“Either that or we can go for a repeat at the Raging Bull Saloon men’s room,” I suggested playfully.
“Now there’s an idea. That’s what I’ll miss about you, doll.” Pat’s limousine rolled up with him and Tre at the back. Chris groaned. “Damn. They’re here. Let’s get this stuff in the trunk before I change my mind about letting you go.”
“You’re cute when you get like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re letting me go back to El Paso.”
“Well, I am,” he said with a wink. “You know what I mean. You’re your own woman, Jo. I’ll miss you something awful, but you’re calling the shots.”
She raised her hand to my face and played with my hair. “I’ll miss you too…a lot.”
“Would you stay if I told you the ‘L’ word?”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not profanity, Chris. You can say the word without cringing. And if you’re cringing to say it, you don’t really mean it anyway.”
“You wouldn’t know if I meant it or not. Have you ever said it to anyone?”
“Well sure.”
“To who?”
“My mom before she passed. And my Aunt Alice before she passed too.”
“That doesn’t count. They’re family.”
“You’re no different, Chris.”
“Yeah but I’m a guy. We don’t do stuff like share our feelings unless it’s under duress.”
“Well I guess it’s settled then, because I sure don’t want to hear it if you think someone’s pointing a gun to your head. Plus it’s way too soon for you to be thinking of saying something like that…even if you did mean it.”
“Hey lovebirds, we’ve got a plane to catch!” Pat shouted out the limo’s back window. He and Tre stepped out, headed for the luggage at the front door. “Save the sweet farewell for later, will you? Oh yes, where are my manners. Hello Jo. How are things?”
I nodded over to them. “Hi Pat. Hi Tre.”
“Hey Jo,” Tre answered, grabbing up the two suitcases while Pat picked up a couple of storage containers.
On the second trip with my things, Chris pointed out my batch of framed portraits to Pat. “Will the airport staff be able to wrap these?”
“I’m sure they can figure it out.” Pat stepped over to inspect the paintings. “What have we got here?”
“It’s just a few things I painted,” I told him.
He picked one up and looked at it closely. “You painted this?”
“Uh, yeah. It’s a hobby.”
Pat looked over at Chris, then back at me. “Really?”
“Yes. I know I’m an amateur. Like I said, it’s just a hobby.”
“What did you say you do for a living?”
“Waitressing, mostly.”
“Jo, pardon my French, but are you out of your ever-loving mind? These paintings are magnificent. I mean, this style is rare to begin with, and I’ve only seen maybe six or seven photorealistic pieces, but you have a tremendous eye for color and detail, and incredible precision, young lady. I’d fathom a guess that aficionados would view this work as hyperrealism.” He looked over at Chris again. “Why have you and Jo been hiding all this fantastic work?”
Chris laughed. “Probably for the same reason you’ve been holding out that you have an appreciation for art.”
“Do you have any idea what people pay for this kind of work?”
“Why don’t you enlighten us, Pat.”
“I guess I’ll have to. Okay, the last painting my father purchased was about seven feet wide and four feet tall. It was for his stateroom at our house in Chicago. That painting was about double this size, but he got it at auction for forty-eight.”
“Forty-eight what? Dollars?”
“Thousand.”
I stepped forward, needing to hear that again because I thought he just said forty-eight thousand dollars. “Sorry. How much?”
“Forty-eight grand. And he thought it was a steal. Mind you, it was twice this size, but you cannot dream of charging anything less than fifteen thousand for each of these.”
I began to feel lightheaded from this information. Chris must have noticed, because he was back at my side with his arm on my shoulder a few seconds later. “Care to put your money where your mouth is, Pat? It’s only really worth all that if someone buys something from the artist. Isn’t that what they say?”
“True.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his iPhone, snapping a close-up shot of each one.
“Not the one of my family, though. It’s not for sale.”
“Fair enough. I’ll check with my father. Excuse me one moment.”
“You’d better. I don’t want you getting my woman’s hopes up.”
I looked up at him as Tre put the last of our luggage in the trunk. Chris didn’t seem to realize what he’d just said.
“I’m your woman, huh?” I whispered.
“You may not see it that way, but yes. You are.”
“Since when?”
“I can’t quite say that I know the answer to that. And it don’t much matter if you don’t see it that way?”
“You enjoy speaking in code, don’t you Chris? That way you won’t have to take a risk or put yourself out on a limb, right?”
“Here’s what I believe, Jo. I shouldn’t have to say a word when you’ve seen my actions, which speak way louder.” Chris was clearly frustrated after that. He took his arm off my shoulder and backed away. “Just forget I ever brought it up.”
I was about to scramble for an answer to that when Pat cleared his throat behind me. “Sorry to interrupt your lovers’ spat. I’ve got good news, kids.”
“What did he say?” I asked.
“Before we get to that, Christmas is coming.” Pat scrolled to something on his phone and passed it to me. “Any chance you can do up a painting of this photo in time for then?”
I looked at the photo. Jesus. It was the one of his dad’s two thumbs on one hand. I passed the phone back and shook my head. “Sorry, buddy. No can do.”
“Why not?”
