The Artist's Paradise (15 page)

Ex
hausted, she collapsed into bed. She needed to call Vicki and Jonathan, but her desperate need for sleep took first place. She would make her phone calls in the morning.

#

The professor loped up the stairs to his bedroom. What a delightful day. Angie would remember this day all her life. He’d thought of everything.

Paula loved Gatlinburg. And when he purchased that special watercolor painting for
her,
she’d melted into his arms later that same night. He could still smell her fragrant rose perfume, and see her jeweled eyes sparkle as he caressed her tenderly. She was certainly a prize. He no longer wanted Paula. He would have Angie—she would
never
leave him. He’d planted the aura of romance, and she bit.

Chapter 26

After two weeks of classes, Angie was exhausted, but encouraged. The professor graded her work thus far as an A+. He lavished her with praise and shocked her with a surprise invitation. She had to be ready in thirty minutes. Frantically, she tried on the third outfit she’d pulled from the closet, viewed herself in the full-length mirror, and undressed again. The outfit thrown on the bed, cast aside with the first two she had tried on. What could she wear? Why hadn’t she packed dressier clothes? Who knew she would be going out to dinner with the professor? Finally, Angie chose a long black crepe skirt, a pale pink silk blouse, and her favorite set of pearls.

The
whole day had been like a fairytale. The professor continually praised her work, and informed her that she would now move into his advanced level. Then he invited her to be his guest for dinner. Tonight they were attending the art banquet at the university museum. The winners of the art show would be announced. He could have shared this experience with anyone. But, he’d chosen her. He insisted he would only go if she joined him. She accepted. Her breathing grew shallow, as excited as if her own painting was being judged. Of course, he’d place first in the competition. His watercolor deserved best in show.

She wondered about their romantic night the week before. Had she defused his interest? She hoped so.
Angie checked her cell phone. No new calls from Chicago. She knew Jonathan and Vicki would be worried. She hadn’t returned their calls. But she never seemed to have any time. The professor had plans for every minute of her day. Even when she wasn’t in class with him, he was still constantly around. He insisted on giving her additional instructions, bringing her meals, and spending time with her every afternoon for tea. He’d even asked if he could begin his new exercise program by running with her in the mornings.

The rule was no phone calls until evening. By the end of the day, she was exhausted. Last night she’d fallen asleep on the couch and didn’t awake until morning. Now evening had arrived again
, and she had to leave for the competition. She promised herself. When they returned tonight, she’d make those calls.

She’d left home in anger
. Jonathan hadn’t understood why she had to leave. Now, her anger gone, her painful situation appeared hopeless, her marriage in ruin, her friendship with Vicki strained. How would they ever understand her motives? Would she lose everything she valued for one chance at the unfulfilled dream of her college days?

The sound of a tap-tap brought her back from the dark place her mind had gone. She raced over and flung open the door.
Professor Turner filled the doorway, looking like Justin Timberlake at the Oscars, dressed in a black tuxedo, paisley blue waistband, suspenders, and matching lapel hankie.

Clutching
a single red rose in his hand, he glided into the cottage and presented his gift. “Our chariot awaits, my fine lady. Please pin this rose in your hair and off we’ll go.”

“What a beautiful rose, the perfect touch for my hairdo.” Angie tucked the
flower into her hair, accenting her up-do for the evening. She stepped backward and gazed at the vision standing in her doorway. He looked amazing. She had realized how handsome he was, but, wow. He wore his dark wavy hair, a tad too long. His constant five o’clock shadow, and chocolate brown eyes, could make a girl forget he taught the class. She shook off this magnificent vision and said, “Are you ready to accept first place tonight?”

“I never count on winning. Last year was my first honorable mention. That result was awful. This year will be different. You are my lucky charm. We will accept the blue ribbon together. Let’s go. I’m starved.”

