Angie spun around in a three hundred and sixty degree swirl.
“Geez, you look fantastic. I love your new haircut. And red highlights? Crazy good.” Susie said.
“Thanks. You look pretty terrific yourself.”
Vicki stepped back as Angie moved in for her share of the hugs. “Nice to see you two kids together. What say we go in and get our name on the seating list? If the wait’s normal, we have time to catch up on life before a table is ready.” Vicki slung her purse over her shoulder and stomped to the restaurant entrance.
Angie and Susie exchanged glances, nodded in unison, and scurried through the open door.
Seated at a round table next to the patio windows, their view looked out onto the back gardens. In full bloom, the array of pink and white petunias welcomed the travelers. The waiter arrived shortly with water, bread, and menus. He shared the daily specials, collected drink orders, and then left the table area.
“We’ll want to plan our activities for the weekend,” Vicki said and patted her daughter’s arm. “Are there some special events you want to make sure we attend?”
“Yes. There’s a reception tomorrow morning at nine o’clock,” Susie said. “I’d really like you to meet a few of my friends and their moms. Tomorrow evening there’s an awards banquet.”
“That should be fun for the two of you,” Angie said.
Vicki placed the menu on the white tablecloth and laid the linen napkin on her lap as she turned toward Angie. “We want you to be a part of the festivities, right, Susie?”
“Yes, of course,” Susie said. “You can be my sister this weekend. I want to show you around campus and introduce you to my art professor. He’s wonderful.”
“Your mom shared that with me. What makes him so special?”
“First of all, he’s talented. But more than that, he’s unselfish and an encourager. Even if a student is average, or even mediocre, he spends extra time in class explaining the homework, showing his technique, and praising any improvement.”
Angie smiled to herself. No one is that perfect. How nice to be young and impressionable. “He sounds very special.” She shifted in her chair. “I don’t want to get in the way. This is your weekend to be together. I prefer to take a tour of the campus, have lunch at the student center, and then join you for the banquet later.”
“That sounds like a plan,” Vicki said. “Then we can spend all day Sunday together. I heard the museum’s a must see. And we have to find some place for shopping. I’m still looking for a party dress to wear to the opera next month.”
“The opera? You’re not serious. Who with?” Susie asked.
Angie gently patted Susie’s hand. “You’ll find your mom’s a mysterious woman. She has several male friends that escort her to operas, concerts, and to rock out at the clubs. She leads a life full of friends, mostly male.”
Vicki batted her eyelashes. “Not so mysterious. I joined an online dating service and have met a few terrific men and more than a few weirdoes.”
Susie’s mouth dropped open. “Online dating? My mom? Tell me it’s not true.”
“Don’t judge me, and I’ll give you the same courtesy.”
“Ouch. Okay, Mom.”
Angie flushed. Then she raised her arm to attract their waiter. “We’re ready to place our order.”
Vicki jumped in and quickly selected a bottle of red wine for their table. After giving their dinner orders, the women fell into an extended silence. Susie, lips pursed, avoided eye contact with her mother as she fiddled with her napkin. Angie watched with curiosity as Susie finally ventured out from under the cone of silence.
“Mom, it’s’ weird thinking of you doing fun things with strange men. All my friends are on Facebook, Twitter, and online to meet the opposite sex. But you’re my mom.”
Angie sat up straight. Had Vicki been watching for signs of opposition from Susie? “Look Susie, your mom has been a rock for me in the past few months. I’ve watched her make dating decisions based on her experiences and the character of others. Give her a chance to have a life of her own.”
Susie pointed a finger at Angie and glared. “My mom can do what she wants. I just don’t want to hear about it.”
“Hey, you two,” Vicki said. “It’s my life and not up for discussion. I’ve been alone for over six years. It’s time for me to build a new life. Got it?” Vicki picked up the napkin from her lap and wiped her mouth. “I know you’re only thinking of my best. Remember, I’m as emancipated as you are. Now can we change the subject?”
