Ty pulled out a notepad with Painter’s and Co. printed on it. After Ms. Romanoff had passed away, she had left him the store, promoting him from an employee to the owner. Ever since she had hired him, they had become good friends. In fact, half of the paintings in the gallery were his.
He wrote down her name and her address as she dictated. “Park Avenue, huh?” he said, looking up at her.
She nodded. “Don’t you want me to show you the paintings I want?”
Ty stood up and moved form behind the counter. He gestured out with his hand. “Lead the way, Ms. Muse.”
He followed her through the gallery, admiring the curve of her neck and the way her hair moved as she walked. Suddenly, she threw her slender arm out, gesturing to a painting that he realized, with a jolt, was his. It was a landscape of Venice during the sunset, a place he had never been, but had painted from one of Romeo’s photographs. Romeo and Kat had had their honeymoon there. “I’d like that one,” she said.
She turned to face him as he put on orange Post-it on the corner of the painting to mark it. “This Tyler Brenson is really amazing. All the paintings I’m buying today are his. His attention to detail is phenomenal. I wish he’d vary his paintings, though. They’re all of Europe, and all so similar.”
“Have you met him?” she added.
Ty’s smile got wider. “Yes, yes, I have. Would you like to?”
Valerie Muse’s eyes got wide. “I’d love too.”
Ty held out his hand for her to shake. “Tyler Brenson to you, Ms. Muse.” Her mouth opened in surprise and he saw her violet eyes flick to his name tag.
“Oh my God. You’re Tyler Brenson. I’m sorry about what I said, you know. About the variation of the paintings. I didn’t really mean it. I just—“
But he cut her off. “It’s okay, Ms. Muse, really. No artist is perfect, and I can see your point.”
She smiled. “Call me Valerie. I should have known you were an artist,” she said.
“What do you mean?” Ty asked, puzzled.
She grinned. Ty noticed that her elegant nose looked beautiful when she did. “Well, you really look like it. With the long hair, and the stubble, and the scarves. And lack of muscle,” she added the last part with a laugh.
“Very funny,” Ty said, but he was laughing too.
He sold her five paintings that day. She had good taste, he noticed. And not just because all of the paintings that she bought were his, but because she chose his best ones. Ty realized how much he liked her.
“I’ll send them over,” he told her at the door.
She nodded. “Thanks.”
“We should have coffee sometime,” Ty told her.
She looked unsure then. “Are you asking me on a date?”
Ty smiled. “If you want it to be.”
She shook her head. “I’m engaged.”
Ty felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He felt a sudden acute pang of sadness. He was going to end up alone, and not loved by anyone. But he smiled on the outside. “That’s okay. We can meet as friends.”
She nodded. “How about tomorrow? Two o’clock at Dean & Deluca’s?”
He nodded and watched her leave, slipping her elegant frame into a silver Volvo and pulling out and away into the busy streets. He watched her car until he could no long see it in the cluster of cars down the street.
* * * * *
Natalia Drake walked down the New York streets, happy to be back. Her hometown was San Francisco, and though she loved it there, she loved New York too. New York was modern, with everything the modern world had to offer, but San Francisco seemed to have preserved the past in a way she loved, with its curving streets and ocean views. She loved walking around the bay, surrounded by fisherman and fresh seafood. It was like a fishing village, except bigger and livelier. Natalia was glad she lived there, but every Christmas, she liked to come to New York. And this year was especially exciting, because she was bringing Jesse and Juliet, her three year old twins, with her. Jeremy was still in San Francisco, but the twins were with her. Admittedly, having children wasn’t as easy as she had thought it would be. It seemed the media only showed you the good parts of having children. The tantrums and whining and the excessive energy? Not so much.
The plane ride had been a nightmare, with the two of them crying and yelling throughout. Sometimes, she forgot the good side of having children. But then, when they smiled or hugged her or kissed her, she became glad that she’d had them.
“Mommy?” Juliet asked, patting her leg.
“Yes, Jules?”
“Where we going?” she asked.
Natalia smiled down at her daughter. “Aunt Brooklyn’s. You remember Aunt Brooklyn and Ella?”
