I walked straight towards the screen and back wall, as if something was calling me. Rounding the screen, I looked at the display. Instantly my heart reacted by thumping hard and fast. Quivers rose up my spine and my breathing stopped. An electric buzzing and a dejà vu feeling swept over me.
On the back wall hung a large portrait of a beautiful young woman portrayed in exquisite detail. It wasn’t clear at first, but as I stared, mesmerized, it came more into focus for brief seconds. It seemed as if the woman sat there, on the wall, holding still before me, in real form. Every painted stroke gave life to her two-dimensions. Shadows, color and lines brought her into existence. Her smile was playful, her eyes seductive, her pose flirtatious. The brightness of her countenance glowed around her body, subtly, to share her warmth and delightful air with the viewer. She wore a simple, white gown. Her small frame complimented the dress more than it flattered her. She appeared genuinely happy. Everything about the painting seemed lively, radiant and telling.
I took a step closer, tempted to touch her and somehow become her.
I recognized those brush strokes. I knew the artist and the powerful way he could conveys a face. Only Jean-Paul represented a facade with those lines, blends and strokes. Suddenly I was back in France standing in Jean-Paul’s studio looking at another painting; of a woman in sorrow who looked much like the woman I am today. That woman’s grief was something I knew all too well today. I recognized myself in that first painting Jean-Paul showed me, and now I recognized this woman.
“She’s beautiful isn’t she?” Paul said from behind me.
I spun quickly, startled to realize that he was directly behind me. For a couple of moments I’d felt between two worlds. “Oh, my! Yes,” I said recovering my composure.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your experience.” He paused and looked at me. I returned his gaze. I saw him more clearly for the first time. He was a handsome man with blue eyes and strong features. He was tall, with a gentle smile and polite demeanor. I tried to pull my gaze away, but it seemed magnetically fixed. “Can you see why I bought this piece?” he asked.
I nodded.
“I find her mesmerizing,” he added. “Interestingly enough, your eyes look like hers. Did you notice?”
I couldn't imagine that he could see this, and didn’t respond. I simply looked at his face.
“That’s why I had to show you this piece.” He paused, waiting for my response. After more silence, he asked, “What do you think? Do you see the resemblance?”
“Well, no. I’m not sure. She comes into focus for a moment and then fades into a blur again.” I still had goose bumps and an overwhelming feeling of knowing things profoundly moving about this painting, and woman. Standing between Paul and the artwork felt like a familiar place. With my skin tingling and a heightened sense of alertness, I also felt reassured. I had to know more. “Where did you get this portrait?” I asked.
“Do you have time for a story,” he asked.
“I have two hours until I’m back in the ward,” as I jokingly called it.
“Very well.” Paul smiled and then continued. “Have a seat,” he offered, gesturing to a bench behind the screen. He guided me by my arm and sat down beside me. “Twenty years ago. I walked into a very small gallery near the waterfront. When I saw this woman, I was instantly mesmerized. I stood locked in place, fixed on her eyes. Those eyes; it was as if she looked right into my soul. I couldn’t hide from her and I felt ashamed for every great thing that I hadn’t done. I could see in her gaze that she expected more of me, and I didn’t measure up.
“A dejà vu feeling swelled up inside me. My body tingled.” As Paul spoke, I nearly laughed spontaneously from the coincidence. I held in my amusement so he didn’t think I was giggling at him.
“Within ten minutes I offered the owner one hundred thousand dollars for this painting. I had to have it. He quietly told me that it wasn’t for sale. I told him to name his price. He told me that he could never sell this painting. For him it was all that remained of the memory of his mother. He would never part with it.
“When I left the gallery, I felt empty. I realized that all of my success did not give me the one thing that I truly wanted; a woman who would look at me with that gaze. I went back the next day and sat before the painting. Perhaps she told me to quit my job, or maybe I dreamed up that part. I asked the gallery owner, John, if I could work at his gallery for free. I’ve been an art dealer ever since.”
