The Tawdry Tangerine Farewell Pt. 02

"I'd go out with you again if we both realize it's probably just booty calls between friends. So, don't stress trying to make this more than it is."

It had been a disconcerting conversation, one I'd never had with a woman before. I had to say, though, I liked the openness and honesty. And she got it out of the way right up front, not letting me wander down some path until I was overly invested and then springing it on me. All in all, my mood was good even if I needed a nap.

Molly seemed a little off. Instead of her usual chatter, she waved at the coffee, "Fresh pot," and turned back to laying down an underpainting without really looking at me.

I figured she was stewing about the situation with Connor Thompson. I tried to reassure her. "We'll come up with something to stop that asshole, Molls. I promise." She nodded without turning around. "I'm gonna call Ms. Carter now."

When I came out of the office, my mood was not as good. "You showed Sophie the Katie thing?"

She nodded. "They really liked your work and wanted to see more of what you do."

"They?"

"Leah was here, too." I didn't say anything and, after a moment, she said, "If I fucked up, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do something to upset you. Your stone stuff is great but that piece is amazing even if..." she trailed off.

I thought about it. That piece had sat out in the studio for a long time and I'd never said it was suddenly off limits. And, really, who was I actually upset at? Molly wasn't the one who betrayed me. "Never mind. It's okay. It's just a piece of art now. Or it should be."

"What about Ms. Carter?"

"She's coming Tuesday." Molly looked slightly surprised and pleased.

"Do you want me to bring in mine?"

"I have pictures and I'll bring in the one of Sammie."

♦ ♦ ♦

I had looked up Victoria Carter before our meeting. There wasn't much on her; most of what I read came from some articles written at the time of her former husband's death. Apparently, they tended to avoid public events.

Sixty-four years old; married for thirty-eight years to Elias Carter, twelve years her senior, until his death five years ago; three children; wealthy parents plus she inherited an estimated $110 million from her husband's estate; thought to be a serious patron of various charities, mostly centered on women's issues. The one or two pictures I saw were either headshots of a pretty woman or solo shots that didn't quite convey the reality.

In person she was tiny -- if she was anything over five-foot-nothin' my eye was seriously out of whack -- looked closer to fifty-four than sixty-four, wore an understated outfit that I suspected cost more than a car payment, and had a manner of speech that hinted some Main Line school to my ear.

"Hello. Are you Ben Leland's boy?"

I nodded, surprised, and she continued, "I met him a few times. Elias, that was my husband, knew him better. I think they were in the same golf club." She still had my hand grasped in hers and now she added her other one. "He seemed very nice. I'm sorry you lost him."

Childhood manners popped out. "Thank you, ma'am."

She laughed. "Call me Tori. Ma'am sounds like I'm a grandmother which, of course, I am but I don't want to sound like one. May I call you Richard?"

I smiled, charmed by her easy manner. "How about Rick?"

"Perfect! Now, Sophia said that I'd absolutely love a piece of sculpture you did."

I led her over to where I'd wheeled it out of the storeroom and pulled off the sheet.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "It's lovely!" She reached out and then stopped. "May I touch?"

"Of course."

She stroked the satin finish and walked around it. I could see her eyes tracing the curves. "It's beautiful. But, show me the woman, please." I walked her to the right spot. "Oh!" she said again. After another minute or two of looking at it, she turned to look around the studio and spotted the smaller piece that held Sammie in it sitting on a work table. She didn't say a word at first, just stared at it. After a minute she said, "It's a nest, isn't it?" I nodded.

She turned back to walk around it until she found the right vantage point. Her expression softened. "Your daughter?" I nodded again. After another long inspection, she asked, "Do you have others?"

"Not here. There are only five. Two are my sister's and one is at a friend's apartm--"

Molly stuck her head around the corner. "It's here if you'd like to see it, Mrs. Carter."

"Call me Tori and, yes, I would."

I looked at Molly in surprise but she just gave me a shrug and mouthed, "Thank me later."

Tori walked over to Molly's side where the work sat on the very edge of a low table. She walked around it, frowned, and then walked around it more slowly. "Isn't there a figure in this one?" Seeing the slight smiles on both of our faces, she thought a second. "I'm not looking the right way?" she guessed.

