Piano in the Dark (11 page)

“You sure you don’t feel like going home. Maybe work on dessert?” I teased as we edged toward the hustling valet attendant, several cars ahead. Under any other circumstances, I would welcome this evening with my wife. But tonight, I couldn’t even enjoy the new car smell of the Acura I’d bought just days earlier; my mind stressing over what the evening might have in store. We’d had dinner at Gravitas around the corner on Taft prior to coming here—Ava’s exhibit at the Stuart & Graf art gallery on Rhode Place off Allen Parkway and Buffalo Bayou. If I’d been smart, I’d have picked a restaurant way in Katy and counted on traffic to snarl en route. But perhaps I was as anxious to see the artist as was my wife. Sometimes destruction came in appealing packages.

“No. And thank you for dinner, sweetheart. I really want to see those paintings up close. It’s not every day you receive a personal invite from an artist. Besides, we’ll have time to work on dessert afterward,” Dawn replied, grasping the top of my hand as it rested on the gearshift. I’d just bought the TSX to replace the Camry I’d wrecked. Had to keep with the pretense that I was gainfully employed while still waiting for Jacobi to go to bat for me. Thanks to Dawn’s work schedule, at least I was able to stay home most of this week without pretending to go in. She’d never questioned how I made it home ahead of her each day.

I became impatient as we came closer. The red brick building seemed to radiate menace despite the joyful looks on people’s faces as they exited their cars and entered. “Could’ve parked myself,” I muttered.

“You’re just as excited as me. I knew it,” Dawn said smugly. If only she knew. Really.

“Not excited about the crowd.”

“It is crowded,” she said agreeing with me. “We really hit the big ticket in town tonight, huh?”

I didn’t respond. My mind was elsewhere. I considered letting Dawn come alone, but couldn’t risk it. If Ava sought her out like that in a grocery store, she probably knew where we lived and had followed Dawn. And who knew Ava’s true intentions, except that she was challenging me.

She wanted me to confront her, to go to her. Back into her arms where maybe she’d ensnare me in her fantasy world for good.

I’d meant it when I ended things with Ava, going so far as to change my phone number, but here I was. I had to know what she really wanted with my wife and be there to save my marriage, if it came to that, from the threat of someone who knew me better than the lovely woman in the passenger seat beside me. Despite it making no sense, someone had to have fed Ava such intimate information about me because the alternative made even less sense.

Earlier in the day, I’d gambled on strength in numbers, asking my mom to come with us. But she declined, mumbling something about
bougie stuff
not being her cup of tea. I think, being a mother, she sensed a storm brewing on the waters and figured it best to ride it out safely ashore. She did share that something about this “Charla Nuttier art woman” unnerved her when they met at HEB. As if by the look in her eye and the way she smiled, the art woman was privy to an inside joke. Reminded my mom of some of the women she’d crossed paths with in dealing with my dad all those years gone by. That comment alone was enough to rattle me all through dinner with Dawn. If my mom had picked up on that, was Dawn far behind?

Our car doors were opened for us upon pulling up. One valet helped Dawn out by her hand, welcoming her to the art gallery in as cordial a manner as possible without being over the top. Mine silently, efficiently handed me my claim ticket and cracked a minimal smile before jumping into my driver’s seat to speed off.

I briefly brushed off my black jacket to remove any crumbs from dinner, then took Dawn’s arm to escort her inside. I watched her as she did a quick tease of her short brown tresses and sighed mildly. Not from stress, as had been my constant companion, but from joy. Shedding her more conservative work attire, my wife was amazingly put together—a dash of colorful fabric, lovely brown skin tone, and fine body that I didn’t appreciate enough, scooped up inside a buttercup strapless silk dress. She was delicate and poised, yet seductive. And with a Macy’s discount that came in handy.

“You’re looking very handsome tonight, Chase. Maybe we can set aside a weekly date night.”

Kissing her hand, I replied, “I’d like that, babe.”

From the mumblings, it seemed nobody expected this kind of turnout. Guests were being checked at the door, separating the simply curious from the intended. From out of her small clutch, Dawn found the invitation given to her by Ava. At the door, it was carefully inspected, the doorman noting the specialness of this particular invite. With an extra bit of attention thrown our way, we were ushered inside. We each grabbed a flute of Riesling, nodding pleasantly at the other guests and trying our best to fit in.