Every word that Paul spoke caused my heart to increase its pace and my breath to quicken. I tried desperately not to let him see my growing restlessness.
“Am I boring you? Are you sure you have time for all of this.”
“It’s fascinating. What is it that draws you to her?” I asked.
“She just speaks to me in such a profound way. I’d never had that feeling before or since…until now.” He looked at me intently, staring quietly at my face as if we shared a deep secret.
“Excuse me? What do you mean…until now?” I asked.
“I feel a dejà vu around you, perhaps because your eyes remind me of hers.” He paused.
I didn’t respond. This man was hitting chords in me I didn’t know that I had. Something was happening that I didn’t understand. A magic in his presence took away my defenses and tore down my walls. This feeling was strange to me.
“How did she die?” I blurted out.
“Oh, it’s unfortunate. She drowned in an accident as a young woman.”
My head swirled for a moment, like the slow spin of water. A slight pressure squeezed my chest and stomach. I sat quietly, wondering if God had a sense of humor.
“Are you okay, Dee? You look a little green. Do I need to get you back to the hospital?”
“I’m fine, I think. I’m just trying to…take all of this in.”
I looked closely at him to detect his expression. It was hard to contain my feelings; being around him made my body tingle. His voice tone delighted me and his scent held me fixed in place. I gathered my composure and said, “This portrait is quite profound.”
Paul stared into my eyes as he responded. “The artist truly loved this woman. He painted her to keep her alive, hoping that perhaps one day she would be standing right before him in all of her radiance and beauty, looking at him with her cheerful eyes and generous smile. He hoped that once again he would feel the same deep love in his heart and realize that nothing else mattered as much as looking into her soul. He longed for her magnificence to overwhelm him once again; just as it did when they met for the very first time.” Paul continued to stare at me, studying my reaction.
I knew more than he realized. His words caused me to know what I already suspected.
I looked back at Paul. I searched deep into his eyes, which were fixed on mine. This man was easy and familiar to me. My body wanted to be close to him. I craved his gaze upon me. For a moment I imagined loving him and being adored in return, fixing him meals, rubbing his back, listening to his day. I quickly snapped out of that thought and remembered that I was legally blind. I couldn’t possibly be enough of a woman for him. I could never be what Cherie was to Jean-Paul. It wouldn’t be fair to let him love me when he could have a woman with eye sight.
“Dee?” Paul broke the silence expecting a response from me. I couldn’t answer. He waited a few more seconds before he continued. “Do you want to know what I think?”
Something in his tone made me know what he meant. I couldn’t possibly respond positively to his realization. If he knew that I dreamed I was this woman, and that perhaps we shared a life together in another time, I wasn’t prepared to break his heart again at this moment, even if it was what I must do. Fear froze me in place. “I’m not sure that I do.”
Paul took my shoulders in his hands. I held myself stiffly and feared his words. He turned my body square with his. “Dee.”
I closed my eyes as if I could shut out his answer. Paul didn’t speak. Several seconds went by. Slowly I opened my eyes, looking up
from my lowered head. Paul slowly said, “It can wait until later.”
Whew. I sighed. I needed time to decide how I could protect him from a future he didn’t really want.
“Would you like to see a picture of John, the son of this woman?” he asked.
I swallowed hard. I knew what that meant. I may be looking upon the son of Cherie. “Okay” I replied slowly.
He opened his wallet and turned a picture towards me and held it close for my inspection. “I don’t know why I still carry it really. He’s been gone a long time.” I looked at the picture with an effort to focus my eyes. “He was ninety when this picture was taken. He was born in 1901,” Paul explained.
The two men stood side-by-side in the photo with water behind them. I couldn’t make out much detail. A deep sense of love and compassion flooded my heart as I felt the boy who lost his mother. In my mind I saw a child watch his father cry and paint. This friend of Paul’s was a part of my dream, or maybe he was more than that. I studied the picture and concentrated to see details. What did he look like as a young man? What did he like to do?