The banquet hall, filled with approximately four hundred patrons of the arts, glowed with golden candlelight and sparkling-silver glitter. The huge room held a sea of round tables seating eight people each. Along with the white linen cloths and napkins were centerpieces of red roses. A tall numbered-flag perched next to the bouquet to assist in the seating plan. Each invitation and ticket held the table number for the invited guests. The artists who entered the competition were seated at the front row of tables. The rectangular head table occupied by the keynote speaker, the master of ceremonies, and the six judges, faced the artists. The room rustled with voices like an orchestra warming up before a performance.

Dinner served promptly at seven o’clock, dessert and coffee dishes all cleared, time had arrived for the ceremony. The keynote speaker provided interesting details from the history of the museum and the art competition. He had retired from the university over five years earlier, but his love of art shone in the energy of his storytelling.

The winners were being announced. Angie watched the professor as he sat on the edge of his chair, ready to spring. After the honorable mentions, the master of ceremonies introduced the third-place winner, and then the second-place was declared. She held her breath. The first place winner was…? His face reddened. He hadn’t been selected—not even honorable mention. How could that be?

“We’re leaving,
now
. These idiots don’t deserve my presence.”

Angie attempted to stand. Her knees quivered. She
struggled to prevent a fall, scooting the chair back.

“Get up. I can’t stand to be around these people.” He grabbed her arm at the elbow and jerked her up from the wobbly chair. His grasp pinched. He held on tight enough to create a bruise.

“I’m so sorry. How could you not win?”

His icy glare frightened her. Why was he reacting like a madman? The tension produced a sharp pain between her shoulder blades.

“They’re stupid. They don’t know a master when they see one. Come on.”

Angie grabbed her small purse
, as he dragged her out of the hall. His anger made Jonathan’s fits seem insignificant. Who was this man? “They’re just jealous of your talent.” She said, hoping to appease him. She got into the car before being instructed to do so.

The professor
slammed the door of his car, fired the ignition, and screeched the tires as he sped out of the parking lot. “Damn those pompous, idiots”

She
sunk into her seat in silence and strapped on the seatbelt. She bit her lower lip, as she squeezed the door armrest. Frozen in place, barely breathing she shivered as the professor drove in and out of traffic, sped up on cars in front of him, and then slammed on his brakes. “Slow down,” she screamed.

His dark eyes turned to her, “Quiet. I’m a fantastic driver. Sit back and enjoy the ride.”

His tone, hard and cold, left her trembling.

Home at last, h
e pulled up into the driveway and slammed on the brakes. As he sat motionless in the front seat, Angie opened the passenger car door and pried herself from the steaming professor. She headed directly to the cottage without speaking. Her hands shook as she went inside and locked the door. Once in the safety of her temporary residence, she collapsed onto the bed.

What had she gotten herself into?

An hour later, a soft knock and a gentle voice called out, “Angie, it’s me. May I please come in? I’m so sorry about my black mood. Please?”

“I’m tired. We can talk tomorrow.”

“No. Tomorrow’s too late. I can’t sleep without making up with you.”

Angie sat frozen on the edge of the bed. She had no plans on letting this madman into her room tonight. “I’m exhausted. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Please, Angie. If you won’t let me in, will you at least listen to me? I can’t go to bed knowing you are upset.”

Angie held her breath. Her stomach churned. He would not get his way tonight.
This was
not
class time. “You can have five minutes, but I won’t let you in.”

A scuffling noise came from the other side of the door. It was as if
he’d slid down, with his back against the door, and sat on the porch floor.

“I have no excuse for my behavior tonight. This evening was to be my time to shine, my time to validate your trust in my artistic talent. And what happens?
” His sucking in air been breaths proved he was sobbing. I’m embarrassed in front of my best student. I let both you and myself down. It will never happen again. If you had not been there, I would have been fine. Don’t you understand?”

How could his behavior have been her fault?

“Please tell me you forgive me. You’re the most promising talent I’ve seen since my Paula. I must have your respect.”

She shifted her position on the bed and put her head down into her hands.  “I can’t process this tonight. I’m too tired and upset.
Let me rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

A sh
uffling noise said he must have stood up. “I’ll respect your request. Please consider my plea. You are so important to me. I will see you tomorrow.”

