What They Call Sin

by Philippa Grey-Gerou

  "And it will be over?"

  He nodded.

  "And I can keep the studio?"

  He smiled. “Absolutely. I understand you are concerned about the taxes. We can stipulate his responsibility for those in the preliminary paperwork."

  "Oh god!” And she burst into tears.

  He rose quickly and went to the door, gesturing for Diana, who came in and offered Lindy comfort.

  "It's all set?” Diana asked Sidney as much as Lindy.

  He nodded. “I have a meeting with Mr. Stevens’ attorney this afternoon. With any luck, we'll have the new paperwork filed by the end of the week.” He began gathering up his documentation. “It will take a little while, but within six months, you will be a free woman."

  Lindy wiped her face and blew her nose. “I don't know how to thank you."

  He smiled kindly as he hefted his briefcase. “You can start by calling me Sidney."

  * * * *

  It worked.

  Lindy couldn't believe Sidney's ploy actually worked, but it did. After a certain amount of threats and posturing by Bailey, which left Sidney supremely unimpressed, Gabriel finally had no choice but to accede to their demands. The original petition for divorce was rescinded, and Sidney refiled with Lindy as the plaintiff, on the grounds of mental cruelty. No mention was made of Gabriel's extramarital affairs, as per the lawyers’ verbal arrangement.

  And so, on the third week of April, they gathered in the courtroom of the Right Honorable Isaiah Parker to have all the particulars heard.

  They rose when the judge entered and stayed standing as he reviewed the case briefly for the court reporter.

  "This looks like a fairly straight forward case,” he said, looking over the paperwork. “Unusual in a divorce case. Do both parties agree to all the provisions in the decree?"

  "The plaintiff does, your honor,” Sidney spoke up promptly.

  "As does the defendant,” Bailey confirmed sulkily.

  Judge Parker paged through the document briefly, and then through another file before looking up at Lindy. “Ms. James, has your attorney advised you that, according to these financial statements, you could be entitled to a great deal more money than is agreed upon in this settlement?"

  "Yes, your honor."

  "Then may I ask why you aren't pursuing those options?"

  "He's not worth it, sir."

  Gabriel scowled, but the judge and Sidney both grinned. “Alright then, have to respect a lady who knows her mind. This judgment is hereby entered into, and will become final after the mandatory waiting period of six months from this date, at which time all payments and settlements will be due. Mr. Stevens, you may pay Ms. James’ maintenance support in the clerk's office on your way out. My sympathy to you both, and may you move on to happier lives.” And he gaveled them into adjournment.

  With an enormous grin, Sidney hugged Lindy fiercely.

  "I couldn't have done this without you,” she said into his shoulder. “You were a godsend."

  He pulled back, still smiling. “Slaying dragons for beautiful damsels in distress is the most gratifying part of my job. I am just glad I could be of service."

  "You were my knight in tweedy armor."

  Sidney began gathering up his materials. Lindy waited until she heard the voice behind her. “I hope you're happy."

  She turned to see Gabriel standing there, murder in his face.

  "Gabriel, no.” Bailey tried to pull him away.

  She crossed her arms in front of her protectively. “I am. Very."

  He let Bailey pull him away, but not without a parting shot. “You were a huge disappointment as a wife. And a miserable lover. I don't know what I ever saw in you."

  His words sliced though her, this reminder that she wasn't wanted, wasn't valued.

  But something else rose up in her, something that had lain dormant for the long months of winter to awaken now in full blossom.

  She let her jacket slide off to bare her shoulders and slowly, aggressively swayed towards him, her chest high, her eyes turned sultry. “Really? Because, you know, Rogue said I was amazing. A goddess. That no woman had ever roused as much passion in him as I did. And,” she tugged lightly on his necktie, “since he could get it up more than once a week, I'm more willing to trust his opinion than yours.” She patted his chest condescendingly and sashayed away, winking at Sidney's dumbfounded expression.

  "He only fucked you to get what he wanted!” Gabriel shouted as Bailey led him from the courtroom.

