The Art of Love: Origins of Sinner's Grove

by A. B. Michaels

  A few minutes later Lia reemerged dressed once again in the lovely blue gown. Gus, back in his monkey suit, took her by the hand. Before shutting off the lights they took one more look at the vast swimming area. “I don’t think I’ll ever think of Sutro’s quite the same way again,” he remarked.

  Lia shot him a smoldering glance. “Nor I.” She paused, her expression brightening as she teased him. “After all, it’s where I learned to swim!”

  On the way back to the center of the city, all of Lia’s exercise caught up with her and she fell asleep in Gus’s arms. That was all right with him. Instead of dropping her off at her bungalow he instructed the driver to head directly to his place on the hill. She needed her sleep now, because in a little while he’d wake her up and make love to her all over again. The little voice in the back of his head kept chirping, “Tell her. Tell her everything.” But he ignored the words. In for a penny, in for a pound, he rationalized. He focused on all the ways he would have her, all the ways he would make her want him. He knew she would welcome him no matter what because she trusted him.

  Trusted him. He did his best to ignore those words too, and drew her more tightly against his chest.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The wondrous night at the Sutro Baths turned out to be the first of many such adventures for Lia. She’d awakened that night in the carriage to find herself not back home, but at Gus’s mansion. He’d asked her politely if she wanted to stay, and realizing from the look in his eyes what he wanted to do with her, it had taken her less than a moment to agree. Their night of passion turned into another day and night, and over that time he’d proceeded to show her what all the gossip rags had only hinted at. They’d stayed indoors for much of it; she was an eager pupil and he an experienced teacher. He quickly made himself familiar with the ways of her body—how to make her churn with passion and strain with ecstasy. But as he taught her how to please him with her hands and mouth, he also gave her a newfound sense of power.

  She’d brought her ever-present sketchbook upstairs from the dining room, and when Gus took cat naps she often drew him. He truly could have posed for a life drawing class. His shoulders were broad and the muscles on his back and arms and chest were well defined, tapering down his torso to slimmer hips but still powerful thighs and legs. Michaelangelo’s David came to mind, and Lia smiled. Gus’s body had long outgrown the famous depiction of the shepherd boy about to slay the giant, although Lia had no doubt Gus could have done the same deed. Then there was the matter of David’s…um…“equipment.” There was simply no comparison.

  No, Gus was more like Rodin’s The Thinker: big and tough, a bit world-weary, perhaps, but still willing and able to ponder life in all its complexity. Lia had shivered as she gazed at her lover, admitting with chagrin that she had brazenly ignored her own advice when it came to guarding her heart. What was going to happen now that she was well and truly in love?

  Now, back at her bungalow at last, she tried to focus on the work that had drawn her home: putting the finishing touches on her portrait of Mrs. Mason, designing the still life for Letitia MacIntyre (she favored potatoes and pomegranates, for some reason), and revising sketches for the landscape James Caldwell wanted her to paint. Gus’s mural was almost complete, yet she found herself putting it at the bottom of her to-do list. Once it was finished she’d have no socially acceptable excuse to visit him at his home.

  It was difficult to concentrate. Lia found herself spending time musing deliciously about all the “sins of the flesh” she’d learned from Gus over the past two nights. Memories of George popped up as well. He’d also been well endowed and more than capable of making love. With her, however, he’d always been somewhat perfunctory, as if having marital relations was a job he was duty bound to fulfill, but which he wasn’t particularly passionate about. She imagined that with Em it was a totally different story, and she was happier than ever that she had brought them together at last. If she hadn’t, she never would have met Gus and learned what “making love” was truly all about. Because it wasn’t just two bodies rubbing together, as nice as that was. It was about two people really connecting, at all levels and in all ways. It really was about creating love with each other.

  Despite those and other wayward thoughts, Lia was able, through sheer force of will, to accomplish most of her morning tasks. While taking a light lunch in her studio, she heard a knock on the door. A deliveryman handed her an enormous bouquet of hothouse blooms, took her signature, and left. As if he hadn’t just left her that morning, Gus had sent her the flowers with a card that read, Having a tough time concentrating today. Wonder why? Looking forward to focusing on you tonight. See you at seven. Gus.