"It sits really low in my apartment," Molly hinted.

Tori came back to the side of the table where the piece sat and walked closer so she was looking down at an angle. "Oh," she said for a third time. "Is that you?"

"My mother," said Molly and reached gently past Tori to turn the piece ninety degrees.

Tori looked back down. "And I'm guessing your father?" Molly nodded.

"That's amazing!" Tori exclaimed.

"It was actually the hardest piece to plan although the big one of... the big one took the longest to make," I said.

Tori turned to face me. "Rick, Sophia told me who the big one was. If that makes you unwilling to sell it, I completely understand. If, on the other hand, it makes you want to sell it, I completely understand that as well, and I'm interested. Either way, I'd like to talk to you about doing something for me."

I was surprised at the suddenness. She gave me a little grin. "Sophia was right, Rick. I love your work. Truthfully, while it wouldn't matter to me one way or the other -- if I like something, I like it -- I've been around enough expensive art my whole life to know what I'm looking at here. So, I want you to do a piece for me that's as personal as these, but I wouldn't mind buying the big one as a piece of good art. I'm sure you won't cheat an old lady." She batted her eyes as she said this and we all laughed.

"But we can't keep calling it the big piece. You need a name because I detest all those Untitled #23 sort of names."

I didn't have an answer for that.

"Maybe stop calling it 'Katie thing' and call it Katherine Manning?" suggested Molly.

"Maiden name?" Tori ventured and Molly nodded.

"No," I said, glancing over to the piece. I happened to be standing close to the sweet spot and could see the figures around her. "Manning With Her Lovers. That's the name."

That drew a chuckle from Molly but the snort that broke out of Tori surprised me -- they probably didn't teach that in finishing school. "I shall have such revenges on you..." she quoted -- they probably did teach the Shakespeare. She gave me a little wink. "I like a man who knows how to slip a knife subtly."

A short while later, she and I were sitting in some folding chairs having a cup of coffee. "I hope you won't be offended when I say this," she began. She had seen pictures of the two pieces Rachel owned because she was curious, and then I had asked her what she was thinking of for herself. I waited for her to explain.

"Many artists would get offended if I said I wanted the piece to be functional as well as beautiful."

"I don't understand."

"Okay, if you sell me Manning With Her Lovers" -- we both grinned -- "I plan to put it in my place here in the city. There's a recess in the main hallway that would hold it beautifully. However, I'm slowly moving out to a small house I had built in the country. It's just big enough for me and another person and big works of art wouldn't fit, either space-wise or in terms of the feel of the place, which is very casual."

"Okay."

"So, I have this idea that you make me one of your hidden faces that's about three feet tall, I put a glass top on it, and I have the perfect table in my dining area where I get to look at something beautiful every time I eat." She looked at me to see how I took this. She wasn't apologetic about what she was asking for, but she wasn't arrogantly assuming I'd be willing to compromise just because she was paying, either.

"Tori, I don't have the slightest problem with that," I said truthfully.

She beamed. "Then come out to my place in the next few days and meet the person I'd like you to do."

"Okay."

"Now about price: I did some checking on you before I came here." I didn't respond, waiting to see where this was going. "The prices you get for your other work are pretty consistent with an artist who hasn't made a big name for himself, yet."

I looked at her levelly. "And you're going to lowball me with that in mind?"

She made a little humorous face. "Yes and no. Here's my proposal. I'll buy the existing piece from you as if I'm getting in on the ground floor of an unestablished artist. I'll buy the commissioned piece from you as if you've already got the name you're probably going to have once people see what you do."

I digested that. "In your mind, what does that translate to?"

If you spread the first amount she mentioned across the time it took me to make it, it was a lousy hourly rate although the total wasn't far from the most I'd gotten for a single piece. The price she mentioned for the new piece left me flabbergasted.

"Holy shit!" Molly said a half hour later.

"Yeah, I can't believe it's happening to me."

"You? Hell with you! I just found out that I have a six-figure piece of art in my apartment!" She grinned. "Congrats, Rick!"

Kate

I wasn't looking forward to calling Rick about Sammie's birthday party. This year, I had her for it and, since her birthday was on a Thursday and the following weekend was mine, the first thing I wanted to ask was whether he'd allow me to pick her up Thursday after pre-school and just keep her. I didn't expect too much difficulty: despite the ruthless side he'd shown forcing the divorce, Rick had never once used Sammie as a weapon.

