Stanford didn’t speak to his father, Dr. Walsh, Laurie, or anyone else about his newfound realizations. He did curb those enthusiasms around Laurie’s family when he, Laurie and the Snyders traveled to Brooklyn. They visited Laurie’s clan at Rose’s home, and she had baked a coconut cake especially for this introduction. Neither Stanford nor Laurie remarked upon the cake and Eric, Lynne, and Jane had no idea of the slight friction Rose felt when Wilma casually inferred that if they had time, she would love to host them for an afternoon. But later that evening, Laurie and Stanford joked about it, for of course Wilma would make her chocolate cake, prompting the unspoken query as to which sister was the better baker. Yet Stanford made Laurie laugh out loud that neither woman’s desserts could top one of Lynne’s pies.
Lynne had already baked a peach pie, which Agatha thought was the best she had ever eaten. She asked if Lynne would make another in Queens, wanting to see if her sister Belle felt as Agatha did, that the crust was the same as their mother’s. Neither of those sisters had ever been able to replicate the delicate flakiness of their mother’s creations, a lost recipe that Agatha occasionally lamented. Lynne quickly acquiesced to Agatha’s request, offering to Agatha her own recipe. Agatha was pleased for Lynne’s generosity, but claimed that pies weren’t her specialty. Her sister Belle, however, would be exceedingly grateful for the guidelines.
At the end of the first week, Eric felt to have put on ten pounds between one Brooklyn baker and his wife’s Manhattan efforts. Eric also thought a change had occurred between his family and the New Yorkers, or more rightly between his wife, daughter, and Stanford, although Laurie looked years younger, or maybe just as he used to appear. Seth hadn’t been mentioned by anyone, yet Eric had studied that man’s handiwork many times, either popping into the library alone or the nightly sojourn in that room where nightcaps were shared. Those moments were more like after Jane was put to sleep beverages, for how late in the evening, or relatively late for the Snyders, those drinks were partaken, and that for Lynne no alcohol was imbibed. Eric knew the real reason, but permitted aloud what Stanford and Laurie had learned after the first night, to only offer Lynne 7-Up. The men assumed Lynne didn’t drink, or that she didn’t drink night after night. In truth, Lynne had given up stronger spirits months ago when the couple had decided to try for another baby.
Not that Eric and his wife were teetotalers; both appreciated good wine. Yet, while Eric enjoyed a nightcap with their hosts, Lynne sipped soda, often snuggled closely against her husband on the library’s leather sofa. Sometimes she fell asleep next to Eric, but the men continued their discourse, simply lowering their voices. Both Snyders found these conversations a lovely way to end the evenings, in part that there was plenty of fodder for animated discourse. And that it had been ages since the Snyders had chatted with another twosome.
When the Snyders shared a meal with their pastor, all three were actively engaged in the discussion. But Eric had missed the back and forth exchanges always present when he, Lynne, Sam, and Renee got together, or how the men would banter while the women shared their own interests, yet those separate threads always ended up woven into a cozy quartet of dialogue. The same sort of intersection, diversion, then reattachment occurred within Stanford and Laurie’s library night after night. Eric felt a distinct harmony had been rediscovered and he reveled in that manner of friendship, inwardly praying that once his family returned home, it could be rekindled with the Aherns. Eric had received a letter from Sam that all was well at the house. Sam didn’t mention his wife, nor did he write about his impending portrait. That subject hadn’t come up with the New Yorkers, although last night, when gazing at Seth’s figurines, Eric caught Stanford staring at him. Stanford’s mood was hard to gauge, but Eric would bet money that his dealer wasn’t solely considering the absent sculptor.
Stanford had spoken about the European tour; currently Eric’s canvases were in West Germany, moving next to Holland. They would travel onto Scandinavia, then head south to Switzerland, then to Italy. Portugal and Spain would round out the stops and sometime in autumn the collection would return to America, where paintings would be delivered to their owners or taken back to Eric’s storage building. Well, the orchard would return to the Snyders’ living room, the blue barn to the Aherns’ house, while The Pastor and His Charge would head to St. Matthew’s. Eric had considered hanging the picture of Lynne on the stool, but every time he mentioned it, Lynne blushed, asking just where Eric thought would be appropriate. Eric had noted a few empty spaces along their walls, making his wife turn an even deeper shade of crimson. Ultimately that prized canvas would reside with the rest of Eric’s most beloved pieces, in a darkened, climate controlled edifice. Yet something about that seemed erroneous to the painter, as he again gazed at two figurines which hearkened to a tremendous artistic gift. At least these statues weren’t completely hidden from view.