She let out a deep breath. He had left
, and she could get some sleep. Tomorrow she’d attempt to make sense of it all, if that were possible. She was too exhausted to think clearly. Rest—she needed rest.

#

Angie awoke the next morning, drenched in sweat and tangled in her covers. Her mind replayed terrifying dreams from the night before. She’d fought wild chimps attempting to eat her alive. Three times, she awoke only to have another nightmare when sleep returned. By five o’clock in the morning, she’d given up the battle. Peering out the windows, relief settled over her—no sign of the professor. She showered and snuck outside for an early run.

The fresh air cleared her head
. Back in the cottage, she put on coffee and sat by the north window to watch the sunrise. How could a gentle, kind man like the professor be so violent, vile, and crude? Were all men Jekyll and Hyde personalities? Perhaps the nicer they were, the meaner they got.

She rubbed her shoulder. No one had ever manhandled her
as he had last night. Isolated, her fear grew—stranded with no car, housed in his cottage, and meals from his hand. He never allowed free time. His assignments demanded total concentration. Had he imprisoned her? Nonsense, one call to Delta Airlines and she would be on her way back to Chicago. She controlled her own future for the first time in years. Why give up her independence? He’d warned her that his teaching methods were unorthodox. Until last night, he had been nothing but a gentleman.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
She stiffened her spine and stomped over to let him in. To her surprise, instead of finding him on the porch, there sat a bouquet of red roses. At least two dozen perfectly shaped, half-opened buds with gentle sprays of Baby’s Breath accenting the deep red color.

Angie leaned over to pick up the
vase, noticed a small pink envelope resting between the flowers and the crystal, and pulled out the card instead. The card, addressed to her from the professor, gave her pause. Opening it with shaking fingers, she read the note.

My dear Angie,

I wept most of the night. My shame overwhelms me. My embarrassment consumes me. Please forgive me and allow me the opportunity to bring your talents to their full potential. I may not ever be famous, but you will. Please say yes.

Professor T.

Returning to the cottage, flowers in hand, she inhaled the sweet fragrance and smiled. After displaying the roses on the coffee table in front of the fireplace, she jogged to the main house. On the back porch, she stopped, took a deep breath, and then gently tapped with her fingertips. The door opened immediately, as if he had been there all along, watching.

“Of course I forgive you. We all have bad moods at times.”

He sighed. “I’m so relieved.”

She gave him a big
hug. “Let’s say it never happened.”

Chapter 2
7

The hungry-baby robins chirped outside her window as the sun warmed her through the glass panes. Angie rolled over in bed, stretched, and pulled up the bedcovers to her chin. Not time to get up yet.

Normally
, Angie embraced each day with expectation. But today she fought an overwhelming sadness she had not anticipated. The memory of the professor’s description of his childhood played and replayed in her mind. His rules and mood swings made more sense. A little boy couldn’t deal with his father’s disapproval and not be scarred?

Her own home life had not been perfect. Her father doted on her
, and she experienced jealousy from her mother. But even with these conflicts in her home, somehow, she knew she was loved. She grieved for his lost childhood. Professor Turner buried his pain—hidden just below the surface.

She
was grateful for so much. Her life, no longer on hold, held promise of a career she had always desired. She loved her husband. And yet, here she was, focusing her attention on a man she barely knew, and Jonathan’s phone calls went unanswered.

Early in their marriage,
they planned for a life they both wanted—his law career, a couple of kids, and her pursuit of the arts. But after a few years with his law firm, his priorities changed.

H
is plans sounded so logical. Eight years younger than he was, she’d believed she had time to put her dreams on hold. Many women waited until their thirties to start a family or a career. Had she understood what she was giving up, she would have fought harder. Why hadn’t she seen that both of their dreams could be reached?

She crawled out of bed and stumbled over to the small table where she had placed her cell phone the night before. As she picked it up, she realized it had been turned off
since yesterday evening. The screen came alive—six missed calls. Vicki and Jonathan would be frantic.

