by Anita Higman
The doorbell rang. Trudie jumped. She wasn’t expecting anyone. She looked through the peephole and saw a man who looked vaguely familiar. There was no time for miscellaneous company, but she opened the door anyway. “Hi.”
“Are you Trudie? Lane Abernathy’s sister?”
“Yes, may I help you?” I should know this guy. Who is he?
The man looked down at his boots and then at Trudie. “My name is Hayden Montgomery. I don’t know if you remember me, but I dated your sister in high school.”
Ah, yes. “I do remember now.” He was Lane’s first great love, and the guy she’d spent a lot of time kissing on Moonshine Hill. Trudie grinned. How could she forget? Hayden looked older, but he was still handsome and trim. “I would invite you in, but I have somewhere I need to go in a little while.”
Hayden raised his hand. “No, that’s okay. I only need a minute of your time. I was looking for Lane and having a hard time finding her. She has an unlisted phone, and I didn’t see her at the high school reunion.”
“No, I guess she didn’t go this year. Which was unusual for her.” As more of the past returned, Trudie remembered that Hayden and Lane had been very serious at one point. And then she also recalled how Hayden had broken off their relationship. Did Hayden regret his decision? Impossible to know. But she could always play the matchmaker as her sister was so prone to do. She gave him a pleasant smile. “I know just where you can find her. I’m headed to the Flat Stone Art Gallery for an art show at seven o’clock this evening. Lane will be there.”
Hayden perked up. “Is that art gallery in Houston?”
“Yes, on San Felipe. You can look it up online. I hope you’ll be there.”
“I have a GPS in my car. I’ll be there.” Hayden nodded. “Thank you so much. This means a lot to me...to find her again. I’d always been wondering.” He tucked his thumbs behind his belt buckle. “Is she doing okay?”
Trudie wasn’t sure what he meant. Maybe he wanted to know if she was still single. “Well, Lane never married, and she became an image consultant.”
Hayden smiled, beamed actually. “Lane would be very well suited to that career. I’m happy for her.”
“I’m one of her creations.” Trudie lifted her arms and turned from side to side.
“And Lane did a wonderful job, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Trudie reached out and shook his hand. “It’s good to see you again, Hayden.”
“Same here. And thank you.”
“See you this evening then.”
Hayden waved and hurried down the walkway. Trudie shut the door, wondering if she’d helped make a promising moment or created an embarrassing evening. Hard to tell, but it would make for a stimulating event.
After a few more minutes obsessing about everything she could think of to obsess about, she got in her car and headed out on 59 toward Houston. She turned on some jazzy music and then snapped it off. She certainly didn’t want to get distracted and have an accident.
With the silence, thoughts rushed in again like floodwaters, but now they were about Mason. The one time they’d seen each other had felt more like a friendship get-together than a real date, but they’d both decided not to trample all over Lane’s feelings by moving too quickly. Trudie wondered, though, how long it might be before they could all be happy. Could Hayden be heaven-sent? If Lane still cared for her first love, it would certainly solve all their problems. Please, let it be so. It was a selfish thought, perhaps, but it was an honest one.
With no wrecks clogging traffic on the freeway, Trudie made record time driving down the 610 loop to exit on San Felipe. After passing through a few lights and a very posh neighborhood, she suddenly recognized the gallery.
Trudie pulled into the parking lot, trying to feel nonchalant, but when she saw people already arriving in front, panic bubbled up inside her again. She cut the engine as her stomach churned.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Trudie pulled a peppermint out of her purse and slipped it into her mouth. Ahh. Cool and soothing. If she could just name her worst fear perhaps she could tame it. She rested her head in her hands. With little thought, Trudie knew the answer. Once again, she was anxious that people—especially Lane and Mason—would smile and nod and say all the right things, but that they might really think she’d lost her gift. She would certainly be affected by the critique of strangers, but not nearly as much as by those people she cared about the most.
