Here's to Friends

by Melody Carlson

  A long pause had followed, and Marley wanted to ask him if he had any kind of long-term plan for Hunter—in the event that Jasmine had bailed permanently—but it was late, and she was tired. She suspected that Jack was too. So they’d simply said good night and hung up.

  Still, as Marley wandered aimlessly around the gallery, she wondered. What would Jack do if Jasmine really was done with her short stint of “motherhood”? Of course, she knew the answer to that—Jack, despite being sixty-four, would raise Hunter himself. And he would do an excellent job of it. Perhaps the real question was where Marley would fit into this new equation. Where would she want to fit in? The truth was, she wasn’t even sure.

  The jingle of the bell on the door brought her back to reality and the present.

  “Hello,” she called out in a friendly tone, making her way toward the front of the store. As usual, she tried to be congenial without being pushy, always keeping a comfortable distance between herself and a potential customer.

  “Attractive gallery,” the man told her as he started to browse a wall of watercolors.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ve heard good things about this place.”

  “You’re not from around here?”

  “No. I’m from Santa Barbara.”

  “I’ll bet they’re having better weather down there.”

  “You can say that again. I came up for my favorite niece’s wedding—it was Friday night—and I’ve never seen a soggier bunch of guests. Everyone got drenched getting from their cars to the reception. But like I told my niece, rain on your wedding day is good luck.”

  “Good luck?” Marley wasn’t so sure.

  “It’s true. Well, at least it used to be in some cultures. Rain meant good crops, as well as plenty of children.”

  “I guess that makes sense.” She considered this as she tried to appear busy by wiping down the glass countertop by the cash register. Come to think of it, her wedding day, despite a forecast for rain, had been surprisingly sunny. That figured.

  “Aha,” the man said with what sounded like appreciation. “Now these are really nice.”

  She looked up, realizing that he was in the area where her pieces were displayed. Well, her paintings as well as several others. But, out of curiosity, she decided to wander on over. To her pleased surprise, he was staring at one of her works.

  “I really like this.” He nodded with appreciation. “Is this a local artist?”

  Marley felt her heart skipping a beat or two. “Uh, yes, as a matter of fact.”

  “The use of color and composition is so fresh and lively. It makes me think of Gauguin and Tahiti, warm beaches, tropical places.” He chuckled. “I’m sure that would be appreciated around here—especially this time of year. But I’m guessing the artist has spent a considerable amount of time in the islands.”

  Marley cleared her throat. “No, not actually.”

  “Really?” He turned and looked curiously at her. “Are you sure about that?”

  She smiled. “Actually, I’m positive.” She pointed to the placard with her name on it. “I’m Marley Jacobs.”

  He looked surprised.

  “Actually my legal name is still Marley Phelps, but I use my maiden name to paint with.”

  “Really?” He studied her. “You painted these?”

  “I did.”

  “And you’ve never lived in the tropics?”

  She shook her head. “Not because I never wanted to.”

  “Then why don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Go live somewhere tropical.” He smiled. “I’m sure a talented and successful artist like you could afford to live wherever she liked.”

  She thought about this. “Well, the truth is, I’ve only just restarted my, uh, my art career. And I recently relocated to Clifden, which I have to say isn’t always this rainy and gloomy. In fact, I heard the sun will be out again tomorrow. Then you’ll see it’s actually quite beautiful here.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for that.” He turned back to her paintings, folding his arms across his front and leaning onto his back leg. “My flight home is in the morning.”

  Marley was unsure of what to do. Normally, if someone showed interest in a piece of art, she would be quick to talk about it, explaining a bit about the artist and the work. But in the case of her own art, she was suddenly tongue-tied. She had never been good at selling herself or her own work. Explaining the pieces felt awkward. Besides, it seemed obvious that the man already had a good understanding of art in general.

  “I really like this,” he said quietly, almost as if talking to himself.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  He turned to look at her again, almost as if he still wasn’t convinced this was indeed her work. “And you say you just recently restarted your art career?”

  She nodded. “I’d been somewhat shut down, if you know what I mean, a bad marriage … and things. But then I got out, and once I really started painting, it’s like I couldn’t stop. I do my pieces extremely quickly—it’s like they’re in my head and I can hardly get the paint onto the canvas fast enough.” Just saying this gave her the urge to grab a paintbrush and get back to work. But because of helping with Hunter, she’d barely painted these past few days.

  “Is this the only place your work is shown?”

  “Yes. Well, other than the pieces that have already sold.” Feeling a bit more confidence, she continued. “A designer in town is quite fond of my work. So are some friends. So my art is making it onto some local walls.” She smiled uncomfortably.

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m going to tell you something that might surprise you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I think I could get you about five times as much for these paintings down in Santa Barbara.”

  “Seriously?” She looked skeptically at him.

  He just nodded. “I have a gallery—a rather nice little gallery in a great location.” He pointed to her largest painting. “In fact, I think I could almost add another zero to that price and many of my customers wouldn’t blink an eyelash.”

  Marley blinked both eyes. “Really?”

