The Artist's Paradise (16 page)

Chapter 28

R
ising early, the professor sipped sweet tea and nibbled on a blueberry muffin. He’d studied human motivation most of his life. The human soul required tender reassurance. If positive input failed to be consistent, humans tried harder to please.

He smiled.
Angie was growing more confused each day—trying harder to satisfy his demands, and working longer hours on her watercolor painting. Soon he’d push her into a new level of artistry.

#

Angie jumped as the cottage door burst open. In strode the professor. She held her breath. Which professor was he today? There was only one way to find out. “Good Morning, you are up early.” Angie said. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”

“Early, nonsense. We lost an entire evening, and that class will be made up now.”

She opened her mouth to protest, and then retreated

Displaying his athletic build in a tightly fit hunter-green polo shirt, she cautioned herself to remain distant.
His Givenchy cologne,
Gentleman
, drowned her in a woodsy fragrance as his sexy dark-brown eyes stared at her. She wrapped herself with her arms, fighting off the butterflies of awe and fear running through her body. This was nonsense. The man who stepped into her cottage would be into only the tasks of the day.

She focused on his voice and memorized his instructions
, as he briskly explained her assignment. Once his demands were delivered, he curtly left as quickly as he’d arrived. With a slam of the door, he was gone.

She rubbed her neck and sighed.
What could she have possibly done to generate his irritation? They had made up for the eruption at the banquet. Did he regret purchasing that expensive watercolor painting for her? Or was he concerned that his time would be better utilized on a more gifted artist?

She moved to the paints. As she began working on her exhibit, she
struggled with the assignment. She was determined to show the professor she could perform. But his explanation for the desired outcome was sparse and delivered rapidly. Worst of all, the timeline he dictated to complete the exhibit —unreasonable. The knot in her stomach brought the taste of bile into her throat. “Oh please, let me produce what he has requested.”

Ninety minutes later, the dreaded knock came at her door. Angie jumped. The door burst open and in strode the professor
, his lips pursed, and deep lines etched in his forehead. His eyes moved directly to the exhibit. “Are you ready?”

Angie stepped back to allow the professor access to her painting. She dropped her
trembling hands to her sides. Was he bi-polar? “Ready? No, not really.”

He advanced to the worktable and
grabbed her exhibit. He glared at her work, his face without expression, and his mouth tightly closed. Angie held her breath as the professor moved closer to the window. Could the sunlight penetrate the watercolors and reveal the detail of each stroke? He turned to her and said, “You have missed your target today. This is not acceptable. After lunch, you will repeat the assignment. Understand?”

Angie’s gaze fixed on a spot on the floor. “Understand? No, I’ve failed the assignment
, and have no idea what I’ve done wrong.” She burned from his piercing stare.

“A true artist knows what must be done. Your lunch is ready and placed on my back porch. Eat and return to your
work. I’ll be back at 3:30. Don’t disappoint again.” The professor swept past her and slammed the door as he exited.

She
slumped down on the sofa.
What had she done wrong?

Thirty minutes later,
Angie pulled herself upright and picked up the failed painting. She carried it to the window as the professor had done half an hour earlier. She saw nothing. What had
he
seen? How could she correct what she did not understand?

She
struggled to recall the initial description of the assignment. She closed her eyes and concentrated, recalling the words he had thrown at her—lightfastness, dragging color, lifting and dropping color. What else had he said? Yes, of course, he’d told her to use the split color palette. What was that? How could she select the colors if she didn’t understand the terms? She flew to her cell and Googled the split color palette. Finally, she understood. He meant for her to use the warm and cool shades of the three primary colors of yellow, red, and blue. How simple. Had she missed anything more?

She
checked the time. With no appetite, lunch would be sacrificed. She must begin the task immediately. Grabbing a fresh watercolor pad, she peeled off masking tape, and attached the paper to her Formica board. This would hold the painting in place as she worked. Then she sat down at her worktable and frantically pulled together the tubes of paint for a split color pallet. She must hurry, but she could make no mistakes. His words echoed in her head.

Do not
disappoint.

A knock at the door came and Angie shook. Again, she wasn’t finished. He told her 3:30. It was only 3. Why was he tormenting her like this? She called out, “It’s open.”

She stood frozen in place.

The professor
marched into the small cottage, his face expressionless and his walk slow and measured. “I expect better this time. How have you done?”

Angie caught her breath. What
if she failed again? “I’ve done my best. I thought I had another thirty minutes.”

“You have whatever time I give you. Your time’s now up. After all, you are repeating the assignment, right?”

She swallowed a thought and said,” Yes, that’s right.”