Should they be in a museum, Eric wondered, half-listening to what Lynne and Stanford were sharing. Eric should pay more attention to that conversation, for it was shocking in that Stanford rarely said more to his client’s wife other than offering praise for her culinary feats. Yet, this stream of chit-chat had nothing to do with pie. Stanford spoke about the collection’s move to Italy, after a brief visit to Geneva. Lynne remarked at how sad it was that so many Iron Curtain countries weren’t permitted to display Eric’s work.
“Well, it wasn’t like I didn’t ask,” Stanford said glumly. Then he huffed. “The Soviets acted like showing a western painter was beneath them. I wonder what they think now,” he chuckled, finishing his drink. “Every review has been better than the last and those in London were superlative from the start.”
Eric merely smiled; his work had received critical acclaim, from hawks to portraits, nature scenes and those more impressionistically inclined. Several foreign critics had correctly deduced the series of Lynne disguised as a variety of natural settings, but the actual nudes had received the most acclaim. Oddly enough, the nudes were never identified as the painter’s wife, as if that detail was irrelevant. Maybe to Europeans it was. Critics made no mention as to that woman’s identity, only that her beauty was irrevocably captured, and what a blessing that was. Eric hadn’t labored over the reviews, but he appreciated certain points made. Those focusing on Lynne had struck the deepest chord within the artist.
Now Laurie added his views, in how many Italian galleries wanted to display Eric’s genius. Only a few had originally been slated to show the collection, but an onslaught of museums had badgered Stanford, which at first had angered the dealer, yet additional stops had been added to the tour, and perhaps a few more might be squeezed in, although no Eastern European nations would manage to find their way onto the slate. Not that Stanford would be adverse if any requested the paintings. Only that since the Cuban Missile Crisis, an even stronger wall now stood between East and West. Stanford clucked that Eric’s art would be shown in China before the Soviets permitted an Iron Bloc country permission.
Eric wasn’t bothered, well, he would love for The Pastor and His Charge to be seen in Warsaw. Otherwise, he couldn’t worry about who saw his work. Then Eric wondered if Seth ever felt that way; his few pieces rested in private collections, none had ever been displayed publically. A small statue of his mother and aunt stood in a curio cabinet at Rose’s house, then Eric grew curious; did Wilma display any of her son’s pieces?
He would find out next week, as it seemed another visit to Brooklyn was in the works. Someone had said something about a chocolate cake, if Eric recalled correctly. His biggest impression of the trip to Rose’s home was how tightly-knit were the Abrams women, very similar to the Ahern and Nolan clans. If he had mentioned that detail, would the reaction have been disbelief, or would those Jewish ladies have gladly accepted that religion had no bearing on how closely families were linked together. The only distinction at the Abrams’ home was that it was mostly a domain of females, Rose’s daughters and their daughters alongside Rose’s sister in attendance
. Eric expected it to be the same when they stopped in at the Gordons, another bevy of female relations with only Laurie representing the male line.
Eric stared at that man, who laughed at whatever Stanford had just said. Lynne giggled, but Laurie didn’t hold back, looking as young as Eric had ever seen him. Stanford appeared slightly peeved, which made Eric smile, although he wasn’t in on the joke. He might ask Lynne later, if he remembered, but he probably wouldn’t. Every night the couple fell asleep wrapped tightly to the other, having made a delightful sort of love. It was different in New York, both had admitted, perhaps only that they were on vacation, or that their affections, while passionate, were more muted than usual, but not for their daughter’s benefit. Yet silent lovemaking seemed even more fervent, as if all of their affections were translated by touch. Eric only enjoyed one alcoholic drink per evening, then he sipped soda alongside his wife. He wanted to be fully engaged when they went to bed, for there was much to celebrate.
They were finally meeting Laurie’s relatives, there was the wonderful camaraderie with Agatha. Two nights Michael Taylor had joined them for dinner and his delight with Jane had lifted not only the Snyders’ hearts, but Stanford’s too. But mostly Eric was grateful for good company, no landmines over which to maneuver. Only now did Eric realize the tension he and Lynne had negotiated with Sam over the last several weeks. Eric released a long exhalation, saying a quick prayer for Renee. Then he gazed at Stanford, then to Laurie, as the room was now silent.
