The Fragile Flower

by Kerry J Charles

  Dulcie stood, deciding to walk among the artists and see how they were progressing. As she did, Linda appeared in the window. She did not seem to notice Dulcie. Instead, she stared intently at Isabel. ‘I wonder how strongly Linda dislikes her?’ Dulcie thought. ‘Is it simply annoyance, or has she reached the point of hatred yet?'

  Dulcie continued to wander around the lawn. She stopped and spoke with each of the students. Mary and Tara were sitting near enough to each other so that they could chat from time to time. “How are you two doing?” asked Dulcie.

  “Great!” they said in unison, then giggled.

  “We were just wondering if we would end up with exactly the same painting,” said Mary.

  “Now that would be scary!” Dulcie said. “Do you often work together?”

  Tara answered, “Actually, no. We both just got back from internships. I was in Los Angeles and Mary was in New York, so we haven’t seen much of each other for a while. That’s why we decided to take this class together.”

  “I’m glad we could fit both of you in,” said Dulcie. “Where are you going to school?”

  “We’re both at PCA.” Mary said.

  Dulcie knew PCA, the Portland College of Art, very well. She looked back and forth between the girls, wondering if they always took turns speaking. She asked one more question to test her theory, predicting that Tara would be next. “How much longer do you have before graduation?” she asked, looking pointedly at Mary.

  Tara answered, “One more year.”

  Dulcie smiled. She would have liked to see if the volley would continue but thought it better to move on. “Glad things are going well,” she said.

  “Thanks!” they said in unison.

  Dulcie reached Kimberly who had just taken off her hat. Her gray hair was now a gleaming silver in the sunlight. Adjusting her sunglasses, she looked up at Dulcie. “The only trouble I have with plein air, is that when I wear these glasses, I don’t see colors right,” she said. “But, my eyes are so sensitive to bright light that I need them, or I’ll have tears streaming down my face, and that would never do!” she laughed.

  “Logan would tell you to ‘abstract with that,’ I think,” said Dulcie. They had heard the phrase several times already.

  Kimberly laughed again. It was a soft, bubbly sound that made Dulcie smile. “Yes, he certainly would. Although I think that right now he wouldn’t notice a thing that any of us said or did.” She was looking beyond Dulcie in the direction of Isabel’s chaise. Dulcie turned. Logan was adjusting his wife’s towel.

  “Yes. Between you and me, this class has been quite different from what I anticipated.” She looked back at Kimberly. Something about her seemed very trustworthy. “Could I ask a favor of you?” Dulcie said.

  “Of course,” Kimberly said, putting down her brush and wiping her hands with a rag. “You sound very serious! What is it?”

  “I suppose I am very serious. I shouldn’t put this on your shoulders since you’re here to learn and enjoy the class, but I’m wondering if you could be my confidant?” Dulcie asked. “I won’t be able to observe every class. In fact, I hadn’t planned on observing any of them beyond a simple check-in from time to time. If I’m not around, could you please let me know if things aren’t going well? I want all of the students to feel as though this was worth their time. And money, for that matter.”

  Kimberly nodded. “I would be happy to, although I’ve never been the class snitch! And I’ve certainly never snitched on the teacher!”

  “I can’t imagine you’ve ever been a snitch in any way at all,” said Dulcie. Kimberly appeared so genuine and approachable. Dulcie imagined that she would have been the one to sort out any problem rather than report it.

  “It’s always fun to play a different part, though, isn’t it?” Kimberly said. She took off her glasses and looked back at her painting. “Never fear! I’ll keep an eye out for you!” She winked confidentially at Dulcie.

  Dulcie thanked her and moved on. She was approaching Bryce from behind when he suddenly stood and strode quickly across the grass. Logan had begun circulating between the artists again, shuffling along, speaking in a low voice. Isabel was sipping her drink alone in silence. Bryce slowed his pace when he reached her and said something. Dulcie couldn’t hear them, but Isabel giggled. As she did, Logan looked up sharply. He stared intently at the two. Bryce spoke again, then walked around the house and pulled a folding chair from the back of his truck.