She sat, staring at the front of the galley. Trudie, you’ll have to go in eventually. Her makeup and pretty up-do weren’t going to hold up in the heat and humidity. But after opening her car door, she shut it again.
Wiley Flat came striding out of the gallery and headed her way. Oh, no. There was no place to hide. He would find out how nervous she was.
Wiley walked right up to her window, and she let it roll down. “Hi, Wiley.”
“I saw you from the foyer.” He leaned down to her. “It’s going to be okay.”
Trudie looked at him. She could feel her cheeks quivering. And tingling. “I guess you can see I’m really energized.”
“Yes, but you also look like petrified wood.”
“That too.”
Wiley placed his hand on her shoulder. “There’s no reason to be scared. We’re all going to celebrate art and have a great time.”
Trudie nodded. “Okay.”
Wiley opened the car door for her. “You look like pure elegance, but your elegance is going to melt into a river out here if we don’t get you into some air conditioning.”
Trudie chuckled. “Okay.” She let him help her out of the car. “Thanks. I realize my fear makes me look ungrateful. I feel honored, Wiley, really, that my work is being shown in such a beautiful place.”
“I’ve never doubted your gratitude for a moment, my dear.” He escorted her toward the entrance.
“It must be wonderful to co-own such an incredible galley.” Trudie looked at the brown stone and bronze metal façade.
“It is wonderful.” Wiley opened the door for her. “But I have dreams for the future as well. Perhaps I’ll tell you mine this evening, and you can tell me yours.”
“I would love to hear about them.” Trudie entered the well-designed and darkly lit vestibule of the gallery—the place itself a work of art. The entrance was decorated with breathtaking pieces of sculptures, paintings, and photography, all of which were nestled in imperial-looking niches and lit spectacularly with halogen lights. She’d seen the gallery once before, and yet it still took her breath away. Not only was she awed with the beauty of the place, but she was humbled with the knowledge that her work was being placed alongside such masters of their craft. “I love this place.”
Wiley grinned. “It whispers something new everyday. These dreamers and creators had a lot to say.”
“Yes.” Trudie stopped to gaze at a bronze figure of a woman holding her child. She could feel the love between them, and the beauty of it made her heart ache.
“Yes, that’s one of my favorites too.” Wiley crossed his arms. “Let’s go into the main hall.” He led Trudie through an archway and into the largest room of the galley. She recognized her works, matted and framed and lit on black panels. Her high heels clattered on the wooden floor, which made her even more jumpy.
Wiley suddenly saw someone enter that he knew, so he rushed away in a cloud of fresh animation. She felt alone, and yet people were already gathering. She bit her lip, wondering what the evening would have in store for her.
A waiter approached Trudie with a silver tray filled with hors d’oeuvres.
“Would you like something?” The waiter lowered the tray and smiled.
“No, thank you. But it looks delicious.” Trudie knew if she ate anything, there was a chance she’d throw up. Better to get dizzy from hunger than woozy from food.
A harpist started plucking her instrument not far from her. The tune sounded classical. A table of food had been set up with an ice scul
pture adorning the middle. She shook her head, amazed. They had thought of everything. Trudie felt so undeserving. She just hoped two people would find it in their hearts to buy something—anything—then she wouldn’t feel like a failure. And Kat and Wiley wouldn’t feel as if they’d wasted their time and money on her.
Someone came up from behind her and touched her shoulder. She spun around, hoping it was Lane or Mason. “Cyrus...Kesha. You both came. I’m so glad.” And it was great to see Cyrus all dressed up.
Kesha shook her head, grinning. “This is all my son has been talking about for weeks.”
Cyrus looked at Trudie. “Your watercolors are good. They’re like this artist I found on the Internet. Henri Matisse. Especially that one...uh, what was it? Oh, yeah. Woman with a Hat. Except that painting was in oil.”
