A Note From an Old Acquaintance (23 page)

“Excuse me, Ma’am?”

Joanna turned to find the caterer, a woman in her late thirties, holding out a tray of assorted hors d’oeuvres.

“Oh, these look wonderful,” Joanna said.

The woman cracked a proud smile. “Would you like to try any of them?”

“Oh, God,” she said, patting her stomach. “I don’t think I could eat a bite right now, but thank you.”

“I understand, Ma’am. And by the way, my crew and I think your artwork is terrific.”

Now it was Joanna’s turn to smile. “Thank you, that’s so sweet of you. Let’s hope the critics think so, too.”

The woman nodded. “Oh, I expect they will.”

Joanna watched the woman walk back to the kitchen area, feeling a sense of calm stealing over her. This was going to work. Brian was right.

Brian....

A pang of longing rushed through her when she glanced toward the new piece. His presence was all she needed to make the evening complete.

Please come, Brian, please come....

“Do you read me, sir? Over,” Mosley asked, his voice squawking into Ruby’s ear. He lifted his arm and spoke into the microphone attached to his wrist.

“Yes, I do, but how do I turn the volume down on this damned thing?”

“It’s on the cuff band, next to the microphone. Over.”

Ruby rolled his eyes and made the adjustment. He still felt a little foolish wearing the radio, with the wires snaking up his back and down his left arm. The power pack felt unnaturally heavy and warm in the small of his back and the earpiece itched like hell, too, but Mosley had insisted that this was the best way to stay in touch. With all the people they expected, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

“How am I reading, now? Over.”

“Ah, that’s better,” Ruby said. “Stay alert and let me know the moment he shows, that is, if he has the nerve.”

“Will do. Over.”

“Erik, who are you talking to?”

Ruby looked up to find Joanna standing in the doorway. “Just the security guard. Nothing to worry about. You okay?”

She nodded. “But I can’t get used to you speaking into your wrist like that. I keep thinking the President’s coming.”

“Well, you never know.” Ruby smiled, in spite of his fiancée’s unintended sarcasm.

“I think we should put on a little music, what do you think?” she asked, frowning.

“Good idea. Not too loud, though.”

She nodded again, looking distracted. He wanted to tell her everything would be fine, but he knew she wouldn’t really hear him in her present state.

And everything would be fine, especially with the new information Mosley had dug up on Weller’s background. An idea had formed in his mind overnight and Ruby knew it would work. If Weller showed, he’d use it. If not...then all was well, regardless.

Grinning, Ruby picked up an hors d’oeuvre off one of the trays lying on the counter and popped it into his mouth, earning a disapproving frown from the caterer. Ruby glared back at her, and she turned away.

He took another hors d’oeuvre and walked out into the main room, his mind now focused on the show.

Once past Tremont, the traffic began moving faster, surprising Brian. Perhaps there’d been an accident somewhere in the theatre district, causing the gridlock with Boylston. Who knew? In any event, he found his nerves winding even tighter. Would Joanna be glad to see him, or would she have him thrown out on his behind?

And in spite of his professed lack of fear of her fiancé, he was curious to take the measure of the man Joanna intended to marry to see if he could discern just what it was that had attracted her in the first place, other than his power. Brian’s mother had always said women were attracted to that in spite of themselves, and he tended to believe it, which only made it all the more amazing that he’d even been able to compete on the same field as the guy. Then again, Joanna was no ordinary female.

After another minor glitch in the traffic that delayed him an additional five minutes, he turned onto Summer Street just as his clock struck 7:15. It took a moment for his eyes to register what it saw up ahead, and when they did, he gaped.

Joanna’s building was bathed in white-hot beams from strategically placed searchlights, making it look like a scene out of an old German propaganda film.

Turning onto Melcher, he joined a line of cars waiting for the valet. A small knot of guests climbed the steps and disappeared into the entryway. Brian’s pulse quickened. It looked as if the turnout was going to be nothing at all to worry about.

After a few more minutes, his car drew abreast of the entrance and the driver’s side door was opened by one of the valets.

“Good evening, sir,” the valet said, handing him a ticket.

Brian nodded his thanks and went inside, passing a tall, well-dressed black man guarding the door. The one new thing he noticed in the lobby was the brushed aluminum hemispherical chandelier that had replaced the bare bulb, its subtle indirect light the final tasteful touch.

The elevator was ascending, ferrying the latest load of guests to the sixth floor. He waited, joined by six other couples moments later. He listened to their eager chatter, trying to discern if any of them were the critics they’d invited. Nothing he heard was revealing, except he did glean a sense of anticipation. Brian crossed his fingers.

The elevator started down, and the crowd quieted, thirteen pairs of eyes gazing upward. A moment later, the elevator slid into view and came to rest. The operator, a young woman in a uniform similar to the valets, opened the gate and motioned everyone inside. The gate was closed, the lever pulled, and up they went.

