The Gallery (12 page)

“God, she had talent, didn't she?” said a deep voice behind her. “Like you do.”

LaDonna swung around to find Eric Hunter right behind her, standing way too close. She stepped away.

“Yes, she did.” What else could she say? What are you doing here? He was doing the same thing LaDonna was, looking at the young artist's show.

“What a waste of talent,” LaDonna commented.

They stood side by side studying the painting, and LaDonna felt Eric relax a little. His attitude helped her breathe more normally, and before she could stop she sighed deeply.

“LaDonna, I owe you an apology.” Eric said without looking at her. “I realize that every time we've talked I've rubbed you wrong. I'll even admit to having an abrasive personality.”

“You will?” LaDonna smiled without looking at him.

“If you want to know the whole truth, I was scared that first day I came to class. Teenagers can be very intimidating.”

“We always give student teachers a bad time. Same as substitute teachers.”

“I know. I remember. I'm not that old.”

Their silence was companionable as they moved to another painting, which surprised LaDonna. Finally Eric said, “Have a pizza or a sub with me? I'm sure you're heading for work, but you have to eat sometime. Give me a second chance?”

“How about mixing with your students?” she teased, giving her a few seconds to decide how she felt about being with him.

“I'm sure it's safe, and totally kosher as well. I promise not to come on to you.”

“I am hungry.” LaDonna realized she was starved. She'd had no breakfast. School lunch was a disaster. She couldn't go to work without eating.

“Okay, new start.” LaDonna decided and offered her hand to Eric. She still wasn't sure how she felt about him, but she was willing to give him another chance to be cool. She wouldn't mind talking to someone about Minette Waterson's show.

He grinned and squeezed her palm hard. Then pushed her through the crowd to an exit. “I wonder how many would have attended her show without the publicity, the sensationalism.”

“I would hope a lot would have come. Real art lovers who would appreciate her talent.”

Teresa's had a line, so they went on to The Sub Shop. LaDonna found a table after telling Eric what she wanted. Waiting gave her time to watch him, and to think about this change in his attitude. Was it real? Did she care? She was only going to have a sandwich with him. She'd like to know more about him.

He answered her first question as he unwrapped the paper from his sandwich. “I came here last summer from New Jersey. I thought I'd live with my aunt who's here, but she's pretty old and somewhat of a recluse. I sensed she didn't want me around.”

“Did you come on to her like you did to me—our whole class?” LaDonna asked.

“Well, I wasn't afraid of her. I think she's used to being alone with four cats and her memories.”

“So where are you living?”

“I found a cheap room on Thirteenth. I don't dare leave anything valuable there. It's a dump.”

“How about your work? Where do you leave it?”

“I don't think anyone would want a picture I painted.” Eric studied his ham and cheese. “I'm not very good. My uncle was an artist. A good one. His paintings are worth a lot now.”

LaDonna heard the word “was” but didn't pry. “I think some people get caught up in the romance of being a painter.” Quickly she added, “I don't mean you, but everyone. No one realizes how hard it is, what hell it is, if you want the truth. I'm miserable when I'm not painting. I'm miserable when my work is going badly. Work was going badly when you came to school.” Her words weren't really an apology, but an explanation of how she'd acted when she met him, if he wanted one.

“And now it is?” He smiled. He was really cute when he dropped his Mr. Wonderful act. “Going well?”

“Yes.”

“What changed it for you? Got you out of your block?”

Had Roddy told Eric she was blocked or had he added one and one to get frustration? “I—I don't think I can tell you. I mean it would sound too strange. Someone helped me.”

“Roddy?”

“No. Someone else. Roddy has helped me lots of times, but I was really down on myself this time. I needed more than words.”

I needed someone whispering to me, leaning over my shoulder, showing me a path to explore
.

“The work you brought in looked really familiar.” Eric gave her space, but she could tell he was more than curious.

“I guess you could say someone influenced me a lot. But I've always studied the great artists. I really like the paintings Turner did late in life.”

