by Holley Trent
“I’ll take care of the baby.”
“I don’t think you will. Just like everything else in your life you’ll pass the buck and leave the hard stuff for someone else to do. Just like in high school. You wouldn’t have graduated if it weren’t for me writing all your papers, right? You know how close I came to getting kicked out of school for that shit?”
Chad shrugged.
Matt scoffed. “Of course you didn’t know. Teacher was discreet. Said she wouldn’t say anything because she didn’t want to see me go down the tubes. All that stress because I was being a good friend, huh?” Matt gave the smaller man a shove. “The kid’ll be better off without you. I’m used to playing daddy. Might as well do it for your kid.”
At that, Chad took a swing at Matt’s face and missed horribly. Matt gave him another two-handed shove back toward the truck. “Do I even want to know why Manora punched your lights out?”
“Maybe she can’t take a compliment,” Chad said, voice dripping with irreverence and his lips turned up into a sneer.
“Get the fuck out of here, Chad. There’s something wrong with you and you need to get yourself checked. Stay away from my family.”
Chad started backing up toward the driver’s side, but was shaking his head. “Can’t stop me from seeing my kids, man, and if Karen wants to see me … ” he put up his hands in a “what are ya gonna do” gesture.
“If you step one foot on my property I’ll consider you trespassing. I’ve been looking for a way to get some target practice with Dad’s old shotgun. You’ll do fine.”
Chad didn’t say another word. He just got into his vehicle, started the ignition, and backed out before Matt could put a fist through his window.
Back in the office, Matt tried calling Nora, but got no response on either her cell or house phone. He’d have to wait until after work to see if she was all right, much as it pained him. He wished she wasn’t so damned hard to pin down, especially when he thought his family was under threat.
Chapter Twelve
“Oh, it’s beautiful. So haunting,” Chantilly said, literally clutching her pearls. Nora stood back from the piece and assessed it without emotion. It had been under her bed wrapped in several layers of paper and bags. It had taken fifteen very careful minutes of unwrapping to reveal the art inside. Nora hadn’t seen it since she painted it three years prior, right when she learned Elvin was sleeping around and asked him to leave. It was only the second painting she’d ever used herself as a model for. The first had been her and Elvin’s wedding portrait.
The background of the painting was dark, murky water. In the center, curled into fetal position with her forehead resting on the tops of her knees, wild coily hair flowing out like a dark halo, was a nude Nora not caring she was drowning, her eyes open and face resigned to the inevitable.
“I can see why you wouldn’t want to sell it. It’s so personal,” Chantilly said, shaking her head from side to side with awe.
“Yeah,” Nora said, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “I’m sure you understand why I didn’t want to have a party for the reveal. I don’t want to be here to have to explain it.”
“Yes, absolutely. Just tell me what to put on the placard and we’ll let that stand on its own.”
Later, Nora perched on the stool in front of her easel with her back to her latest painting-in-progress, smiling wanly at Maggie Dillard’s camera and awaiting the flash. After Maggie took her shot, she sat on Nora’s wicker sofa with her pen poised over paper. Nora was finding the entire experience tedious, and couldn’t help seeing Chad’s face in his sister’s every time she looked at her. Given the morning experience she’d had with the male Dillard, she was understandably on edge. She tried not to take it out on the reporter.
“So, Nora, why’d you choose to settle down in Chowan County?” Maggie asked, turning on her recording device and setting it on the coffee table.
Nora thought about how best to phrase her answer, and after a moment said, “I honestly thought by moving here I’d be able to get some work done. The place is sparsely populated and I wouldn’t have to worry about people on the streets making noises to disturb me or have a lot of solicitors come by.”
“And has living here met your expectations?”
“No. I still get lots of people dropping by. In fact, I think I’m interrupted more now than I was in Baltimore.” On cue, someone rang the doorbell. Nora excused herself and jogged to the front door to greet the Fed-Ex man. He handed her a document mailer and held out his tablet to sign. Nora signed it and glanced at the label. Bennie had been busy again from the looks of it. “Thanks,” she told the man, handed him the tubes of leftover oil paint she’d accumulated for his little girl, and closed the door. She returned to Maggie, leaving her envelope on the kitchen table in the process. “Sorry. You were saying?” Nora pushed some of her wild hair back behind her ear and regretted that she’d ever taken it down. It’d had gotten caught in the seatbelt twice and it kept flying into her mouth.
“What influences your art? I hear that you’re going to have a piece displayed at The Sandpiper soon. I do hope the paper has been invited for an early preview.”
“The invitations are up to Chantilly, but yes, I did deliver a painting to her this morning for display. Regarding my influences, real life is my biggest muse. I think people are on autopilot most of the time and they walk and engage without actually seeing what’s around them. We put blinders on sometimes. My paintings are about being present in our bodies and examining what our eyes are feeding to us so we can see and not just look.”
Maggie did some scribbling. “Interesting. Now, tell me about … ”
The doorbell rang again, and Nora held up a finger to pause Maggie’s question. This time, it was Hattie at the door. “Hey, Miss Hattie!” Nora exclaimed, reaching out to receive the hug Hattie was offering.