I wanted to tell him that some things aren’t meant to be immortalized, but I reigned in the coarse remark and settled for, “This would literally take me months to do. Would you mind if I think about it?”
He nodded. “Sure thing.”
Thank God. “Thanks for understanding. So what did he say about these?”
“He offered twenty-one for the lot of them, and not a penny more, because you’re not well known…or dead.”
“Holy shit! What?”
“You know? You’re not dead. Dead people’s art go for top dollar. It’s just a supply and demand thing—”
“No, no, no. That’s not what I mean.” My voice was shaking by then. I swallowed hard. “Is he offering me twenty-one…thousand dollars for those four paintings?”
“Yes…conditional upon in-person inspection, of course.”
“In cash?”
“Oh you’re old school, aren’t you? No, not in cash. He’ll need to wire the funds to your bank account, and you’ll have to prepare a bill of sale, you know, for tax and insurance purposes. All of this is after he inspects it with his art dealer…and you’re in luck, because they’re both in Vegas as we speak.” He looked over at Chris. “I think the two of you should join Tre and me for a little detour in Sin City after Thanksgiving dinner. What do you say, Jo?”
I looked over at Chris. “Um…What do you think?”
“I think it’s great. You should go and sell your paintings. You deserve a break, Jo… and top dollar for all your hard work.” He was saying all the right things, but I got the impression he was still upset.
“Thanks. So we’re going?”
He shook his head and wouldn’t make eye contact. “I’m not. I can’t. I won’t hear the end of it from my folks if I only go home for one night. You’ll be fine with Tre and Pat.” He looked at each of them. “Make sure you watch out for her.” They both nodded, so he walked over to the limo and
opened the back door for me to get inside. “Let’s head to the airport, people.”
We got in and were on our way. I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that I’d left the possibility of Chris and me back at his apartment.
21
Josephine
Chris barely said four sentences to me in the limo and on the plane. To be fair, Pat was talking up a storm the whole time, and I’m not sure if he did it to fill the awkward silence or because it was his default setting. Much of what he said was for my benefit, primarily to get me ready for the meeting with his father. There was a slew of instructions on what to say and do, as well as what not to do or say when I was in the presence of an organized crime boss.
I set aside the disagreement I had with Chris and listened intently. The meeting with Pat’s father could yield twenty thousand dollars and change my life in a way I never thought possible. That kind of money would probably take me five or six years to save, and the best part was that selling even one piece of art every couple of months would allow me to paint full time and earn a way better living than waitressing. I could earn amazing money doing what I loved. The whole idea was a lot to wrap my head around. I was talented and had something to offer. It still didn’t feel real.
After Pat had finished his lengthy talk, I asked him what I should call his father.
“Mr. Salvatore is fine,” he answered.
I suddenly realized I didn’t know Pat’s real name. “Pat, what does your dad call you? I reckon it’s not Pat, and it’s not Pappa Thumbs.”
He laughed. “It’s Franko. Franko Salvatore.”
“Okay good.”
We landed at El Paso International Airport and less than an hour later, the airport limo Pat had booked rolled up outside Chris’s large detached, two-story home. At this point I was even less comfortable staying with him, now that he was unhappy with me. I told him something to that effect when Pat, Tre and the driver stepped outside.
“I’m not mad at you,” he tried to convince me, but I wasn’t buying it.
“Maybe you’re not angry, but you’re not happy either.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions.”
“Well I can’t stay here with you like this.”
“Sure you can. My mom’s already expecting you. One disagreement doesn’t change what I think or feel about you.”
“It’s your home and I don’t belong here, Chris. It’s best if I let the driver take me somewhere I can store my stuff before I make this trip to Las Vegas and find out what’s possible. I’ll stay in a motel tonight. Pat can pick me up when he and Tre are on their way back to the airport tomorrow evening.”
“No.”
“No?”
He turned to me. “That’s right. I said no. You told me and my mom you’re staying, and that’s what you’re gonna do. Las Vegas is a different story. You can’t afford not to go out there and get some art sold. It gives you options and you deserve to have your talent recognized. But don’t change the plan to stay with us tonight and for Thanksgiving tomorrow just because I’m not pleased you didn’t leave your stuff with me in Baton Rouge. I want you to be with us.”
He took a breath, and I leaned my head on his shoulder. This was the thing I loved about Chris. Even now in the midst of us not seeing eye to eye, he was still kind and ready to look out for me.
“Okay.”
“Come on. They’re waiting.” He stepped out and opened his parents’ garage. “We’ll put the things you don’t need for your trip to Vegas in here. That way, when you fly back, it’ll all be here for you.”
“Makes sense. Thank you.”
“Tre, Pat. Come give me a hand with these.”
The three of them packed everything away except for one of my suitcases before we all headed inside. Chris entered the house first. For a home with three kids under ten years old, it was quiet.
“Ma?” Chris called out.
“I’m back here in the kitchen, honey,” a female I guess was Mrs. James hollered.
The four of us left our things in the front foyer and Chris took my hand. I followed him to the kitchen. “Hi Ma. Where’s everybody?”
“Hi honey. Hi y’all. Connor took them out back for a while,” she said without looking over at us. She was standing at the kitchen sink with her back turned, rinsing dishes.
