Summer Breeze: A Novel

by Nancy Thayer

  And yet, “I’ll call,” Ben had said. He hadn’t called.

  She hated herself for equating her emotions, her physical response to a man, with her judgment of her own creative work. This was wrong; she knew it. She just couldn’t help it. Everything seemed to be off. The universe had tilted. Ben had never called, so Natalie couldn’t trust that when she walked into Bella’s this evening, she wouldn’t find people laughing at her work.

  Still, she reminded herself, tonight was not just about Natalie. It was about Bella. It was the opening of her shop, Bella’s own creation. Natalie had to go there to support her, and she was going to look as fabulous as she could, and certainly Ben would be there, and perhaps another, strange man would be there, and Natalie could flirt with him in front of Ben.…

  Natalie stood wrapped in a towel in her bathroom. It was almost time to go.

  “You are an idiot,” she said to her reflection.

  The phone rang.

  It was Ben. “Natalie, I thought you might like me to drive you to the opening.”

  Natalie actually looked at the phone in her hand. She looked at her shocked face in the mirror. Were her thoughts transmitting themselves without her control? She collapsed on her bed. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Why would I kid you?”

  “Um, because you said you’d phone and you didn’t.” Pressure pushed against Natalie’s rib cage, against her throat, beneath her eyes. “So how would I know you’d actually show up to drive me to the opening?”

  “Damn, Natalie, I’m sorry. I was going to call you—”

  “Oh, please. I have so heard this all before!”

  “No, wait, you haven’t! Listen, there was a conference at the university.”

  “I know. Dr. Macharacha. Morgan told me.”

  “Dr. Takamachi. I had to present a paper. I had to get it ready. When I’m working, I go mentally underground. I don’t remember to eat or see other people—ask my parents, ask Bella! It’s like something’s wrong with me. Like some of my systems shut down. But, Natalie—Jesus, why am I talking to you on the phone? I’m next door. I’m coming over.”

  “No, Ben, don’t.” There she was in the mirror, excited by the sound of this man’s voice and angry at him and hopeful but also determined not to let tonight of all nights be about whether or not some guy wanted to get in her pants. “Ben, I want to drive myself in.”

  After a long silence, Ben said, “So you’re really mad at me?”

  “No, Ben, this has nothing to do with you. It’s just about me, about how I feel right this minute.”

  “Are you nervous?” Ben asked. “I’ll bet you are. Before I give one of my papers, I almost throw up. It’s not just stage fright. Lots of people have fear of public speaking, but it’s not that for me. It’s shyness, sure, but it’s also excitement because I’m revealing what could become an important scientific breakthrough.”

  Natalie laughed. “It must be what striptease artists feel before they go onstage.”

  “Yeah,” Ben agreed. “That’s it exactly. Months of lab work, charts, and statistics to prove a point. Exposure of my intellectual abilities.” He paused again, then confessed, “I’m good with science, but not so great with people.”

  “You had lunch with Morgan,” she interrupted.

  “What? No, I didn’t. I have no idea—Oh. I did see her and Petey on the campus one day during the conference when Dr. Takamachi and I were taking a walk. Why would I have lunch with Morgan? She’s all about hazmat stuff. I’m all about chemical engineering. Dr. Takamachi and I were discussing biofuels. I’m not good at small talk.” Another pause. “If I spend time with anyone, I want to spend it with you.”

  She caught the ring of honesty in his voice. She smiled at the realization that he was just next door, probably in the kitchen, perhaps the living room, bent over his cell phone because any moment Brady might come stampeding in.

  “Natalie?” he asked.

  “I’d like that,” she told him. “I’d like to get to know you.”

  “So, then, can I drive you to Bella’s opening?” His voice was eager.

  “I think this is something I have to do on my own this time,” Natalie told him gently. “But I’ll see you there. Soon.”

  20

  Saturday night, Bella wore a tight black dress and black four-inch high heels. She’d let her hair grow so it was long enough for the hairdresser to sleek into a little knot at the back of her head. She wore dark eyeliner and red lipstick, and she’d practiced holding her head high and standing quietly. Her parents said she looked like Grace Kelly. Well, Bella thought, maybe a short Grace Kelly.