“Hey, Miss Thing. Woo! Look at all that hair. Listen, I wanted to see if you wanted a barbeque plate from the church. You ain’t one of them types what don’t eat pork, is you?”
“Oh, I eat pork. How much are they?”
“Seven each.”
“I’ve got cash. Bring me three?”
“Okay. Be back in fifteen, twenty minutes. They was taking another hog off the cooker.”
Nora returned to the sunroom. “You were saying?”
Maggie cleared her throat. “You’ve worked with a lot of big names in the entertainment industry to be someone so young. How do you respond to criticism that you get commissions based on the way you look and not because of your talent?”
Nora blinked at her. “I wasn’t aware of such criticisms.” If there had been any, Bennie would have told her point-blank and then squashed them. Bennie was good for that.
Maggie nodded sagely. “Tell me, are there any artists you think that are more talented than you who paint the same subject matter?”
Nora was getting annoyed, but it wasn’t the first time she’d sat across from an indelicately probing reporter. She took several deep breaths and rubbed her palms together to calm herself. “I admire a lot of artists, but I don’t waste energy comparing my skills to theirs. Art isn’t always about technique. Style and content usually wins out over precision. That said, I’ve become familiar with a young man currently based out of Enfield named Stephen Moore who also creates photorealistic art. We will be collaborating on an event in the near future.”
A pink puffy coat came into Nora’s periphery as Karen wound around the corner of the sunroom outside and made her way to the door. She stepped in and looked over at Maggie. She recognized the woman judging by the way her eyes narrowed, but said only, “Damn. I wanted to use your sofa.”
“You can sleep on the one in the living room, honey. I took the slipcover off so it should be less slippery,” Nora said, watching Karen unzip her coat. “And there’s some tart lemonade in the refrigerator.”
“Hey, thanks.” Karen hung her coat on the hook inside the kitchen entrance and kicked her mules off ne
ar the stove before getting a cup out of the cabinet. Maggie scribbled furiously.
“Okay, so tell me about the piece you’re working on now,” Maggie said, tapping the top of her ballpoint pen against her prominent chin.
Nora crossed her legs and pushed her hair back out of her face again. “This is the fifth in a series I’m doing for a gallery in D.C. All of the paintings are from scenes from Gates and Chowan Counties that I’ve stylized a bit. They feature real people doing seemingly mundane things.”
“So what makes them interesting?”
“It goes back to being present and good witnesses to our surroundings. I think there’s a bit of humor in most things if we look hard enough to find them. I overlay fantasy onto my paintings to make people more curious and wonder what things they could look at differently.”
“Well, this painting seems rather unfocused. Are you close to finishing?” Maggie asked, making an accusatory face that really ruffled Nora’s feathers. She ground her teeth.
“I’m sorry, Miss Dillard, are you in some way suggesting that the art that has been published under my name hasn’t been created by me personally?”
“That’s the rumor.”
“Just who started that rumor?” Nora hopped down from her stool and held the back door open for Matt, who was walking around to the sunroom carrying three food boxes with Hattie in his wake.
“I don’t know who started it. I just, uh, stumbled onto it during my research. Everyone says you go into hiding when you paint, so no one has actually seen you finish a painting. It bears asking.” The statement reeked of Elvin and Nora knew it.
Matt stood in the doorway glaring at Maggie. “That’s a crock of shit,” he said, passing through to the kitchen. Hattie mouthed, “I’ll call you later” from outside and Nora nodded at her.
Nora returned to her stool, eager to have some distance between her and the reporter. “I’m sure quite of few of my instructors from college would find that rumor amusing,” she said. “As well as my manager, Ms. Chin.”
“Well, why you don’t you paint something live to dispel the rumors once and for all?” Maggie asked. She didn’t even pretend to be recording the conversation anymore.
“Thank you for coming, Miss Dillard,” Nora stood and started up the sunroom steps, sweeping in arm in the general direction of the front door. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing your work in The Albemarle Times.”
Maggie stared coolly at Nora from the sofa for a few moments, and then understanding the interview would go no further, gathered up her things and left.
“I’m surprised you even had her here,” Matt said, rolling up the sleeves of his thermal shirt and opening a barbecue container.
“Is the food here?” Karen called from the front sofa.
Matt raised an eyebrow. He obviously hadn’t noticed Karen’s coat on the hook.
“Yes, Karen,” Nora called, taking a seat at the counter and pulling open the utensil drawer to retrieve forks. Then she looked at Matt. “I didn’t know that’s who The Albemarle Times was sending. They simply said they would send a reporter out to interview me and ask questions. If I had known it would be her, I would have canceled.”
Karen padded into the room, fetched a plate and a fork, and disappeared with them. When she was gone, Matt wound his fists into Nora’s hair and looked down at her adoringly. “Pretty.” She turned her head to side just as he was bending down for a kiss so all he got was her cheek.
He chuckled. “A little late to be playing hard to get, don’t you think?”
Nora’s cheeks burned with the memory of what they’d done thrice the night before. He was right, and she hated it. When he pushed her hair back from her neck and caressed her shoulders with his lips she let him, but only for a moment. “I’m sorry, Matt, I’m a little distracted right now.”