“I do,” Jesse said, looking extremely pleased with himself. Juliet frowned at him. Everything was a competition between them. It made Natalia smile. When she first found out she was having twins, she had been scared. She thought she was ready to take care of one child, but two? She couldn’t see herself as a mother of two. But now, she was glad. It was so funny to see them interact, and she loved them both. She wouldn’t let go of either of them for anything.
“Me too. I do too,” Juliet added quickly, not to be outdone by her brother.
Natalia watched them glare at each other, trying to hide a smile form stretching across her face. She’d realized that when a child was angry or happy or sad, you couldn’t make fun of them. You had to be angry or happy or sad with them. You couldn’t laugh when a child was angry, or it would make them angrier. You couldn’t be angry when they were happy either, or it would make them feel bad. There was so much she was learning that she couldn’t get out of the stack of parenting books that had sat, piled up, on her nightstand for so long.
Five minutes later, they were ringing the doorbell to Brooklyn’s penthouse. She swung the door open, and Natalia saw her for the first time that year. Brooklyn looked older now, like her mother, but she was still extremely dainty and perfect looking, and with Ella propped on her hip, she looked like a model advertising something related to babies, like diapers or baby food.
Natalia was sure that she looked five years older than Brooklyn, though they were the same age. Maybe, it was something to do with having twins. While Brooklyn had maintained her figure, it seemed with no effort at all, Natalia felt fatter and fatter every day. It wasn’t like she was huge and bulky, or anything like that, but when she was young, she had always been thin to the point of skinny. She’d gotten used to not having to worry about an expanding waistline.
“Natalia!” Brooklyn cried, awkwardly throwing one arm around her, as the other one held her daughter.
“Hey, Brook,” Natalia smiled, hugging her back.
Brooklyn stepped back to take her in. “You know, even though you let your hair go back to blonde five years ago, Nat, I still expected to see you with that bubble gum pink hair. And your hair is long now, too!”
Natalia looked down at her hair. At twenty-two, she had realized that she couldn’t go around with pink hair forever. She had gotten engaged, and she did not want to have a wedding with pink hair, so she had stopped dying it and let it go back to its original white blonde. It was now straight and shoulder length, and she was really starting to like it.
Plus, both Juliet and Jesse had the same color hair. Natalia wanted them all to look the same—like a family.
Brooklyn ushered them inside, where Kat and Romeo sat on the velvet red couches. When Kat saw her, she ran right up and wrapped her arms around Natalia. “It’s been so long,” she said breathlessly. Honestly, Natalia didn’t think Kat had changed much since they had met six years ago. She was still energetic, bubbly, and impulsive. If anyone was not an adult yet, it was Kat. But it wasn’t a bad thing. Somehow, Kat had managed to look that way too. While Natalia probably looked thirty-five, Kat could still pass off for a college student.
Natalia hugged Kat back, feeling happy to see everyone again. She turned to Brooklyn, who was trying to get Ella, Juliet, and Jesse
to interact with one another. “Where’s Carter?” she asked.
Brooklyn sighed. “At a meeting.”
To Natalia, it seemed like Brooklyn’s husband was never around. She remembered Carter Jules—blond, muscular, good looking. She still thought, though, that Brooklyn had never really seemed to love him. Even when they had gotten married, she’d never seen the breathless love in Brooklyn that you usually see in people who are getting married. She’d tried to ignore it, but it seemed more apparent than ever. Carter was a nice person, Natalia knew, but she wondered whether Brooklyn really loved him.
She promised herself that this time, she’d ask her. But, for now, she just smiled.
“How’s San Francisco?” Romeo asked her as she settled down on the velvet sofa chair.
“Wonderful, I guess. I’ve always loved that city.”
* * * * *
Brooklyn waved goodbye and watched Kat and Romeo drive away, followed by Natalia and her twins in a taxi. As she shut her door, she couldn’t help feeling alone. Natalia had a doting husband at home, and Romeo and Kat were made for each other, anyone could see that. Brooklyn often asked herself if she loved Carter, and she knew that deep down, that she didn’t.