It had been my biggest fear. Nicole had been pretty clear that I should prepare for custody to go to him given that he was the full-time parent, and the days of mothers automatically getting the children were long gone. I'd heard plenty of horror stories about what a vindictive ex could do to make visitation difficult. To his credit, I needn't have worried. He bent over backward to make sure Sammie knew she still had two parents.

He just didn't want to have anything to do with me.

The first couple of months after he filed for divorce, Rick had refused to answer any calls from me. Even if I had Sammie with me, he'd answer the phone with, "Is there an emergency with Sammie?" Anything other than an immediate "yes" -- and that only happened once when I had car trouble and needed him to come get her while I waited for Triple A -- was met with an instant disconnect.

Eventually, I sent a registered letter. "If you don't realize that there might be conversations that affect our daughter other than emergencies, then you're a fucking idiot. Answer your phone, asshole!"

I got a text the next day:

◂◂ You're right. Will answer from now on. Keep to specifically about Sammie.

He held me to that. Even a casual, "How are you?" invariably met with a dismissive, "Fine. What's up with Sammie?"

I made the mistake of casually complaining about it to my dad. He lowered his Sports Illustrated and peered at me over the top of his glasses. "Kit-Kat, maybe you ought to remember exactly why he's upset in the first place."

That shocked me into silence. Up until that moment, Dad had seemed totally on my side. He saw my expression and added, "I said I wanted you to be happy. I still do. But I never said I approved of cheating. If I were in Rick's shoes, I suspect I'd be a helluva lot unkinder to your mother than he is to you. Maybe you should take that into account, punkin."

I started to protest the cheating part but he shook his head and turned back to his magazine. "Neither your mother nor I are stupid."

I had let my parents know what was going on over Sunday dinner a few weeks after it became clear the divorce was happening. I told them most of it, leaving out only the length of my relationship with Scott -- I made it seem like we took up after Rick filed -- and the bit about being coerced. Their responses left me wondering if aliens had switched their brains.

My father had always gotten along well with Rick. Dad liked to talk; Rick liked to listen. Rick liked to bring along bottles from microbreweries; Dad loved beer. Both were Steelers fans. Dad liked that his little girl had a husband who wasn't threatened by her success. The result was that the two of them spent long, comfortable hours together during our visits home to my folks.

Mom, on the other hand, was always reserved with Rick. She was pleasant and attentive, but I always knew there was a wall there, even after Sammie was born. Rick knew it also and, while it troubled him, he accepted it.

I thought Dad would be pissed at losing his buddy and Mom would be happy. Dad, however, said, "He's a good guy, but whatever makes you happy is what I want, Kit-Kat. If this is it, then you have my support a hundred percent."

Mom just grimaced and went into the kitchen to clean up. I followed her and pressed her for what was on her mind. "Well, Katie, obviously it isn't something that thrills me, but it sounds like you two are resolving this as fast as possible rather than dragging it out. At this point, as long as everyone keeps Samantha's welfare in mind, it seems like the best of a bad situation."

"Mom! You've never liked Rick. I thought--"

She cut me off. "No. You were always too busy telling me I wasn't treating him right to actually listen to what I said. I like him as a person. I wasn't sure you were right for each other. I felt you needed someone driven like you, but I never doubted for an instant that he loved you or would be good to you, and he's a wonderful father."

"Scott's ambitious the way I am and he's also good to me."

"Well, I have my own opinions about a man who would sleep with a married woman, even if she is separated."

"What does that say about me, then, Mom?" I asked hotly.

If I thought that would put her on the defensive, I was clearly wrong. She gave me a dismissive look. "Nothing new. You were always a bit self-centered. I knew that and loved you anyway." She turned to face me, ignoring my indignant look. "Katie, you're my daughter and I'll support you in any way I can during this. Nothing about this changes how much I love you. But, don't expect me to be happy that you got lazy."

"What!"

"You decided it was Rick's job to make you happy rather than your job to make you happy."

"Couples have to share each other's lives, Mom." I was furious.