He took it well. He unwound her hair from his hands and arranged her hair back where he’d found it. “I bet.” He carried his food to the table and turned his chair so he could face her. “I tried calling you earlier,” he said, his expression going somewhat dark. “I had a bit of a confrontation with — ” he mouthed the word “Chad” so Karen couldn’t hear it, “ — earlier. He had two black eyes and said you gave ’em to him. What happened?”
Nora looked down at her fingers and repeatedly clenched them into fists and released them. “You know, my ex-husband was the one who taught me to fight. We were from the same neighborhood and as kids I got picked on a lot for being so small. He was taking boxing lessons and taught me a few ways to defend myself.” She paused to examine her neatly trimmed nails. “Anyway, I think Chad is still trying to finish his trading card collection.”
Matt dropped his fork and gripped the table’s edge as if he were about to stand. Nora went over to him and rested her hands on his tense shoulders, keeping him seated. “It’s okay,” she whispered.
“You punched him?”
“Yeah. Took him about five minutes to wake up. Had to turn the hose on him.”
“God, Nora, I don’t even know what to say. I threatened to shoot him, so he’ll either leave you and Karen alone or he’ll try to file a police report against me.”
“Exactly the kind of P.R. I need,” Nora said with a smirk, closing the lid to her dinner and stowing it in the refrigerator. “I’m going to go paint.”
“Sorry, baby.”
“Eh. What else could go wrong?”
*
As it turned out, a lot could go wrong. The Magee and Abraham Gallery was broken into in early February and its storeroom was nearly emptied out by thieves. Three of Nora’s four submitted paintings had been taken. The police found the thieves quickly, however the paintings were trapped at the department as evidence until the case was tried. Spence Abraham was in an absolute rage and Nora was understandably stunned. Those paintings accounted for hundreds of hours of work. The police were doing what they could to resolve the case quickly.
Nora still hadn’t finished the fifth painting as she’d entered a severe state of artist’s block and avoided painting by leaving the county temporarily. That also meant leaving Matt, which he hadn’t been thrilled about, but he was being a trooper because his grandmother had returned and her home improvement demands were keeping him busy. “You can’t run a household by doing patch jobs here and there,” she’d scolded. So Matt was busy each day after work replacing series of pipes, hammering the gutters back into place, doing long-overdue painting in the bathrooms and kitchen, and replacing twenty-year-old carpet.
Maggie Dillard had kicked up a bit of dust with her supposed “investigative reporting” by insinuating that Nora didn’t do her own work. Nora had lots of defenders swoop to her rescue online, but all the same Bennie was scrambling to do damage control and find out whether Maggie and the paper could be sued for libel. Nora didn’t really want to sue, but if Maggie didn’t retract her statements she may not have a choice.
As Nora sat in a corner booth at Fella’s Diner in Baltimore, flanked by Bennie and select members of the band Payday for Jay-jay they’d met on the cruise, her emotional state was a fragile one. Elvin was trying to piggyback on the attention Maggie’s viral article had drummed up and was granting interviews to arts reporters and book authors so he could offer his oh-so-knowledgeable opinion. Sitting in that restaurant in front of her bowl of soup and a chocolate milkshake, the last thing she wanted to do was talk about her album cover sketches or the designs she’d conceptualized for Jay-jay’s new line of guitar airbrush stencils. Fortunately, Bennie was doing all the talking. Whenever she needed Nora to say “yes” or “no” to something she’d nudge her with her elbow and Nora would give the appropriate response.
Later that evening at Bennie’s townhouse, the two women stood in front of a blank wall in what had been Bennie’s guest bedroom. She’d removed the furniture in anticipation of placing nursery gear in its place. “I’m not sure I want to make the commitment, though,” Bennie said, rubbing her chin as she thought. “I mean, in theory the idea sou
nds good, but it would kill me to sell the place and to think about someone painting over it.”
“It’s just a doodle, Bennie.”
“A Nora Fredrickson doodle.”
Nora smiled. “I didn’t know you were thinking about selling the place.”
“Yeah, I’ve given it some thought.” She idly rubbed her slightly bloated belly. “I talked to my boss last week about how I’m getting bored there and I suggested I might quit and go freelance. He nearly lost his shit.”
“Well, you’ve been there for five years. That’s like an eon in advertising agency time.”
“Yeah, well, the hours are catching up to me. I can’t keep working until question mark o’clock every night and then coming home to deal with the insomnia and getting up the next day to do it all over again.”
“Well, Bennie, if the work you’re doing for me is adding extra — ”
Bennie wagged an index finger at Nora. “Don’t even go there. I actually like hobnobbing in the visual arts community. People are so unpredictable. I need a break at the very least. My boss told me that if I wanted to go contract rather than outright leaving, he’d make it happen. I’d be able to live wherever, and to be honest, I kind of like the idea of leaving Maryland.”
Nora sat in Bennie’s worn armchair, agape. “You never let on that you didn’t like living here. You never said you wanted to leave.”
“Neither did you.”
“True enough. Where would you go?”
Bennie shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe I’ll buy a camper and travel the country with the baby.”
Nora cocked an eyebrow at her long-time friend.