Trudie tilted her head and studied him. “Very good. I’m impressed. And I appreciate the compliment. Henri Matisse’s work hangs in some famous galleries as well as in private collections. And his paintings are worth millions.”
“Lucky dude. Well, I’m going to look around.”
“Good idea.”
Cyrus headed off to another room in the gallery.
His mother stared after him as he walked away. “You know, watching him grow up has been a joy, but knowing he’s going to leave someday is going to be so hard.”
Trudie hadn’t thought much about empty nest. It seemed too distant and impossible to imagine. She hadn’t even made it to the engagement-ring phase. But having several children sounded good to her. In other words, Mason’s dream for a large family could easily be her dream. She looked at Cyrus from a distance. “But he will always love you. That’s something, isn’t it? To be loved.”
Kesha nodded. “You’re right. It is no small thing to be loved.”
The server came over again and offered them something from the tray. Kesha took a stuffed mushroom. “This is such a nice party. And I do like your paintings. They’re full of such color and life. I wish I could afford one. But being a single mom, this sort of luxury is out of my budget.”
Trudie knew just what she’d be giving them for Christmas.
As Kesha strolled off toward her son, Kat strode up in an excited rush.
“Darling, it’s going well.” She latched onto Trudie’s elbow.
“Is it?” Trudie fingered her earring.
Kat adjusted her vest and tie. “I sold three of your paintings before the show even began.”
“Really?”
“I made some calls. I know my customers well, and so a few of them came for a private showing.” Kat’s hand took to the air. “So you’ve already got some little red stickers on your ID cards.”
“Thank you, Ms. Stone.”
“Call me Kat, please.” Her shoulder swiveled forward in an elegant gesture. “Oh, and the media buzz has already been positive too.”
“Well.” Trudie took in a deep breath. “I’m very happy.”
“You don’t look it.” Kat threw her head back, laughing. “It’s only natural to be insecure and hesitant at first, but I can assure you that once everyone has sung your praises all evening, you’ll be a real diva before the night is out.” She shook her finger. “Mark my word. You’ll be ordering the staff around as if they were pawns and you were the queen.”
Kat traipsed off, gushing toward some new arrival, and leaving Trudie in a little tempest of panic. That was the absolute last thing she wanted to hear. She’d already lived that bright flash of notoriety with its accompanying ego, and it was dreadful. Deadly. Perhaps she should pray that the exhibition would fail. It would certainly be the safe thing to do. I’m suffocating. She needed some air.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Trudie walked toward the lobby again, hoping she’d catch Lane or Mason as they arrived. She made her way to the front door and peeked out the leaded glass doors. There in the parking lot Mason was helping Lane out of her Lexus. They’d come together? But why?
They both looked toward the gallery. Trudie backed away from the door, feeling like a guilty child. What does this mean?
In a haze of confusion and anxiety, Trudie trudged back into the main hall. She headed to the table of food, took a plate, and loaded it with a heaping mound of fruit, cheese, stuffed mushrooms, canapés, and pastry swans oozing with whipped cream. She nodded her approval of the feast on her plate and stuck a canapé in her mouth.
Then she turned to stare at her watercolors. The extraterrestrial flowers and the surreal landscapes and all the angled people with vibrant faces and provocative expressions seemed unfamiliar— garish, in fact—to her as if someone else had laid the brush to the paper—someone else had formed the images. Why hadn’t Kat and Wiley liked her other work? Realism was more her style, wasn’t it? She admired what was natural and true. No wild exaggerations. No strange interpretations. Just real art where vases looked like real vases and people were real people. Predictable people. People she could trust. Maybe I really was born on the wrong planet.
Trudie watched as Mason and Lane appeared through the archway together, looking like the figures on the top of a wedding cake. They looked back and forth in one unified movement. They were obviously looking for her, so Trudie moved backward into the shadows. In all fairness to them, Lane and Mason looked like no more than two friends chatting. Maybe they rode into the city together to save gas, and she was just making too many unnecessary speculations. As always.
