"Nicole?" Mary straightened up from where she had been kneeling by the little flower garden.
"Yes, ma’am." The photographer walked over to where her late boss’s wife stood. "Sorry to bother you, I just had some free time and thought I’d see if you needed anything."
"That is awfully nice of you, honey, but I have everything I need. The church ladies see to that. They’ve been a really big help."
"These look beautiful." Nicole changed the subject. She pointed to the pansies surrounding one of the smaller rose bushes.
"Thank you. I’ve always loved the purple of those. Doug preferred tulips, but I can never get those to grow here well." Mary pointed to a small clearing in the dirt. It had a marker labeled tulips, but none were visible.
"Well, you definitely do better than I do. I can’t keep any plant alive." Nicole smiled ruefully. "I actually killed a cactus once. It was for a school project, boy did I do badly on that one."
"Let me tell you a little secret." Mary dusted off her hands. "Wait a minute, you want something to drink? Ice tea?"
"Sure." She shrugged. She had no plans for the day.
"Well, come on, it’s a hot day, I have a porch, let’s be stereotypical, ok?" Mary laughed. Nicole knew that even though she was originally from Indiana, Mary loved all things Southern.
"Sounds good to me." Nicole followed the older woman to the porch.
"Hang on a moment. I just brewed some sun tea. Let me get a couple of glasses of ice ok?"
"Ok." Nicole took a seat on the porch steps. It was a nice day. The sky was clear and it was almost cool compared to last summer.
"Ok, here we go." Mary hefted the gallon jar and poured fresh brewed tea into both glasses. Nicole watched the ice melt as the liquid touched it. It always fascinated her.
"Thank you." Nicole took the glass and held it up into the sunlight. It was dark, which meant it was strong. She liked it that way.
"So what really brings you here today?"
"I was just driving around and thought I’d stop by and say hello."
"Well, it was nice of you. How’s the paper treating you?" Mary took a seat on an old wooden chair.
"I quit." Nicole turned to face her. She placed her back against the railing and stretched her legs out. "Jeff and I had a disagreement over ethics."
"Ethics are vague things you know. Not everyone has them." The older woman swished the ice around in her glass to make it melt faster.
"So what was this secret you wanted to tell me about plants?" Nicole changed the subject.
"As with anything else, plants need care or they won’t grow. They need sunlight, water and love. It’s kinda like a relationship, and that’s what you have to do, build a relationship with your plants." Mary took a sip of her tea. "Now this is nice."
"Yeah it is." Nicole agreed. "You know, I do water plants and keep them in the sun, but they still die."
"That happens sometimes. Maybe you’re not watering them enough or too much. It could also be that they have too much sunlight. Do you talk to them?"
"Talk to them?" It seemed a bit absurd.
"Yeah, you have to talk to them too. Water and sunlight isn’t enough. You have to talk to them, let them know you care and that you want them to live."
"You talk to your plants?" She doubted Mary’s sincerity and sanity.
"Yes I talk to my plants. It’s not a sign of insanity, you know. A lot of people do it, and it does help the plants grow."
"Really?"
"Would I do it otherwise?"
"Um…No?" It was one of those moments where the world seemed to shift planes. She felt for an instant that the conversation was filled with double meanings. Then again, every love song she heard lately seemed to fit her life. It was simply an after effect of a break up.
"No, I wouldn’t if it didn’t work. Do you talk to your dog?" Mary set her glass down and looked at her.
"That’s different. Mozart is a thinking entity. He understands something of what I say and he talks back. In his own way of course, but he does talk." She felt the need to clarify.
"Plants have their own intelligence. It’s just a bit different than ours. Understand that, and you’ll understand people a bit better too."
"Ok." She was still not certain about Mary’s sanity, but deep down, she knew the older woman had wisdom.
"That’s what I like about you, Nicole. At least you think about things outside your little realm of comfort." She looked at her watch. "Oh dang it, I hate to do this, but I’m going shopping with a few of the ladies this afternoon. I better get cleaned up or I’m going to be late."
"That’s ok, I need to run some errands anyway." Nicole stood. "I’ll see ya around, Mary. If you need anything, give me a call."
"I was about to say the same to you. Be careful, Nicole. I’ll see you later." Mary took both glasses and disappeared inside. She did seem to be in a hurry.
"Now what?" The photographer asked herself. She was not accustomed to freedom. "Books and coffee." It seemed a decent plan. There was a new photography book at the store she wanted. Coffee goes well with literature.
***
Laurel walked the streets of New York, looking for a certain address. The latest recording session had firmed her resolve to protect her own interest. Jenna and Harold had wanted her to sign a waiver giving the band the rights to the songs she had written. There was no way Laurel was going to let that happen, but she needed help to make sure they would not try to run roughshod over her.
It had only taken two phone calls before she found several attorneys who specialized in entertainment. The one she chose was the only one who could schedule an appointment with her that afternoon. For once, the bassist’s lack of patience paid off because the sooner she covered her own back, the less likely it would be that someone could stick a knife into it.