  He smiled at her. “In fact, case in point, I’ll buy this one from you tonight. I assume you can ship?”

  “Yes—sure—no problem.”

  He turned to look at the others. “In fact, I’ll buy them all.”

  Marley felt slightly faint. “You will?”

  He laughed. “Yes. And, mark my word, I won’t be sorry either.”

  As she wrote up the large purchase, she felt lightheaded. For a moment, as she was running his credit card, she felt certain that this was a hoax. Either someone was secretly filming her for one of those “got you” reality shows or his card was stolen. But the transaction seemed to go through. Besides, she told herself, as she wrote down the shipping information, nothing could be sent until Monday. If Thomas Hatfield was a crook, they would know by then.

  As she was finishing up, Thomas handed her a second business card. “You keep this one for yourself, Marley,” he told her. “And feel free to contact me if you’d like to do more business.” He glanced around Jack’s gallery. “If you like, we can cut out the middle man too.”

  “Well, I … uh, thank you.”

  He put his wallet back in his pocket. “And if you’d ever be interested in doing a special show, just give me a call, and we’ll see if we can set something up. Perhaps in the spring.” He reached out and shook her hand. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Marley Jacobs. I think you’re off to brilliant start in your art career.”

  “Thank you!” she exclaimed. “Thank you so much!”

  “Thank you,” he told her. “I’ll have to than
k my niece for tipping me off about this gallery. Well worth my time.” Then, just like that, he left.

  Marley felt like the slightest breeze could blow her over as she leaned onto the counter by the register for support. Had that really just happened? Was this for real? She actually opened the register again, just to pull out the receipt and stare at all those numbers, that total. She couldn’t believe it—but it was not a dream.

  She looked at the clock and saw it wasn’t even seven yet, but she was tempted to close the gallery anyway. She wanted to call her friends and invite them to meet her in town to celebrate! No, she decided, she would be sensible and reliable. She would finish up her shift first and celebrate later. She’d tell Jack about this stroke of good fortune when they talked later tonight, after he’d had time to feed Hunter, spend some quality time with her, and get her tucked into bed. She wouldn’t interrupt him. In the meantime, Marley felt she’d burst if she didn’t tell someone right now.

  She pulled out her phone and thought about her friends. Janie was probably out with Victor, and Abby and Paul sometimes took in a flick on Saturday evenings. So she decided to call Caroline first, quickly spilling her good news. Then, after Caroline let out an ear-splitting shriek, she insisted on meeting Marley in town for a celebratory dinner. “I needed an excuse to do something fun tonight.”

  “It’ll be my treat,” Marley told her.

  “And I’ll spring for the champagne,” Caroline promised.

  It wasn’t until Marley was locking up the gallery that she began to wonder about that “extra zero” Thomas had mentioned earlier. Had he been serious? If he was serious, if he really did plan to mark her paintings up that much, had she been a fool to sell for such low prices? Although she’d never thought the prices were low before. Even so, she felt worried. What if she’d left money on the table? Marley usually thought of herself as fairly well grounded and realistic, but now she felt giddy and slightly crazy. Was that what fame and fortune did to a person? Not that she had either, but there was that elusive potential, that promise of something more. But what if she hadn’t been a very smart businesswoman about this whole thing?

  Marley truly appreciated Jack on many levels, and she didn’t want to be greedy. But when she subtracted his gallery consignment fee, calculating her actual earnings on the paintings, she couldn’t help but wonder as she had so many times before, What if I’ve sold myself short?

  Chapter 8

  Caroline

  Caroline couldn’t believe that she’d spent the whole afternoon with Bonnie Boxwell. It had started when Caroline stopped by Bonnie’s décor shop, and the next thing she knew, Bonnie was showing her a new line of cabinet hardware. “I love these handles,” Caroline told Bonnie as she fondled a brushed-nickel bar. “But I have no idea what kind of cupboards would go with them. The truth is I’m pretty décor-challenged.”

  Bonnie laughed. “That’s why you’re here.”

  “Well, that, and because Paul Franklin won’t work with me unless I hire a designer to help.”

  “Paul’s a smart man. He doesn’t want to waste time. And he knows I can stay several steps ahead of his game.” Then Bonnie started speaking in what sounded like a foreign language, talking about base and wall cabinet installations, plumbing and electrical inspections, and all sorts of other technical terms that overwhelmed Caroline.

  Caroline held up her hands. “My friends are all good at this,” she confessed to Bonnie, “but I am hopeless. I even had to hire someone to help me stage my condo in LA, and all we did was rearrange furniture. The stager was nice enough about it, but I could tell she was stunned at my total lack of style.” Caroline held up a finger. “Well, unless we’re talking about clothes. I can hold my own with fashion. But houses—especially my mom’s old ranch—just frustrate me.”

  “Don’t worry,” Bonnie assured her. “Lots of very stylish women need help with their homes.”

  The next thing Caroline knew, Bonnie had followed her over to her house and they were going through each room, and Bonnie was measuring spaces and showing Caroline samples of paint and wood and fabric and light fixtures and tiles and so many choices that Caroline felt her head was spinning.