He picked up her landscape exhibit and held it by the north light. He turned and glared at her. Then he looked back at the landscape painting. Finally, he spoke. “You have produced an average result. My disappointment in you is pronounced. Were you unable to understand the assignment or are you incapable of completing it?”

Angie gasped.

The professor stared at her, and then said, “Angie, I need to know, is it a lack of understanding or a lack of talent?”

She wanted to fire back at the professor, but knew that would be the wrong action to take. He’d made her fail. He hadn’t even tried to clarify what he wanted her to do. His comments were cruel and mean-spirited.

She slowly inhaled and then released the deep breath. “I have the talent. I must have misunderstood. Perhaps I should have asked more questions. It’s my fault.”

He replaced the painting on her workspace. He nodded and spoke, enunciating each word, crisp and slow. “Yes, ask
more
questions.” He pointed back to her painting, “Challenge me. You have the talent, but you need fire in your belly. I will bring you from average to perfection. You can’t do it without me. Do you understand?”

A tear
slid down her cheek. No, she didn’t understand. But he’d said he wanted her to grow in her craft. Jonathan and Vicki no longer believed in her dream. The professor offered her hope. “What part of the assignment did I miss? How can I improve?”

H
is dark-brown eyes sparkled and his lips turned up at the corners of his mouth. “Very good, Angie. Tomorrow, we’ll discuss your assignment. I’ll answer all your questions. But for now, let it go. We have dinner reservations for seven o’clock tonight. Wear a pretty outfit and be ready for elegance.”

D
inner? He just blasted her for being a disappointment and now he’s talking about a dinner out?

“
Dress up again? I failed to pack a dine-out wardrobe for this class.”

“No problem. We’ll go shopping. I know just the boutique. Be ready in ten minutes.” He
pivoted on his heels, and made a fast exit.

Relieved
he was gone. She ran to the closet, grabbed a pair of sandals, and flew out the door.

#

An exhausted Angie returned from her evening with the professor. She entered the cottage and slipped out of her new dress. The vibrant cobalt blue designer-dress carried simple lines and the soft draping flattered her tall slender frame. She tried on several outfits, but the professor insisted on the blue one. After arguing with him over who would pay for the expensive dress, he convinced her that she deserved a dress of this caliber, and he deserved to pay for the vision of her in it. Enjoying the sight of her in it? She both adored him and feared him. Her emotions too difficult to rationalize.

Dinner, the
flip side of her day with him, was delightful and touching. He entertained, amused, and charmed her. Angie enjoyed this side of him. But she cautiously wondered what caused him to be so stern earlier. Any time she did well, the following day he raged with disappointment. Why?

On the days he
demeaned her work, she turned into a prison inmate searching for freedom, forced to do whatever it took to satisfy her guard. The days he praised her, she responded like a new puppy learning her tricks. Maybe
she
was the crazy one.

She
would never disappoint him again. His genius showed in his work. His temperament must be part of being so talented. True artists had the tendency for emotional swings. She had to continually please him, not disappoint him. She planned to ask lots of questions the next day and deliver the exhibits he expected. He was the master. She was here to learn.

Chapter
29

Doctor King placed her notepad on her lap with pen raised. She asked, “Your wife has been gone for several weeks. How are you doing?”

How had he been doing? Not well, but better than he’d expected. He and
Mister Tubbs had bonded as never before. He found that leaving work at a decent time had not diminished his performance. Overall, he’d surprised himself. “On a scale of one to ten, I’m a six.”

“Tell me more about that?”

“My
dear
wife won’t talk to me. She won’t return my phone calls. So, I’m working on detaching, with love. A friend of mine, actually my administrative assistant, told me all about that detaching stuff. Some days it works. I focus on what I have control over and stop trying to control other people.”

“Yes, detachment is a good concept. Detaching in love forces each of us to determine what part of another person’s actions we can control. What do
you
have control over?”

Jonathan stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankle. He stared at his brown loafers. Finally, he said, “Not a damn thing, really. Control is a figment, a non-reality.”

She smiled. “I believe we all have control over only one thing, ourselves. What do you think?”

“I think right now, I don’t even control myself. The last time I spoke to Angie, I lost my temper
, and she hung up. Now I have no contact. That isn’t what I wanted. Why did I lose it?”

Doctor
King remained silent.

Jonathan shifted in the chair. He fought the urge to elaborate, but eventually continued. “I guess my temper comes out when I experience fear. How can I trust Angie with another
man? She changed after she met him. I don’t want to lose her, and yet I keep pushing her farther and farther away.”

“Why do you think that is?”

He pushed his hands into the shape of a steeple. “I guess if she plans on leaving me, I’d rather be the one to call it quits first. After all, my ego can’t take a hit like that. My mom died when I was twenty. My dad died two years later of a broken heart. I’ve lost enough.”