"Yes, they do. And I'm not saying this is all your fault. But I helped your dad run his company for thirty-five years, Katie, and I didn't manage that by being bad at judging people. I'm certain that, had you sat down and been honest with him, Rick would have met you at least halfway, and maybe we'd never have come to this point."

My tone was acid. "Sounds like you do think it's all my fault! Well, I know more about Rick and what went on in my marriage than you do, Mom. I thought we could have a conversation about the real world. You know, the one where marriages sometimes don't work? But, apparently, you're incapable of treating me like an adult."

"Oh, you'd like me to talk to you like I would to, say, one of my bridge group?"

"Damn straight!"

I saw the twin red spots that had appeared on her cheeks. My mother has a temper as hot as mine and, when we get our Irish up, things get said.

"Okay then, Katie. From where I sit, you're a married woman with a young child and yet you decided that it was a good idea to amuse yourself by having sex with another man on the side. And don't even bother to claim that's not what happened because, let's be real, there's no way your relationship with Scott started after you and Rick decided to separate. Leaving aside how disrespectful and cruel to your husband that is, it's an immature and stupid way to face problems. Adult enough for you, sweetie?"

That was the end of that visit.

Anyway, the situation I was confronting now was that my apartment wasn't large and five-year-old children were monsters of energy. Six of them plus their parents and other adults would be a recipe for us all going crazy.

On top of that, Sammie wanted a painting party. One of her friends had one, and now she wanted the same. The thing is, I'd left it too late: the three places I could find were booked for that weekend, and having it on a weeknight with kids that age wouldn't fly. Even then, I might have been able to redirect her if she hadn't already solved the problem in her own mind.

"We can do it at Daddy's work. Aunt Molly has lots of paint," Sammie said when I tried to explain the situation. As her meltdown built, I decided to try the call.

As I anticipated, the first part was no problem. "That's fine, Katie. You can keep her till Sunday. I'll put her stuff in a backpack and leave it with the teacher."

The second part brought a long silence. Finally, "Do you expect me to participate, or are you asking me to give you the keys and vanish?"

I was prepared for that question. "I was thinking a joint effort. If you would run the actual painting part, I'll keep the adults entertained and deal with food, decorations, cake, and stuff. My parents will be there and, between us, we can manage everything. Why? Do you not want to be there?"

"No, I'd love to be there. But it's your day with her, and I won't stay if you prefer not."

"I think she'd like to have you there and would be upset if Daddy wasn't at a party at Daddy's work."

Another long silence ensued. "Were you thinking of inviting Scott?"

There was the crux of why the call made me nervous. I had already invited Scott. I did it before I realized I didn't have a venue. I had been looking for a casual way in which he could meet Mom and Dad and this seemed perfect. The focus on Sammie and her friends would lower the stress level.

"Well, what are your thoughts on that?" Of course, my asking that question answered his.

He apparently didn't need any time to mull it over. "I'm would love for Sammie and her friends to have a painting party. I'm willing to have you come to the studio and, of course, there's no issue with your parents. However, it will be a cold day in hell when your lover is welcome there. If you want him to play daddy to my daughter, then you'll need to figure out another plan."

"He's not playing--" I cut off the frustrated response. Unfortunately, I was prepared for this as well. It hadn't been a stretch to imagine this reaction. "Okay, Rick. I presume you won't invite any girlfriends, either?"

"Not my party. I won't invite anyone. Though you might want Molly to help out if that's okay. Six little girls are a lot."

"That's fine. Sammie would like that."

"I'll talk to her. See you then." He hung up. Jesus! That man needed to get over it.

That night, I went over to Scott's place. He was working on a risotto while I sat at the counter with a glass of wine. "Hon, I need to uninvite you from Sammie's birthday party."

Before I could go on to explain that it wasn't what I wanted and why I needed to do it, he said, "Yeah? Okay. Be nice to get some golf in with the guys," and went back to stirring. He turned back for a second to push his wine glass across the counter toward me, "Refill?"

I was taken aback. I knew that, while he was quite tolerant of my time with Sammie, he was a thirty-seven-year-old bachelor whose interests were sports, food, concerts, and the bedroom. I had, however, thought that he saw us as long-term and would like to meet my family. Apparently, his attitude was more, "I can deal with meeting them," than, "I'm looking forward to meeting them."