  She gave herself a lecture during her shower, reminding herself not to be eager and sweet. Especially not sweet. She was smart, she had an eye, and she was savvy. The art critic of the Hartford Courant was coming to her opening, and a reporter from the Daily Hampshire Gazette. Morgan said Josh’s boss and his wife, Ronald and Eva Ruoff, were coming, and they were trendsetters. Of course, her parents and their friends were all coming, which alone ought to fill the room.

  Earlier in the day, her father and Ben and Aaron had set up a table inside Bella’s, then covered it with one of her mother’s best white tablecloths and all the washed and shined wineglasses from the Barnaby, O’Keefe, and Reynolds’ houses. Bella had planned to rent glassware—she didn’t want to use plastic, even though it would make cleaning up easier—but Natalie had nixed that idea, pointing out that her aunt Eleanor had enough goblets and flutes and glasses for a party of hundreds. Bella’s father and Brady had bought two new plastic tubs from the hardware store, rinsed them out, and filled them with ice. The refrigerator at the back was stocked with white wine and champagne, and the red wine was already on the table.

  Louise had been occupied in her kitchen all day, making canapés—dripless, she laughingly agreed with Morgan—to put out on silver platters. She and Dennis drove over early to set up the food table before the crowd arrived.

  Bella prayed there would be a crowd.

  At a quarter till six, Aaron knocked on the front door.

  “Wow,” he said when he saw Bella.

  “Wow back,” she told him.

  Aaron wore a navy blazer, white shirt, yellow tie. His dark curly hair had been combed into submission, and he was freshly shaved. He was a hunk, and tonight he also looked distinguished. The night they’d gone out to celebrate his job offer, he’d been boyish, expansive, and slaphappy, but tonight Bella knew she was seeing the man who had walked into a prestigious architectural firm on the other side of the continent and comported himself with such distinction he was chosen from all other applicants.

  “Ready?” Aaron asked.

  “Ready,” Bella said. Tonight she was a woman who had created a shop full of magnificent treasures.

  Aaron parked at the far end of the parking lot so there would be room for all the guests’ cars. He took Bella’s arm as she navigated across the pebble drive in her high heels.

  Bella stopped in the doorway and looked around the room. Without display cases in the middle, the space looked larger than it had as Barnaby’s Barn. On one hand, she thought with a pinch of worry, perhaps she didn’t have enough inventory. On the other hand, in order to see the artwork, people had to be able to stand back and have an unobstructed view. Earlier in the day, her parents, Aaron, the O’Keefes, and Natalie had had flowers delivered. They were set around the room on the various pieces of antique furniture.

  “It’s wonderful, Bella,” Aaron said.

  “Thanks.” She chewed her lip and looked back out at the parking lot. No cars were turning in.

  Aaron read her mind. “It’s one minute till six. Let’s have some wine.”

  Bella nodded, and they walked over to the table where Louise and Dennis waited as the evening’s bartenders.

  “Madam, what will you have?” her father asked formally, a twinkle in his eye.

  At five after six, the O’Keefes arrived, and a few minutes later, Natalie stalked i
n all by herself. They gathered together at the table, animated and laughing too much at nothing—nervous, hopeful.

  At ten after six, Bella’s older sister, Beatrice, arrived alone. Taller than Bella, she was curvaceous and still moved with the confidence of head cheerleader. She hugged and kissed Bella, then rubbed the lipstick off her cheek where she’d kissed her. “Jeremy couldn’t come. The babysitter canceled at the last minute, but that’s okay—you know he’d be bored stiff in this place. You look fabulous, Bella. I can’t believe you’re my baby sister.”

  “Maybe not so much a baby anymore?” Bella responded.

  “Honey, you’ll always be my baby sister.” Beatrice sauntered off, sure of herself, over to greet her parents and get a drink.

  Bella took a moment to interpret her sister’s remark. She knew Beat loved her, but she also wondered whether Beat was a bit jealous of what Bella had achieved: this exquisite room. Bella had usually been the jealous one. She was the younger sister. She did want a home, loving husband, and children. But obviously Bella wanted something more—something different. For here she was. Even if it was only for one night, she had created Bella’s.

