A Note From an Old Acquaintance (10 page)

“I guess it
is
a bit like the ‘empty nest syndrome.’ I live with them for so long that I really feel as if I know them, as people. So, yeah, I do miss them when it’s done. The only saving grace is that I can always pick up my book and read it and visit them all over again. The thing is I
love
the process. So many people want to have written a book, but they hate having to write it. I’ve never understood people like that. Anything I hated to do I always found a way to stop doing it. Is it like that for you?”

“Definitely. Every piece for me is like giving birth. When it’s done, I have something I’m proud of, but I find I miss the act of creation, the hours of sweat and frustration and the final, ‘Aha!’ when it all falls together. There’s nothing like it. Afterwards, I’m usually sad for a few days.”

“But at least you have the finished art to look at and appreciate—unless you sell it, of course.”

Joanna shook her head.

“You’ve never sold anything?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, that really makes us comrades in arms, doesn’t it?” He said, raising his coffee. “Here’s to success.”

Joanna clinked her nearly empty glass against his, her eyes shining. “Success,” she echoed.

“You want another coffee?”

“I’d better not. What time is it?”

Brian looked at his watch. “Nine-thirty.”

“Oh, God, I’ve got to go. I told Erik I’d be home by ten.”

“No problem,” Brian said, masking his disappointment. The time had gone too damned fast. He signaled the waiter, making the universal motion for the check. It arrived moments later.

“How much do I owe you?” Joanna asked.

“Nothing. It’s my treat. You can pay the next time, if you’d like.”

“Okay, next time, it is.”

Brian left cash on the table and the two of them put on their coats and headed for the door. Outside, the frigid air hit them like a slap in the face.

“My car’s just around the corner. Can I give you a ride?”

Even though it was a relatively short walk, he didn’t want the evening to end, not yet.

“Thanks. It’s not too far. Straight down Fairfield to Beacon.”

On Newbury, Joanna approached a sleek black late model Mercedes 500SL. The license plate read: ARTEEST. She clicked the keyless remote and the car chirped once, all the lights flashing. Brian held the door for her and then went around to the passenger side and got in. The interior, also black, had that rich smell of leather he loved. And it was spotless, not even a fleck of lint on the carpeting.

Joanna sensed his wonderment. “This was Erik’s idea. I wanted a Volvo wagon.”

“Nothing wrong with having a nice car,” Brian replied, trying to ease her discomfort. “And it certainly goes nicely with what you’re wearing.”

Joanna grinned and shook her head. “I need to keep you around. You really know how to make me feel better.”

“I do?”

She gazed at him tenderly. “Yes, you do.”

As if recalling the lateness of the hour, Joanna inserted the key and started the engine. It growled with suppressed power, as only a big motor could. Brian had to admit he was just a tiny bit jealous, even if a Mercedes was not his style.

“So, where on Beacon do you live?”

“Three thirty-four on the Storrow Drive side.”

Joanna glanced in the rearview, pulled the car out of the space, and sped toward Mass Avenue.

In the brief silence that followed, Brian wondered if he should ask the question uppermost in his mind. Would she consider it prying? And did he really want to know the answer? He decided he did.

“How did you meet your fiancé?”

Joanna seemed to measure her words before speaking. “I was a sophomore at Mass Art and Erik was called in to bid on some expansion plans they were considering at the time. I was on work-study and the administration selected me to show him around. He asked me out the next day.”

“And the rest is history?”

Joanna nodded, negotiating the turn onto Fairfield. “You could say that. We’ve been engaged for about six months.”

Brian tried to hide his reaction. Christ! Too late by a lousy six months. Up ahead, he spotted his building, suddenly regretting the turn in the conversation. Feeling like a prize fool, he stared out the windshield while she double-parked the Mercedes in front of 334 and turned on the hazard lights.

She turned to him, her expression a mixture of emotions.

“It’s a lovely building,” she said. “It suits you.”

Brian nodded. “Of all the places I’ve lived since moving here, it’s my favorite.”

He turned to her then, their eyes locking. His heart thudded in his chest and his mouth turned to sand.

