," I said. I pointed at the ceiling. "My room is amazing. Thank you."
Theo smiled. "You're very welcome. I like what I've seen of your art, Ms. Zoe, and Lane is most impressed."
"I'm most impressed with Lane, too," I said.
And then realizing what that sounded like, I added, "With the way he gave me a chance to show him my art and everything." I shrugged. "I don't think I came to him in the most conventional manner, and he's been really gracious."
"Lane's the man," Theo said. "That's why I keep him around." We both looked at Lane who smiled humbly at us.
I wanted another hug. I wanted to just step closer to him and have him wrap his arm around my shoulders. Obviously, I didn't.
"Have you been informed about the film?" Theo asked.
"Yes sir, I talked to the producers. I think I'm all set to start working with them in a couple of weeks."
"You don't have to call me 'sir'," Theo said.
I bowed shyly since I was fairly certain sir and ma'am might slightly offend people up here. "It's a Texas thing," I said, causing Theo to smile.
"Are you excited about the film?"
"Definitely. The whole thing is a dream come true. I keep feeling like I'm going to wake up any second."
"Well, I'm happy you're happy, Ms. Etheridge."
"If you're not 'sir', then I'm definitely just Zoe," I said with a teasing grin aimed at Theo.
He laughed and stuck his hand out to shake my hand again. I gave him my hand, and he pulled me into a sideways hug where we kept our distance and touched shoulders—nothing at all like the hug from upstairs.
"I think you're gonna fit in just fine, Zoe from Texas," Theo said, still smiling.
"Thank you," I said. "Thank you for believing in me. I'm so happy to be here."
"Thank Lane," Theo said. "He believes in you enough for the both of us."
"Then I'll try not to let him down," I said, smiling back and forth between them. I bowed again. "Anyway, I just wanted to meet you and tell you thank you for the opportunity."
"You're very welcome," Theo said. "People like you are exactly the reason why I do this."
"Zoe was saying something about needing to pick up a package," Lane said.
"That's right," I said, nodding. "I do have a package waiting at the desk."
Chapter 11
The following December
As months passed, it became more and more apparent that Lane fully intended to keep our relationship on a professional level. He distanced himself, interacting with me like he did with all the other artists. We never made prolonged eye contact, and I could see the discipline and distance in his expression every time we had an encounter.
In spite of the fact that I was nursing a little bit of a broken heart about Lane, my time in New York had been positive and productive. The filming of the documentary was going well, and I had sold enough of my work through the gallery that I was able to pay for food and nice art supplies while still saving some. It was going so well that I had recently quit my job as a cashier to focus on art full-time.
I always painted piece by piece—just whatever inspired me at the moment, but for a change, I decided to paint a collection. I was inspired by growing up in small-town Texas, and I set out to create a scene of rural life in America.
The first painting in the series featured a train. There were tracks less than half a mile from where I grew up, and I used to walk over there during the day, and hear the trains at night. A train was one of the first things I thought of when I thought of home, so it was a no-brainer as a start to my collection.
I was working on that very painting while the crew from the documentary was in my room, filming. We were already four months into the making of the film, and while it was somewhat distracting having a camera and crew right next to me while I worked, I had gotten used to it, and I barely even noticed they were there.
The crew was following five artists, (plus Theo, Lane, and the gallery staff). They made the rounds with us, checking in with each of us for a couple of days each month, asking all sorts of questions and charting our individual growth and progress.
I was in the middle of my fourth session at the moment. It was December 20th, and I was the last artist on their schedule before everyone went home for the holidays. The director was in my room, along with two others and a camera guy. There were two big lights on tripods, focusing on me at my workstation. It was late afternoon, so there was very little light coming in through the windows, but I was still sitting there since that's where I always painted.
The director's name was Jane, and she was sitting in an actual director's chair that was positioned next to the camera. There were chairs, an
d stands and lights all over the back half of my room, but I was used to the whole scene by now since it was my fourth session.
"You said it's the first time you're making a collection," Jane said, "Tell us more about that."