Finally, she found the building she had been looking for and entered the townhouse turned office buildings. Her new attorney was on the fourth floor and there was no elevator. Laurel was beginning to wonder if she should have waited, but knew that the building did not make the attorney, the mind did.
"Can I help you?" A nice looking and well-dressed young woman asked when Laurel approached the desk.
"Yes, I’m here to see Ms. Baker. My name is Laurel Kendrick." Laurel suddenly felt under dressed.
"Go right in, she’s expecting you." The receptionist smiled and pointed to the office.
"Thank you." She was strangely apprehensive about the whole situation. The door to the office was open and Laurel stuck her head inside.
"Ms. Kendrick?" The light accented voice asked.
"Yes, but call me Laurel please." She stepped completely into the room. The blonde attorney looked at her for a long moment over her glasses before standing and offering her hand.
"I’m Krista Baker. You said something on the phone about needing help with copyrights and royalties?"
"Yes ma’am." Laurel grinned as she shook the attorney’s hand. There was something about the woman that immediately put her at ease.
"Ma’am?" Ms. Baker laughed. "You must be Southern."
"And you must be Canadian, or did I miss my guess?"
"I am. I like New York though, so I moved here and started my practice. It’s still rather small, but we’re growing. Now, what exactly can I help you with?"
"Well, I’m with a band and we just got a recording contract." Laurel opened her backpack and pulled out the copies of her contracts. "I’m the bassist, though that’s not really the point. The problem is that I got hoodwinked into staying with the band because of a small addendum I didn’t see in the contract, and I’ve written half the songs on our CD."
"How many songs are on your CD?" Ms. Baker took the contracts and began reading through them.
"Twelve. The first one we’re releasing is one I wrote."
"And you want to make sure that no one else can claim ownership of them right?"
"Right. I brought copies of all of them." Laurel pulled o
ut a binder. "This is every song I’ve written for the band." She pulled out a CD ROM too. She had not taken any chances and had saved the songs on Mandy’s computer, a few CD ROMs and as hardcopies.
"OK. I can hold on to those. As of now, I have to advise you not to sign anything else with out first discussing it with me. That is if you want me on retainer." The easy smile made Laurel trust her.
"Yes ma’am. I do."
"Alright." The attorney laughed. "The second thing is to call me Krista. All my clients do, though their agents and everyone else are not allowed. Third, go explore this city after you give your contact numbers to my receptionist. She’ll put them in the computer since she’s better than I am at that, and I’ll get some research done. Don’t worry." She stood and offered her hand again. "I’m not about to let them screw you out of royalties. As soon as I get all the proper paperwork gathered, I’ll courier them over to your hotel. We can discuss them after you’ve had a chance to look at them. Fair?"
"That sounds fair to me. Um, and payment? How do you want to handle that?" Laurel was suspicious again. She never trusted anyone who did not name a price upfront. It was a product of her upbringing.
"That will be included in the packet of information as well. Don’t worry. I only charge a flat rate for a retainer, I don’t ask for a percentage. Now, if we were to go to court, then you would have to pay my hourly wage, which I have been told is pretty decent for New York."
"Thank you, Ms. Baker. I mean Krista. I’ll read over that information as soon as I get it." Laurel shook her hand one more time.
"I’ll talk to you soon. I didn’t mean to rush you, but I had to pencil you in. I’ve got another appointment in a few minutes, and I really need my tea break." She escorted the bassist to the door.
"Understandable. Later." Laurel watched her new attorney disappear down the hallway before turning to the receptionist and giving the young woman her contact information. As she left, she felt that at least she had not messed this situation up completely.
***
"What do you think, Mo, Utica?" To combat the silence of the house, Nicole was talking to her dog. It helped her to think if she verbalized her thoughts. "Too cold, you’re right. Hmm…what else do we have here?"
She scrolled down the list of available jobs. This was the second website she searched that day. It seemed as if the only places that needed photographers were places she did not want to live. In truth, she did not want to move anywhere unless it was back to New Orleans. She could not move back until her grandmother died.
"Seven children, almost twenty grandchildren, five great grandchildren, and it’s me she has a problem with." She turned to the dog. He was lying near the computer chair. "I guess it is time for me to echo the age old question. Why me?" Mozart had no answer for her.
She really had no answer for herself either. Though Adia ruled the family with an iron fist, that fist seemed to fall heavier on Nicole than it did anyone else. Long talks with her Aunt Kay let the photographer know that her father had been treated the same. For some reason, Adia expected more from her. She expected perfection. Nicole never understood that, though she tried her best to live up to it.
She graduated high school and college with honors. She turned down several scholarships to go to the university of her choice. She did not need the scholarship money; her parents had planned ahead. College had been paid for before she was old enough to think about it. Since the university she attended cost less than most, the rest of the money paid for everything else. She was financially independent. That really upset her grandmother.
As a result of her monetary freedom, Nicole chose the major closest to her heart. Only her grandfather had understood. He advised her to follow her dream. She took that advice until it was time to make a real decision. After college, she continued to work at Doug’s music store. Selling CD’s and music equipment was not what she wanted to do, but she did not know what else there was to do. She became content with the status quo.