  At a quarter after six, Ben entered. He kissed Bella’s cheek. “Break a leg.”

  “Thanks,” Bella said. “But Mom’s already done that for me.”

  At six-twenty, Penny Aristides and her husband arrived, and a few minutes later Shauna Webb and her partner came in.

  It looked more festive now, Bella thought, as people carried their wine around the room, studying the pieces.

  At six-thirty, finally, came a rush of people. They were all friends of Bella’s parents, or her friends from high school, but they exclaimed loudly over the shop, the art, the rugs, and transformed the evening into a party.

  Then! Two women entered whom Bella had never seen before. Both were coiffed so simply the cuts had to be expensive. They wore Lilly Pulitzer dresses. Were these Bella’s first real customers?

  Morgan poked her in the back. “Go.”

  Bella gulped. She approached the women. “Hello. I’m Bella Barnaby. I’m so glad you came. Would you like some wine?”

  “We’ll just wander,” the woman said, and her eyes were all over the walls, taking everything in.

  Another couple came in, a man and woman Bella didn’t know, and then another.

  And another.

  Bella stayed near the door, greeting people. Soon she had to raise her voice slightly to be heard over the chatter and laughter of the crowd. Time blurred. At one point, Josh quickly crossed the room to join her.

  “Bella, I’d like you to meet Ronald and Eva Ruoff.”

  Eva Ruoff was almost frighteningly perfect, with a lifted, Botoxed face and a tight dress displaying a sculpted body. Her smile was taut and looked painful. She extended a limp hand to shake Bella’s. The rings on Eva’s hands bit into Bella’s palm.

  “Pleasure,” Eva said succinctly, then turned, scanning the room. “Hmm. You’ve got abstracts like the one the O’Keefes have in their house.”

  “Yes,” Josh said. “Let me introduce you to the artist.” Smoothly, he led the Ruoffs over to talk to Natalie.

  Bella turned to greet more people. The Gilberts, Hoffenbys, and Watsons, all friends of her parents, showed up in a cluster, made a fuss over Bella, then strolled around the room. Madeline Gilbert chirped, “Oh, there’s Eva Ruoff. She’s new to the area, she’s volunteered for the museum. She’s got such exquisite taste.” She hurried over to chat with Eva.

  Around seven, the flow ceased. Bella was grateful, because it gave her a chance to wander around and talk with her guests, but beneath the relief was a thin layer of terror: What if nothing sold?

  Keeping a bright smile on her face, she ambled around the room until she came to the first two women who’d appeared. They were standing in front of Natalie’s charcoal of Aaron. They were giggling.

  “Twenty thousand is a bit much,” one woman said.

  The other said, “I’m divorced, I’m fifty-five, I’m a professor of art history, I have nudes all over my house. Really, Dorie, you shouldn’t imply that I’d buy it simply because the man is gorgeous.”

  Bella held her breath.

  “It is rather brilliant,” the first woman said. “This line here … this sweep. The curve, the sense of power …”

  Should she introduce them to Aaron? Should she say something or keep quiet? Bella hadn’t thought this through. With her mother’s inventory, it hadn’t mattered so very much; Louise’s offerings had been inexpensive, easy to discuss.

  Decisively, the woman announced, “I’m going to get it. Where’s the owner?”

  Bella thought she would giggle deliriously. Instead, she heard herself say silkily, “I’m right here, actually. I’m so glad you like it. The artist studied in New York. She’s here tonight. Would you like to meet her?”

  She led the two women over to meet Natalie. As they conversed, the art history professor effortlessly slipped her credit card to Bella. Natalie charmed the two women while Bella took care of the business side, and it was with a thrill that ran from her scalp to the soles of her feet that she placed a red dot for Sold on the label next to the drawing of Aaron.

  Almost at once, Eva Ruoff was at her side. “I want that one.” She pointed to one of Natalie’s abstracts.

  “Oh, lovely,” Bella said. “Have you met Natalie Reynolds? She’s the artist. She studied at the Art Students League in New York.”

  “Yes, Morgan told us about her. Up-and-coming, isn’t she?”