“Um…I have a feeling the cost of these pieces tonight might be beyond our budget, Chase,” Dawn said discreetly as she put the glass to her lips.

“You might be right,” I said, reflecting on my employment limbo. “Want to get out of here?” I asked for other selfish reasons. A final try.

Dawn lowered her glass, looking at me stone-faced. “C’mon now. How would that look?” she asked.

“Hey. Just a suggestion,” I offered with a grin and a shrug.

“I didn’t squeeze into this dress for nothing, Chase. And it would be really rude to come all the way here and not take it all in.”

“Okay. Where do you want to start?” I asked.

As Dawn scanned our surroundings, attempting to fathom where to begin on our journey of discovery, I observed the other guests and random art aficionados. It felt good that, despite her instability, Ava had really channeled her creativity and passion into something that was lauded and appreciated by so many. I nodded imperceptibly to myself, a strange sense of pride welling up as I drank deeply from my glass.

Mingling among the ever-moving throng of folk was a gentleman whose height set him apart. I clenched my teeth, knowing this would be the first of many challenges if we were to remain much longer. Smith Sampson had to be here as Ava’s patron. I’m sure he was carefully orchestrating tonight’s event, his pride certainly more appropriate than mine. Despite his being over-dressed the first time we met, this time he stood out for being underdressed. The tall, thin ghostly pale man wore a white button-down shirt, a simple pair of blue jeans, and comfortable loafers. With his wire-rimmed glasses, he was almost more tenured professor than privileged eccentric. Not one for complete simplicity, he had a bright red scarf draped around his wrinkled, elongated neck.

He noticed me and smiled. Rather than running away, I gently guided the still-undecided Dawn in his direction. As he came closer, I saw he was going to speak. I decided to engage him first.

“How are you this evening, sir?” I asked, smiling cordially and speaking loud enough to bring Dawn’s attention in his direction. I noticed her eyes taking in the strange visual that was Smith’s.

“Things are going extremely well for Ms. Nuttier, so I have no complaints,” he said with a giggle. I remembered the disdain he had for using her pseudonym when we met. “Smith Sampson,” he said, offering his hand once again for the first time.

“Chase Hidalgo,” I answered, shaking firmly. “And this is my wife, Dawn.”

“Ahh. Dawn to the night. What a lovely vision you are, dear. Totally enchanting,” Smith said as he clasped her extended hand in both of his. “I noticed you across the room and had to come over. That dress is adorable, absolutely adorable.” Smith pivoted back toward me.

“You are a lucky man to have such a woman, Mr. Hidalgo,” he commented, using similar words as he’d reserved for Ava the day we first met.

“Thank you,” I replied, our eyes meeting.

“Is this your gallery, Mr. Sampson?” Dawn asked.

“Heavens no,” Smith scoffed. “My marriage of art appreciation and business acumen isn’t so refined, I’m afraid. I’m simply here to support Ms. Nuttier on one of her biggest nights. And I’m glad the two of you were able to come out as well. Be sure to talk with her. She’s terribly busy, but she’d love a moment with someone who’s not a stuffed shirt.”

“Why thank you. We’ll be sure to do that,” Dawn replied before I could think of what to say.

Smith gave the two of us a light pat on our backs and was off to interact with others. I was left unscathed, except for sweaty palms, which I discreetly rubbed on my pants legs.

Grabbing a refill of Riesling from a passing tray, we carried on with the viewing of Ava’s works, a variety of images dispersed and hung about on the fourteen-foot-high walls of the gallery. Some I recognized from Ava’s special room back at her place. They’d been stacked, probably in preparation for tonight’s event. It was unseemly pretending they were all new to me, but I’d become comfortable with the lies and pretense.

We settled in front of the lighthouse painting, the one with the unusual-shaped boats drifting along below. I grinned, seeing the piece was still titled
Happiness
. Just like Ava wanted.

“Wow. She really takes you there. Wherever t
here
is,” Dawn offered softly as she squinted, lost in the brush strokes. “You can tell she’s seen a lot, even if it’s all not easily understood.”