  Only one thing about his thoughtful gift gave her pause: Gus hadn’t used the word “love.” Granted, she hadn’t said the word to him yet either; she hadn’t even expressed any expectations for their relationship. Still, it would have been easy to include the sentiment on the card, wouldn’t it? Maybe it just wasn’t his way. Maybe she should make the first move.

  Prompt as usual, Gus picked her up at seven p.m. to take her to dinner. She wore the crimson gown she’d worn at the Firestones’ gala and by the look on Gus’s face, he remembered it with pleasure.

  “I didn’t think you could look more beautiful than the night of your birthday,” he said. “But I was obviously wrong. Look at you.” He drew her into his arms. “I missed you, Amelia Ruth.” He took her lips in a deep, satisfying kiss.

  “Thank you for the flowers,” Lia said breathlessly when they finally broke apart. “You don’t have to be so extravagant with me, you know.”

  “I do know. Which is why it tickles my fancy to do it.” He turned and lifted her coat off its customary hook by the door and helped her on with it. “Come now, madam. We have a reservation at the Palace and I could eat a horse.”

  The “Palace” was the great Palace Hotel on Market Street and Montgomery. It took up a full city block and reputedly had nearly a thousand guest rooms, each with private baths and buttons that enabled guests to ring for butlers. On a few occasions, Lia and Sandy had eaten lunch in one of the hotel’s cafes. Sandy particularly liked people watching.

  “These people either have a lot of money or have no money but want others to think they do,” he’d declared on one of their Palace excursions.

  “Which group do we fit into?” Lia had teased her friend. Sandy was for the most part right. The hotel catered to the wealthiest members of society, and yet it was so enormous that just about anyone could mingle in the crowd and not stick out. A discreet sign in the lobby said “You are standing in the largest hotel in the western United States.”

  It was obvious Gus knew his way around the Palace. After dropping the car off with an attendant he steered her toward the Palm Court, an enormous, opulent lounge surrounded by several stories of white-columned balconies. Lia felt dizzy just looking up.

  Gus bought them each a glass of champagne and while they chatted, several men, many with wives or at least “companions,” came up to them, seeking Gus’s attention. Gus, to his credit, always introduced Lia as his “very good friend,” the “up-and-coming painter” who had created the much-talked-about Firestone family portrait. Lia smiled inwardly at the deft way in which he touted her talent while subtly staking his claim to her.

  Gus had reserved a table in the Tapestry Room, a luxurious, mahogany-paneled private dining room. A waiter even snootier than Louis handed them menus.

  “After dinner I’ll take you up top,” Gus said. “The Palace has one of the best views of the city.”

  Lia wasn’t sure about walking all those stairs in her current dress, but she held her tongue. “So, do you recommend anything from the menu?” she asked instead, a slight smile and hint of challenge in her voice.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Gus countered, his lips twitching. “But I’d order two of everything if I were you.”

  “What? No bets as to whether or not I’ll finish my meal?”

 
; Gus chuckled. “They do things a little differently here. They see how little they can put on your plate before you start howling about the high prices.”

  Lia laughed and so began another wonderful evening with a wonderful man. They joked about the “three-bite steak” Gus ordered and the roast chicken for Lia that resembled more of a squab. But the flavors were heavenly and they didn’t mind the small portions because they’d already shared a number of scrumptious appetizers and each had a salad. To finish the meal they ordered two decadent desserts and as they tasted each other’s selections, Lia could tell by the looks Gus gave her that his appetites were beginning to shift in another direction. She shivered, feeling the familiar warmth begin to flow through her. Only Gus could do that to her; she reveled in the feeling.

  After coffee, Gus said, “Come on, I promised you that view.”

  Instead of taking the stairs, he steered them toward the “rising rooms,” the hydraulic lifts that would take them up to the penthouse level of the hotel. Halfway across the lobby Lia heard Gus mutter, “Shit.”