  At that moment, the reporter and photographer from the Hartford Courant appeared. Eva Ruoff went nearly neon with delight at having her photo taken next to the painting she’d just bought.

  As Bella answered the reporter’s questions, she noticed, almost accidentally, that while she was working, Slade had arrived. He wore, as usual, all black, and he looked sleek, glamorous, and surly. It was an excellent look for him. He was behind the display counter, taking out a velvet tray to show a customer Penny Aristides’s jewelry.

  “Oh, Slade, thank you,” Bella whispered to herself. The crowd parted, and she saw Aaron—he and Morgan were chatting as they walked around the room together, subtly removing empty glasses and wadded napkins from the surface of various antiques. Her father was out in the crowd now, talking with friends, and Ben had gone behind the counter to take over the bartending. “Oh, my friends!” Bella murmured. How did anyone do this alone?

  The reporter and photographer cruised the room, took more pictures, and left. Bella concluded the sale of the abstract to Eva Ruoff. She found a moment to say hello to Slade, who was still behind the counter, showing someone else jewelry, and then Morgan tapped her shoulder.

  “Bella? I’d like you to meet a friend of mine.”

  Bella turned. The woman before her was as short as Bella would be if she weren’t wearing her high heels, and she was nearly as wide as she was tall. She seemed to be wearing a shirtwaist dress from the 1950s, complete with pearls and a rhinestone brooch shaped in a starburst. Her hair was white, her eyes brown, her expression grandmotherly. A nice little old lady.

  “This is Bella, Mrs. Smith,” Morgan told the woman.

  Mrs. Smith held out her hand. “Charmed, darling. You’ve got quite a nice gallery here. Very interesting taste.”

  “Thank you,” Bella replied.

  “Some of the furniture brings me back to my childhood,” Mrs. Smith continued. “Well, staying with my grandparents, the appointments in their homes. As a very young girl, I used to hide beneath a table rather like that drop-leaf, pretending I was in a cave.”

  “Oh, I know. I used to do that sort of thing, too,” Bella confided.

  “But it’s the gargoyle cabinet that really takes me back. I haven’t seen one of those in years. And all the stained glass in the top doors looks original. Is it?”

  “Oh yes,” Bella informed her. “I know that personally.”

  “Well, in that case, how can I not take it? Fifteen thousand d
oesn’t seem out of line at all. I looked all over at the Winter Antiques Show in New York this spring and didn’t find anything nearly close.”

  Bella just stared.

  “Bella?” Morgan prompted.

  “Oh my goodness,” Bella sputtered. It was only now that she realized she had never expected this particular piece of furniture to sell. It was huge, ungainly, odd, hard to dust, and it was topped with a hideous gargoyle. Her old friend. The mythic monster she’d thought her own children would wonder at and gradually learn to love. But she had been the one to type out the label, name the price, describe the piece and the provenance, and affix the label to the wall.

  A crowd had gathered around them, watching as Mrs. Smith opened the middle drawer. It slid out smoothly. She bent down to open the bottom doors and peer inside at the glossy, recently polished wooden shelves.

  “Yes, I know exactly where I want to put this,” Mrs. Smith murmured to herself.

  Slade appeared at Bella’s side, deftly slipping her the sales clipboard.

  Eva and Ronald Ruoff joined the crowd.

  “Morgan,” Eva prodded sotto voce, “why don’t you introduce us to your friend?”

  Morgan nodded agreement, but waited until Mrs. Smith had finished her inspection of the cabinet.

  “Will you take a check?” Mrs. Smith asked Bella.

  Bella’s mouth went dry. “A check for fifteen thousand dollars?” Mrs. Smith’s starburst brooch was not, Bella swiftly realized, costume jewelry.

  “You can let it clear the bank before you deliver it,” Mrs. Smith informed her.

  “Yes, of course,” Bella said.

  The moment Mrs. Smith handed Bella the check, Eva moved in. “I’m Eva Ruoff. I’m a dear friend of Morgan’s.”

  “Yes,” Morgan agreed, and with what she hoped was an elegant gesture, indicated her husband’s boss, “and this is Ronald Ruoff, Eva’s husband.”

  “You’re new to the area,” Mrs. Smith observed. “You’re that new business outside Amherst.”