  She looked over her shoulder as she slipped her jacket back on. “So did you. And he was better at it."

  "Bitch!"

  She turned to face him, hands proudly on her hips. “And don't you ever forget it."

  The door closed behind Gabriel as Sidney, the bailiff and the court reporter all burst into applause. She blushed and closed her blazer demurely over her chest.

  "Don't you forget, either,” Sidney said quietly as he helped her into her overcoat.

  "I won't,” she assured him. “I don't think I ever will again."

  Chapter 45

  Lindy was a different person after the hearing.

  She found that she wasn't afraid of her opinions, her own needs anymore. It turned up in odd ways now that she wasn't trying to restrain herself. She bought the first new pairs of blue jeans she had owned in years. And when she needed a little lift (literally and figuratively), she occasionally even indulged in the collection of lingerie Rogue had bought her in October. She avoided the pieces that were too loaded, though. Thoughts of him didn't hurt as much, but the pain was still there, and she wasn't ready to tear open those wounds.

  She and Sarah went with Diana to a citywide Beltane celebration on the first of May. Over a hundred people were there, many dressed like extras from the Lord of the Rings, and all chatting and hugging and smiling happily. Lindy felt a bit like she'd walked into the world of her paintings, where the modern and the fantastical overlapped. The ritual began and everyone gathered into an irregular circle around the beribboned maypole as the man and woman officiating began the invocations.

  Lindy didn't understand a lot of the ritual parts of the event. But someone forced a ribbon into her hand for the maypole anyway, and she found herself pulled into the swirling circle of dancers. She knew the in and out movements of the dance, understood the fertility symbolism of it. But she found she was instead focusing on the dancers, on the joy and hope written large on their faces. The promise of spring was so real for them. They danced among each other, beautiful men and women of all shapes and sizes, dressed in colorful, flowing clothes, or special robes elegantly decorated, or just in jeans and arty tee shirts. They stole chaste kisses from each other and from her, and whispered to her that she was goddess as they wove tighter and tighter together.

  And she started to believe it again.

  * * * *

  Sarah's senior show opened on the nineteenth. Lindy and Diana were swamped preparing student artwork for the regional schools exhibition in June, but Lindy slipped away for an hour that afternoon to give Sarah what support she could. Diana would go for the official opening that night while Lindy covered at the gallery.

  The Art and Art Instruction department of New York University was housed in the Barney Building on Stuyvesant Street. Classrooms, offices, studio and exhibit space all crowded into the six floors of the old Hebrew Technical Institute, now called the Barney, making for enough happy chaos to satisfy even the most anarchistic of artistic souls. The basement held, among other things, the galleries reserved specifically for sculpture, the bearing loads on the other floors being too uncertain to support the occasional heavy tonnage demanded by some of the sculpture students. And Sarah's work definitely fit into that category.

  Her installation consisted of five granite pieces surrounding a pure white marble figure, glistening in the bright halogen light. Already people were moving through the works, although the opening reception wouldn't be until this evening.

  The piece ne
arest to Lindy seemed to be an irregular oval, the top rough and sloping down toward the viewer. But as she approached it, she realized that the surface wasn't rugged but was in fact carved, revealing a woman's face, long hair floating as though suspended in water. Unlike classical statues, which seemed to look through blind, empty eyes, these seemed to be just opening from long sleep, pupil and iris clearly visible under heavy eyelids. It was as though the elemental in the rock had been awoken, disturbed from her eons-long slumber.

  The next looked to be a boulder with a vein raised along the side, which turned out to be an arm extending out and along the surface of the stone. The shoulder barely broke the granite surface, and Lindy felt an unreasoning urge to try to finish freeing the man obviously trapped inside.