  Logan scurried back to Isabel. Dulcie saw them exchanging somber words. ‘So jealousy rears it’s ugly head!’ she thought. As she watched the pair, she saw the curtains move in the window behind them. Linda was standing in exactly the same spot as before, still staring at Isabel.

  #

  The second plein air session of the Logan Dumbarton Master Class was held the next day. It had rained the night before so students were attempting to keep as much of their art paraphernalia off the wet grass as possible. Bethany had the foresight to bring a large blanket. She had spread it out first, then returned to her car for all of her gear. The items that she brought along, all strapped to a rolling luggage cart, were considerable. It took at least ten minutes for her to set up her chair, easel, a large umbrella with a clamp apparatus, and a side table for her paints that were, of course, precisely aligned. Bethany also had a small cooler. Dulcie was dying to know what was in it. She could picture a perfectly constructed sandwich.

  Willow analyzed the arrangement. She wished she’d thought to bring a beach towel. She glanced over at Bryce who had walked up next to her. He cocked his head to one side, considering Bethany’s setup as well. “Man, she is way too tight,” he said under his breath.

  Willow snorted. “Yeah. But it isn’t entirely a bad idea. I mean, the blanket was pretty smart.” She looked around at the wet grass.

  Bryce shook his head. “Just ignore it. It’ll be dry soon enough. Here, I’ll help you with this stuff.” He put all of his own things on the damp ground and took her easel from her. “Where do you want this?”

  Willow was surprised. It was rare that anyone was helpful with her. She knew that she was looking especially spikey today, too. Bryce didn’t even seem to notice. “Um, over here. I was looking in that direction last time.”

  Bryce obliged, setting up the easel and turning it so that she had the proper view. “All set?” he asked.

  Willow smiled. It was a rare occurrence, and it changed her entire face. She looked younger, childlike, as though her rough exterior was just a game of dress-up. “Yup, all set. Thanks, Bryce!”

  He nodded, grabbed his things and sauntered off to the location he’d been positioned at during the previous class. Willow wished that he had stayed near her.

  Dulcie arrived as the students were setting up. Scott had moved closer to the twins, and she could hear them chatting. Dulcie had learned that he was a part-time instructor at PCA, so he probably knew them previously. Once you met Mary and Tara, they were hard to forget.

  Dulcie located Kimberly and walked gingerly through the wet grass toward her. As she passed Bethany, nodding a greeting, Dulcie caught Kimberly’s eye. Dulcie mouthed “Wow!” and Kimberly turned to hide her smile.

  When Dulcie reached her, Kimberly was trying not to laugh. “It appears that Bethany is a planner!” she said.

  “She certainly leaves nothing to chance,” Dulcie replied.

  “At least I thought to bring a towel, so that’s something,” said Kimberly. “It seems that everyone is settling in. We haven’t seen the Great One yet, but I imagine he’ll be shuffling out in a few moments. I’ve seen some movement inside, so at least they’re up and about.”

  Dulcie turned toward the house just in time to see the door open. Logan Dumbarton stepped out and quickly closed it behind him, but not before Dulcie could see Linda and Isabel inside. They appeared to be arguing.

  ‘Odd,’ thought Dulcie. ‘I didn’t think they even spoke to one another.’

  She moved closer to the house. Logan looked u
nflustered. He gave her a condescending smile, bordering on a sneer, as he brushed by. ‘I see we’re having a suave day, not a sickly day,’ thought Dulcie. Then she realized that she needed to be careful. She had never been able to conceal her emotions. ‘Which is why I could never beat Dan at cards,’ she remembered.

  Dulcie walked around the front steps of the house and leaned against the railing so that she couldn’t be seen well from the windows. To anyone looking, she appeared to be observing Scott and the twins painting nearby. In fact, she was listening intently.

  “…don’t care how long you and he have been together! I’m his wife! You’ll do as I say…”

  Dulcie missed the last bit. She couldn’t hear Linda’s reply, either. A few moments later she heard the back door slam, and saw Isabel quickly drive off. ‘Trouble in paradise,’ thought Dulcie. ‘Three’s a crowd.’