Eric stared at her until she felt uncomfortable with him again. She looked away and concentrated on her food. Her throat tightened around a piece of hard roll, so she reached for her Coke and sipped the sharp, fizzy drink, letting it slide down.

“Why don't you bring one of your paintings to class tomorrow, Eric?” La Donna suggested. “Are you open to criticism?”

“By high school artists?”

“Oh, oh. There goes that chip back on your shoulder.”

“You're really honest, aren't you?” He grinned at her.

“I don't lie to myself. And telling someone else his work is good when it isn't is of no use to him.”

“Roddy said he often asked you to work with his beginning class. Have you thought of teaching?”

“Occasionally. Roddy is a good role model. You can learn a lot from him. Wow, I have to go to work. My dad has suggested strongly that I be home by dark.”

“I don't blame him. Take the rest of your sub to work with you. What time do you get off? I could walk you home.”

“Johnny usually does that.” LaDonna wanted Eric to know she wasn't interested in him as a date, even if she had to lie a little. She wasn't even sure if Johnny was in the music rooms. And she never knew what time he'd finish.

“I thought you two were an item.”

“We're friends.” LaDonna put her leftovers in her bag and picked up her Coke.

“Speak of the devil and he appears.” Eric grinned at someone behind her.

“LaDonna, I need to talk to you.” Johnny Blair stepped up to their table.

“She has to go to work.” Eric looked at LaDonna. A tiny smile, left from his grin, curled his lip down. He took on his spoiled, arrogant persona again.

“I'll walk her over there.” Johnny put emphasis on the word I'll, as if to say, you leave her alone. Oh, my, was Johnny jealous? She hoped so.

“What are you doing with that guy?” Johnny said as soon as they left the shop.

“Why weren't you at school today?” LaDonna sparred with her own question.

“I wanted to stay home.” For Johnny that was reason enough to do so. He always did as he pleased.

“You're in a blue funk, aren't you? Don't take it out on me.” LaDonna recognized the depression that Johnny often dealt with. The emotion usually came on him when a recital got close. She knew it originated from his worry about being good enough.

Johnny didn't answer. He took her arm as they crossed a busy intersection on Broadway. His touch helped her feel a very mixed electrical charge between them.

Neither spoke until he delivered her to the growing shadows of trees near the front door of the art building. She didn't realize it was nearly five o'clock.

His firm grip on her arm stopped her, swung her around to face him. She looked up and tried to read the expression on his face, his eyes.

“I've started thinking of you as my girl, LaDonna.” Johnny was as honest as she was, and she had to admit, she liked this statement from him. But she stalled giving over to his mood.

“You don't own me.”

“I didn't say that. I—I've realized that—” Johnny stopped squeezing her arm and looked away, towards Varsity Pond. “Oh, hell, LaDonna, I love you.”

She laughed. “Is that so traumatic?”

He looked back into her eyes, and his gaze softened a little. “Yes, it is. I have a schedule for my life. I was going to fall in love about ten years from now.” His shoulders slumped, and he finally laughed, too.

“You can love me, Johnny, and not do anything about it, except—except—”

“Except what?”

“Do I have to tell you what to do? You could kiss me.” She tilted her lips to his. He didn't need any more encouragement.

His kiss was tender, then more passionate, and she responded until they were both breathless. She buried her face in his wooly flannel shirt, enjoying the smell of him, the warmth of his arms around her.

“I love you, too, Johnny,” she said finally. “I realized that when I sat behind you the other night and heard you play, watched you practice. Let's make it all right. I have a lot of plans, too. We can love each other and not run away and get married, don't you think?”

“I hope so.” He laughed again, took both of her arms and pushed her away a little to look at her. “Would you please be careful? Or wait for me to come and get you tonight?”

“Was that what made you realize you loved me?”

“Partly. I don't want you—hurt.”

“Please don't worry, Johnny. And don't think you have to worry about time in order to come get me. I can take care of myself,” LaDonna assured him. She brushed his cheek with another kiss. “Bye.”