  “I like this,” Caroline pointed to the cover of one of the design books that Bonnie had spread out on the fireplace hearth. “If this house could look even a little bit like this photo, I’d be over the moon.”

  “That’s perfect for this house,” Bonnie told her. “Mid-Century Modern.” She looked at Caroline. “I can imagine you fitting in with that style.”

  Caroline chuckled. “Meaning I’m Mid-Century Modern too? I was born in the midfifties, so you could be right.”

  Bonnie wandered back toward the burned-out section of the house. “You can be thankful that this is the part of the house that was destroyed,” she told Caroline.

  “Whatever for?” Caroline frowned.

  “Because your insurance money will help you to turn it into a real master suite.”

  “Really?” Caroline considered this. “With a master bath, too?”

  “Absolutely. You’d be crazy not to. I assume that you’ll want a good-sized walk-in closet in there too.”

  “That’d be great.” Caroline nodded eagerly. Then she looked at the gutted space and just shook her head. “Although how that horrible mess could possibly be transformed into a livable room is beyond me. I honestly cannot begin to imagine it.”

  “Well, leave it to me and your contractor,” Bonnie assured her. “I promise you, we’ll get it done—and you’ll be happy with it.”

  Caroline had felt a twinge of guilt that she’d signed the contract with Bonnie. Although she wasn’t eager to share this news with Abby, she reminded herself that she was providing Paul and his crew with a little work. Hopefully Abby would appreciate that.

  Caroline had just emerged from the shower when Marley called, and Caroline was more than eager to go out and celebrate with her friend. Tonight would be a two-fold celebration. First of all for Marley’s success. But they could also celebrate the start of Caroline’s adventure in restoring her childhood home.

  “Here’s to my talented friend, who’s about to become a world-renowned artist,” Caroline said as she and Marley held up their champagne flutes, clinking them together.

  “Thank you.” Marley beamed at her. “And here’s to your house renovation—may it turn out to be as lovely as its owner.”

  Caroline laughed, then took a bubbly sip. “You’re sweeter than usual tonight, Marley. I will chalk it up to your big sale. That is just so awesome—I can’t even imagine how jazzed you must feel. Have you told Jack about it yet?”

  Marley’s smile faded a little. “No, but I will.”

  “Is it a problem?” Caroline studied her face. “I mean, won’t Jack be thrilled for you? And for himself, too, since it’s his gallery?”

  “I’m sure Jack will be happy.” Marley set her glass down. “But between you and me and the lamppost, I’m questioning myself.”

  “Questioning yourself? Whatever for? The guy obviously loved your art. Surely you don’t feel guilty for making such a great sale?”

  “No, it’s not like that.” Marley told Caroline about the buyer’s gallery in Santa Barbara and how he planned to resell the paintings at a higher price.

  “Oh.” Caroline nodded. “I’m guessing it’s a pretty swanky gallery.”

  “I think so. Thomas told me that he could add an extra zero to the prices of my paintings and still sell them.”

  “You’re kidding.” Caroline was no math genius, but she knew what an extra zero could mean when a painting had previously been priced at more than a thousand dollars. “Oh, Marley, do you think he really meant that?”

  Marley shrugged with an uncomfortable expression. “I don’t know.”

  “Oh … wow.”

  �
�After I thought about that a bit, I felt kind of depressed. You know, like I had a winning lottery ticket but tossed it out with the trash.”

  Caroline didn’t know what to say. But what had started out as a fun celebration was beginning to feel more like a wake.

  “I know I should be happy that my paintings sold at all,” Marley said in a somber tone. “Well, I’m only human. No one likes to be undersold.”

  “Maybe the guy was exaggerating,” Caroline suggested. Although the more she thought about it, the more she realized that art would probably bring considerably more in a place like Santa Barbara. Especially considering how that area was known as a popular playground for some fairly rich and famous folks.

  “Hey,” Caroline said suddenly, “I think Oprah has a vacation home in Santa Barbara. Maybe she’ll shop in that guy’s gallery. What if she bought one of your paintings? Wouldn’t that be cool?”

  Marley brightened. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Think of it like this, Marley. Even if you sold your paintings for less than they’re worth, that gallery owner might’ve just launched you into true art greatness. I mean, what if he hadn’t stopped by the gallery tonight? You’d be sitting at home, and you’d still be thinking you were just some … well, no offense, but a small-town artist.”

  “That’s true.”

  “But now your work will be hanging with the best of them. You should be happy and proud.”

  Marley smiled. “You’re right! Thanks so much, Caroline! I knew you were the perfect person to celebrate with me tonight.”

  Caroline lifted her glass again. “Here’s to you painting even more and raising the prices even higher in the future.”

  “Thanks.” They clinked glasses again. “I should be thankful that my art is a renewable resource,” she said. “I hope to get better with time, although I’m not sure when I’ll actually be able to paint again.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve been helping with Hunter,” Marley told her. “It kind of eats into my day.”