Scandalous (24 page)

“There is no prostitution ring!” I yelled stamping my foot like a child on her front lawn. It was undignified, but I didn’t care at this point. Spill your
guts Emily! My
stompy
feet only made her laugh harder.

“Of course not!
There never was a prostitute at Jack’s studio. The best lies are laced with truth my dear, saying the things that people want to hear. Thank you for your assistance. Now, get off of my lawn before I shoot you.” She slammed the door with a loud bang. The floral heart wreath swayed and fell, wedged between the door and the screen.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

My heart was pounding in my chest. I went straight from Emily’s to Phil’s office. I barely got there before 5:00pm. The secretary rolled her eyes at me. It made me certain why Emily spilled her guts. She thought no one would believe me and she was right. I could have repeated the entire conversation, and I wasn’t sure if Kate would believe me. Not with the way things happened. Not with the way the news painted me as some too-simple-minded-to-be-alive type of person. I was still wearing jeans and a tank top, my hair in a messy ponytail, not a stich of make-up on my face.

“Mr. Green will see you now,” the receptionist led me to a door.

I was polite, even though part of me wanted to kick her. Phil sat at one end of the table. “Miss Tyndale, finally, you’ve come to your senses.”

I shrugged, and produced the manila envelope, placing it on the table. “I did. He used me. I get it.
Fine.
Tell him to take this and fuck off. His angel has fallen.” Pushing the envelope hard, I sent it sliding toward Phil. He caught it with his hand. The first thing he noticed was the bulge on top. Something was inside, and it wasn’t just paper.

Phil looked at me, “What’s this?” He looked at Jack’s iPhone and pulled out the papers under it. Cocking his head, he sighed, “These aren’t signed. Abby...”

“They don’t need to be, Phil. Listen to the recording on that phone. And if I were you, I’d do it right now.” A sadistic smile spread across my lips. Emily deserved what she had coming. The fierce Abby, the girl I kept locked in a box, was proud. I turned on my heel as Phil started the conversation.

__________

Kate appeared in my doorway. “You saved him, Abby. It’s all over the news. That old bitch was arrested, and Jack’s name was cleared. Way to work the system. Everyone thought you were too innocent
to do something like that. What’d you do, press record and just go knock on her door?”

Nodding, I said, “Something like that. She planned Jack’s destruction down to the letter. She didn’t care what happened to everyone else. I’m not going to feel guilty about it. She deserves what she gets.” Grabbing my coat, I slid it over my shoulders.

“Ah, but you do care. Don’t you? And that’s why you’re running. You can’t face Jack.”

“Jack’s destroyed,” I said, wandering around the room. “He’ll keep me around out of pity, and I don’t want that.
Out of sight, out of mind.”
I stood there, staring at her.

“You’re lying to yourself now?” she asked, arms folded over her chest.

“I have to go, Kate.” I pushed past her, bags in my hands. “Thank you for putting up with me, but I can’t leech off of you anymore.” Walking down the hall, I came to an abrupt stop. There was a large package sitting in front of the door. I’d spent the entire day hiding in my room after I got back from Phil’s. I packed as fast as possible, but it still took several hours. Eventually Kate noticed, but she failed to mention this.

My heart was in my throat. “What’s that?”

Kate stepped around me, tapping the crate, “Something from Jonathan Gray, to Abby Tyndale.” She watched me for a second, standing frozen, not knowing what to do. Part of me wanted to open it, part of me wanted to run. “At least look at it, Abby.”

Look at it? Look and see what Jack sent me? I wondered if I could do it. It felt like there was no air in the room. I pressed my lips together wondering if it was what I thought it was. Dropping my bags, I walked to the crate. Kate produced pliers and we pulled it apart. Inside was a massive rolled canvas. I glanced at her, but she was already moving, pushing furniture back to make room for it. I placed the canvas on the floor gently, like it was a baby. My heart pounded in my chest, threatening to crack my ribs. I pushed the canvas and it unrolled. Shoulders rigid, I stood there shocked, staring.

Kate gazed over my shoulder, her jaw dropped, “Abby,” she gasped. “This is exquisite… It exceeds all his other works combined.” She sounded giddy, but I stood there frozen.
Staring.
Staring at something that might have been, something lost, like a once upon a time story without an ending. I couldn’t breathe. Kate looked more closely at it, examining the vivid blue and orange brush strokes. When the painting was created Jack said he wouldn’t
show my face, but there was a perfect likeness of me, soft and sensual, staring back. Everything about it was perfect. My chest constricted. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

Leaving my bags in the hall, I ran outside. The press was gone. It was just a dark street lined with cars. Kate followed me half a beat later. “What’s wrong with you?
Abby, talk to me!”
She grabbed my arm, turning me back toward her. The sky had finally stopped dropping buckets of rain, but the streets were still damp. They shone like ink.

“I can’t look at it, Kate. Get rid of it. Please,” I begged her. She looked at me like I was nuts, but nodded. “It’s painful... Send it back.”

Kate pulled me back inside. Jack had never called me. He never followed up to say thank you for exposing the heinous witch that tried to send me to jail. He never took back his last words to me. He continued to let me think everything we shared was a lie, and the painting reminded me of that.
Of him.
I couldn’t stand it. It felt like I was going to crawl out of my skin. Kate seemed to understand.

She rolled up the goddess version of me and shoved it back in the crate. Taking off the return slip, she turned to me, “Uh, Abby. This can’t be returned...”

I sat in a chair, trying to avoid looking at the offending painting until it was out of sight, “Why not?”

“There’s a certificate that says the painting is yours. You’re the owner. You’re supposed to file this slip of the estimated value with your insurance company.” She held up a piece of paper.

