Always Friday (7 page)

She looked him straight in the eye. “I’ve had my fill of the
fast-paced, nose-to-the-grindstone life. When I moved to Galveston, Dan, I was
plagued with headaches and backaches and neckaches. I didn’t even know I’d been
clenching my teeth for years. I had to wear a special splint in my mouth for
months to get my jaw back to normal. Now my biggest worry is hanging a few
paintings or finding a substitute driver for the Mermaid’s delivery wagon.”

Tess watched his reaction carefully, hoping he would ask her
more, hoping he would see the parallel between her former life and his.
Apparently it went past him. He acknowledged her disclosure with only a “Hmmm.”

“Do you plan to get a couple million dollars’ credit?” he
asked. “That’s a big commitment for someone who doesn’t want any worries.”

She slowly shook her head. “Nope. No loan.”

“Then how do you plan to pay for all this?” He looked around
the dirty, decaying rooms. “With buried treasure?”

She ignored his sarcastic comment, and a big grin spread
over her face.

“Exactly.”

Dan looked at Tess as if she’d lost her mind. “I can’t
believe you’re serious. Are you talking about the same screwball scheme that
Gram was? I thought you were just humoring an old lady’s fantasies.”

“I’m perfectly serious. Aunt Martha told you we have Jean Laffite’s
map and directions from—”

He gave a derisive snort. “A treasure map? Good God, Tess,
that’s one of the oldest cons on earth. Out of all that assortment of oddballs,
I was beginning to think that you, at least, had some sense.” His eyes
narrowed. “How much did you pay for this map?”

Fighting the urge to sock him right in the middle of his
gorgeous Roman nose, Tess ground her teeth together. How could she be about to
throw herself in his arms one minute and be tempted to brain him the next?

“Not . . . one . . . penny. Give me some credit, Friday. I
didn’t just fall off a turnip truck.” She wheeled and stomped out of the house
with Dan close behind her.

After she locked the door, they walked on toward the Strand
without exchanging one word. It was Dan who finally broke the silence.

“Tess, I apologize. Why don’t you tell me about the map.”

Still stinging from his comments, she glanced over at him,
trying to assess his motives. Was he truly interested or was he looking for
more ammunition to debunk their plans? He looked innocent enough, but she was
sick and tired of hearing him bad-mouth the people she loved.

“It appears to me, Daniel Friday, that you have a very bad
habit of jumping to all sorts of erroneous conclusions. Are you really the
pompous, self-righteous, crepe-hanger you seem to be, or have I misinterpreted
your behavior?” She smiled sweetly.

Dan chuckled at her set down. “I suppose I have been acting
like a condescending . . . jerk. I usually wait until I have all the facts
before I make decisions. About situations and people. I’m honestly sorry, Tess.
My only excuse it that I’ve been under a lot of stress.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Haven’t we all?”

He grinned. “Why do I get the impression that I’m the cause
of it?”

“If the shoe fits . . .”

He laughed. “Will you forgive me if I promise to try to do
better?”

Tess sniffed. “I tentatively accept your tentative apology.”

“Fair enough.” He hooked her arm in his as they walked. “Now
will you tell me about the map?”

“Maybe later.” It was not in her nature to hold a grudge,
but Tess figured it would do Dan good to wonder a while longer. “You might be
interested in this street,” she said as they stopped at an intersection. “This
part has some lovely old homes, but a few blocks west used to be one of the
South’s most famous red-light districts. It was originally named Avenue E, but
it’s better known as Post office Street.”

His brows went up. “Because the naughty ladies liked to play
Post Office?”

She laughed. “No, because the post office is on this street.
A couple of blocks down that way.” She pointed to her right. “Some of the bawdy
houses were quite grand, I understand, and they operated quite openly from the
late eighteen-hundreds until they were closed down in the fifties.”

“Where were the police all this time?”

“Taking bribes, I imagine,” Tess answered as they walked on.
“Or simply looking the other way. Underneath its genteel facade, Galveston was
a wild and wooly, wide-open town. Even during Prohibition and in the later days
when most of Texas was dry, liquor flowed freely here, and there were lots of
gambling clubs on the island that made a few of its residents rich. You should
hear Aunt Olivia tell about the Texas Rangers throwing slot machines into the
Gulf and raiding some of the fancier gaming rooms. She was incensed that the Texas
attorney general butted into the island’s business. Most people around here
simply winked and ignored the town’s vices and eccentricities. They still do.
Galvestonians are a tolerant lot.”