"I don't know," I answered as I painted. "I guess until now I had just been painting whatever came to my mind without thinking about how it related to the next thing that would come to my mind. And then one day, I just decided it would be fun to paint one big thing but spread it out over a whole bunch of canvases. You know, have them all connect."
I glanced at Jane who regarded me with a look of confusion. "Do you mean they'll have one central theme?" she asked.
"No, I mean they'll literally connect." I held my thumb and forefinger in a position indicating a couple of inches and traced a horizontal line along the far wall, showing just how I imagined the collection being hung with the canvases butted up against each other in a line so that it was one panoramic scene.
"Are you saying they're all going to have to be positioned next to each other to make sense?" she asked.
"Yes ma'am, but they'll come apart, too. I'm gonna try to make them significant on their own, but also make them connect."
"That's an interesting idea for a collection."
"Surely, I'm not the first person to do it," I said as I continued to paint.
"Have any of your influences done it?" Jane asked.
"No," I said. "But that's not saying a lot since my exposure to art is unfortunately so limited. Just because I don't know of anyone who's done it doesn't mean it hasn't been done. If it was one of the first things I thought of in my career, than I'm sure someone else has thought of it, too."
"So will you sell the paintings as a set?" she asked.
I shook my head. "Separately."
"Separately?"
"That's the plan," I said. "I have some space in the gallery set aside where I'll show them as one connected piece, but when they sell, they'll all go to individual homes, and I'm good with that. I'm gonna number them all, one through twenty-four, and I'll work each canvas's number into the scene somehow so the buyer knows which one they got. See?" I pointed to the number 1, which was incorporated on the side of the train.
"So, the next canvas will have a number two on it?" Jane asked.
"Yes," I said. "But it might not be as obvious as the one. It'll be different on all of them. The number will be hidden or at least understated in most of them. I just wanted people to know what number they had," I said. "So they can imagine where it fit in line."
Everyone was quiet for a minute while I painted. I was so into the scene and memory of it all that I barely even remembered they were there.
"Do you have the whole scene planned, or will you go picture by picture?" Jane asked.
"A little of both," I said. "I have a general idea of where I'm going, but I'm sure its shape will change by the time I get to the end. It's my first time to try something like this, so I'm kind of making it up as I go, to tell you the truth."
"Why small town America?" she asked.
"Because it's home to me."
"Say that one in a complete sentence, if you don't mind, Zoe. We'll want to have that one."
"Say what?"
"Say, 'I'm doing this collection of small town America because small town America is home to me'."
"Rural America is home to me," I said, "That's why I'm doing this collection. I know I'm going to be able get across a sense of nostalgia, because that feeling is inside me. I have it in my heart."
"Perfect," Jane said.
"Can you tell us with your own words why you started with a train?"
"My dad."
"Zoe."
"Huh?" I said, forgetting yet again to speak in complete sentences instead of just answering her questions. It might not have been so difficult if I wasn't so entranced by the painting. "What was the question?"
"Why you're starting with a train."
I painted for a few seconds while I gathered my thoughts. "There was no question in my mind that I would include a train in this collection," I said. "In fact, the whole thing's actually built around the idea of a train. That's how I thought of lining the canvases up like boxcars. My daddy loved trains. He was always joking around, and when I was a little girl, he used to pretend to be a train conductor every time we'd get in the truck to go somewhere. He'd open the door for me, and while I was climbing in, he'd make a grand conductor's speech—the same one every time. He was just being funny, but it made me feel like I was going on some great adventure even though we were probably just going to church or Piggly Wiggly."
"Can we hear it?" Jane asked.
"The speech?"
"Do you remember it?"
"Yes."
"But we can't hear it?" she asked, seeing my shift in expression.
"You can, but I just need a minute."
I turned my back to the camera and put down my brush and palette, sinking my face into my hands and taking a deep breath. Uncontrollable hot, silent tears streamed from my eyes as I envisioned Dad's smiling face staring down at me as he held open the door to the truck. I could see him and hear him reciting that speech. He was a short, stocky man with white hair that grew in that horseshoe pattern around the sides and back. That man loved me. He was always there for me, right up until the last minute when he made me promise to chase my dreams. It had been a while since I cried about Dad, but thinking about the conductor's speech was too much. I had no other choice but to let it out. I just sank my face into my hands and let silent tears roll down my cheeks while Jane and the others waited for me.