  Rather than continue around the circle, she turned to view the marble in the center. Obviously Sarah's masterwork, it depicted a female figure, crouched and closed tight in on herself as though she had been encased in the stone and hadn't quite realized she was free. Lindy was amazed at the detail Sarah had achieved. She wouldn't have thought it possible. And not just surface detail, although that was exquisite. Sarah had cut away all the stone that didn't belong, not just what was visible, and had polished and smoothed all of it so that Lindy was tempted to reach out and touch it to make sure it wasn't real.

  "Lindy!"

  She turned to see Sarah in the gallery door with a brilliant smile on her face. Next to her was a tall, middle-aged gentleman dressed in black slacks and a turtleneck, a brown blazer completing the outfit.

  "Oh, I'm so glad you came!” Sarah threw her arms around Lindy in relief. “I'm so nervous, I don't know how I'm going to get through tonight."

  Lindy hugged the girl back. “You'll be fine. You've done all the hard work already. Sarah, these are amazing!"

  She blushed happily. “I don't know about amazing. But they'd better be good enough to get me that apprenticeship in Florence!"

  "I'm certain they will be, Miss Keyes,” the gentleman spoke up, his voice a rich English baritone. “They would be foolish to bypass your talent."

  Sarah crossed her fingers. “From your mouth to God's ear. Oh! I'm such a dummy. Julian, this is Lindy James. Lindy, Julian Graves. Mr. Graves taught my Business of Art seminar last term. He's an artist representative. He's going to help me try to unload these monstrosities after the exhibition."

  "It's a pleasure, Miss James.” Julian extended his hand and gripped Lindy's warmly when she took it.

  "You two should really talk,” Sarah continued. “Lindy's a fabulous painter. You should really see her work. Actually,” she looked into her shoulder bag and fished around until she found her long wallet. She opened it and pulled out a sheet of sketchbook paper folded neatly into sixths, which she handed to Julian. “Here."

  Curious, Lindy looked over his arm as he unfolded the page to reveal one of Lindy's own sketches, a random collection of preliminary views of Rogue, bare feet and bare-chested, that she had made that first day in her studio. “How did you get this?"

  Sarah shrugged. “I stole it out of your notebook when you had us to dinner last month."

  "But why?"

  "Because Rogue doesn't take his clothes off for me,” she replied matter-of-factly.

  "Well, I must say,” Julian intervened, interrupting their argument, “I've seen enough here to intrigue me. I should very much like to see more."

  "Oh,” Lindy was flustered. “I don't, um..."

  "Come on, Lindy!” Sarah protested. “What have you got to lose?"

  "Let's do this.” Julian reached into his coat and pulled out a business card. “Think about it, and if you change your mind, ring me.” He handed her the card and the paper.

  Sarah reached for the sheet, but Lindy snatched it away with a glare.

  Sarah stuck out her tongue.

  * * * *

  "Well, I must say, Miss Keyes didn't exaggerate your talents."

  Lindy paced nervously as Julian slowly walked the studio, carefully examining the mini-exhibit Lindy had set up for him.

  "Some of these images are very vivid and emotionally powerful. Life experiences, I would imagine. And not very happy ones?"

  She nodded, not quite meeting his gaze.

  "But yes, I definitely think with proper management you could make a living at your art. I don't know that the collector's market is quite the place for your material, but it certainly can't hurt us to start there. Have you ever given thought to a career as an illustrator?"

  She sank into a chair at the dining table, overwhelmed. “Mr. Graves, for the last five years I never thought I could have a career. This is all a little..."

  He smiled and sat next to her. “Understandable. But there is no rush. Your talent isn't going to suddenly leave you. You can act on it when you feel ready."

  "Would ... are you...” She stopped and drew a deep breath. “I'm not good at asking for help, Mr. Graves. But I want to be an artist full time, and to do that I'm going to need advice. Guidance. A carefully applied boot to the keister. Would you be willing to take me on?"

  He considered for a moment, studying her. “I should be glad to. In fact, I think it would be foolish for me not to. Now, to be fair, I do require a three-year commitment towards this process. Sometimes it can take a bit of time for an artist to be recognized."

  She nodded. “That's acceptable. What about your commission?"