I held out my hand, “Let me see that.” Kate slid the slip between my fingers. It said Abby Tyndale was the owner of AWAKENING by Jonathan Gray, est. value $270,000. I clutched the slip to my chest, like it would revive me if I died. Why was he doing this to me?

Kate sputtered, “Isn’t that what you owe on your loans?” I nodded, crumpling the ball in my fist. “Hey! Hey!” Kate ran over and pulled the wrinkled paper from my hands before I shredded it. “Abby, you need that. Take the painting to
Southerby’s
or another auction house and get rid of it if you don’t want it—but don’t throw it away.” I glanced up at her, “You have that I’m-gonna-shred-stuff look in your eye.”

“I won’t shred it,” I slumped back in my chair. “Call them. Sell it. I’m staying until it’s gone.” Walking back to the hall, I grabbed my bags and tossed them on my bed.

I could hear Kate’s voice as she called the right people in the right places.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

A week passed while I waited. Jack fell off the face of the Earth. There was no mention of him in the press. He was just gone like I would be at the end of the week. The auction was Saturday night. Apparently I was lucky and made it just in time to include my painting in with some other big name artists, however Jonathan Gray would have been the biggest name before his scandal.

Kate explained, “It might not sell for much, Abby. It’s still very close to the scandal, but they also said there is the small possibility that it’ll sell for more than the estimate. Pre-scandal, it would have sold for millions, but now... they just don’t know.”

Leaning over the kitchen table, I reached for the sugar, dumping a bunch of it into my coffee. I shrugged, “I don’t care what it sells for. I just want it gone.”

She nodded, “I understand. I just wanted you to know that it might not solve all your problems. The loans may still be there after this, and if they are—you can stay with me, Abby. You don’t have to leave.”

I smiled at her, mixing my drink, “Thanks, Kate. I really liked having you around, but everywhere I go—I’m afraid I’ll see him. I need some space. I need the peace of mind that comes with distance. I wish you could come with me, but I know your life is here. Maybe you can visit once in a while?”

She smiled sadly, “I’d like that. Better go get dressed.”

I scoffed, “Why do we have to get dressed up?”

“Because the media will be there and you need to look like a million bucks. Wearing a burlap sack won’t mesh with the girl in the painting. Go. Take the little black dress I put on your bed. There’s a pair of heels with it. Make yourself look like Holly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.” She took my coffee and shoved me out of the kitchen.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

When we arrived at the auction house there was a lot of buzz and hushed whispers. Emily’s claims about Jack’s work being the first in a post-modern movement of sensual art were true. Since then people debated it on talk shows and it kept coming up in the news. Add to the fact that this was his last painting before the scandal, and that it was different than his other works, and people wanted to attend just to see the famous ‘scandal painting,’ as they called it.

Kate and I wandered around backstage, looking at items, waiting quietly for them to present my painting. When I’d first seen it that night, my heart sank. It was so beautiful. The auction house had it stretched and framed. The canvas looked perfect—completely perfect. A golden frame, thick and ornate surrounded the painting. AWAKENING was right. That was the perfect title for this piece. It was the day I realized there was more to me than a timid minister,
floundering through life. I just wished that I’d learned the lesson in a less painful way.

I was smoothing my black dress, when Kate pulled me to the wing to watch the auction. The auctioneer said, “This is lot number 324, the AWAKENING by Jonathan Gray. It is the last painting created prior to the scandal, and is also known as THE SCANDAL. It is the only piece of work by Gray that is in full color with vibrant hues. Let the bidding begin.”

Kate’s hand clutched my arm as the bidding quickly soared over $1,000. “This is good,” she whispered in my ear, “They were afraid no one would bid, but with this much activity, you might be able to pay off your loans.” She squeezed my arm tightly, practically jumping up and down. The bids swiftly soared over $100,000, still climbing wildly. Paddles flew into the air, one after the other, each person wanting to claim a piece of the scandalous Jonathan Gray. Moments later the bids passed $300,000 and Kate and I watched in horrified silence, wondering how high it would go. There were still multiple bidders driving the price higher and higher. The way the lights displayed the artwork, it was difficult to tell who was bidding. There was an elderly couple in the front row. Every time the bid climbed higher, she
would tug her husband’s arm and his paddle would fly up. She clearly wanted the painting. But there were others too. People I couldn’t
see,
concealed in shadows at the back of the room.

My stomach flipped in my chest as the price flew up. The auctioneer was saying, “A million two.
A million four.
A million six.”
After every increase he pointed at someone. He was speaking so fast that I could barely understand him. My eyes had grown large and I was certain I’d stopped breathing, when the auctioneer said, “Two million eight. Going once, going twice...”

A voice rang out, “Seven million two.” Kate glanced at
me,
her eyes wide like big green dinner plates.

The auctioneer seemed startled, but continued, “Seven two going once, twice. Sold to the gentleman for seven million two. Please step forward.” Gasps followed as the man from the back of the room walked toward the stage. Murmuring came in cascades, but I already knew who it was.

Jack Gray took long confident strides toward the auctioneer. Several people snapped his picture, as he neared the stage. I stood frozen in the wing, Kate at my side. She whispered in my ear, “I think he just spent his entire fortune on a painting of you.”

Eyes wide, I couldn’t even nod. I couldn’t breathe. When Jack stood in front of the painting, he beamed. His black tux hugged his body perfectly, showcasing every beautiful angle. He posed for a moment before the painting. The press called for me, and I felt Kate’s hand on my back pushing me forward. Jack stood on one side of the painting, looking dashingly perfect as I blinked like a deer in the headlights. Did he really spend his entire fortune on this painting? Could he do that? I glanced at him, and his expression softened. Sadness haunted his eyes like it had when I first came back.