“He was a dear friend to you?” I asked.
“He was indeed. We needed each other. I don’t really know how else to explain it.” Paul looked at his watch. “I promised to get you back to the hospital on time. We need to get going.” We both stood and he offered me his arm again to guide me. “I may be too forward, but may I ask you a question?” He paused and turned towards me. I held my breath. “Could we discuss the exhibit over dinner tonight? I will bring you a San Francisco delectable meal to your room. You must be tired of hospital food by now.”
“Are you crazy? Does anyone get tired of pudding cups and soup from a packet? Yum!” I smiled and then said, “Another offer too good to refuse.”
“What would you like to eat?”
“Surprise me.”
“Okay. It’s a date,” he paused holding his breath.
I smiled and he released a sigh. Then I added, “But the purpose of this ‘date’ is to talk business. Do we agree?”
“Sure,” Paul said quickly.
Paul took me back to my hospital room and said goodbye, agreeing to bring me dinner at 7:00 pm.
Brian walked into the room just as Paul was leaving.
Paul said, “Hello Brian,” as he walked by him.
Brian raised his chin in a perfunctory nod as Paul walked past and disappeared into the hallway. “How did the gallery tour go?” Brian asked.
“I like his gallery. He is going to do a show as soon as possible. We are going to talk about it more tonight.”
“Hmmm,” Brain accused. “Where are you meeting?”
“Here. It’s a great opportunity,” I added. “Please support me in this. He is coming tonight at seven. Please be polite and let us talk.”
“Okay. I’m going for a walk,” he said and then he turned to leave. I knew he felt jealous and I hated to see him sad.
I sat alone in my room looking forward to a good meal and more talk about business with Paul. But the attraction between us needed to be extinguished. I didn’t want to mislead him or encourage him. He deserved to have a whole woman; not a damaged one. It wasn’t fair to him to allow the love he felt for the woman in the painting to bind him to a future with my impairment.
***
Chapter Nineteen: Discovery
San Francisco, December, 2005
That afternoon my daughters and I visited. We took a stroll together around the hospital grounds and they became more acquainted with my limits in walking around by myself. My oldest daughter was hoping to stay in San Francisco until I was ready to leave, so she could assist me with travel. We were both hoping that I would be released soon so she didn’t miss more work.
Then Jessica asked the question I didn’t want to answer. “So Mom, tell us about Paul,” she asked smiling.
“Yes,” added Clair, “you seemed quite infatuated.”
“What? You’re so wrong. He is just a gallery owner excited about my work. I wanted to make a good impression.”
“Whatever, you can’t fool us. We saw your reaction. Does he like you?” Clair asked.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway, he lives here, and I live in Seattle and…”
“So what? People move. And what else Mom?” asked Clair.
“I am blind,” I said quietly. We all stood there quietly for a moment, as if we had almost forgotten.
“You don’t seem blind, Mom. You are still beautiful and engaging,” Jessica replied.
“I can’t drive, read, work or cook dinner. I’m dependent on someone else for navigating around. In time I will learn to walk with that stupid stick the therapist is trying to teach me to use. I don’t want to be that woman. I don’t want the man who adores me to be…burdened.”
“Don’t you think he is old enough to decide these things for himself? Do you really think that he needs you to protect him from his choices?”
“In this case…I think maybe I do need to protect him. He may be interested in me…because I remind him of someone else.”
“Who?” Clair asked.
I paused, wishing that it made sense to someone else besides me. “I can’t explain it right now. But no one knows what the new me will be like until I have time to adjust to life without normal eyesight. Until I know me, Paul is safer to keep his distance.”
My girls were both silent. We all felt the heaviness of the subject. My life was more complicated now. It was a fact we needed to face. Bringing Paul into that mix would only complicate things further, for me and for him.
