by Regina Duke
Zinnia obliged. She reached for her door handle but he stopped her with a tug on her jacket. When she looked down, he was holding a hundred-dollar bill.
“Day one,” he said, “and you have already exceeded all my expectations for an assistant.”
Zinnia’s eyes widened. “Oh, thank you! Look, there’s Ashley, getting ready to lock up.”
“Let’s go.”
Ashley seemed delighted to open her door for them. Zinnia waved her hundred in the air and forced it into Ashley’s palm. “Trust me, I’m going to spend every penny,” she said. Without further ado, she began selecting supplies. When she hesitated over the price of a set of drafting pens, Bart reminded her, “You have another payday tomorrow.”
Zinnia stacked her purchases on the front counter and pretended not to notice that once again, Ashley was having an intense sotto voce conversation with Bart. When she couldn’t stall any longer, she spoke up. “Are you two fighting over me?”
Ashley put a finger to her lips, and Zinnia suppressed a laugh.
Bart said, “Just a little bit. Have you ever demonstrated your talent for Ashley?”
Zinnia’s eyes darted left and right. “Um, no. I’m here to work for her, not beg for wall space in the gallery.”
Ashley was surprised. “Is that what you think you’d be doing? Zin, you know that at least half of our exhibit is here on commission, right? I’d love to see your work. If it’s good enough to sell you’ll be making money for both of us.”
Zinnia hadn’t thought of that. “Oh, hey, that’s right.” She felt suddenly shy. “Would you like to see some of my work?”
“Definitely. Oh darn, here comes Thor. I have to go.”
“I haven’t rung these up yet,” said Zinnia.
Ashley took a large plastic bag out from under the counter and began sliding Zin’s purchases into it. “You can do that in the morning.” She smiled tightly and gave Bart a dark look. “At least I’ll know where you are for half the day.”
Back in the SUV, Zinnia set her bagful of goodies on the floor between her feet and asked, “What’s going on between you and Ashley?”
Bart looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“That’s the second time I’ve overheard you two arguing, and my name keeps coming.”
“Oh, that. Well…” He glanced at her with one raised brow. “She’s worried that I might not be a perfect gentleman with you.”
“You have been so far. What else?”
Bart appeared to surrender. “She’s a wee bit jealous that I’m paying you so well. She’s afraid she’ll have to hire someone new.”
“Why would she think that?” Zinnia asked. “I love working at the gallery. And if she likes my art, maybe I can sell something there.”
Bart played drums on his steering wheel. “Look, Zinnia…” he hesitated.
“Go on,” she said.
Bart started the car, evidently having decided what to say. “Where is your portfolio?”
“My…? Oh, um, well, I have a stash of sketchbooks at my parent’s house. Hidden,” she said, feeling ashamed.
“Any canvases?”
Zinnia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Are you joking? Canvas, paints, and brushes are expensive.”
He glanced her way again. “You need a place to work and experiment for a while.”
“Well, I can’t be spreading my stuff all over Rose’s house. And I am still working, remember? Two jobs now.” She smiled with satisfaction. “Am I supposed to work on canvases in my sleep?”
Bart chuckled. “No, I guess you need down time, too. Let’s go collect some of your sketch books, okay? Ashley really needs to see them.”
Zinnia squirmed uncomfortably. “Oh joy,” she said sarcastically, “after a perfect day, I have to go brave the old homestead? That hardly seems fair.”
“Don’t worry,” said Bart. “I’ve got an idea.”
“Any chance I’ll hear about it soon?”
Bart looked mischievous. “Let me check it out before I get your hopes up, okay?”
She shrugged. “Okay. So…why does Ashley think you might not be a gentleman?”
Bart made a face. “I may have contributed to some rumors about myself while I was building my reputation in Paris. Sort of a guy thing.”
Zinnia turned away so he wouldn’t see her smile. “I see. Your in-laws think you’re a playboy?”
Bart made a non-committal sound and didn’t speak again until they pulled up in front of her house. “Let’s go get your portfolio.”
Zinnia sighed. “Gosh, I love that word.”