She called Jonathan first. He picked up
at the first ring. “Finally, I hear from you. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“How in the hell do you think I am. I’ve been calling you for days. What’s going on?”

She pulled the phone away from her ear. Ouch, he was mad. “I’m sorry. We’ve been so busy with lessons.
” What to tell him? He would never understand dinners out or trips to Gatlinburg. “The professor has class rules, no phone calls during the day. The time goes by. I’m exhausted and falling into bed. Forgive me.”

“That sounds like a bunch of
excuses. Too tired to call me?”

“
Yes. I’m working long hard hours. After all, I’ve spent
many
nights with you not calling. You go to a hotel and fall into bed. It’s the same thing.”

“It’s not the same. I’m working
. You’re not.”

She gasped. What nerve. “What do you think I’m doing here?”

“That’s what I’m asking you. What
are you
doing?”

Angie, short of breath, retorted, “You can just keep wondering. Goodbye.”

She threw the cell phone onto the table and walked away. Her anger rose inside like a “gust-nado.” He would not talk to her like that ever again.

Angie dressed and went for her morning run. The harder she ran, the angrier she
grew. He had no right to expect her to have different rules from those he lived by. What kind of man had she married—self-centered, insensitive, egotistical? Yes, he had it all. Perhaps that helped him to greatness as an attorney, but it made him a failure as a husband.

She showered and dressed after her run. She wanted to talk to Vicki but the professor would arrive any minute. Rules had to be followed. No phone calls until after class.

#

The day with the professor was exceptionally interesting. He took
class time to introduce her to the talents of Joseph Mallard William Turner.  Although not related, the professor had long studied the techniques used by Turner, an English romantic painter from the nineteenth century. He placed a large coffee-table book in front of Angie. As he opened the book to a blue bookmark, she leaned forward for a closer view.

“
My dear, this innovative use of color brought the attention of the art world to landscape painting. Turner became one of the greatest watercolor artists ever. He was called the painter of light. See how he captures the light and shadows that drew viewers into his work. His landscapes are said to have been the introduction to Romantic
Impressionism
.”

He closed the book and leaned back on the couch. “I expect you to take some time this evening reading the newspaper articles about Paula. She has captured the techniques of Turner. You must do the same.”

“Homework?”

“Time is short. Don’t question my orders, or you’ll miss your goal.”

“Of
course. I’ll study about Paula tonight.” What a strange request. The professor seemed to be hung-up on that girl.

Her hard work finished for the day and dinner over, she informed the professor that she needed a quiet evening
to study about Paula. He resisted, but eventually walked her to the cottage door and bid her a good night. Angie shivered as she unlocked the cottage door. The wind carried a late spring chill. A thunderstorm approached. She turned on the gas logs in her fireplace and jumped into her flannel pajamas. Sinking into the sofa, she wrapped up in an afghan. Relaxing in the warmth of the blazing fire, she slowly sipped a cup of spice tea. She inhaled the pungent aroma. If she were home, Mister Tubbs, a dedicated lapdog, would be settled in her arms—a fear of thunder clearly apparent. She missed him every day. Had he forgotten her?

Why did she and Jonathan continue to argue? They were not able to agree on
much of anything. He rarely listened to her. He would insist she had never told him. Tightness turned into a knot right below her breastbone. What would her life be like without him? They had been together for almost ten years. In the beginning, he’d treated her as if she were a priceless and fragile crystal vase. By their third year of marriage, his time and focus diminished. As his attention waned, she tried harder to please. Nothing seemed to help. His career turned into an obsession.

Angie stood and paced around the living area. Then picked up her cell phone and called Vicki.

“Thank God. Are you okay?”

“I’ve been better. I’m so confused.
What am I doing here?”

“What? You’re asking me now? I suggested you think it over before you left. You didn’t want to listen
. Remember?”

Why did she play
historian
? Friends help and listen—not criticize.

“Honey, has that professor done something to you?”

“Yes, I mean no, it’s Jonathan. I called him this morning, and all he did was accuse me of lying. What’s wrong with him?”