I hope, she thought, as she ran towards her work. Knowing that Johnny loved her made her feel she could do anything.

sixteen

Q
UICKLY, SHE SORTED
a box of paintings. To her surprise, there was one good one. She hung it on the wall to look at further. Finally, tired of unpacking boxes, she stared at a blank canvas waiting for her own work.

“Love is hard to paint,” he said, his voice soft, sensual.

“You know?”

“I've known for a long time.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I knew he'd come around eventually. He's loved you for a long time without knowing it.”

“He got scared when Katherine was killed.”

“Are you still frightened?”

“Of you?”

“No, in general, of the darkness?”

She thought about that. “No,” she said finally. “But someone is killing those women. I'm afraid of him. Do you know who the murderer is?”

“I haven't tried to find out.”

“But you could. You can leave here?”

“I don't. I'm comfortable here.”

So am I, thought LaDonna, realizing he'd read that thought.

She lost track of time, but spent a couple of hours in some kind of limbo, not painting, not thinking, just being. Finally she put her brushes, her tubes of paint away. Closed the box. Debated taking the whale painting to show Roddy. For some reason, she didn't want to share it yet. She left everything behind and climbed the stairs reluctantly. She hated to leave the soft quiet space, the cocoon where she felt accepted, fulfilled by her work, comfortable with him.

She stood in the glow of the street lamps and looked both ways. Walking by Varsity Pond frightened her. The path was tainted by images she didn't want to play through her mind. Going straight down the hill was shorter but the sidewalk entered a stretch of dark woods for about forty feet until it came out on College.

Don't think about it, she commanded her mind. Just hurry home. She turned left and hurried downhill.

Pines sighed in a soft breeze. She was surrounded by the smell of long, wet needles and cones that squirrels had nibbled into shreds, hunting the seeds.

He jumped her about the time she had relaxed and stopped worrying. Arms squeezed her from behind, steel bands that cut into her rib cage and forced air from her lungs. She had no voice to scream.

Struggling, she turned and twisted, kicked backwards with little force. He laughed, the sound low in her ear, his breath warm on her neck.

“Let me go!” she managed to say. Keep your wits, she told herself. He has to loosen his hold.

He picked her up, half carried, half dragged her into the deeper shadows. A soft carpet of pine needles muted her stomping and kicking.

The wet, slick ground cover helped her at last. She sagged, made her body dead weight in his arms. He slipped, and she took immediate advantage. Swinging around, kicking him as he fell, she half ran, half crawled until she could get to her feet. By then she had reached the sidewalk.

Confused, thinking only of escaping, she dashed back uphill onto the campus, heading for lights.

He was not that easily discouraged. In seconds, she heard his feet thudding on the concrete behind her. Lungs aching, she doubled her efforts, gasping for air as she ran. Her mouth dried, which kept her from calling out. All she could manage was the panting and sucking of cool, moist air.

She had dropped the key to the art building into her jacket pocket earlier when she had let herself inside. Jamming her fist into the gaping denim flap, she grasped the slender metal. Her fingers closed over it, lifted it out, made sure the point was forward.

Throwing herself against the door, she slipped the key into the lock, twisted. She willed the lock not to stick, then flung the door wide. He grabbed it before she could turn and slam it shut.

Down the hall she raced. She banged the basement door open, thundered down the stairs, praying she wouldn't fall. She crossed the darkened gallery room and fled out the other door, knowing she had a tiny advantage here. She knew where she was.

She stopped running, quieting her steps. She knew he had followed her, but now he felt his way. Both of them were blanketed by darkness.

The air in the tunnel was stale, musty, but she sucked it in gratefully, and as quietly as possible. Slowly, slowly, she let the air fill her lungs, breathed it out even more slowly so no sound carried back to him.

Her arms held stiffly in front of her, she continued walking, moving as quickly as she dared. If she ran into something, he'd hear her. Follow her more easily. At this moment she had the advantage, since she knew they were in the tunnels. She knew the tunnel opened to rooms, to other buildings. If she could find one of those buildings, she could enter another building on campus, leave it and find help. A big if, since doors would probably be locked, and she would have no idea where she was. Also she would have to feel along the wall for an opening, taking precious time to search.