After talking with my daughters, I felt homesick. I wanted to be in my house where I could safely hide my challenges.
The girls left about an hour before Paul was scheduled to arrive. I shuffled through my closet looking for another outfit to wear. My daughter had brought me clothes from home and the therapist taught me how to dress with my limited sight. I wanted to look nice for Paul. Then I changed my mind and decided to not look like I was trying. There was no need to encourage him to hope for the impossible. I chose a red blouse and jeans to keep it simple and casual.
Brian hung around before dinner pacing like a lost cat. He tried to engage me in conversation and make me laugh. His efforts were transparent. I could have reassured him not to be jealous, but I didn’t.
Paul arrived with dinner promptly at 7:00 p.m. Brian stood directly in front of Paul and asked him why he brought food.
“I wasn’t willing to share her hospital meal, so I thought the polite thing to do was bring dinner from a real restaurant,” Paul said.
Brian turned towards me and said, “I’m only a phone call away if you need me, honey. I’ll be back in an hour.” He left the room reluctantly.
“It smells divine. What did you bring me?” I asked. “French cuisine from Fleur de Lys. Chef Hubert Keller is one of the best chefs in the city.”
“French?” I asked.
“Yes. I fell in love with it when I was in Paris.”
“I’m excited. What a thoughtful choice.”
“I’m happy that you approve. Have you been to France?” Paul asked.
“Yes,” I said slowly, remembering my dream and how beautiful Paris was. “I was in Paris last February.”
“Really? What took you to Paris?”
“I can barely recall the details. I think I was photographing in Turkey and I felt drawn to go to France. I remember going to the Eiffel Tower and watching the sun setting. It was quite impressive.”
“Where were you on your last photo shoot?” Paul asked.
“I was in Kenya taking photos of a Masai tribe. I don’t remember much about it. Brian told me about the trip. My camera was damaged in the crash and I haven’t had the opportunity to see if the photos are accessible.”
“Brian was on the trip with you?” Paul asked with a slightly elevated voice.
“Yes. He invited me to take the pictures for his project.”
“Are you and Brian…involved?”
“Oh, he thinks so. I can’t really remember what our relationship was before my accident. I only remember bits and pieces. In the memories I recall, we were just friends. Now he says we are a couple, but I don’t have feelings for him and I have no desire to be in a relationship right now.”
“Not even with the right man?”
“No.” We were both silent.
Paul set a plate before me which smelled divine. I noticed that he cut the meat before he left a fork and knife beside my plate.
“Bon appetit,” he said.
My filet mignon was decorated in shallots and fresh sprouts. Paul had duck breast served on eggplant with olives. The smells were more intense due to my nose making up for what my eyes lacked. Each bite was delectable. After two weeks of hospital food and two month on IV fluid, I had to remind myself to eat slowly and not gulp the savory meal. Eating with Paul felt lovely, as if we had done this for years. I watched him cut his duck and bring his food to his lips.
“How’s your meal,” Paul asked.
“Umm, divine, thank you.”
“Excellent. Mine as well. I love their menu. It reminds me of…” Paul stopped with no apparent intention of finishing his sentence.
“Reminds you of what,” I asked.
“Oh, well, when John and I visited Paris, we dined at a small bistro on Rue Cler. I found the place utterly charming, and ghostly familiar.” He paused as if lost in thought. “I enjoy the restaurant because it reminds me of that experience.”
I found Paul to be genuine and alluring; even irresistible. “Well this is a lovely meal,” I replied.
“Dee, do you mind if I share something very personal with you?”
“I suppose,” I replied. I drew in a quick breath, gasping quietly.
“When I look at you I feel an overwhelming sense of excitement and contentment all at once.” Paul studied my face.
I nodded my head slowly, over and over. I looked around the room with my eyes, holding my head still, absorbing his words.
Painted with Love: Romance Eludes Time and Death Page 25