“Time to get used to it,” Bart said gently. He took her hand for a moment. “You’re the brightest uncut diamond I’ve ever met.” Then he got out of the car.
Zinnia’s fingers tingled where he’d touched them. The rain let up a bit as Bart opened her car door for her, and she realized that for the first time in memory, she was not afraid of what waited for her inside her house.
* * *
Bart waited patiently, seated at the dining room table, making small talk with Chrissie until she gave up on trying to flirt with him and went upstairs, leaving Bart alone with Lily. Bernard and the kids were planted in front of the TV which was loud enough to make conversation difficult. Lily gestured for him to follow her into the kitchen.
Settled at the small dropleaf table, he accepted the offer of a can of Pepsi.
“Thanks, that’s very kind of you.”
Lily looked uncomfortable. “I hope you don’t mind but I’d like to hear about this job you’re paying Zinnia for. She’s a sweet, church-going girl and I don’t want her taken advantage of…if you get my meaning.”
Bart smiled. “Loud and clear.” He glanced around. “Did you want your husband to hear about her job, too?”
Lily waved a hand. “No need. I’ll fill him in later.”
“Hmm. Okay,” said Bart, keeping his opinion about Bernard to himself. “Let’s see. I’ll start by reassuring you that Zinnia is safe with me. I like her very much, but she’s being paid for her assistance and her knowledge of art.” He squinted at her for a moment. “You are aware of your daughter’s talent for art, correct?”
“Oh sure,” said Lily. “She’s always dreamed of being an artist. If I hadn’t needed her help so badly here at home, she would have gone off to art school.”
“You didn’t encourage her?”
Lily shifted in her chair, suddenly defensive. “Well, her high school art teacher made it clear that she had no future as an artist. He explained that Zin does have some natural talent, but she seems incapable of applying her skills to the rules that govern drawing and painting.”
Bart drew back. “Did he tell you how many of his own paintings he’s sold?”
That question stopped Lily cold. “Well, no. Is that important?”
The corners of Bart’s mouth fell into a wry frown. “Has he done any local showings?”
Silence.
“Um, does he have anything hanging in the Gallery?”
Now Lily was chewing her bottom lip. “Now that you bring it up…No. He never said anything about his own art. Oh, wait! Once at a parent teacher conference, he said his favorite medium was watercolor.” She slapped the table in triumph.
“Good,” said Bart. He smiled thinly. “Progress.”
Lily picked at the edge of the plastic table cloth.
“What?” asked Bart. “Did you remember something else?”
Lily sighed and confessed. “He said he liked teaching watercolors because they were easy to clean up.”
Bart blew out a lungful of air. He took a few seconds to control his desire to tell Lily what a tragedy it was that she’d given power to that ridiculous so-called art teacher. At last, he asked, “Have you seen your daughter’s work?”
“Work? Oh, you mean her drawings and such. Sure, I’ve seen some and they look great in the laundry room.”
Trying not to cringe, he asked, “May I see them?”
&nbs
p; Lily got up and led him past the refrigerator to a small room. She flicked on the light and stood back for him to see, puffing up with a modicum of pride. “She practices on the kids.”
Bart stepped into the room. The machines were silent, but the pile of smelly laundry would have to be dealt with in the morning, he guessed. He made soft noises of appreciation as he moved along the row of 10 x 12 colored pencil and pastel portraits. “I’m surprised the young ones sat still long enough for her to do such fine work.”
“Oh no, they’re always on the move. But Zinnia works fast. She calls it scribbling.”
Bart nodded, dumbfounded. “I saw her do a stunning landscape today in less than thirty minutes,” he said.
“She done these in about ten,” said Lily. “The cartoony ones took about a minute.”
“Caricatures,” mumbled Bart. But the portraits blew him away. He vowed to see Zinnia in action the very next day. He hoped against hope that she wasn’t tracing photographs, then shoved that thought aside. He’d seen her create that landscape with his own eyes.
“Did you see her make these?” he asked.
“No,” said Lily. “She never draws in front of me and Bernard. She gets her feelings hurt when he makes his comments.”
Bart didn’t even want to know.