“It seems I can’t help having a wonderful time with you.”

“Me, too,” she replied, her voice a near whisper.

She leaned toward him, ever so slightly, her eyes searing into his soul. Without knowing quite what compelled him to such reckless abandon, Brian kissed her. A soft moan issued from her throat, and she brought her left hand up, cupping the back of his head. The other caressed his cheek. Her lips were so gentle, so soft, yet they blazed with an intensity that dwarfed the memory of his first furtive kisses with Laurie McCurry when he was twelve, and the thousands of kisses that had come after them, burning into his mind and heart with a quiet ferocity that belied its tenderness.

All too soon, it broke; and Brian pulled away, not wanting it to end, his mind and heart aflame with so many emotions he couldn’t sort them out. Joanna’s deep green eyes reflected these same feelings, yet in those vibrant emerald depths they grew crystal clear: joy, longing, lust, hope, and something else.... Was it fear? For Brian, it was the fear of another heartbreak, and the fear of never seeing this incredible woman again. He reached for her hand, feeling those long graceful fingers lace through his.

“You’re trembling,” he said, swallowing hard.

“So are you.”

“I’d love to see you again, Joanna. Can I call you?”

She nodded, her eyes still locked with his. “I’d like that.”

With the greatest reluctance, Brian opened the car door and climbed out.

“Drive safe.”

Joanna smiled and nodded. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

Brian watched her drive off, waiting until her tail lights disappeared before going inside.

For the rest of the evening he went through the normal motions of his solitary life, realizing that up until that night at the Metropolis club, that life had been utterly meaningless.

10

BY
9:45
THE
TRAFFIC
in the Westbound lanes of the Mass Pike had lightened, the rush hour long over, and Joanna found herself longing for the bumper-to-bumper snarl to which she’d become accustomed. At least it would give her more time to think. The problem was she didn’t know what to think. She kept fiddling with the radio and the cassette player, trying to find something—anything to keep her mind from dwelling on Brian; but no matter what station she tuned in or which album she put on, her thoughts kept returning to him.

In Heaven’s name, what had she done?

I let him kiss me. What was I thinking?

And that was just it, she wasn’t thinking, at least not with her head. The thing of it was, she’d wanted him to kiss her, had wanted it from the moment she had looked into his eyes at Nick’s party. The real irony was that she hadn’t even intended to go to the party in the first place. Instead, she’d planned to spend the evening working in her studio. But it was during her afternoon meditation that something changed her mind. It was no magical revelation, no mysterious flash of insight, just a quiet certainty that she must be there.

It all came clear when Brian had asked her to dance. And it wasn’t that he was particularly handsome, either, not like Erik, whose dark male-model looks had turned her head so completely as a twenty-year-old. But there was something about him, something boyish and innocent, yet strong and assured. On the other hand, he wasn’t ugly, either. She loved the way his lips curled sideways into that sweet smile, his wavy blonde hair, the way it curled around the backs of his ears, the slight dimple in his strong chin. But it was those eyes of his that had made her heart stutter in her chest. So steady, so blue and so...honest.

And he was funny, too.

Joanna giggled, recalling his leather jacket tango once again.

Yes, she’d wanted him to kiss her more than anything, had been afraid he would be too shy to do so. Yet, when he had, it overwhelmed her senses in ways that still defied description. She trembled at the memory, her fingers touching her lips, as if to recapture the feel of him.

What really thrilled and scared her all at once, however, were the acuity of his mind and the depth of his soul, his knowing what it truly meant to be an artist. Poor Erik, so consumed by the passions of his business and all that went with it, so assured in his dealings with Boston’s powerbrokers, had no idea as to what it really meant to create something of beauty from the core of one’s being. It really was like giving birth, your creations carrying a small part of yourself out into the world. Erik’s buildings, so startling in their construction, so commanding in their presence, were merely testaments to his acumen, a reflection of his ability to hire the right people for the right jobs. He had no understanding of the creative mind.

Yet, she still loved him...didn’t she?