  She put her hand on his arm. “What is it?”

  Before he could answer, she heard a woman call out to him. “Gus, darling! Why, it is you!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Lia turned to see Angel Lindemann, the nationally-renowned opera singer. The photographs in the society pages of the local newspapers hadn’t done her justice: she was even taller and more exquisite-looking in person. Lia felt like a plain brown rug by comparison. Do not do that! she scolded herself mentally. You are with Gus tonight, not her.

  Walking next to Angel was a well-dressed, middle-aged man, obviously successful and clearly smitten with the singer.

  Gus let out a breath and gently put Lia’s arm through his own. “Hello, Angel, Walter. How are you two this evening?”

  “Doing very well, Wolff…as you can see.” The man had a smirk on his face, as if to rub it in that he, and not Gus, was escorting the amazing Miss Lindemann that evening.

  “Lia, may I present Miss Angel Lindemann, whom I’m sure you’ve heard of thanks to her…singing talent. And Mr. Walter Hawthorne, the managing editor of the San Francisco Call. Angel and Walter, this is Amelia Starling, an extremely gifted artist who I’ve been…working with on some projects.”

  Angel sent Gus a sultry look. “I’ll just bet you have, darling.” She glanced dismissively at Lia. “Miss Starling, is it? So glad to make your acquaintance.”

  “Likewise,” Hawthorne said, giving Lia an appreciative once-over and holding her hand a bit too long.

  Lia barely registered the perfunctory introduction; all she could focus on was Gus’s description of their relationship. Where was the “very good friend” he’d described her as earlier? Instead he’d told Angel they were “working on some projects.” Is that what she really was to him—a professional colleague with whom he slept on occasion? She felt her blood begin to boil.

  “Well, we…I mean I…must be getting to bed,” Angel said coyly, looking straight at Gus. “I have a performance tomorrow evening. You will be coming, won’t you, Gus? You haven’t missed one in quite a while.”

  Gus glanced at Lia before turning back to the couple. “No, I’m afraid not. Miss Starling and I…have a deadline to meet. But I’m sure Walter will be there to enjoy your performance, won’t you, Walt?”

  Hawthorne, who was slightly shorter and somewhat wider than Angel, looked up at his ladylove. “Indeed I will,” he crooned. “Wouldn’t miss seein’ this lovely songbird warble her way across the stage, no sir. To the victor goes the spoils, eh, Wolff?”

  The two couples went their separate ways. Gus said nothing as they waited for the lift. Fortunately, when it came, they were the only two on it besides the operator, a young man in a bell hop’s uniform who kept his face impassive and stared straight ahead, as if by doing so, passengers might forget he was there. They sat on the far side of the velvet couch as the elegantly adorned room began its ascent. Lia didn’t even think to be scared, she was so preoccupied with the encounter with Gus’s old flame.

  “That was awkward,” Gus said quietly.

  Lia kept her voice under control. “Yes it was. Especially since…” Lia swallowed the lump in her throat. “Since before me, Miss Lindemann was your most recent…recent…”

  “Mistress? Paramour? May as well say it straight.” Gus ran his hands through his hair, a sure sign he was agitated. “But that’s done with. Believe me.”

  Lia pursed her lips. “I’m not so sure about that. Whatever she is, one thing is certain: she still loves you.”

  Gus snorted. “No, ma’am. ‘Love’ has nothing to do with it. Angel’s used to callin’ the shots, that’s all. Truth be told, I ended our…relationship…even though the press played it differently. But looks like she landed on her feet, which I knew she would.”

  “I mean no disrespect to Mr. Hawthorne, but if you think Angel would be content with someone like him when she could have someone like you, you are sadly mistaken.”

  Gus turned to Lia, his hand resting on the settee behind her. “I know you’re put out with me, but I’m gonna take what you just said as a compliment, even if you didn’t mean to give me one. Look, I downplayed you and me with Angel because frankly, I don’t trust her.” He ran his fingers lightly down her cheek. “But know this—no way in hell would I put you in the same category as her.”