Lily added, “But Rose has seen her drawing plenty of times.” She peeked out into the kitchen, as if afraid someone would overhear. “In the summers, Rose and Zin go to craft fairs and such. Rose does all the talking, according to Zin, and Zinnia does the portraits. She was making ten dollars a pop! I never told Bernard, for fear he might forbid her from going. But she bought her school clothes every year doing that. And she’d split the money with Rose, because that girl could keep a stream of people lined up like you wouldn’t believe. She did these for me one weekend when she had to stay home and babysit while Bernard and I went to his mother’s funeral.”
“Hmm,” said Bart. Then, because Lily seemed to expect him to make a remark, he added, “Sorry for your loss.”
She seemed satisfied. “It was a rough couple of days. Thank goodness Zin was here.”
Bart wagged a finger at the wall. “These should really be framed,” he said. “The dampness in here is going to ruin them.”
“Well, I looked into it,” said Lily, “but even those cheap frames are ten bucks a piece. I just couldn’t swing it.”
Bart frowned. “You take them down, Lily,” he said gently, “and give them to me and I’ll get them framed for you. She’s still moving around upstairs, so she’s still gathering her artwork. You’ve got time.”
“That would be wonderful,” she cooed. Then suspiciously, “You’re not doing this to keep me from insisting you treat Zinnia like a lady, are you?”
“No, ma’am. Don’t you worry. I’m going to treat Zinnia with kid gloves.”
“Well…all right, then.” She got busy, carefully untacking the portraits from the wall.
Bart retreated to the little table to finish his Pepsi and mourn the loss of time that Zinnia could have been using to polish her talent. The phone rang in the other room—this family clearly couldn’t afford cell phones—and several pairs of feet scrambled from the TV to answer it.
Chrissie’s voice called out, “Zinnia! It’s Mrs. Stigliano!”
Curious, Bart leaned against the door jamb to watch as Zinnia skipped down the stairs to take the call. Her sister Percy followed, struggling to carry a large brown folio stuffed with artwork. His ears perked up when he heard Zinnia’s voice filled with sympathy.
“Oh no, Mrs. Stigliano. That’s terrible. I’m sure they’ll get back together…Yes? Chester blames me? What on earth for?... Why that’s—Okay, yes, I understand… No, of course not. I’ll be fine.” She hung up the phone and looked toward the kitchen.
Bart met her gaze and knew at once that she was devastated. Behind him, Lily appeared with the stack of portraits. Bart took them off her hands, asking Zinnia as he did so, “Is everything okay?”
She looked pale. “Chester’s coming over to Rose’s house to patch things up,” she said tightly. She glanced toward Bernard who was staring at the television and ignoring them completely, and said, “We should be going. What do you have there?”
“Additions to your portfolio,” said Bart. He waited awkwardly, but no mother-daughter tenderness was forthcoming, so he moved toward the front door and held it open for Zinnia, who took her portfolio silently from Percy. Before he followed her out the door, he said to Lily, “Thank you for the hospitality. I’ll get these back as soon as I can.”
Zinnia was stowing her portfolio in the back of the SUV before he even reached the vehicle. She looked miserable, so he waited until they were inside and buckled up before asking, “Off to Rose’s house?”
“No,” she said, staring out the window. “Mrs. Stigliano asked me to make other arrangements for a while. So I have no idea where I’m going to sleep tonight.”
* * *
Zinnia sat there glumly. “Chester’s really angry at me.”
Bart asked quietly, “Why?”
“Because I encouraged Rose to go back to work. She gave up her part-time job—there aren’t a lot of full-time jobs these days, it seems—she gave it up because Chester wanted her to, and she was afraid to say no because she didn’t want to lose him.” Zinnia sighed. “Most of the women we went to high school with are married already, except for the ones who went on to college. And Rose has been worried for ages that she’ll never find a husband.”
Bart said, “I didn’t know girls—sorry, women—worried about that kind of thing anymore.”
“Some do,” said Zinnia, feeling the weight of her friend’s anguish. “I feel terrible. I gave her the best advice I had, because Chester isn’t wealthy. Any money she earns before they have a child will be very important. I just don’t get it.”