“That must have been very difficult for you. Are you an only child?”

He stared at an invisible spot on the carpet. He never found that question easily answered. “My older sister died of leukemia when she was four years old. I don’t remember her, but her presence haunted my entire childhood.”

Doctor
King made some notes on her notepad. “How so?”

“Her pictures were all over the brownstone. Even her room remained intact for years. On her birthday, we watched home videos of her short life. Her memory touched every part of our lives.”

“That must have been difficult for you. How did you cope?”

He sighed. “I guess my way to find a spot in my mom’s life was to be an overachiever. My grades were perfect. I went out for football, basketball, and baseball. I dated only the head cheerleader. But, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fill the hole in my mom’s heart.”

“Did you ever think that your mom loved you for who you were, but just didn’t know how to heal from the loss of your sister?”

“My dad used to tell me that he and Mom loved me. Ever since
Julie died, he’d lost part of Mom’s heart, too. I think that’s why he died shortly after she passed away—he had no reason to live.” Jonathan sighed, “They both abandoned me.”

She
swiveled out of her chair and headed toward the sitting area. “Come, let’s sit over here. It’s more comfortable.” She slipped into the floral chair on the other side of the room.

He balked for a moment, then crossed the room and took a seat facing her.

“You’ve experienced a great deal of loss in your life, much more than many people do. The fact that you shared your childhood with the ghost of a perfect child must have been difficult. Then you lost both of your parents early in your adult life. Now you fear you are losing your wife. Can you see how the life experiences begin to connect like mile markers on a map?”

A shudder shot through him. His determination to hold himself together soon failed. His shoulders shook as he sobbed.

Doctor King sat in silence. She picked up the tissue box on the table, handed it to him, and waited.

About fifteen minutes later, Jonathan leaned forward and cleared his throat. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”

“Go On.”

Why would he have to tell her? It wasn’t her business, not really. It had nothing to do with his marriage counseling. Well, maybe a little. “I’ve been lonely and angry since Angie left for Knoxville.”

“Yes?”

She was not going to make this easy. “Last weekend
when I talked to Angie, she hung up on me.”

“
What are you trying to tell me?”

“I met a woman and took her out to dinner.” There he’d said it.

“Are you interested in spending more time with this woman?”

“I don’t know. She
’s beautiful, sexy, and very open to a relationship—no strings attached.”

Doctor
King shifted on the couch. She bent forward and tapped a pencil against her tablet. “When you first came here, you wanted to see how you could repair your marriage, or dissolve it if it was no longer viable. Is that correct?”

He
clasped his hands together and let out a slow breath. “Yes, but so much has happened since I first came here. Angie isn’t even in communication with me. I am not stupid. She is involved with that man and won’t come back.”

“What if you’re wrong? Will you chance ending your marriage before you know if she is telling you the truth? You know her character. Does she normally lie?”

“Damn. I’m so confused. I deserve to be happy. She’s making me crazy.”

“Do yourself a favor
. Go home. Complete that inventory of her strengths and weaknesses. When you come back next week, let’s discuss your options. What you choose to do is your own decision to make.” She paused and pointed her finger toward him. “But be armed with facts and not emotions before you jump in with both feet. If this new woman is right for you, she will wait. If not, what have you lost by ending it early?”

He dropped his head and nodded. “Okay, Doc. I’ll give this one more week, but no longer.”

#

As Angie entered the professor’s kitchen, she inhaled the sweet fragrance of roses. A bright red spray adorned a crystal vase centered on a white lace tablecloth, red roses embroidered on the cloth. The place settings and red goblets filled with orange juice completed the Martha Stewart look. The professor
toiled over a sizzling skillet. She leaned around him for a quick peek. Her stomach growled. “My favorite—bacon.”

“Breakfast is almost ready. Do you want an English muffin or wheat toast?”

“An English muffin sounds perfect.”

“Please sit. I’ll serve you,” he said and waved her toward the table.

She settled on the soft-cushioned seat as the professor placed a plate in front of her filled with  two pieces of bacon, scrambled eggs, and fresh fruit. Off to the side, he placed a small bread plate crowned with an English muffin and cream cheese. Then he poured them both a cup of green tea and sat across from her.

Angie ate as if she were having her
first meal in days, while the professor barely touched his breakfast. His focus remained on Angie as he sat in silence.

“This is delicious,” she said. “Aren’t you eating?”

He picked up his fork and tasted the eggs. “I get such pleasure watching you enjoy my cooking,” he said, sipping his tea. “Do you cook at home much?”

“Actually, I cook every evening. My specialties come from Rachel Ray recipes. I’m quite good.”