  Logan had been speaking to Willow. Dulcie saw a dark look spread across the girl’s face. Her eyes had narrowed until they were just tiny slits among the piercings on her eyebrows. She looked as though she would claw and eat him. Dulcie watched her turn and walk slowly to the edge of the lawn where she stayed for several moments, facing the ocean.

  Logan strode up to Bethany. He spoke to her in a low voice for several moments. He pointed to the towel and the umbrella and laughed. It was a nasty sound.

  Bethany slowly put down her brush. Logan snatched it up, smashed it into a large amount of yellow paint, then proceeded to blob it onto the canvas in several places. Bethany gasped. He ignored her and swirled it around and around. Where it mixed with the blue it blended to an unattractive bright green. He tossed the brush back on her palette where the long handle of it stuck right in the middle of the paint.

  Bethany looked as though she would burst into tears. As Dulcie hurried over she heard Logan’s condescending chuckle. He sauntered away in the direction of Bryce. Dulcie ran up to Bethany and put a consoling arm around her shoulders. Tears were in Bethany’s eyes, and she quickly put on her sunglasses. “He didn’t even ask!” she sniffed. “I mean, I know he’s the great artist, but it’s polite to ask if you can touch someone else’s painting! I thought I was doing pretty well!” She choked back a little hiccupping sob.

  “What did he say?” Dulcie asked.

  “He said that I would never be any good. He said that I tried too hard, that I’m too rigid!” Bethany’s dismay began to morph into anger. “He said it in such an awful, arrogant voice. Like he’s so much better just because he’s a professional artist and I’m just a… just a…” She couldn’t finish.

  “Just a very talented and very nice person who is capable of enjoying herself without putting down others,” Dulcie finished for her.

  Bethany sniffed loudly. She took off her sunglasses and wiped her eyes. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

  Dulcie looked at the painting. “You know, you could sell this for a pretty good amount of money. It’s a joint piece now, a Bethany-Logan.” She was trying desperately to interject some humor.

  Bethany tried to laugh. “As long as I get top billing, I suppose that would be okay.”

  Dulcie noticed her bag of supplies. She had another blank canvas in it. “Want to start over?” she asked, reaching for it.

  “Yes!” said Bethany. She grabbed the ruined canvas and, to Dulcie’s surprise, blithely tossed it, face-down, so that it skidded across the wet grass. “There! That felt good!” She looked over at Dulcie and giggled.

  Dulcie gave Bethany a pat on the back and stepped away. She looked around for Logan again to see who he would be accosting next. He was with Bryce. They appeared to be discussing something very intently. Willow had edged over, obviously to listen. She silently moved back to her painting when she saw Dulcie approaching.

  “Everything going well?” Dulcie asked, trying to sound breezy.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” said Willow defensively.

  Dulcie raised her eyebrows, then wished she hadn’t. It would only draw Willow’s ire. “At least we have another nice day,” she said, seeking a less provoking topic. Weather was always benign.

  “You can call it that if you want,” Willow said, without looking at her.

  Dulcie decided not to take the bait. “Do you like what you’ve been working on so far?” she asked.

  Willow dropped both arms to her sides and glared at Dulcie. “Yeah. I do. Or I did. Until he came along with his ‘constructive criticism.’ I’m nothing but a copycat, it seems. No hint of the genius in me. But that’s OK, he says, because we all can’t be great like him. And imitation is the most sincere form of compliment.”

  “Is that what he said?” Dulcie asked.

  “Something like that. The last sentence was verbatim. The rest was along those lines. And he said it in such a backhanded, put-down way. You know what I mean? You don’t know he’s just slammed you until you think about it, after he’s gone. You know, this master class would be great… without the master.”

  “Willow, it’s all about attitude, and you have plenty of that.” Dulcie saw Willow narrow her eyes. “I mean that in a good way. Attitude is what sells your work. I’ve seen a lot of talented artists who made it nowhere because they had no personality. Even if it’s an abrasive personality, it makes you stand out from all the rest. If you’re a contemporary artist, half of what makes your work sell is who you are. The other half is the talent.”