The three focused on their dinner in silence.
Finally, Angie gazed up and said, “Tell me more about your cool art professor. My major was in art.”
Susie’s blue eyes radiated with a soft sparkle. “Not only is Professor Turner the sexiest man in Knoxville, but he is also the kindest, most generous, and talented artist I have ever seen. He paints with watercolors.” Susie outstretched her arms, palms up. “His paintings are so vivid, the color choices so spot on. Best of all, he offers his help with our projects—day or night. I adore him.”
Vickie said, “Susie, take a breath. He sounds great but he’s human, right?”
Susie bristled.
Vicki leaned forward and cleared her throat. “Now, don’t get in a huff. Of course, I want to meet him. Can you arrange a time tomorrow for all three of us to see your perfect man?”
“He’s not perfect, just almost. You’ll get it when you meet him. I’ll call him tomorrow and set up a time to get together. He loves to meet parents and big sisters.”
Angie flushed. Why had she become so excited? He was just a college professor. “Good thing I’m going to meet this man. He sounds fantastic.”
Chapter 12
The following morning, happy to have the hotel room to herself, Angie fed Mister Tubbs his breakfast. Dressed in her running clothes, she took him for his morning stroll. Walk completed, she settled him into the hotel room and ventured outside for her ritualistic three-mile run.
Once in her stride, her mind wandered back to Chicago. What would Jonathan be doing today? Had he tried to call her since last night? His presence, larger than life, over stimulated her when he was home and left her empty when he was gone. Thinking back, he had always been that way. He demanded an audience and oozed the charisma to draw one anytime. If he were a country singer, his number of female followers would be impressive.
Most people did things that made no sense to the outside world, but we did them because we got something out of them. What was she getting out of her relationship with Jonathan? Did she really love him or was there something else keeping her in this marriage? Life was so complex.
Energized and refreshed from her shower, she dressed in tan linen slacks, a pink silk sweater, and her favorite Cole Haan ballerina shoes. She called room service for breakfast and a large pot of coffee with cream.
While she ate, Mister Tubbs sat at her feet staring at her cereal bowl. “Still hungry after your walk?”
He reached out his left-front paw and gave her knee a pat.
“I see.” Angie placed the cereal bowl on the floor as Mister Tubbs attacked the unfinished cereal laced with milk.
She strolled over to the living room window and gazed at the swimming pool area. The pool was empty, too cold to swim. The magnolia trees, covered in blooms, stood in a carpet of green grass and spring flowers. Tennessee’s beauty awakened her forgotten desires to paint. She must take charge of her life.
Mister Tubbs cocked his head and peered at her with his coal-black eyes.
“I know, you don’t understand. I’m not sure I do either. It’s called growing up. After all, I’m almost thirty-two. My goal—to determine what I want out of life. My choices—my marriage, a career, or whatever’s behind door number three. Not to worry though, whatever I do, you’ll be with me.”
Mister Tubbs hopped up onto the couch, spun in a circle, and then settled on a large loose pillow—positioned for his morning nap.
Angie fou
nd six missed calls on her cell phone from Jonathan. Her stomach churned, and she closed her eyes. It pained her to hurt him. He would be upset. She should have talked to him before leaving, but she had run out of words. He’d lied to her. How could she ever trust him again?
She reached for her cell phone, paused, and put it back down. Hadn’t she told him he wouldn’t hear from her until she got back home on Tuesday? She needed time away from him. His repeated phone calls to her were an attempt to control her. It would not work this time. She had places to go and things to see.
She grabbed a pad and scribbled a note for Vicki. Forget Jonathan, she had a museum to explore.
#
Angie skipped up the front stairs and entered the museum. A large orange sign with purple writing captured her attention. The four-by-three foot sign directed visitors to an American Indian exhibit. She absorbed the paintings and photos for the next two hours. The artist caught the essence of the early landowners and their strong spirit. How magnificent to be gifted with this talent. She had been fascinated by the Indian culture since her childhood. What a privilege to attend this exhibit.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?”
