Painting for Keeps

Chapter 14

Aggie tried not to think about the show. She really did. First, she scheduled a therapy session on Wednesday night. Then her therapist canceled, his wife was having a baby and checking in to the hospital to be induced. So, dinner plans with a coworker, only the single mother’s babysitter couldn’t watch the baby because of the flu. The universe appeared to be working against her.

Then she decided to stay in and make Greek Moussaka like her father used to create for holiday meals. But she couldn’t stop thinking about him…Murph. Maybe he didn’t need to be perfect. He’d never be fixed. He loved her just the way she was, even committed to kissing her with puke breath. Seeing paintings didn’t mean they needed to jump each other’s bones. Friends support friends.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she put on her dark-red winter coat and headed out to the gallery. She hadn’t bothered to get out of her work clothes or clean off her makeup, deep-down knowing she wanted to go.

The show haunted her dreams as much as that last night with Murph now. She half expected him to be kneeling on the floor when she arrived, begging him not to take away his work.

Parking proved a pain, and she finally settled for a spot a few blocks away. The car beeped as she locked it and she headed in the direction of the Blue Gallery. People milled out on the sidewalk, which she thought odd. Others were dropped off by cabs or friends who needed to park the car.

“Is there a line?” she asked a gentleman and his wife, judging by the way they clung to each other.

“No, head on in. It’s a little hot in there because of all the people, so we stepped out for some fresh air.”

She opened the door, and the heat escaped, along with the scent of apples. Patrick had made sure the room smelled delicious. The first thing she saw was the painting from the bedroom, front and center. With the name of the exhibit as Murphy told her weeks ago, A Study in Emotion.

“Isn’t it a marvelous exhibit?” an older lady to her left said to a companion as they walked by.

“Yes, I already purchased one of the paintings, but I may need another.”

More comments like those swirled around her. The images of her and their creator were a success. A wild success, judging by the sold stickers positioned at each one as she started her circuit. She could tell the older paintings from the new ones. Each labeled with a different emotion underneath, but no matter the painting, she saw a different side of herself. Like snapshots in time as Murph visually provided images spanning years of her life. From the time they’d met, she’d inspired him to create.

It made her ache for the destroyed paintings.

“You came.” Patrick came to a stop beside her. “What do you think?”

She glanced at him, all suited up in a pinstripe ensemble with his black hair slicked back. The blond highlights were new. “About your hair or the show?”

“Funny, you make jokes.” His smile disappeared. “The show, of course. My hair needs no validation.”

“I love it. Where’s the artist?”

“Of course, you’d ask me. He’s mingling. Exactly where, I don’t know, since I’ve been dealing with purchase requests all evening. At this rate, we’ll be sold out by nine. The good news is several patrons want to hire Murphy on commission.”

“Really?” Commissions were a big deal, an important deal. After tonight, he’d no longer be a starving artist.

“There’s the buzz floating to these ears. So, get your fill of these paintings tonight. Tomorrow, they won’t be available.” Patrick left her then, called over by someone else, no doubt to make another purchase. She continued moving slowly through the crowd, taking the time to look at each painting. Finally, she reached the ones Murph had shown her the night she called everything off.

Each picture brought a new tear to her eye, and she reached into her coat pocket for the tissue she’d placed there earlier. Dabbing at her eyes, she turned her head, and the final painting hung there, large and imposing. She gasped, loud enough that several patrons looked at her. A couple of them did a double-take, and she chose to ignore them.

This had been the painting he’d worked on in her bedroom. She was nearly naked then. He’d left the sheet covering her, everything white compared to her olive flesh. Her hair spread out on the bed in a chaotic fan pattern. The look on her face belied complete happiness with herself and her body, like she never experienced uncomfortable thoughts in her skin or found herself dissatisfied with her curves.

This painting showed a woman in love with herself as much as life. How he’d seen this part of her without her even knowing it existed boggled her mind. Even now, she wanted to reach out and touch the woman in the painting. To meet her.

“Excuse me, miss?”

Aggie turned to face the man tapping her on the shoulder. “My wife and I are in a debate over whether or not you’re the model for the paintings. Would you care to help us settle the wager?”

She wiped at her eyes, a fresh set of tears replacing the previous ones. “I’m sorry. Give me just a minute.”

“Not a problem at all. I’ll admit, I’m more enamored by this last one than any of the others. It’s so precious to capture the pure joy in existence, and exceedingly rare for an artist to do so.”

Sniffling, she responded, “I agree. It’s hard to capture, for sure.”

“One would almost say the artist would need to be in love and extremely close to the model to fully embrace the emotions he or she were trying to depict.”

The words be in love hit her hard. He hadn’t been lying. No, this painting, if anything, confirmed his feelings and she’d tossed them aside.