Ten or maybe twenty new guests had appeared, but there was still no sign of Hayden. Too bad. It would have been an excellent time for his grand entrance.
And then just as quickly as Trudie’s insecurity flared, Lane drifted away from Mason without even a wave or a smile. Kat approached Lane, they chatted for a moment, and then Kat walked away. Hmm. Lane closed her eyes. What was she doing? Did she have a headache coming on, or was she praying? Then all at once her sister’s attention seemed to be pulled away to one of her paintings.
Feeling voyeuristic, Trudie searched the room for Mason. It was hard to see him, since he was now engulfed by a swarm of beautiful women. In keeping with her mood, Trudie stuck two cheese balls in her mouth—one into each cheek—knowing but not caring that she looked like a greedy little chipmunk. Then she made big cud-like chews as she felt a philosophical moment coming on. Why was it that handsome people were so prone to intermarry? She guessed they didn’t like to contaminate the gene pool with plainness.
She remembered the social game in high school as well. There was always one exception to the rules—when the beautiful people made a gesture of benevolence to one ugly person. That one lucky person would have the privilege of hanging out with them—to live in the shadow of their luster. Everyone got something out of the deal. The homely person was grateful for all the unmerited attention, and the beautiful people got a human reminder of how beautiful they really were just in case they were to forget.
Trudie gnawed on a chocolate-covered strawberry. At various times, both she and Lane knew what it felt like to be the token ugly person. And it hadn’t been nice. All those feelings flooded back as she watched the female sparklers firing off around Mason. Actually, it was a whole fireworks spectacular, and once again, she was merely a spectator.
Feeling hurt and a bit swinish, Trudie crammed a big round cracker in her mouth as she continued to torture herself by watching the women tease and touch Mason. There was an art to the way beautiful people moved and mingled. Face it, Trudie. He’s Everest, and you’re the ant mound at the foot of his summit. And you will be forever trampled. She knew she might look flashy at the moment, but at the end of the day after the cleverly contoured makeup was washed off and the stylish clothes were removed, she was still Trudie. Just Trudie— plain and simple.
If only I could disappear. She really wanted to escape inside one of her paintings, but that was impossible. Or maybe she could hide under the food table, but it would look far from professional. She needed to be a big girl now. Lane would say, “Straighten those shoulders, tuck in those
buttocks, and glide forth with confidence!”
Trudie heard soft smacking noises next to her and turned. “Lily?”
“Hi. I didn’t want to say anything. I was afraid I’d scare you, and you’d drop your plate of food. I tend to do that at parties.” Lily took a nibble of her cheese.
“Thank you for coming.” Trudie wished Lily weren’t so nice. Then she wouldn’t be forced to like her. It’s just that it was hard being around yet another person who was so well-made and well-endowed, and well everything.
“Mr. Wimberley insisted that I come.” Lily blew out some air, making her lips flap. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way. I would have come anyway. That’s why parties make me nervous. No matter how hard I try I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m not offended, Lily. You’re doing just fine.”
“It’s so much easier at work. I can just repeat the same thing everyday.” Lily’s plate shimmied a bit.
“I’m glad you’re here.” Trudie smiled at her.
“Thanks.” Lily stared across the room. “I see Mason is surrounded again.”
“You said again?”
“I’m used to it. Mason attracts women. They just adore him. Who can blame them? He’s the nicest man I’ve ever met, and he resembles that movie star...what’s his name?”
“Brandon Routh?”
“Yes, but when he turns just right, he also looks a little like Hugh Jackman.”
Come to think of it, maybe Mason looked a little like Hugh as well. Trudie sighed—a sigh that could have shaken the earth. “So, are you interested...in Hugh?” Once again she felt herself being catapulted into some kind of emotional garbage bin.
“Oh, no. I mean, at first I thought I was. But now I just admire Mr. Wimberley.”
