Bedding the Billionaire (Book 3) (Legacy Collection) (25 page)

Jake accepted her gratitude with a nod and a smile.

The woman turned to the mothers behind her. “Ladies, today’s class is going to be a bit different.
We have some special guests today.
This is Mr. Walton, a long-time supporter of the Arts in Boston and his…” She turned to Lil as she stumbled for how to describe her.

“Just call me Lil,” Lil supplied hastily.

“Welcome, Lil,” two of the mothers said almost in union. The others simply waved.

The older woman continued, “Mr. Walton flew in a surprise that I hope you all enjoy.”

A woman with short brown hair entered wearing a long print skirt and hand embroidered blouse.
She said
“
Beuno
s
dias
,
my name is Carmen
Sonnes
. T
hank you for inviting me to join your group today.
Forgive me if I take a moment to set up
.”

“I appreciate
you coming on such short notice,
”
Jake said
as the woman approached them
.

On one side of the room,
Carmen placed three pictures
on easels
.
“Mr. Walton is
playing
humble.
I don’t know an artist who would not have boarded the private jet he sent for me.”

“Please, call me Jake.”
Jake
smiled smoothly back at the woman and directed his next comment to Lil.
“I m
et Carmen at an a
rt exhibit in Austin
a few years ago.
I thought you might enjoy meeting her
,
also.”

Over the last week, contained to her apartment, it was easy to forget that Jake was a man of
immense
power an
d
influence
. He didn’t wave his wealth around like some war banner
trophy
as Dominic did.
Instead, it was an integral part of who he was and how he interacted with the world around him.
Lil doubted that Jake had wondered at all if Carmen would accept his invitation
.
What was it like to be so used to winning that desired outcomes were hardly
a surprise?

“From what I’ve been told this is a mother/child art group ranging from six months to two years old?”
Carmen asked.

“
Y
es,” the instructor
said, “
We use edible finger paints and
a variety of paper types
to allow our young participants to explore the textures and colors of art.”

“And what do the mothers usually do?”
Carmen asked.

One mother laughed and said, “We manage the chaos.”

Carmen waved a few young people from the doorway.
“I hope you’ll accept some assistance in that role today, because I’d really like
everyone to be engaged.”

A
handful
of male and female college aged “assistants”
came to stand at the table with the mothers.
Each one
had
a
wooden easel box full of everything from oil paints and brushes to
art sticks and charcoal pencils
.
“Please accept these art supplies as a gift from me to you. Inside your box you will find
a variety of tools you could use to perform the task I will set for you.
Keep it simple.
You’ll have about an hour to complete
your
project.
Before we can truly teach
art to our children, we must exp
erience it ourselves.”

Six
easels were set up
with a blank canva
s
just a foot or so behind each child.

Jake’s smile faltered when one student handed him
a box of art supplies
.
“No, thank you,” he said.

Lil smiled over her should
er
at Jake.
“You’re not getting off the hook that easily.
If I’
m doing this
, so are you.”

Jake
inspected the contents of the box
doubtfully
.
He set his easel
directly
beside Lil’s.

Carmen
said, “
I didn’t study art formally so this may be an atypical lesson for some of you.
Today is
not about
learning a specific technique but will hopefully be interesting
to
you regardless of your various abilities
.
Today we will explore
your
artistic
voice.”

As she spoke, the instructor handed out multiple baby jars filled with brightly colored paint to the college students who opened them and began to work with the infants.

“I brought three pictures with me today that I feel represent my voice.
My style and my art have been called many things: Mexican, Latino,
Tejano
, Chicano, Tex-Mex, Mexican-American, contemporary, modern, woman-centered, figurative, and representational.
” Carmen smiled. “
I suppose my work is some or all of these things. Basically, it is just what my heart and mind dream up. I am my art and my art is me. I am passionate about color and fascinated by Mexico.
” She pointed to one of the easels. “
The first painting is called
Listening to My Own Counsel
.
When we reach a difficult crossroad, we sometimes go looking for answers outside ourselves.
The answers are almost always within us. The four black birds represent the voices and advice of others.
The woman turns her gaze and ears inward, beneath her
blanket
.
The blue feather represents traditional wisdom.
Symbolism is one way to express yourself in your art.
The second painting is called
Manitas
.
” She lovingly laid a hand on the top of the second painting. “
Manita
is short for
hermanita
or
little sister
in Spanish. This is how we fondl
y refer to our sisters and girl
friends. I portray two women, sister
s
, back to back and on the lookout for each other. I symbolize their tight unity and entangled love by weaving their hair into one thick braid, which runs d
own the center of the painting.” She moved to stand beside the last easel. “
The third and final
work
is called
Esperanza
.
It is a pencil drawing and one of my earliest works.
It is my interpretation of a handful of stories passed down through the generations, from my great-grandmother, to
my grand-mother, to my mother
and lastly to me.” Carmen’s expression creased with sorrow as if she were experiencing the pain depicted in the artwork. “
This story is of the hardships the people endured during the war, particularly the women. Wives often accompanied their husbands to war to carry ammunition, cook, wash, and tend to the injured. Nursing infants and those born on the battlefields became part of those camps. At night time, when enemy troops were near it was imperative for the survival of all that the hungry babies be kept quiet.
When breasts ran dry, desperate mothers stuck stones, clods of dirt and even bullets in the wailing child’s mouth. Some inconsolable babies had to be smothered.
The magnitude of this tale imprinted on my mind as a child and I tell it in this pencil drawing.”

A couple of the women
teared
up at the description of the last
image
.
One woman said
with disgust
, “
I would never hurt my child,
no matter what.”

Carmen shook her head sadly.
“If y
ou can say that
,
you have never seen war up close.
And before you judg
e, ask yourself
–
a
re we so different from our ancestors?
” She looked each woman proudly in the eye, holding their attention and pulling at their emotions. “
We still give our children to war every day when
we send our young men and women into battle on foreign soil
s
.
Are our older sons and daughters less precious than our infants?
Is
that
loss any les
s heart-
wrenching than
the
one in my story?
” She took a deep breath, regaining the calm with which she had entered the room. “
Still,
embrace the reaction
you felt to my story
. Express it
on canvas today.
Art is not about everyone having the same vision
or shared history
–
it’s about finding your
message, your voice, and
exposing
it
to
the world.
So, no matter what anyone draws today, accept it because it is an intimate look into their souls and therefore should be honored as such.
”

“Damn,” Jake whispered to Lil. “Now I can’t draw stick figures.”

Lil wiped a rogue tear from her cheek and smiled at him. “
You could if your soul is full of sticks.”

“What if I draw you naked?”
His words tickled her ear.

Lil wagged a finger at him.
“Try it and you invite serious payback.”

Carmen
smiled and
said
, “Enough chatter.
Choose your tools.
Take a moment to look inside yourself instead of at the blank canvass.
When you are ready, put a piece of yourself onto the canvas.
Tell your story.”