  Lia put her hand over his and looked into his dark, brooding eyes. “Then where do I fit in?” she asked softly.

  “Lia, I—”

  At that moment the lift completed its climb and the attendant, who had stood discreetly at the other end of the oblong structure, announced, “Penthouse and Skyview Terrace.”

  Gus took Lia by the hand and guided her to a large open-air terrace adorned with potted plants and classic bronze sculptures. The rooftop promenade was encircled by a low fence of elegant ironwork that enabled people both sitting and standing to enjoy the view of the city. Even in darkness, San Francisco was a sight to behold: thousands of gas and electric lamps in buildings and streets and parks brightened their small parameters with distinctive orbs of light, leaving in utter darkness the details normally visible by day. The effect was like viewing a giant line drawing of a village that might be real or might be a fairy tale. Only the cars and carriages with their own mobile lanterns proved the city was a living, breathing creature and not simply a glittering tableaux. In the distance Lia could tell by the lights that boats were still plying the waters of the bay. Only a couple of months ago she and Gus had traveled on one of them. Had so little time really passed? In one respect the time had raced by, but in another it seemed they’d known each other forever—that’s how comfortable she felt with him. She resolved not to ask him to define their relationship as she had almost done inside. He would let her know in his own way and in his own time. She wouldn’t force him to admit prematurely to what she already knew in her heart: they were meant to be together.

  She felt his arms steal around her from behind and she leaned back into him. “It truly is a lovely view. Thank you for bringing me up here,” she said.

  Gus nuzzled her neck. “The view is nice,” he murmured, “but it doesn’t compare with what I’m looking at right here.”

  Lia turned in his arms and reached up to clasp him around his neck. She gently urged him down to her and placed her lips on his. He hesitated only briefly before deepening the kiss, as she knew he would. “Let’s go home,” she whispered.

  I am a fucking coward. Gus berated himself mentally as he sat in the upholstered chair in his bedroom gazing upon Lia as she slept. She lay on her stomach, her head turned to face him. One hand was tucked under her chin and she slept deeply, no doubt exhausted. He’d worn her out, demanding she give him as much passion and energy as he poured into her. Repeatedly. He was a selfish bastard, but he couldn’t help it. He needed her, and he needed her to need him.

  But the crazy best part of all was, she hadn’t seemed to mind one bit. She’d given hi
m all he’d asked for and more. That gorgeous little slip of a woman had wound him up and taken him higher than he’d ever been before. It scared the hell out of him to think how much power she had.

  It was three in the morning and he needed to be away from her, even if by a few feet, in order to think straight. He’d pulled on trousers but remained shirtless and would have considered it a punishment of sorts to shiver in the cold night air, but even that conspired against him: he ran hot and always had.

  Seeing Angel last night had heaped a shitload of reality on top of Gus’s head. She knew all about him, and Lia was right—she still wanted him. Given the kind of person Angel was, those facts were the stuff disasters were made of.

  But Angel was too worried about her reputation to confront Lia to her face; she wouldn’t want the world knowing she’d been passed over for someone else. So he and Lia were safe for the time being…weren’t they?

  He heaved a sigh. He needed to come clean with her, and he needed to do it soon. But once he did, he knew every damn thing was going to change, so he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet.

  Lia opened her eyes and sleepily regarded him. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Sure, sweetheart. Just thinking, that’s all.”

  She extended her hand. “Well come and keep me warm while you’re thinking.”

  Gus looked at her and quirked a smile. “I don’t think I can do both of those things at once when I’m around you.”

  Lia smiled and closed her eyes again. “Thinking’s overrated anyhow,” she murmured.

  Gus stripped off his pants and climbed back into his big four-poster bed. He gathered Lia to him so that her backside nestled into his groin. Letting a small groan escape, he began kissing her neck, inhaling the scent of woman and sex that had intoxicated him all night. It felt like a shot of the finest whiskey sliding down his insides and warming him up to his toes. She gently pushed back against him and reached behind her to stroke the back of his neck, letting him know she was ready and willing to give herself to him again. He told himself he would do what had to be done soon…