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Authors: Helen Maryles Shankman
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time to paint?”
Before she could answer, David said, “I hear his assistants do most of his work.” He looked straight at Tessa. “My mom works for the Thoroughgood Gallery. She hears a lot of things.”
“Well…she heard wrong. I just pull the pictures together and sketch it out on the canvas and do the underpainting.”
There were raised eyebrows all around.
“Here’s to having an assistant like Tessa,” Clayton said solemnly. They clinked their glasses together and drank them down.
Rafe stood apart from the art students spilling through his Great Room, scanning the crowd for Levon.
It had come as something of a shock that Gracie brought Tessa to help her set up. Unnerved, he’d made himself busy in the room he used as an office until more people arrived.
Behind him, someone said, “I want to do both of them together.”
“Yeah, the contrast is fantastic. Look at her hair! I’m thinking Venetian red. Some golden ochre. Burnt sienna.”
“Who said anything about paint? I want to die with it wrapped around my naked body.”
He turned to see who was talking. First-year students under the influence of his wine, slavering like hungry dogs at Tessa and Graciela.
Levon, where was Levon?
He found him at the bar. To his dismay, the girl was standing right next to him. She had a coffee-colored glass bead strung on a brown leather thong tied around her neck, looking for all the world like a sucking candy. And though she was meeting Levon’s eyes and nodding in agreement, she was somewhere else, somewhere deep inside herself.
She must have felt his gaze upon her, because suddenly she was looking at him. A flash of heat sicced his body like the onset of fever. For a brief moment, he considered taking the coward’s way out, escaping to the loft until everyone was gone.
Just as he was about to cut into the crowd, a thin girl with long dark hair stepped into his path, blocking his way. Though it was a chilly evening in the middle of October, her shoulders were bare. She was attended by a pair of young men, each eyeing him warily, obviously hoping she wouldgo home with them tonight. She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Hey, I love your house! Is that a real Raphael downstairs?” She had a wide helpless mouth and grasping, needy eyes. She put a bony hand out. “Allison.”
He gave it a polite, generic shake. “Yes, it is. Lovely, isn’t it?” He gazed fondly at the claret silk walls, hung with art he had collected over the past six decades, the rich wood paneling, the high coffered ceiling, the genteelly threadbare velvet curtain he had acquired from the old Ziegfeld Theater drawn over the soaring three-storey window. “I like my house, too. It took me a long time to get it just right.”
When he glanced back down at her, she was giving him a trembling smile, one that offered all the wrong solutions to her own problems. “Have you tried the smoked salmon? Help yourself to some more wine,” he said, and eased away from her.
Just a little further.
He moved through the last dozen people between himself and Levon. With a sidelong glance at the girl, Rafe steered Levon away from the bar.
“Hey, Rafe, you decided to show up.”
“I was in the middle of something. Personal business.”
“Hell of a place you have here.”
“Haven’t you been here before?”
“No, last year we did this in the Cast Hall. This is my first time.”
“Oh.” Rafe liked Levon. He was the only person on the Academy staff who didn’t treat him as if he were…well, as if he were a vampire. “I should have you and…” he knew Levon was married, but he didn’t know her name.
“Hallie.”
“…Hallie over for dinner sometime.”
Levon chuckled and his eyebrows went up. “Yeah, let’s do that. So. What’s up?”
“Do you know what Turner’s big surprise is?”
“Yeah. He filled that open studio painting position.”
“I didn’t hear anything about that,” he said, pulling closer to him, his
Before she could answer, David said, “I hear his assistants do most of his work.” He looked straight at Tessa. “My mom works for the Thoroughgood Gallery. She hears a lot of things.”
“Well…she heard wrong. I just pull the pictures together and sketch it out on the canvas and do the underpainting.”
There were raised eyebrows all around.
“Here’s to having an assistant like Tessa,” Clayton said solemnly. They clinked their glasses together and drank them down.
Rafe stood apart from the art students spilling through his Great Room, scanning the crowd for Levon.
It had come as something of a shock that Gracie brought Tessa to help her set up. Unnerved, he’d made himself busy in the room he used as an office until more people arrived.
Behind him, someone said, “I want to do both of them together.”
“Yeah, the contrast is fantastic. Look at her hair! I’m thinking Venetian red. Some golden ochre. Burnt sienna.”
“Who said anything about paint? I want to die with it wrapped around my naked body.”
He turned to see who was talking. First-year students under the influence of his wine, slavering like hungry dogs at Tessa and Graciela.
Levon, where was Levon?
He found him at the bar. To his dismay, the girl was standing right next to him. She had a coffee-colored glass bead strung on a brown leather thong tied around her neck, looking for all the world like a sucking candy. And though she was meeting Levon’s eyes and nodding in agreement, she was somewhere else, somewhere deep inside herself.
She must have felt his gaze upon her, because suddenly she was looking at him. A flash of heat sicced his body like the onset of fever. For a brief moment, he considered taking the coward’s way out, escaping to the loft until everyone was gone.
Just as he was about to cut into the crowd, a thin girl with long dark hair stepped into his path, blocking his way. Though it was a chilly evening in the middle of October, her shoulders were bare. She was attended by a pair of young men, each eyeing him warily, obviously hoping she wouldgo home with them tonight. She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Hey, I love your house! Is that a real Raphael downstairs?” She had a wide helpless mouth and grasping, needy eyes. She put a bony hand out. “Allison.”
He gave it a polite, generic shake. “Yes, it is. Lovely, isn’t it?” He gazed fondly at the claret silk walls, hung with art he had collected over the past six decades, the rich wood paneling, the high coffered ceiling, the genteelly threadbare velvet curtain he had acquired from the old Ziegfeld Theater drawn over the soaring three-storey window. “I like my house, too. It took me a long time to get it just right.”
When he glanced back down at her, she was giving him a trembling smile, one that offered all the wrong solutions to her own problems. “Have you tried the smoked salmon? Help yourself to some more wine,” he said, and eased away from her.
Just a little further.
He moved through the last dozen people between himself and Levon. With a sidelong glance at the girl, Rafe steered Levon away from the bar.
“Hey, Rafe, you decided to show up.”
“I was in the middle of something. Personal business.”
“Hell of a place you have here.”
“Haven’t you been here before?”
“No, last year we did this in the Cast Hall. This is my first time.”
“Oh.” Rafe liked Levon. He was the only person on the Academy staff who didn’t treat him as if he were…well, as if he were a vampire. “I should have you and…” he knew Levon was married, but he didn’t know her name.
“Hallie.”
“…Hallie over for dinner sometime.”
Levon chuckled and his eyebrows went up. “Yeah, let’s do that. So. What’s up?”
“Do you know what Turner’s big surprise is?”
“Yeah. He filled that open studio painting position.”
“I didn’t hear anything about that,” he said, pulling closer to him, his
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