“Ma, you remember Pat and Tre. I want you to meet my…my friend, Jo.” Well at least he didn’t tell his mother I was his woman. That would have been one conversation I was not prepared to engage in right now.
“Hi everyone. Happy Thanksgiving.” Turning off the water, Mrs. James grabbed one plate and a dish rag, then she turned to greet us. “It’s good to meet you, Jo…Oh my lord!” she cried when she saw me. She froze in her spot and a second later the plate in her hand fell to the marble floor and shattered into a million pieces.
“What is going on with you, Ma?” Chris asked, alarmed. He pulled his hand away from me to step to her side.
I took one big step backward, and was now between Pat and Tre. I had no idea what the hell was going on or why she reacted to me that way. At first I thought maybe it was because I was some stranger holding her son’s hand as though we were a couple. Tre and Pat went over to the counter and grabbed up some paper towels, hurriedly gathering up the broken pieces of the plate with just as much confusion on their faces as I was sure to have had on mine.
Mrs. James was shaking. Chris walked her over to sit in one of the bar chairs at the kitchen’s center island. “Ma, please talk to me. What’s wrong?”
It took Mrs. James a solid minute to finally speak. When she did, it was to look at me and utter, “You look just like her.”
“Just like who, Ma?” Thank God Chris asked the question, because none of this made any sense at all.
“I think I should leave,” I quietly announced, taking another step back.
“No. Please don’t do that,” Mrs. James said, getting to her feet. “I’m sorry I startled you all like that. Let me explain.” She looked at Tre and Pat. “Boys, would you mind giving us a few minutes to clear this up? Your rooms are all ready. Go on and settle in.”
“Of course, Mrs. J,” Pat agreed and left with Tre in a hurry.
Chris stared after them, and I was sure he was wishing he could have been excused from this ordeal, but he stayed at his mother side. “Jo, come and have a seat.”
I nodded and inched my way back into the room, then sat on his other side.
“Tell us what this is about, Ma.”
She leaned forward and spoke directly to me. “I didn’t make the connection when Chris said he was bringing a friend home called Jo who was from El Paso. Your name’s Josephine Quinn, right?”
“Yes ma’am, but how do you know my name?”
“You’re mother’s name was Agnes Thorold…Agnes Quinn after she married your father. We were friends a long time ago. You look exactly like her…the resemblance is uncanny.”
“I get that a lot, ma’am. How did you know her?”
“We went to high school together. We were good friends right up to senior year and for several years after, until…well that’s water under the bridge how we lost contact. It broke my heart when she passed…but I’m so thrilled to see you. How is your sister, Rose?”
Chris rolled his eyes.
“She’s fine, ma’am. She lives in New Orleans.”
“And your mom’s sister, Alice. How is she?”
“She passed a few months ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
Chris got to his feet right then. “Ma, that’s all this was about? That Jo looks like an old friend of yours and that it turns out she’s her daughter? It’s an interesting coincidence, but gosh, Ma… you looked like you saw a ghost just now. What are you not telling us?”
“That’s pretty much it, Chris. I never thought I’d see you or your sister again, and I sure didn’t think you’d turn out looking exactly like your momma. I know it doesn’t sound reasonable, but… wait a minute.
I’ll show you both.”
Mrs. James excused herself and disappeared down the hall.
“Are you all right?” Chris asked.
I nodded. “I’m fine. I feel bad about scaring your mother like that.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s weird. Ma isn’t one to overreact like that. I’ve never seen her like this.”
“It’s okay. What a coincidence she knew my mother and aunt.”
“Yes. It sounds like she knew you and your sister too…but that doesn’t make sense. I’m a year older than you. How old is Rose?”
“Twenty-three.”
“So she’s two years older than me. If my mom knows you and Rose, I wonder how come we never met all this time.”
“True, though Mom passed when I was seven.”
“I think if they were close friends I would have remembered you or Rose.”
“Maybe they grew apart by then.”
“Probably. There’s something to—”
Chris stopped speaking when his mother returned with a dusty old shoe box. “Sorry it took so long.” She opened the box and pulled out a stack of photos about an inch thick, flipping through them until she found a specific one, which she placed at the top of the pile. She placed the stack in front of me. “See for yourself, dear. This is why I reacted that way. Just so you know, I took this photo of your mother in my parents’ kitchen a little over twenty-three years ago.”
After looking at the picture, I understood why Mrs. James had lost her shit when she saw me. I think I lost my shit too. I looked down at my clothes then I looked at the picture again, incredulous.
I was wearing a black and white striped camisole under an open long-sleeved baby blue office-styled shirt, black leggings, and my tan ankle-high cowboy boots. Because I was expecting to have a full day of driving, which didn’t turn out to be the case when Chris told me about the flight, I had my hair in a high ponytail so it wouldn’t get in the way when I leaned back in Chris’ car. In the picture, my mother was wearing exactly the same clothes and shoes, and her hair was pulled up the same way. Our clothes, shoes, hair, and face all looked identical, as though someone had literally taken a picture of me minutes earlier in someone else’s kitchen.
Hook Up (A Bad Boy Sports Romance) Page 12