“That’s one way to put it,” a woman’s voice said just behind us. I flinched, heart surging as I turned to see to whom it belonged. I cursed internally that I recognized her. And she recognized me, perhaps feeling the same shock and disdain. How could employer and employee not know one another?

Maryann Milner, one of the senior partners at the firm—specifically, the one I was looking at when I crudely admitted beating Iris’s husband down, was in attendance tonight with her partner of the domestic sort. Could this get any more awkward for either of us?

“Hey, Maryann,” I said, beaming with false joy over one of the people who held my future in their hands. Remembering my mood when I stormed out of the office, she had to be taken aback by my demeanor. I gave her a hug anyway, now worried about an additional lie for Dawn to learn of. “I’d like you to meet my wife, Dawn.”

“Hello,” Maryann said to my wife, cordial enough. She then introduced us to her partner Sue, a stylish middle-aged Pakistani woman with an English accent.

“I didn’t know you were into the arts, Chase,” Maryann said, her eyes scanning the varied canvasses and probably looking to add to her collection.

“I’m full of many surprises. It just takes giving me a chance,” I responded, a bit of unspoken pleading for my job creeping in.

“It’s nice to meet someone from Chase’s office besides Jacobi,” Dawn joked as she leaned past, sending a shudder through me. “I keep telling him he should finish law school, then sit for the bar.”

Okay. Dawn had enough drinks for the night. Now I was beginning to get pissed off.

Maryann cast a glance in my direction, perhaps looking for instruction on how to proceed. I kept my simple smile plastered across my face. “Well, perhaps when the time is right, Chase will listen to his better half,” Maryann joked back, letting me off the hook. “It was nice meeting you, Dawn.”

Moving on, we made our way past several more works of art with no further uncomfortable encounters.

“See anything you like?” I asked.

“A couple. But I want to see the rest on the other wall. Think we can negotiate for one?”

“You never know,” I said slyly, refraining from revealing the inside track I had with the artist.
Once
had, I should say. If any amount could get us out of here with a damn painting and our marriage intact, I would pay it.

“Look!” Dawn blurted out, tilting her wine flute as if proposing a toast.

I quickly cast my gaze in the direction of her attention. I focused on the wall above the mingling bodies, not seeing anything of note. But Dawn wasn’t looking at one of the art pieces. She was focused on a small crowd gathered in the corner…and on the ethereal form in the center of that crowd. A woman who was clad in black politely conversed and posed for pictures from amateur and professional alike. As if some secret frequency were broadcast that only she could hear, she broke from one of her soft smiles and slowly turned in our direction. It was as if she felt that crackle of electricity across the room. Like I had on a street corner late one night. A night that changed my life.

Her face revealed familiar longing as our eyes met.

“It’s her. Charla Nuttier. C’mon!” Dawn blurted out as she yanked me toward the woman who had been my lover…and yet something more.

“She looks kinda busy,” I told Dawn as we wove our way toward the artist Charla Nuttier. Suddenly my suit felt two sizes too small. I wanted to tighten my grip on Dawn’s hand and flee this damned bright, happy gathering. It wasn’t the brilliant artist, but rather the woman Ava that I feared tonight.

“I just want to say hi. Won’t take but a second,” Dawn replied, prodding me along. A couple was taking a camera-phone picture with Ava. A bundle of serious sexy, she stood between the two elderly aficionados, wearing a strapless black ruffled cocktail dress just for her occasion. Her ebony hair was pulled back in a ponytail with a stargazer lily tucked neatly just above her ear. She posed for the picture, but eyes were locked on me.

Unwavering.

Unrelenting.

Wanting.

But I’m a man and I needed to steel myself.

“She keeps looking this way,” Dawn said, aware of it as well.

“Probably recognizes you from the supermarket,” I offered.

We waited patiently for our turn with Ava. I kept my head low, visualizing being somewhere else. When the crowd broke, I let Dawn introduce me, playing the role of the dumb husband.

“Ms. Nuttier,” Dawn began as she reached out for Ava’s exposed shoulder. A shoulder I knew just how to touch. Ava waved at somebody across the gallery, then gave her full, undivided attention to Dawn.

“Please,” she chided. “Like I told you at HEB that day, call me Charla.”