She hadn’t told Brian the whole story of how she and Erik had met. It was true she’d been asked to show him and his architects around, and it was equally true that he’d asked her out the next day, but only after pulling strings with the school to find out her number.

She’d been both annoyed and flattered that he’d gone to such lengths, yet she’d rebuffed him. But he persisted. Eventually, her resistance had broken down and she’d consented to a date. In spite of her tears and her dilemma, Joanna cracked a wistful smile, the memories of that night flooding her mind. Had it really been only six years ago? It seemed as if it happened a lifetime ago—and in someone else’s life...

...Joanna gazed at her reflection in the old cracked vanity mirror and sighed. She was a mess, a total freaking mess, and this date was a crazy idea, too. Her roommate, Marcia, thought she was nuts to have any doubts, foaming at the mouth over Erik and all of his “little presents” that arrived during the past week: flowers, candy, silly little dime-store baubles that made Joanna laugh, and more flowers.

Maybe she should call him and tell him that she wasn’t feeling well. She sure didn’t look all that great. Her hair was a frizzy rat’s nest, her makeup looked as if a clown had applied it, and the dress, Marcia’s so-called “Drop Dead” dress, clung to her in all the wrong places.

She looked again at the dozen red roses sitting in the vase next to the mirror. They’d arrived earlier that afternoon, the note saying:
Expect the unexpected—Erik.

The smile those words brought to her lips belied her apprehension. He
was
sweet...
and
rich
and
handsome. So, why was she questioning it? Why didn’t she just go with the flow? Was it the age difference? Joanna thought she was beyond that, but she couldn’t help wondering what it might be like, years from now, if they stayed together. She shook her head again, this time at her own foolishness. Here she was thinking about the future and she couldn’t even get her act together for one lousy date.

What time was it, anyway?

She stole another glance at the clock on the floor next to her futon. Even with the two burnt-out LEDs she could still tell it was—

5:15.

Crap. He would be here in fifteen minutes and she was a
mess
!

Relax, she thought. Remember your breathing. Everything will be fi—

The buzzer over the elevator blatted.

Joanna yelped, grabbed her lipstick and tried to steady her hands long enough to apply it.

“Joanna...?” Marcia called from the other end of the loft. “I think you might wanna check this out.”

Joanna gave herself one last critical look, then moved through the beaded curtain separating her “bedroom” from the rest of the loft. She spotted her roommate across the two thousand square foot room staring out the bank of windows fronting Pittsburgh Street. The light filtering through decades of grime gave the room a dusty golden-red glow.

“What is it?” Joanna asked, frowning.

Marcia stabbed her finger toward the window, an excited expression on her narrow face.

Joanna started across the floor, neatly side-stepping the scattered piles of Marcia’s clothing, her high heels clacking against the patchwork of ancient linoleum. She paused a moment near one of her new pieces, an idea flashing into her mind.

“Will you come on, already?” Marcia shouted.

Joanna reached the window, following her roommate’s gaze toward the street below. A long Rolls Royce limousine idled at the curb, its flawless paint gleaming like a black mirror. Joanna’s eyes widened.

“Oh, my....”

“I’ll say one thing for him. He’s sure got style.”

“I can’t go, Marsh, not like this!”

Joanna’s roommate turned from the window and gave her friend a quick appraisal. “What are you talkin’ about? You look bitchin’. And that dress....” Marcia licked her finger then reached behind her back, making a sizzling sound as her finger made contact with her ample derriere.

Joanna rolled her eyes. “Look at this!” she said, yanking at her auburn curls.

“Well, if you’d stopped workin’ on that sculpture of yours a little earlier, I could have done somethin’ with it.”

The door buzzed again and Joanna moaned, her pulse rate accelerating.

“Calm down, calm down, you’ll be fine. Here, let me....” Marcia reached over to a table piled with a jumble of cosmetics and pulled out a woven elastic band; then she arranged Joanna’s hair in a loose bun atop her head. “There, perfect. Now
go
.”

The buzzer squawked again and Joanna dashed to the elevator, pulling up the gate, scooting inside, and letting it fall back down with a loud crash. She stabbed the button for the first floor and closed her eyes, sending a silent prayer to Buddha for a measure of much-needed calm and poise.