  He removed his glasses and polished them, fixing her with a steely gaze. “Twenty-five percent on all sales and other compensations over the life of the contract."

  "After expenses,” she countered.

  "Agreed. But only those expenses incurred through my work. Materials for the actual production of your work would not be included in that."

  She thought about it for a moment. “Agreed."

  He grinned quickly. “Excellent! I'll have the paperwork drawn up and sent over tomorrow.” He rose and offered his hand. “And the first thing we'll need to do is to get you a show..."

  Chapter 46

  Yggrasil was packed.

  Lindy looked at the crowd in amazement. She couldn't believe all these well-dressed people were here to see her. Or, more accurately, her work.

  It had all happened so fast.

  Julian had brought the contracts by the gallery himself. He explored the exhibits while Diana went over the contracts and plans with Lindy. The consultant and the gallery owner came away with a growing respect for each other.

  And promptly took over Lindy's professional career.

  "Your gallery would be an ideal setting for Lindy's work,” Julian said, looking around the space. “It's more appropriate to her artistic style than a traditional establishment."

  Diana looked surprised. “Of course her show will be here! I wouldn't hear of it being anywhere else."

  "Do you have an opening in your schedule before the end of summer? I would imagine you have to book fairly far in advance."

  Diana waved away his concern. “We'll put her in after the schools exhibit. I can rearrange the schedule to accommodate."

  Lindy finally had the chance to interject. “You can't do that! Carey and Nyla are counting on it!"

  "Carey had a show here six months ago. He can wait a bit. And I'll make it up to Nyla. Ceramics sell better in the late fall anyway. It's your time, Lindy. Let us do this for you."

  Lindy looked from Diana to Julian uncertainly. But the confidence in their faces moved her. “Alright, let's do it."

  They had only three weeks to get everything prepared. The schools opening was the thirtieth of May and ran until the tenth of June. They would then have a week to get everything installed before Lindy's opening on the eighteenth. The first thing to be resolved was the advertising.

  Julian concurred with the painting Lindy selected for the publicity. “This is an excellent demonstration of the style of your work,” he had nodded approvingly. It was one of her park inspired works. In it a young brunette jogger, complete with short shorts, jogging bra and c
ross trainers, raced through a primeval woods, hair streaming off her back and face alight with a grin of pure joy, one perfect golden apple in her hand, a pack of dogs chasing along behind. Atalanta in Washington Square.

  Within three days of her contract being signed, the printer delivered a box of color and black and white camera ready glossies, as well as five thousand postcards printed with the graphic on one side and the show details on the other. These were quickly turned around and sent out to everyone on both Diana's and Julian’ mailing lists, while the photos were attached to press releases that went out to every newspaper and arts magazine in the region. Short of leafleting every coffee house in Lower Manhattan (which Sarah seemed to have taken upon herself to do), Lindy didn't think they could have done much more.

  Thankfully, with the completion of her senior show, Sarah was now available more. She picked up the slack at the gallery while Lindy scrambled to get her canvases ready for exhibit.

  Help on that front came from an unexpected source. Upon hearing about the dilemma, Cara came by and all but kidnapped Lindy to take her to a salvage shop Cara frequented often in her design business. With a list of canvas dimensions in hand, they picked through the effluvia most of the afternoon and hit a jackpot, coming away with thirty old wooden picture frames, some plain, some incredibly ornate, paint gone or varnish peeling, for which they paid less than a hundred dollars. One long Saturday with a bunch of friends, a couple of power sanders and three bottles of tinted linseed oil resulted in all of them and a dozen more stained and oiled to a matching glossy walnut.

  The actual installation took most of the week. They had to remove and return all the student art before the end of the school year, and then patch all the mounting holes and repaint before arranging the pictures to suit Lindy's eye. She decided to run them in ascending order of personal relevancy, with the most intimate being at the back of the gallery. Which also saved her the embarrassment of casual passers-by seeing her self-portraits. The night of the opening should be interesting for her modesty.