"I want to say it," I said, after what must have been a full minute or two. "I know I don't have to, but I want to. I think dad would get a kick out of me telling y'all his little tradition. I just need a minu—" I had to cut off because more tears started flowing. "Just give me a minute," I managed to squeak out.
I decided I needed a change of scenery if I was ever going to be able to get through his speech.
"Hang on, y'all," I said. I stepped around the lights and stands until I got through my room to the door that led to the hallway. "I'll be right back," I yelled, leaving them in my room. I went straight to the staircase where I ran up the stairs, all the way to the eighth floor before coming back down. I was winded when I returned, but I was also sufficiently distracted, which was the whole idea.
"Okay, I think I can do it," I said, once I got situated in my workstation and caught my breath. I smiled and made a gesture with my fist like I was honking some imaginary train horn.
"All aboard! Southlake, Waco, Baytown, Abilene, Nacogdoches, Conroe, Bunkee, and LeBeau! Don't forget your bicycles, tricycles, old shoes, crab nets, fishin' poles, and razor blades. Watch your step, please, because you know how hard it is to collect your insurance."
I finished the speech with a little smile, but there were tears in my eyes. "He did it much better than that," I said shaking my head as I turned to busy myself with grabbing a paintbrush. "He had the fluctuation down and everything."
"Is that where you get your talent?" Jane asked. "Your father?"
"I actually don't even know who my real dad is, but it doesn't really matter, because I know who any talent I have comes from."
"Who?"
"God." I shot her an expression like that was the most obvious question ever, which it was.
This made her smile at me. "Can you phrase that in a complete sentence for us, Zoe?"
"Not really," I said.
"Why not?"
"Because you're asking me to say that I think my talent is God given, like it was my idea to say it."
"Exactly," she said. "My promptings aren't going to be in the film."
"I know, but that's not something I would just randomly say," I said. "Because it sounds like I think my art is God's gift, and it's really the other way around."
"Isn't that just what you said, though?" she asked.
"Not in the way it would sound if I said it without you promp
ting me. I know that any talent I have is a gift, that's all. But it's more like it's God's gift to me rather than some gift I think I get to give to the world, if that makes any sense. I don’t even know what I'm trying to say, now."
"Do you think it's boastful to say you have a gift?"
"Maybe, but that doesn't change the fact that I still think of it as one in my heart."
"Don't you want your art to be appreciated? Don't you want to make an impact?" she asked.
"Of course, who wouldn't? It feels great to sell a painting or have someone say they like what I do."
"But what?" Jane asked, knowing I was being reluctant.
"All I'm trying to do is make the impression that I'm humbled if people like my art. I'm just trying tell you I feel like there's a God who’s responsible for any talent I have, that's all. I just didn't want to say it the way you were asking me to a minute ago because I was afraid it would come out wrong, which it obviously has anyway." I turned to Jane with a pleading expression. "Can we cut that whole conversation we had just now? I like Dad's speech and everything, but I got nervous on that last part. Can we just cut that out, please?"
"That was one of the best parts, Zoe. It's such good footage along with that thing you did about your dad, and it totally fits with your small town values. I promise we'll make it good."
I squinted at her. I did it playfully, but impassively at the same time. "You're not gonna put that whole part where I cried, are you?"
She smiled. "We'll work with you, I just want you to watch it back and see what you think."
"I'll watch it back," I agreed, "but I got tripped up on that last part, and I don't think I want that whole thing where I broke down about dad."
"I think you're gonna end up keeping it," Jane said.
"Zoe will decide that," I heard a man's voice say.
We all turned to focus on my door and could see that Lane had just come inside.
"I thought you guys were wrapping up at four," he said.
"We're gonna be done soon," Jane said, standing and stretching. (Showing off in front of Lane, I could tell.) "We're running a few minutes late, but this is so interesting. Zoe's quite a little artist. Did you know she was planning a collection?"
So Much for Boundaries (Shower & Shelter Artist Collective Book 3) Page 8