Angie, startled by the voice, turned to see a woman in her twenties standing next to her.
“Oh, yes. I’m so glad I came.”
“This is a wonderful art museum. I try to come at least once a month.”
“It’s my first time. I’m impressed. There’s a lot of talent here.”
“If you like art, you should visit the exhibit of competition paintings. Students and university staff members vie every year for top honors.”
“Sounds interesting. Where’s that exhibit?”
“Not sure where it is this year.” She pointed to the entrance. “Check with the security guard in the front. Have fun.”
Angie approached the guard. “I’m searching for an art competition exhibit. Do you have any information?” The guard nodded and handed her a small brochure. She grabbed the brochure and studied it as she rushed to the elevator. The exhibit promised both oils and watercolors. Her lungs tightened in her chest. She missed the art world. For the past six years, she hadn’t painted or attended an exhibition. Why had she abandoned her craft?
As she located the watercolor exhibit, she slowed to a crawl. With her hands clasped together behind her back, she edged along the wall admiring the paintings. Her eyes widened as she approached a watercolor landscape entitled The Gift. She leaned forward to see the artist signature but it was unintelligible.
A handsome, dark haired man about forty was also studying the landscape. He stepped into her personal space and leaned over. He whispered. “Magnificent, don’t you think?”
Startled by his boldness, Angie stepped back, fumbled around, trying to find the artist’s name on the brochure. “Yes, I’m in awe. Who’s the artist?”
“It’s a Turner. With the choice of a limited palate, the gentle way of guiding the viewer with the use of light and shading, and the gift of artistry, it could only be a Turner. “
“Turner?” Angie stared at the stranger. His deep brown eyes penetrated her. She fought her excitement, recognizing that flutter in her stomach. Get a grip.
“The signature is impossible to read, but this is Exhibit 65, James Turner,” the stranger said.
Angie reran her finger along the brochure to Exhibit 65. “Yes, it says James Turner. Isn’t he an art professor here?”
“Yes, and look for Turner watercolors nationally in the near future.”
Angie stirred and her pulse quickened. What was it about this stranger? “How long have you been following him?”
“Oh, probably all my life. I grew up wanting to make my living as a painter. My inspiration was the original Turner—M.W. Turner, born in 1775. He inspired me with his use of color. But it’s hard to break into the art world. I’ve spent the last eight years teaching art.
The Tom Cruise double moved onto the next canvas with a smile and wave. Angie returned the smile and swirled around to the landscape. She had been studying the masterpiece for some time when she realized her cell phone was ringing. She pulled it out of her purse and answered.
“Hi, it’s Angie.”
“We are here at the front desk. Are you ready for some lunch?”
“I’m famished. I’ll be right down.”
#
The museum featured a delightful restaurant catering to female customers. The menu offered salads and rich desserts. Angie listened intently as Vicki chatted about the morning reception. Then Susie described the other mothers as if they were all older than Vicki, less conversational, and more than a little stuffy. Susie congratulated her mom on being the only interesting woman over forty in the room.
When Vicki asked about her morning, the corners of Angie’s mouth curved upward. “I thought I’d won the lottery with the American Indian exhibit. The photos and artistry captured the broken spirits and tragedy faced by many tribes. The Trail of Tears came to life in their sad eyes.”
Angie scooted closer to the table. “Then, I met a very handsome Tom Cruise look-a-like with dark-brown hair and a three-day stubble. He introduced me to the work of James Turner.” Angie bounced in her chair as if a small child on her birthday. “Turner’s watercolor created an explosion in my mind. I’m in love. I have to meet your Professor Turner. He’s simply magnificent, gifted, and plain wonderful.”
Susie raised her eyes from the cheesecake shook her fork at her mother. “See. I was right. He’s everything I said. When do you want to meet him?”
Angie threw down her cloth napkin. “Today, tomorrow, or whenever you can make it happen.”