“You gave great advice,” said Bart. “They aren’t even married yet and Chester’s trying to run her life. I hope she sees that.”
“I don’t know if she can at the moment. She’s heartbroken, according to her mom, because Chester is threatening to call off the wedding.”
Bart pulled the SUV into the Cattleman’s parking lot. “If you need some of your things, I could go over to Rose’s and get them.”
“That’s sweet, but I have my art—my portfolio, thanks to you—and I keep my sketchbooks, my music, and a few clothes in my backpack. Oh darn! I was so upset by Mrs. Stigliano’s phone call, I didn’t remember to go upstairs and grab a pair of pajamas.” She made a bitter sound. “Doesn’t matter, I don’t want to undress out here.”
Bart gave her a confused look. “What are you talking about?”
Zinnia put a hand to her lips. “Oh, I was going to ask if I could sleep in your car tonight.”
Bart shook his head. “No way.”
Zinnia’s throat closed up and her eyes burned with tears, but before they could fall, Bart eased her pain.
“I’m getting you a room at the hotel,” he said.
“Can I afford that on what you’re paying me?”
“No. But don’t worry about it. I consider it an investment. Come on, I’ll carry your portfolio. You get your backpack.”
Zinnia slung her backpack over her shoulder and clutched the front of her coat together instead of taking the time to zip it up. She scurried a bit to catch up to Bart. “Excuse me, but how can giving me charity be an investment?”
They got to the side door. Bart slid his key card and they went in. Bart said, “I’ve seen your talent. Some day, you’re going to be a household word, like Disney or Elvis. And when that happens, you’ll remember who helped you get started.” He smiled at her brightly and turned left at the end of the corridor, toward the registration desk.
“Oh, go on,” said Zinnia scornfully. “I know you’re teasing me.” She looked everywhere at once, trying to impress the beauty of the place on her memory. She might never stay in such splendor ever again. The marble floors, chandeliers, and plush sea
ting scattered about the lobby filled her with a sense of excitement.
Bart walked up to the registration desk and explained briefly that his assistant would need a very nice room, preferably on the same floor he was on.
Zinnia inhaled the aroma of hot chocolate chip cookies wafting from the silver platter on the counter. She couldn’t help herself. She took a cookie and nibbled at the edge. When Bart handed her the key card to her room, her mouth was full of cookie. She mumbled “Thank you,” around the gooey goodness.
“Let’s get you settled, shall we?” He snared a cookie for himself. “My favorite.”
Zinnia swallowed. “Mine, too.” She held the cookie in one hand and the key card in the other as she followed Bart to the elevators, turning the key card over and over in her hand. It had a magnetic stripe, just like a gift card. How appropriate. Feeling more confident, she asked him, “Do you really think I can sell some art?”
“Your mother told me that you and Rose have been selling pastel portraits at craft fairs, so you’re already doing that.” He took a bite of cookie. “Mmf, diss is so good.”
Zinnia giggled. The elevator door opened and they went in. Alone in the elevator with Bart, she had a few seconds to marvel at his broad shoulders and his handsome features. His skin was a bit pink, but she figured that was the result of shaving off enough hair to cover Sasquatch. But he sure didn’t smell like Sasquatch. Oh no, he smelled like limeade with a hint of musk. She closed her eyes and inhaled his scent. When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her, and she blushed hotly. That made him smile, and the heat of his smile did nothing to lessen her blush.
The elevator doors pinged opened. Bart said, “It should be down this way,” indicating a shiny gold plaque on the wall engraved with numbers and arrows.
She was proud of herself when she figured out the room key on the first try. She pushed the door open. All was dark. Bart found the light switch and lamps came on inside the room. Zinnia gasped in admiration. “This isn’t a room, it’s a suite!”
Bart shrugged. “I’m a rising star in the art world. My assistant should have appropriate quarters. Unless,” he teased, “you’d prefer one of the cut-rate rooms in the original part of the hotel, where they accept pets. Do you want to chance waking up in the middle of the night because there’s a German Shepherd barking next door?”