“Well, you’ll have to cook for us some evening.”

“I’d love to.”

He folded his red-cloth napkin and placed it next to his plate. “Right now, we should discuss your exhibit from yesterday. Shall we go into the sitting room where we can be comfortable?”

She followed him, her stomach in knots.
He had devastated her yesterday. Today, his critique might be even worse. He directed her to an armchair nestled at an angle near the window. With her back erect, she lowered herself into the
naughty chair
.

He
dropped onto the sofa. “Angie, it’s difficult to offer you negative feedback on your performance. However, the only way anyone improves is by understanding their weaknesses.”

She swallowed air and remained silent. Oh, God, was he going to end their sessions? Was he sending her home in disgrace?

He cleared his throat. “I gave you a simple assignment yesterday. I even allowed more time than necessary. Your work, so lifeless, failed. It grieves me to ask, are you committed to this study?”

How could he question her dedication? “Professor, your study is the most important thing I’ve done for myself in over eight years. I’m determined to learn everything you can teach me.”

“Then, what’s wrong? Have you been distracted by phone calls during class? You know that is not allowed.”

“No, never,” she replied, holding back a panic attack. “I haven’t spoken to my husband or Vicki for almost three weeks. Only once did I take a call during the day. Since then
, I haven’t broken any of your rules.”

“Then
, what is it? I am so disappointed. Are you really trying to learn, or are you just a
rich
little housewife with time on her hands?”

Rich little housewife
? How dare he think that? “I’m sorry about yesterday. My effort was disgraceful. I know you’re donating your summer to me. I’ll improve. I’ll do
anything
you ask.”

Silence. His jaw turned to stone. His gaze dropped to the floor as if ashamed of her. When he looked up, he said, “I
accept your apology. But—there are others you should apologize to. You understand by being here someone else with as much or more talent was passed over. You owe it to other artists to be dedicated and achieve.”

“I understand the sacrifice you and others are making.
Tell me what to do. I’ll do it. I promise.”

“All right. But we may have to increase your class time. Less freedom in the evenings, more time together studying.”

“Anything you say.”

The professor’s stern face softened. She held her breath.

“You’re getting one final chance. I won’t waste my time on second- best.”

Her
head throbbed. One last chance? “Thank you.”

“Now, we’ll discuss your failed exhibit from yesterday. You may ask questions
. Then you’ll repeat the assignment. Understood?”

She nodded.

He spent the next hour discussing her amateurish errors. He described issues with her basic technics—lifting and dragging color, her failure to prepare a sketch, and even incompetent use of her brushes. Had she fallen back to Art 101? He had rushed her with his instructions, but she knew the basics. What had happened to her? Nothing he had found fault with had ever been an issue before.

His words stung as she continued to listen.

“Finally, you must do better with Lightfastness. You failed to consider the variations in shading. You barely passed the exhibit with a C-. You must do better than that, or you’re wasting my time.”

Wasting his time?

“Didn’t you read the articles about Paula?” He asked. She understood what it took to become the best. Go back and read her quotes again. She worked like my slave, no personal life, no outside interests. She knew the sacrifice that had to be made. I must see the same dedication from you.”

#

Back in the cottage, safe and away from the professor, Angie slumped onto the sofa in front of the fireplace. Had she fooled herself into believing a dream that could never be? 

Now what? Run home a failure?
The professor wanted more from her. He demanded 100 percent of her time and focus. Her dreams were shaken, and her marriage in trouble. What would she have when the summer ended? She feared failure, but she feared inaction more. She had remained passive for the last eight years and what had it gotten her. No, she had to work harder and learn from this unpredictable man.

She rose from the sofa and tiptoed to the
worktable to study her paint colors. Searching for the light and dark tubes of each primary color, she verified the quality of Lightfastness for each. Gathering up her pad of artist paper, a sketching pencil, and three varying sizes of brushes, she stepped outside and wandered into the back. Taking a seat by the birdbath, she gazed around the floral garden areas. The deep azure sky, gently accented with puffy white clouds and soft sunlight warmed her. The assortment of pink, purple, and white moss roses splashed the garden with a gentle pastel carpet. She sketched out the scene, capturing the skylines, the placement of clouds, and the evergreen trees in the background.

Sketch completed
, she spread out a blanket and settled onto the center to begin her work. She positioned her pad, paintbrushes, color palette, and a small cup of water. The sun touched her warmly as she sat in the garden. The birds sang. Two reddish- brown squirrels gathered nuts and jumped from limb to limb in the pecan-tree tops. The breeze kissed her canvas as she applied the Ultramarine Blue on a dry surface to begin the sky. Immersed in her project, she failed to notice a stranger approach.