  “What if you’re a dead artist?” said Willow scornfully, eyeing Logan across the lawn.

  Dulcie laughed. “Then it’s just luck.”

  Willow snorted, and began mixing a new color on her palette. It resembled a blood red.

  Logan had left Bryce and had circulated around to Scott and the twins. Kimberly had joined them, holding her canvas. ‘Smart lady,’ thought Dulcie. ‘She saw what was happening. Safety in numbers.’ She heard the group laugh and knew that Logan could not get away with his condescending remarks now that so many of them were gathered together. He worked best one-on-one.

  Dulcie quietly approached Bryce. “So you’ve received an in-depth analysis of your work?” she asked.

  Her question lacked innocence and she knew it. Bryce chuckled. “I give as good as I get. He won’t be talking with me again anytime soon, most likely. At least, he won’t be giving me any ‘helpful tips’ regarding my career.”

  “Then this class won’t be very worthwhile for you, I’m afraid.”

  Bryce continued painting. “On the contrary,” he said without looking up. “It is very helpful. I get to watch a master in action. And he is truly a master. If only he could paint.”

  #

  Isabel Dumbarton drove without thinking. Or rather, she drove without thinking about where she was. She was most certainly thinking.

  Linda had become a problem. Isabel had never encountered difficulty getting what she wanted in her entire life. It all seemed to come her way. Born in India, she had been adopted by a wealthy British couple. They had died tragically in a car crash when she was only seventeen. She had inherited everything. Yet, in the span of ten years, without the counsel of parents, or any family for that matter, Isabel had managed to spend most of the money.

  One’s needs at seventeen are very different from one’s needs at twenty-seven. When she realized that the money was dwindling, Isabel had been able to develop a small career as a model. She looked younger than her actual age and frequently lied about it. Her dark, exotic appearance was the current trend, and she worked that to her advantage. She was too petite for fashion or runway work, but she had been photographed for several cosmetic and jewelry advertising campaigns, and was even the face beneath a line of hats. It was enough to keep her solvent for the time being, but she knew that the work would not last forever.

  Never would she have considered herself to be a gold-digger. After all, she had not sought out Logan Dumbarton. She did not consider marrying him to be entirely an act of greed and self-promotion. She liked to view it as an opportunity. Although she could not say that she was a
ttracted to him, she did admire him in an odd way. His life seemed so exciting. In their first conversation he told her that she instantly had inspired him to begin working in a new direction. He told her that she was magical, truly his muse. He begged her to be with him. Then he begged her to marry him. Her ego could not say no. Neither could her bank account.

  She drove with the windows down and the sea air whipping through the car. The excitement with Logan had begun to wane. Now she felt trapped. And Linda! At first it was nice to have someone else worrying about all of life’s little details. Now she was a hovering presence, constantly watching. With all of them crammed together in one little house, Isabel found that hatred was creeping in to her world.

  Something else was there as well. Isabel had been entirely on her own for so long that she had learned to sense even the smallest changes in people. Logan was different since they had come to Maine. He was drinking more, certainly. Lately, he had been Arrogant Logan more often than Sickly Logan. What had brought this about? Was it Isabel herself? Did she feed his arrogance? Linda certainly fed his sickly nature, always responding to his silly, pathetic needs.

  Isabel did not want to admit it to herself, but that something else that she felt was fear. She tried to brush it aside and to tell herself that it was just a silly reaction to all of the change in her life. There was nothing to fear, really. She told herself that she was simply in a situation that she had never before encountered. It was natural to feel uncomfortable. Perhaps she was confusing that feeling with fear. Yes, that was it.

  She didn’t enjoy whining. Isabel knew that she had been doing far too much of it lately. Yet, it seemed to be the only thing that would elicit any kind of response from Logan. Logan was a whiner when he was in his sickly moods. Whining seemed to be his predominant mode of communication. Whenever she attempted to talk with him in a regular manner, to comment on his work or ask a question, he would make a condescending remark. “You just don’t understand, my pet. You are so adorably naïve.” Those were standard phrases. Then he would give her a peck on the cheek or, worse, pat her head. She felt like a lap dog.