“A very astute observation. You haven’t seen or met the artist, by chance?”

The older gentleman gave her a sad smile. “No, I’m afraid not.”

Damn. And the crowd appeared to have gotten bigger. The possibility of finding him grew slim. “Do you know if anyone has bought this painting yet?”

“No, dear. This one has a special reserve price. Only the gallery owner knows what it is, and so far, no one has met it.” He patted her on the shoulder. “You are the model, I presume?”

She nodded in agreement before wiping her cheeks and nose with the tissue. “Yes, and I have to find Mr. O’Shea, Murphy.”

“If I see him, I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.”

“Thank you.” She tucked the used tissue back into her pocket. Next time she saw Patrick, she’d tell him he needed more wastebaskets.

“No, thank you. I won the wager, and now my wife won’t get to choose our dining venue tonight.” The older gentleman wandered off, and Aggie took a moment to try to look around the crowd. Her height gave her some advantages, and she could see over a good portion of the attendees. Then she caught sight of dirty blond hair on a bearded face. Hot Jesus. He stood halfway across the room talking to Patrick.

The gallery owner pointed in her direction. Their eyes met, and she couldn’t move. No, courage fled, and she stood torn between butterflies in her stomach and the sudden urge to seek help. Any help. This conversation…she’d have to apologize, maybe even beg. The one thing she’d have to do was tell him she loved him.

Thinking those words gave her an extreme case of anxiety. Patrick had said he’d been fine. What if he cured himself of whatever love-crazed emotions were driving their spark in the first place?

He started walking toward her, and all rational thought fled—no, all thoughts did. All she could do was drink in her fill of him. The facial hair was very becoming, but the circles under his eyes worried her. He’d dressed up for the event, wearing a three-piece suit and even combed his hair, which appeared to be growing out like crazy. Hell, his shoes were polished to shine.

She couldn’t take this Murphy, not in all his finery and oozing sexual appeal. The glances of the women around him as he walked by confirmed her evaluation. Murph dressed in a suit equaled estrogen overload.

When he finally reached her, she held her hands out to him, and he clasped them with his own. The touch sent a tingle down her spine.

“Hi.” The greeting came out whispered.

He leaned in, inches from her lips, and whispered back, “Hello.”

#

He didn’t know how to react, what to say or do. She’d come. Maintaining his distance, he’d kept one eye on her movements. She looked at the paintings, sipped water while staring at them, her eyes crinkling with her smile at some points. In another moment, she touched her cheek, the spread of a light blush rising on her pale flesh. He yearned to go to her, to ask her for her thoughts, impressions…anything.

For the last couple of weeks, he’d been in therapy, on the medication, which proved promising. So far, the side effects were minimal. He’d taken steps to save himself, to get better, but he still didn’t think he was in the best shape for Aggie.

When Patrick returned with the release, he’d peppered his friend with questions. She’d been in her relaxing clothes, sweats from her alma mater. Her hair had been up in a ponytail, and she’d been polite to him, asking how Murph was doing and if all the paintings were finished. Patrick volunteered information like his pledge to be done painting for a while, though his friend mentioned embellishing the story a bit. He didn’t care, his thirst to simply hear anything about her overruled any other objections.

Patrick had found him greeting another patron who offered congratulations and expressed interest in one of the paintings. He kept himself all smiles, humbled thanks, and then, his friend interrupted, begging forgiveness when he knew Patrick never gave a shit.

“She’s here.”

“I know,” Murph replied. “I saw her come in but figured I give her space. I’m not ready.”

“I think she’s had enough space since she saw Joy.” His friend pointed in the direction of the final painting, his true masterpiece. The one Trix nearly destroyed. Thinking of the moment when she dove for the painting killed him. Then his eyes moved downward to Aggie. She looked at him head-on.

“Go talk to her or I will. You’re ready. You’re taking steps.” Patrick’s words were coupled with a pat on the shoulder, most likely to instill courage, but the doubt and fear remained. There still existed a possibility she’d want nothing to do with him. Maybe being on her own had changed her mind about her romantic feelings toward him. To talk to her would also mean, once again, revealing his feelings, though the paintings did that on their own.

“Fine, I will.” He couldn’t smile, not when his love stood across a room of people. She never broke eye contact with him, and he walked slowly, taking in every aspect of her visage. Her hair in some half updo, tendrils framing her face. A face red from crying, no visible tears, but something caused her pain. He only hoped his paintings were not a source, especially Joy.

Her red pantsuit and matching winter coat were a perfect contrast to her skin and hair. The light makeup, not super noticeable but adding just the right touch. If he held a sketchbook or a canvas, he’d start working on a new painting now. He’d always want to paint her.