The first surprise came when passing the second floor. The entire expanse was Ferrari red: floor, walls, windows and support pillars. The light spilling in through the windows, augmented by hidden red lights, gave the space a look right out of Dante.

“Oh, wow,” one of his fellow passengers said.

“Reminds me of one of my hangovers,” another added, and everyone laughed, the mood turning festive.

The next floor carried on the same theme, this time in vibrant blue. The third floor was green and the fourth yellow. The final surprise came at the fifth: a stunning purple, with no sign of the hundreds of chairs, file cabinets and desks. It must have taken hours of someone’s backbreaking labor to remove them all, not to mention painting and lighting the floors. To Brian’s mind, Joanna’s show was off to a tremendous start.

The elevator slowed when they moved through the fifth floor, coming to rest at the sixth with only the faintest of bumps. Brian was impressed, since he’d never quite gotten the hang of stopping the blasted thing without shaking his guts. The crowd pressed forward when the operator pulled on the chain, opening the gate.

His fellow passengers seemed hesitant to leave the car, until he realized it wasn’t hesitancy, so much as awe.

Just as he’d advised, Joanna had arranged the partitions so that anyone exiting the elevator would be guided through a maze of exhibits. The first was her fiber-optic sphere, the lights pulsating nearly in time to the New Age music droning through the sound system.

And though he was familiar with most of the pieces on display, he walked along with the group, gauging their reactions and listening to their comments. He noticed one of them, a tall gray-haired man dressed in a black suit, pull out a notebook and jot a few notes. Bingo. Here was one of the critics. He resisted the urge to say something to the man and moved on. Up ahead, the crowd thickened and Brian smiled. This was the kind of traffic jam he could deal with.

22

THE
GUESTS
HAD
BEGUN
arriving just after 7:00 and Joanna forgot her nerves in the rush of greeting them and making each one feel at home. The waiters, a good half-dozen of them, began circulating with the trays of hors d’oeuvres and flutes of champagne. The room filled quickly and everyone with whom she shook hands buzzed with excitement about her art. She watched as some of them took food and champagne and headed back through the maze to take another look.

She tried keeping her attention on the end of the maze, hoping to see Brian, but the size of the crowd and the people constantly vying for her attention made it nearly impossible for her to do that. She fought back a wave of sadness and turned her attention to a middle-aged woman who’d just asked her a question about where she got her ideas. She smiled, remembering her first date with Brian.

“Well,” she said, “the obvious answer would be from me, but that wouldn’t be entirely accurate....”

After viewing all her art, Brian moved into the main room. He spotted Joanna in the midst of a horde of well-wishers, and felt a rush of desire and pride. She looked so beautiful in her black dress, so excited and happy, too, as well she should. With a glimmer of recognition, Brian noticed the tall, dark-haired man dressed in a navy-blue Armani suit standing off to her side.

Erik Ruby. Joanna’s fiancé.

Brian grabbed a flute of champagne off a tray and took a sip, turning to avoid any chance of eye contact with the man, now that he’d picked him out of the crowd. The champagne was dry and smooth, and no doubt expensive. A range of emotions swept through him, jealousy and envy being the most prominent. The man had that chiseled GQ look that always made him feel inadequate. He fought that, knowing that if looks were all that mattered to Joanna there would never have been anything between them.

He saw some of the guests moving back into the maze and decided to follow them. If there was going to be a confrontation—and he really had no doubt there would be—he wanted to wait until after Joanna unveiled her new piece.

Moments later, surrounded once again by Joanna’s art, Brian found himself standing beside the critic he’d spotted earlier. The man studied a series of rock-like pieces, each suspended by a thin, nearly invisible filament. The title, printed on a card mounted to a black wire-framed stand, was
Islands
.

“Interesting piece,” Brian said.

The man glanced at him and smiled. “Very,” he said. “Are you with the media?”

Brian hesitated. If he said yes, would the man open up to him, or would he be more honest with an outsider? Brian decided to stick to the truth.

“I’m a writer, but I’m not affiliated.”

“Ah,” the man said, relaxing. “I had my fill of that years ago. Nothing like a steady paycheck, especially when you’ve got two kids in college.” He stuck out his hand. “Jason Forster,
New York Times
.”

Brian shook the man’s hand, barely able to contain his excitement. His suggestion to send invitations to the New York media had borne fruit. “Brian Weller. You’re a long way from home, Mr. Forster.”

“Please, call me Jason. I’m from the area, actually. Grew up in Natick. My wife and I were planning to visit when the invitation showed up. Thought it was a great opportunity to take our little trip on the paper’s dime.”

“Has it been worth it?” Brian asked.

The critic turned back to the piece they’d both been admiring. “This artist has a real understanding of form and space. You see the way she’s suspended the components, each on separate planes? It emphasizes the theme of isolation in three dimensions. Yet the entire effect is one of harmony. To answer your question, however; yes, very much so.”