“I wish you’d come home. End this crazy fantasy and take the next plane to Chicago. You can’t work on your marriage long distance.”

Angie bristled and brushed her bangs off her forehead. “I thought at least
you
would understand. This isn’t a fantasy. It’s my personal dream, my chance for a career in art. If you can’t understand, you can’t help me. Sorry I called.” Angie snapped the phone closed.
Who needs her?

She
circled the cottage interior several times. She needed a run, but it was too dark. Besides, she hated running in the rain. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, shaking off her irritation. The longer she stayed in Knoxville, the more she experienced personal distance from her life in Chicago. Maybe that life had never been what she thought. At least the professor understood her.

She landed on the sofa and scooped up the leather binder. The professor expected her to learn about Paula. No time like the present.

#

Jonathan rushed home from work. His pulse beat like a rap song. He had tried to speak to Angie
that morning, but it was no use. She was chasing her dreams and he didn’t belong. She had made that perfectly clear. Fine, he had a life to live, too. If she wanted that professor, it freed him up to make new friends—friends like Lucinda.

His call to her last night had stirred up feelings he had long forgotten. Her voice purred into the phone, sending chills
down his back. She expressed interest in anything subject he chose. Being a businesswoman, she understood the pressures under which he lived. She loved his humor and offered her own gallery of off-colored jokes. Although a mere twenty-five, she certainly was experienced—worldly. Women had changed since he’d stopped dating.

He
’d invited her out to dinner tonight. She agreed to meet him at the
Tavern on Rush
at 8. He had time to shower, shave, and change into something more casual. His heart raced.

“I’ll be out for a few hours tonight. You can watch Animal Planet until I get home. Don’t wait up for me.”

Mister Tubbs whined.

“Look, we men have to stick together. I’m not doing anything wrong. It’s
just
a dinner date with a new friend. This is between you and me, okay?” He handed his companion two doggie cookies and patted his backside. “See you later. Don’t wait up.”

#

Jonathan strutted into the bar area at the Tavern on Rush. Looking around, he didn’t see anyone he knew. Checking his watch, he had arrived fifteen minutes early. Good. He took a seat at the bar and ordered his brew. He sloshed down a third of the mug. What if she stood him up? After all, he was
almost
old enough to be her father.

With a mouth full of peanuts from the bar, he almost choked as a voice whispered in his ear.

“Hello, handsome.”

Turning around, he tried to hide his surprise. “Gina? I had no idea you and
Wayne ever came here.” He wiped his brow and forced a smile.

“No, you’re right. This place is a bit uptown for Wayne. But we‘re meeting some old friends for dinner
, and they made the reservations.”

Jonathan stood and gazed around the room. No sign of Lucinda, yet. “Where’s Wayne?”

He’s taking a smoke break. Still hasn’t broken that nasty habit. He’ll be right in. Are you alone?”

He paused. How to respond? Gina knew him too well.
If he tried to make up an excuse, she’d know immediately. “No—not alone. I’m having dinner with an old friend. She is in town on business.”

“Old friend? What’s her name? After all these years looking after you, I must know all of your friends.”

Jonathan stared at the front door. Lucinda would be here any minute. He needed an exit plan. “You don’t know her. She’s actually the daughter of one of my old fraternity pals.” He gulped. Lucinda had just strolled into the bar area. “Oh. There she is now. Got to run. You and Wayne enjoy the food, it’s great.”

She looked amazing. Her cheery-red knit dress folded around every curve. How had she gotten that designer dress on? Wow. Did all twenty
-five year olds push the envelope the way she did? He raced to Lucinda, took her arm, and guided her out the front door.

“Well, hello, Jonathan. Are we leaving already?”

“It’s too noisy in there. Let’s find a quiet spot so we can get to know each other.”

Lucinda purred in agreement. “How about
my
place?”

“No, that’s too quiet.” He blushed.

“Okay. What about the Mexican restaurant around the corner?”

“Great. Let’s go. Do they carry beer?”

Lucinda’s green eyes lit up. “But of course. Would I suggest a spot that had no beer?”