“What,” Eric asked, glancing at his wife. Lynne’s eyes were wide, although she seemed sleepy. “What’d I miss?”
“You just seemed to announce the night was coming to an end.” Laurie chuckled. “That was the most prolonged sigh of the evening.”
Eric smiled, but it felt false. Yet, he didn’t wish to enlighten his hosts as to the Aherns’ troubles. “Just thinking about my next project. But that’s still a few weeks away.”
“Stan says you’ll be painting Sam’s portrait.” Now Laurie grew serious. “How’d that come about?”
Eric felt Lynne stiffen against him and he cleared his throat. “Well, Sam and Renee bought a new car and Sam felt it was time to let the artist in residence work a little magic.”
“Well, I must say,” Stanford began, “I was certainly surprised by this news.”
Now Eric wanted to laugh, for the envy in Stanford’s tone couldn’t be disguised. “Well, to be honest, Sam caught me off guard. I’d been bugging him for ages, for years actually. We’ll get started after I’ve had a few days to overcome jet lag.”
Stanford nodded, but still seemed on the back foot, which made Eric smile. “Well, I’ll be very interested to see how that comes along.” Then Stanford glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. “My, look at the time. All this conversation just makes the evening fly.”
Eric gazed at Laurie, who didn’t appear tired, but Lynne sagged against Eric’s shoulder. “Indeed. I can’t believe a week’s already passed. I’ll be painting Sam’s new car before I know it.”
Avoiding Stanford’s eyes, Eric focused on Laurie’s face. That man’s happy countenance was a balm on Eric’s soul. Only Stanford was jealous, yet he would be as hard to capture on canvas as Eric’s best friend. Although, now that Sam had broken the ice, perhaps getting the New Yorkers to pose, even for a sketch, wouldn’t be as impossible as Eric had first thought. Maybe within the safety of their apartment, or perhaps at Michael’s, Stanford would permit his guard to drop. Ground had certainly been gained for such an action in how easily Stanford now spoke to Lynne or toted Jane. But getting that man to stand near his partner for more than a moment would be a test of just how comfortable Stanford felt around the Snyders. Eric wouldn’t sketch that man surreptitiously, as he had Sam’s parents. Yet, the drawing might be as informal as how Eric had painted Joe and Marjorie standing beside each other, speaking to their children. Joe was chatting with Ted while Marjorie laughed next to Joan. Eric wasn’t sure how he might place Stanford and Laurie, maybe Stanford with his father, Laurie holding Jane. That might be the best way to display the couple two-dimensionally, then maybe…. Eric smiled as Stanford stood, stretching his arms over his head. Yet his yawn was as artificial as those Lynne had proffered the first night they ate dinner within this apartment. This time, however, the falsehoods had nothing to do with where people slept. Eric smiled, then kissed his wife’s cheek. Lynne stirred from authentic slumber, causing her husband to shiver; might she be….
A rush of excitement coursed through him, but it had no bearing on whether or not he would sketch the duo who also seemed ready to end this night. Laurie stood close to his partner, although the men didn’t hold hands. As Eric got to his feet, helping Lynne to hers, Eric wished for his sketch pad and pencil. But maybe after Lynne was asleep, Eric might steal back to this room and from memory set down an indelible image. Perhaps European art critics felt that the nudes of Lynne were modern classics. Eric wouldn’t refute them, but just as meaningful would be the canvas of one couple which might never been seen by those outside of the Taylor and Abrams clans. Yet sometimes the most precious pieces were appreciated by a rare audience, like Seth’s sculptures, or the abstract paintings in Minnesota. Or a man and his car, Eric grinned, as Laurie embraced Lynne, Stanford doing the same, those men offering to Eric their simple goodnights.
Eric reciprocated those sentiments, then escorted his wife to their room. Closing the door, Eric let all other considerations slip away as Lynne’s eager kiss told her husband she wasn’t quite ready for sleep. Eric chuckled as Lynne initiated further intimacies. Then he moaned softly as his wife led him to a bed that seemed just as perfect as theirs back home.
Chapter 100
The Hawk: Part Six Page 2