The elevator motor groaned and creaked, and the car began its bumpy descent.

“Jo! Heads up!”

Joanna looked up the shaft and saw Marcia dropping her clutch purse. She caught it and laughed. Christ, if her head wasn’t at-tached....

When the elevator reached the ground floor, Joanna spied the liveried driver waiting in the foyer, his finger poised to press the buzzer button again. He turned and gave her a courtly bow, then led the way out to the street.

Erik waited by the limousine’s open rear door, an admiring smile on his chiseled face, every crease on his dark-blue Armani suit razor sharp. “You look so lovely this evening.”

Joanna grinned, the anxiety leeching from her body. “I have my fashion consultant to thank for that,” she said, looking up toward the third floor window. Marcia smiled and waved.

“Shall we?” Erik said, motioning toward the Rolls.

Joanna grinned again and climbed inside, the supple leather seat enveloping her with a quiet sigh. The all-black interior with its gleaming chrome and burled walnut accents exuded a mélange of beguiling odors: rich leather, a woodsy aromatic cologne, expensive single-malt whiskey and earthy pipe tobacco. Mostly, it smelled of money.

Erik settled into the seat beside her and Joanna’s heart rate ratcheted up a notch. A moment later the limo pulled away from the curb with a quiet purr.

“So, where are we going?” she asked.

Erik locked eyes with her, dark pools that promised mystery and excitement. “Telling would spoil the surprise,” he replied.

The limousine shot across the Congress Street Bridge onto Atlantic Avenue, wound its way past Fanueil Hall and entered the Callahan Tunnel. Traffic in the tunnel was heavy, but this didn’t seem to faze Erik, who began asking her questions about her studies at Mass Art. The wonderful thing was, his eyes didn’t glaze over when she told him. He actually seemed interested.

“So, what do you want to do when you graduate?” he asked.

“You mean what am I going to do for a living?”

He smiled. “I didn’t say that.”

“Probably teach.”

“No fame and fortune?”

Joanna studied his face, trying to divine if the question was a facetious one. She decided it wasn’t.

“Well, fortune would be nice, but I’m not sure fame is everything it’s cracked up to be. Besides, making one’s name in the art world isn’t that easy.”

Erik chuckled. “You might be surprised. I saw some of your work at the school. Compared to everything else I saw there, I think you could go all the way, if you wanted.”

Joanna felt a mixture of excitement and irritation, and wasn’t sure why. Having a sophisticated and worldly man such as Erik saying things like that made her feel giddy. But surely he knew it wasn’t like closing a business deal.

Outside the tunnel, Joanna realized they were heading for the airport.

“Okay, where
are
we going?”

“A favorite little spot I thought you might enjoy.”

“Hmmm, and I guess I’ll just have to be a good girl, and wait and see, won’t I?” She gave him a coy grin, making him laugh.

Instead of taking the normal route into Logan, the driver guided the limo onto the surface streets. Soon, they arrived at a private hangar. A gleaming Gulfstream jet sat just inside the yawning doorway, the ground crew scurrying about making last-minute preparations.

“Oh, my God, this is—”

“—something you richly deserve.”

Joanna started to say something else and thought better of it. It was just a date, right? Why not enjoy it?

The pilot emerged from the cockpit when they mounted the steps. He introduced himself and made sure Joanna and Erik were comfortable in the main cabin. “We should be at LaGuardia in a little under an hour,” he said.

“How’s the weather?” Erik asked.

“Smooth sailing, Mr. Ruby.”

Erik nodded and the pilot disappeared back into the cockpit. Moments later, the engines fired up. In ten minutes they were airborne. Joanna watched the lights of the Boston skyline recede, wondering if this was all some heady dream, and any moment she would awaken in her seedy loft. Did she really deserve this? Did she really have anything in common with this man?

Joanna heard the sound of a cork popping and turned to see Erik pouring champagne into two crystal flutes. He placed the bottle back into the silver ice bucket and handed her one of the delicate glasses. He touched the rim of his against hers, eliciting a musical “ting.”