“Do you mean it’s still going on?”

Tess straightened her spine and feigned a wide-eyed look. “Why,
Mista Friday,” she drawled, “such things are illegal in Texas.”

They both laughed and, as they continued their walk, she
slipped her hand into his as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
His fingers closed around hers and, as Dan looked at her, his eyes shone with
indulgent tenderness and an unspoken promise of things to come. It was a potent
look, and Tess felt almost giddy from it.

A few minutes later, they arrived at Sea Song Gallery, which
was on the Strand, two doors down from the Mermaid. Tess introduced Dan to
Nancy Vaughn, a slender black woman who was her partner in the gallery. When a
customer came in, Tess wiggled her fingers at Nancy and led Dan back to the
storeroom.

“These are the ones we have to hang,” she said, pointing out
a dozen large paintings and a half dozen smaller ones, still in their wrappings
from the framer. “Let’s do the big ones first.”

She and Dan worked well together. In half an hour they had
stripped off all the coverings and had tentatively placed the larger oils along
the walls and display flats. Tess went back to the storeroom for a pair of the
smaller watercolor pieces, and when she returned, she found Dan sitting on the
floor, staring at one of the canvases that leaned against a cream-colored wall.

“Dan?” He didn’t look up. She knelt beside him and touched
his shoulder. “Dan, is something wrong?”

As if in a fog, he turned to her. “Pardon?”

“I asked if something was wrong.”

He shook his head and turned back to the painting, a
three-by-five foot underwater fantasy of cavorting sea nymphs. “This is
magnificent. They’re all magnificent.” He waved his hand over the collection. “I’ve
never seen such an unusual combination of power and delicacy. I can almost hear
the musical sounds of the ocean and the nymphs’ laughter.”

Tess grinned as Dan rose and went from one to the other,
studying each of the paintings, about half of which were abstracts. “Good. You’re
supposed to be able to. It’s called the Sea Song series in honor of the formal
opening of the gallery.”

“This is a local artist?” Dan sounded surprised. “Tess,
every one of these paintings is museum-quality.” He peered at the lower right
corner of two of the pieces. “Who is it? The only signature I can make out is
something that looks like a fishhook.”

“It is a fishhook,” she said. “That’s the way he signs all
his work.”

“So it is a man. I couldn’t be sure. Something in the style
and power of the strokes told me it was, but I couldn’t imagine the same man
being able to express such delicacy and sensitivity.” He went back to sit
beside Tess in front of the underwater fantasy. “This one particularly
fascinates me. Something about the nymphs seems familiar.”

“Picture me nude.”

A devilish gleam came in his eye. “I have. Many times.”

She gave him a playful swat on the shoulder. “Nude with
great swirls of blue hair longer than I am.”

Dan looked from Tess to the painting and back again. “My
God, it’s you!” She grinned and his eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared as a
rush of irrational fury flashed through him. The thought of anyone, even an
artist, seeing his Tess nude angered him. He hadn’t even seen her nude yet. “Did
you pose for this?” His words were sharp.

Her eyes widened. “Are you such a prude?” She sounded
amused.

“Did you?” There was no humor in his question.

“Only the face is mine. The rest is pure imagination.”

Dan felt his gut relax.

Tess rose and tugged at Dan’s hand. “Come on. I want to show
you something.” She led him to a painting with another female fantasy figure
and hoisted the large oil to eye level. “Look closely at the face of this one.”

He squinted and leaned toward the stylized mermaid with
copper hair.

“Look familiar?”

He glanced at Tess and frowned. “It reminds me of your Aunt
Olivia.”

Tess smiled. “And that one?” She pointed to another leaning
against a flat.

Dan squatted and looked at the central figure whose flowing
white hair was studded with starfish. “Gram?”

She nodded again. “Your grandmother was delighted to be
immortalized as a sea siren. Hook got a kick out of it, too.”