People parted as he passed, and he noticed the gathering audience, though he couldn’t stop moving toward her even if someone told him it would be a horrible idea. He hated bringing attention to her. By now, the resemblance to Aggie and his model for the portraits would’ve been recognized. No doubt they’d be swarmed. Then she held her hands out to him.

He clasped her cold palms within his warm ones.

Her whispered, “Hi,” like a burst of sunshine against a winter chill.

“Hello,” he whispered back.

For a moment, they stood there, and he let people watch them. Let them ponder, wonder, and make inferences about Aggie. Then he finally couldn’t stand the white noise around them. He wanted her to himself.

“Do you care if I get you out of here?”

“Where would we go?” she asked with a smile, making her eyes sparkle.

“Your car, Patrick’s office, anywhere. There are things to be said.” He had a dozen things to tell her. A month apart would do that to a man.

“I have things I need to tell you, too.”

At that moment, he knew whatever direction they headed, a swirl of speculation would follow. Patrick believed drama made paintings sell, so he’d give them a whirlwind of it.

“Come with me.” Without letting go of her hand, he moved them through the crowd and into his friend’s office, which left nothing to the imagination since clear windows lined the office instead of walls. But the good news, a door with a lock existed and they got to be alone. He released her once they were inside, and when he turned, she stood halfway across the room. He secured the door and refused to pay any attention to the people outside. Instead, he faced Aggie and grinned. “I missed you.”

She sniffled. “I missed you, too. Damn, I might cry again.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re gorgeous and everything…those paintings, you never showed me all of them. You never showed me the last one.”

“After you reacted so horribly when I suggested paintings of you on display, I didn’t know if you’d let me show it, since you’re practically nude.”

“Murphy, if you refused to display it, then it’d be a crime. And I would have never let you hide it from the world.”

He froze, stunned by her response. “Really?”

“Yes, and all the other paintings capture exactly what you said they did. That’s me looking at them objectively without identifying myself as the model.”

They both laughed, and then they tried to talk at the same time.

“Murph—”

“Aggie—” He motioned to her. “You go first.”

“I’m sorry. So sorry for our last night. I shouldn’t have said the things I did. I should’ve been willing to give you another chance as we were. You never asked me to be perfect but took me, loved me as I am. I don’t want you to think I can’t deal with your issues or accept them as a part of you. I love you, too.”

He reached down and pinched the back of his wrist.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure I’m not dreaming.”

She smiled at him. “I promise, you’re not. Every single one of those paintings is selling out there, and Patrick mentioned people want you for a commission.”

Nothing mattered beyond this moment. Aggie said she loved him. “I don’t care.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous—”

“Do you mean it?” He walked to her like a tiger on a hunt, corralling the prey.

“You’ll need to be a little more specific than that.”

“Do you love me?” He reached her and her chest heaved, breaths more like pants. She appeared as nervous and pent-up as he.

“Of course, I meant it. Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

Goodbye to the last of his restraint, his resolve…all broken and shattered beyond recollection, so he kissed her. The roaring applause outside the office was too much to be ignored and they broke apart to bow to their audience.

“I can’t believe our public display of affection was witnessed by everyone.” She clung to him, not letting him go, and he loved it.

“Well, Patrick told me if I wasn’t going to actively try to sell my work, I should provide something to the show.”

She let out a laugh.

Then he remembered. “Before anything else, because damn it, I want to kiss you again, I need to tell you, you’re right. I can’t keep up this behavior and rely on someone else to get me out of my upper and downer episodes. So, I signed up for therapy again. I’m on meds, which are working. I’m sticking to the diet and have come to realize that we have to be our own personal savior.”

“What prompted this?” The glimmer of admiration in her eyes was worth every word of confession.

“Your words, and finally Trix. She had a total meltdown, nearly destroyed Joy and I almost let her. If it’d been any other painting—let’s say getting Trix help meant I needed to get me help.”

“Is she okay?”

“Nothing a short psychiatric stay won’t fix, I hope. Seth is staying with me in the meantime. So, as long as you don’t mind a little visitor, I’ve got an old bed I’m willing to throw out for a princess monstrosity.” He hoped this wouldn’t be a breaking point.

“I don’t mind at all.”

“So, what does this mean, exactly?” Best to place the ball in her court, he wanted everything. Hell, if she needed it, he’d propose marriage and take her to the courthouse in the morning, but if anything, she’d want to move slowly.

“I’d say I’d like to come home in six months when this lease is up, if you let me. Give us time to continue therapy, keep working on ourselves. In the meantime, how do you feel about being a soon-to-be-famous artist with a girlfriend?”

He pulled her against him again, kissing her lips with a soft, sweet touch. “I’d rather be the starving artist with the too-gorgeous-nutritionist girlfriend.”

“Looks like we’ll both be getting what we want.”