Dawn’s face went flush with excitement over Ava remembering her. Had she been stalking my wife before I ended our relationship? My supply of nervousness and fear began to dissipate; anger and outrage filling my tanks instead. “Well,
Charla
,” Dawn continued after instruction, “this is my husband Chase. I have to admit, I hadn’t heard of you. He’s the person responsible for introducing me to your work.”

“Not really,” I quickly offered as I shook Ava’s hand, breaking away lest any chemistry or familiarity stand revealed. Tried to ignore the Lola by Marc Jacobs perfume I got a whiff of. “Just saw some stuff of yours at the Breakfast Klub and looked you up on the Internet. My wife is the art person.”

“Oh, really? And what do you do, sir?” Ava said, playing the game as she stared at me quizzically.

“My job? I—”

“No,” she said, waving a dismissive hand with a chuckle as she cut me off. This persona tonight was far more confident than the woman from which I pried myself away the other night. “I meant what is your
passion
, sir? What really gives your life purpose and fulfillment? What gets your blood going?”

A fertile pause hovered among us. Dawn’s eyes squinted as she monitored this odd exchange. The hairs rose on the back of my neck as a plethora of images bombarded my memory. But I ignored them and the baser instincts that accompanied them. With the remainder of my Riesling, I tipped the glass toward Dawn.

“When you put it that way, I guess I’d say my wife is my passion,” I answered with a smart smile.

Dawn gave me a kiss on the cheek while Ava glared from behind a mask of false approval.

“The two of you are too cute,” Ava said. “Reminds me of the relationship my best friend Ava has with the man of her dreams. A match made in heaven stronger than any obstacles ever thrown at them. All of you are so lucky.”

“Thanks,” Dawn replied as I winced over Ava’s testimonial about her
friend
. “Y’know, when my husband first saw your picture, he thought maybe you attended college with us at Sam Houston.”

Ava grinned, looking dead at me. “No. I’m not from around here. Maybe your husband was thinking of someone who favors me.”

“Maybe. I was just telling him how beautiful you are in person. I’m still amazed that we’d run into one another in a grocery store. Do you live in Spring?”

“No, no. I just happened to be in the area. And you struck me as such a nice person. Both you and your mother-in-law, Miss Earnestine.”

She knew my mom’s name. Why was she doing this to me?

“Well, again, I’m so thrilled that you invited us. Your work is incredible,” Dawn responded, carrying on as if they were old friends. Could’ve imagined them growing into women together in the dorms back at Sam Houston. They were alike in several ways, besides their connection to a weak man, yet different.

“Thank you so much. I’m glad that you were able to make it. You have no idea how much good it does my heart to see you…and your husband here tonight. I have to meet the other guests, but we’ll talk later about which painting you like best. Enjoy yourselves, you two.”

Dawn waited for Ava to move on, but was steady tapping her sandaled foot. After another moment of not a word being said, she turned to look at me. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was flirting with you.”

“Yeah right,” I said with a sneer as I took Dawn’s wineglass away. “Let’s finish looking at her artwork.”

Ignoring me, Dawn continued. “Don’t you think she’s attractive?”

“She’s attractive, I suppose. But go easy with the wild theories. I’m not her type,” I answered, sparing much emotion.

“Oh? And what do you think is her type?”

Someone not trudging through life like me
, I thought without saying. “Probably some mega-successful entrepreneur with six-pack abs.”

“Well, you’ve got the abs, Chase.”

“And with your motivation, I’m sure I’ll get to the success part too,” I added, more as a joke to lighten the mood…and deflect.

“Does that mean you’re going to go back and finish law school?” Dawn asked, a discernible gasp escaping her mouth before I could say something. “Is
that
what that lady from your law firm was hinting at?”

I’d deflected, but not in the way I’d planned. “Can’t say,” I replied coyly as I heard those notes from when I played the piano at Ava’s.

A sign.

But it wasn’t me this time. Or a simple memory.

It really was playing.

It was the instrumental to Tupac’s song playing as a selection for her show.

For me.

She knew I’d come.

Total manipulation.

I clenched my fist, realizing how stupid I’d been all along.

“Hey, honey. Why don’t you get us some more Riesling?” I asked of my wife. “I need to talk to someone about a piece of art.”