“Hook?” Dan glanced at the corner of the painting, then up
at Tess. “Do you mean . . . Hook?” He sketched the big man’s distinctive scar
on his own face, tapped his front tooth, and pointed to large oil. “
Hook
painted this?”

Looking smug, Tess slowly nodded her head.

“My God,” Dan whispered, stunned. “He’s an ex-con.”

“A sensitive, very talented ex-con. My grandmother and Aunt
Olivia first saw his work in a Huntsville Prison art show.”

“I can’t believe it. Tess, I promise you, these paintings
are fabulous.”

“I know. Several have bought his work.”

“And he stays on as your aunt’s houseman?”

While they hung Hook’s paintings, Tess told him the story of
how her grandmother and her aunt had hired an attorney and used their
considerable influence to secure Hook’s parole in their custody.

“It helps when you know the governor personally,” she said
as they placed the last of the watercolors. “They recognized Hook’s potential,
and he was grateful for their faith in him. He’s completely devoted to Aunt
Olivia, as he was to my grandmother before she died. Hook says they gave him a
chance when nobody else would. They outfitted a studio in his apartment over
the garage and saw that he had art lessons and all the supplies he needed.”

“It’s amazing. I still can’t comprehend that somebody who
looks like Hook can paint pictures that look like this.”

“Believe it.” She cocked her head and gave him a complacent
grin. “Are you feeling a bit sheepish about judging him by his looks?” When he
nodded, looking appropriately contrite, she said, “Good. You’re learning. Come on,
let’s get the rest of these up.”

By the time they were finished, it was dark outside and Nancy
had gone home. With Dan’s arm draped casually around her shoulders, they stood
surveying their work.

“I think we did a fine job,” he said. “We make a good team.”

“A darned good team,” Tess agreed, slipping her arm around
his lean waist.

“I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed an afternoon more. I
hate for it to end.”

“It was fun, wasn’t it?” She glanced at her watch. “It’s
almost dinnertime. We’d better get home or Ivan will have our hide. You’ve
become his personal project, you know.”

“Why don’t we have dinner out for a change? Think Ivan would
mind if we gave him a call?”

Tess shook her head.

After they phoned, Tess locked the gallery and they walked
toward the waterfront. With the loss of the sun, the night air was crisp and
chilly. They walked snuggled close together, arms wrapped around each other’s
waists and laughing as they bumped hips until they matched the tempo of their
strides.

Although she’d been happy living in Galveston for some time
now, Tess had never felt more profoundly alive than she did at that moment. Hers.
Daniel Friday was hers. A thrill of joy rippled over her and she shivered.

“You’re cold,” Dan said, running his hands over the goose
bumps on her arms. “And I don’t have a jacket to offer you.”

“I’m fine.”

Spotting a souvenir shop that was still open, Dan pulled her
inside and insisted on buying her something warm. “Though I hate to cover up
that lion’s eye. He’s been winking at me all afternoon.”

They laughed over the funny sayings printed on some of the
shirts and clowned around holding some of the more outrageous ones to their
shoulders to model. A few minutes later they left, attired in matching hot pink
sweatshirts with cross-eyed green frogs and LIFE’S A BEACH stamped across the
front.

“It’s you,” Tess said, standing back to admire his gaudy
choice and crossing her eyes to mimic the frog.

Dan threw back his head and laughed. Scooping her against
his side, he hugged her close. “Tess Cameron, you do strange things to my
conservative sensibilities.”

“Good.” She tucked her hand under the band of his sweatshirt
and let it rest on the warmth of his belly. “Your conservative sensibilities
need a little shaking up. They’ve given you nothing but trouble.”

Since their confrontation at noon, Dan’s behavior had made a
hundred and eighty-degree turn—well, maybe closer to a hundred degrees—and Tess
was keeping her fingers crossed that he wouldn’t revert to the foul-tempered,
straitlaced stinker she knew he could be. She liked him much better the way he
was now. She suspected that she was beginning to see the real Dan, the one who’d
been hiding away inside a carefully constructed shell. Even if he’d rather die
than admit it, she was sure that Kathy and the board had been right to toss him
out. Only his damnable male pride had been injured.