Brian nodded, feeling a genuine respect for the man. He’d always wondered about critics in general, whether they really knew what they were talking about or had excelled in slinging the B.S. in school, parlaying that dubious skill into a cushy career.

“I’m sure the artist will appreciate that very much.”

“Do you know her?”

Careful, Weller.

“We’ve met once or twice at other shows.”

The critic nodded and they moved on to another piece. Before either one of them could comment about it, the music cut off and a voice came over the sound system.

“Excuse me everyone, may I have your attention? Please make your way back to the main area for an announcement.”

The music came back on and the critic turned to Brian. “What do you suppose that means?”

“I hear she’s going to unveil a special piece she created just for this show, supposed to be a stylistic departure.”

The critic smiled. “Well, then, let’s see what there is to see.” He indicated for Brian to lead the way.

Ruby watched everyone filter back into the room and waited until the last few stragglers gathered in the loose semi-circle that formed around him and Joanna before raising the wireless microphone back up to his lips.

“Friends, colleagues, students, and members of the press, I want to thank you all for coming from the bottom of my heart. You have no idea how much Joanna and I appreciate your loyalty and your patronage. When I first met this wonderful lady, she was barely twenty and only just testing her artistic wings. I’m proud to say, that in my humble, non-artistic opinion, she’s more than ready to leave the nest.”

There was sharp applause mixed with a few exclamations of affirmation. Joanna beamed, and Ruby’s heart raced.

“So, without further ado, I want to introduce the lady of the moment...Joanna Richman.”

The room erupted, and Joanna stepped forward, taking the microphone from her fiancé. She mouthed a “Thank you,” faced the crowd and waited for the applause to die down.

“Thank you, everyone,” she said, her husky contralto commanding everyone’s attention.

“As I try to teach all of my students, an artist’s life is not an easy one. You will be constantly called upon to balance the forces of your creative lives with those of your day-to-day existence—always striving to find a way to let your art flourish while making your way in a world that values mediocrity over substance. And when I’ve taught them all I know, I leave them with one last thought: Never compromise your vision and
never
give up.”

“You tell ’em, Teach!” a young voice piped up.

“My favorite critic,” Joanna said, pointing out the blushing young man. The crowd laughed and Joanna joined them. When they quieted, she continued.

“I’m so happy and so grateful that you’ve joined us here tonight. And to commemorate this occasion, I’ve created a special work of art. It’s a departure for me, and comes from a part of me only recently awakened. I hope you see it the same way I do. I—”

Joanna’s voice trailed off, her eyes widening in shock. The gathered crowd grew restless, muttering amongst themselves, and Ruby frowned. What the hell was going on? He stepped toward her, his words of comfort dying in his throat. Despite Mosley’s warning only moments before, he was still unprepared for what he saw. It was
him
; that bastard Weller was here!

Oh, my God, he’s here! He’s here!

The rest of the words of her speech had flown from her mind the moment her eyes had found Brian in the crowd. He smiled, his eyes shining with pride. He raised the champagne flute he was holding in salute, his lips mouthing the words, “I love you.”

Her eyes filled with tears, this time tears of joy. She wanted to run to him, take him in her arms and never let him go.

Suddenly aware of the buzz in the room, Joanna cleared her throat. “Excuse me, I’m just a trifle nervous.”

The crowd relaxed, some of them chuckling.

“Now...where was I?” she said, cracking a sly grin.

“You were about to whip it out,” someone quipped.

The crowd laughed, relaxing more.

“So I was,” Joanna said, her smile lighting up the room. She reached for the black cloth. “The title of this piece is,
Communion
.”

With a deft yank of her arm, the cloth came away. There was an audible gasp from the crowd. They began applauding and Joanna finally allowed the tears to flow.

Brian’s heart lurched in his chest when the cloth covering Joanna’s new piece was pulled away. He pressed forward with the crowd, one eye on Erik Ruby and the other on the remarkable work she’d created. It stood on a solid four-foot pedestal of varnished mahogany and was a life-sized representation of two hands, a man and a woman’s, their fingers intertwined. The detail was exquisite and the effect nothing short of astounding. Even more astounding, the hands were his and Joanna’s. It left him breathless.

He wanted to move closer, but the crowd kept him from being able to advance more than a couple of feet. He caught Joanna’s eye and nodded his approval. She was crying, but he could tell it was from happiness. She covered her mouth with her hands and nodded back to him.

“You were right,” a voice said behind him.

Brian turned to find Jason Forster at his elbow.

“I was?”

“Oh, yes. It’s definitely something totally different than the other pieces. And it’s terrific. She’s a major talent. Please tell your friend that she’s going to get very prominent mention in
The Times
this week.” The critic winked, patted him on the shoulder, then melted into the crowd.