“Girls, hold your excitement. We’ve got an awards banquet tonight,” Vicki said. “Why not try to set something up for brunch on Sunday?”
“I’ll call him when I get back to my dorm room. I’ve got his number in my notes. I’m sure he’ll say yes. I don’t think no is in his vocabulary.”
“I can’t wait,” Angie whispered.
Chapter 13
Jonathan awoke early Friday morning as the sun’s warmth crept into his bedroom. He stretched out his body full length, raised his arms to the head of the bed, and growled. Carl had given him the day off. “Go home and celebrate your victory. You deserve it.”
Right, celebrate with whom? He wasn’t going to tell Carl about Angie’s behavior. Carl would have laughed and said, “Women. They’re all nuts. That’s why after four wives, I quit.”
Almost every friend Jonathan had was separated or divorced. Was it hopeless to think anyone could make a marriage endure today? The effort had turned into hard work, and for what? To be blasted the first time you made a little mistake?
Angie made it clear. She wouldn’t speak to him until Tuesday. Well, he wasn’t going to sit around waiting for her highness to return. He had man things to do.
After a hearty breakfast of ham, fried eggs, juice, and coffee, Jonathan strolled to his library, sat down at his laptop, and looked up some phone numbers. Most of his single friends could make a tennis date at the drop of a hat. He was in the mood for some physical exercise, and what better place than at the tennis club where all those lovely wealthy ladies hung out.
He reviewed his list of tennis bums. When he was single, he used to select a different guy each week to play with. That way by the end of the quarter, he had seen all of his men friends, and then he started the rotation again. He did the same thing with his Sunday golf dates. He was unable to recall the last time he actually had a free weekend to play anything except house. Damn, he missed his freedom. It seemed like all he did was chores for Angie when he wasn’t working.
A long hour later, he’d contacted all the tennis players from his list. Most of the guys already had plans or had to work. He’d found Joe’s line busy. His best friend from college, Joe, was always up for a game of tennis. They hadn’t seen each other in over three years. He redialed the number and to his surprise, Joe was at home and available. They swapped brags for a few min
utes then made plans to meet.
Smiling as he hung-up the phone, Jonathon shouted to the empty room, “Joe’s available.”
#
After their tennis match, Joe and Jonathan showered in the club locker-room, and then both men donned slacks and a fresh polo—the official country club uniform. They headed to the club restaurant for a late lunch.
Once seated, lunch ordered, and cold beer in hand, Jonathan relaxed. He’d lost two of the three sets, but he held his own on the court. His serves were spot-on. Good to know he hadn’t lost his touch. “I haven’t had this much fun in months. You’re still a worthy opponent.” Joe, a little grayer than he remembered, remained tanned and lean. He could still pass for a thirty-five year old. How did he have time to keep in shape?
Joe leaned in, elbows firmly placed on the table. “Man, it’s good to see you. How long has it been, six months, maybe longer? What’s up?
“I’ve been busy with a big case. Angie’s out of town, and I’m free to have some fun. That’s all.”
Jonathan stirred in his seat. He crossed and uncrossed his legs and then took a big gulp of beer.
Joe furrowed his brow. “Look buddy, this is Joe, the man of many wives. These women don’t just go away for the weekend unless their momma’s sick, or there’s trouble in the camp. Which is it?”
“No trouble. She’s traveling with her friend, Vicki. They went to UT for a mother/daughter weekend. She’ll be home on Tuesday.”
Joe pointed his index finger at Jonathan. “I know you too well. What’s the rest of the story?”
Jonathan drained his glass, held it up, and nodded at the waiter. “So I forgot our eighth anniversary. All was well when Tiffany’s delivered the pricey diamond pendant. We’re fine, really.”
“Look, man, I’m not trying to mess in your business, but all is not fine if she has left the nest for a weekend after you messed up. You got trouble, and I’m the expert in getting into trouble. Angie is a great find. I hope you patch this up.”
The waiter placed two cold mugs of beer on the table.
The Artist's Paradise Page 6