Now it was time to make another decision, and she did not want to do it. Nicole knew she possessed a very bad habit. When it came time to choose a course that would affect her future, she froze. She did not trust herself enough to make a decision. She felt more comfortable letting it make itself for her. It was one of many things she admired about Laurel. The bassist had the ability to make snap judgments and not second guess them. Nicole always doubted her own judgment.
"Come on Mo, a little help here would be nice." She took her mind off the past and placed her concentration back on the computer screen. She needed to find a job. What little she had in savings would not hold her for long. "Where do we want to move?"
The job in Memphis was still open, but she had no desire to move there. She also vetoed Tulsa, Boston, Roswell, though that was more tempting than the others, and Pensacola. If she could not stay in Hattiesburg, she wanted to return to Louisiana. Unfortunately, it seemed as if all the papers there did not need an extra photographer.
"Damn." She shut down the web browser. "Of all the stinking luck. Oh well. I still have two weeks before they quit paying me. That’s one good thing about delayed checks. You always have an extra week." She scratched the dog’s ears. He placed his head in her lap and whined. "Wanna go out? I’ll take that as a yes." She laughed when he ran for the door. Some things never changed.
"Alright boy, the yard is yours." She let Mozart precede her outside. He ran off and began reclaiming his territory. Squirrels always tried to move in if he did not watch for them.
Nicole sat down on the old swing. It squeaked loudly when she sat down. Laurel kept promising to oil the chain, but she never seemed to have the time. It was one more little thing Nicole now had to do for herself. Adjusting to singlehood was not easy, but she would manage. She had to manage; otherwise she felt the pain might well drive her crazy.
"I need a vacation." She muttered. "Wait a minute, isn’t this my vacation? Then I need to do something fun." She thought for a moment. What was fun? She needed help on this one. Well, that is what she had Sheryl for. If there were something fun in Hattiesburg, Sheryl would know.
Chapter Eleven
"So that must be why they call it Impressionism." The college-aged male raised his voice slightly above the acceptable level for the museum. His buddy leaned in closer.
"You know if you squint and tilt your head like this." He demonstrated. The baseball cap on his head slid to the floor. He reached down, grabbed it and placed it back on his head. "Anyway, if you do all that, you can almost tell it’s a church."
"Yeah, like I said, it gives the impression of being a church, hence Impressionism." The first guy reiterated his point.
"Monet was almost blind. He painted what he saw, that’s why it’s like that." Laurel could not take it anymore. She hated ignorant people who pretended to have a veneer of culture. "If you’d read the guidebook they gave you, you’d see that."
"Well, why don’t you tell us about it since you seem to know all about it anyway." The one with the baseball cap turned toward her.
"Yeah, you seem to be here by yourself, perhaps you can teach us a thing or two about art. Then we can teach you a thing or two." He apparently thought his smile was charming. Laurel thought it was ludicrous.
"No thanks, I have a date with a guy named Vincent. I should meet him in a moment." Laurel looked down at her map. The display she wanted to see was in the next room. She was almost there.
"Your loss then." The baseball cap guy turned to his friend. "I saw some private school girls go into the Grecian column room. Wanna follow?"
"Are you sure your brother said the museum was a good place to score?"
"That’s what he said. Let’s go." They headed off in search of easy prey. Laurel shook her head in disgust. She almost felt bad for them, but then the more she thought about it, the less she felt for them.
She stuck the map back into the pocket of her jeans. Ever since her mother had bought a print of Irises, Laurel had been enamored of Vincent V
an Gogh. It was one passion her parent encouraged. They provided her with art books on famous artist, trips to the museum in New Orleans, and other art related products. It was a pity that she could not draw a straight line with a ruler, but she enjoyed looking at paintings.
Her father believed that true artistic skill was rare. He also believed that the ability to appreciate an artist and their work was also a rare skill. He attempted to instill that into his children. Jon rebelled, Laurel flourished. It was the one thing she could do that her brother could not. It was the one thing she had in common with her father, but love of art was not enough to build a relationship on as she discovered. Still, she knew he would be proud of her for this. Instead of exploring the seedier sides of New York, Laurel was using her free day to explore the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
If she admitted it to herself, the main reason she agreed to cross the Mason-Dixon line was to see the museum. The one in New Orleans could easily fit inside this one’s entrance way. The place was huge. She had already been here for three hours and just entered the second floor. The medieval exhibit had taken an hour to tour by itself. She still did not think she saw everything. There was simply too much to see at once. She would have to come back before they left the city.
"Ah, there you are, Vinnie." Laurel stopped in front of one of Van Gogh’s self-portraits. Though it was not his best, and he still had both ears, she felt drawn to it. It was all in his eyes.
For several moments she stood there starring into his eyes. She was amazed how much depth and emotion he had been able to convey through paint and canvas. She saw wisdom, talent and pain in those eyes. They seemed to stare straight off the canvas and into her soul. It was, for her, almost a spiritual experience. It definitely made a greater impact than the tapestries downstairs.
All That Jazz Page 12