Suddenly, Brooklyn just needed to get out. Life as a parent was so predictable, like she had a schedule to follow. Often, she missed the impulsiveness of the unmarried life. And now, she decided to do something about it. She called the nanny and told her to watch Ella. Running upstairs, she pulled on jeans—something she hadn’t worn in what seemed like years—and a coat and almost flew out the door. She didn’t know where she was going, but she felt so free. She didn’t have to be Carter Jules’ perfect wife, or perfect mother to Ella. For one evening, she was free. Before she knew it, she was at “The Devil’s Tavern” bar.
One drink, she promised herself. Just one. But before she knew it, it was three beers. Then four. Then seven. Suddenly, she found herself crying, sobbing in the bar. It was everything. Her life was awful. She hated it. Carter didn’t love her either, she knew. Ella would grow up and look at her mother with disdain. Natalia and Romeo and Kat all felt sorry for her. Carter spent as much time away from home as possible. She put her head in her hands and sobbed. Her hair was in complete disarray. People stared at her, but she just glared at them and yelled. “What? I don’t have to be perfect. What are you looking at?” She heard herself screaming.
A part of her knew it was the alcohol that was making her so desperately sad, but the rest was too overwhelmed with that sadness to care.
“Oh my God! Brooklyn?” a voice behind her asked.
She turned around to find Ty Brenson staring at her concernedly. She grinned at him and titled her head back, chugging down the rest of the beer from the bottle. “In the flesh,” she said, giggling through her tears. “Not so perfect, am I?”
Ty’s hand was on her back now. “Are you okay?” he asked. And then, suddenly, she was crying again. Heavy, anguished sobs. She dropped the bottle, and as if it was far away, she heard it crack. She leaned her head on Ty’s shoulder.
“I’m so screwed up,” she cried. His shirt was already wet with her tears. “My life is not even worth living, Tyler.” He was stroking her back now in strong, comforting circles. “Carter doesn’t love me,” she sobbed. “I don’t love Carter. Ella is going to grow up and hate me—“
“Brooklyn,” he whispered as he lifted her head up from his shoulder. He held it, so she had to look at him. She noticed how dark his eyes were. Like charcoal. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
She giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck. It was a high pitched, drunk giggle. “Sorry, I’m married.”
He pulled her hands away from him. “Your home, not mine.”
“But I don’t want to go home,” Brooklyn hiccupped. She stood up to move away from him, but she tottered on her heels and feel to her knees. And then she was crying again.
Ty dropped down to the floor, took her hands, and helped her up. “Come on, Brooklyn. Let’s get you home.” He stood behind her, put both hands on her shoulders and steered her out. It felt good to have someone else guide her, instead of having to forge her own path.
It was all a haze, and before she knew it, Carter was opening the door to their house, taking in the sight of her limp body, leaning on Ty. Clinging to him, actually. She watched Carter’s face get redder and redder. A vein in his forehead bulged. Vaguely, she heard him yell at Ty, and she heard Tyler respond in his calm steady voice.
Sighing, her head pounding, she crumpled to the floor and let her head rest on the cold marble.
* * * * *
Valerie Muse slid out of her silver Volvo and checked the Cartier watch that was slung on her tiny wrist. 2:10.
She was late, and for the first time, she felt bad about it. The later she was, the less time she got to spend with Tyler. Inside, she reprimanded herself. She shouldn’t want to spend time with someone else. She was about to get married in January. Sighing, she walked to the door of Dean & Deluca, liking the way her sky high heels clicked behind her. She spotted Tyler, sitting at a seat by the window, staring outside, and she felt her heart skip a beat. She even forgot to scold herself for it.
He looked so beautiful, like a painting. His hair was long and black, just a bit blacker than his eyes, and a shadow of stubble coated his jaw. He sat easily, like someone completely comfortable in their own skin. She watched his pale skin disappear under a worn black scarf around his neck. As she stepped closer, she saw that he wore black jeans and a black coat. She couldn’t help feeling he was the guy she had fantasized about since she was twelve. The guy who would sweep her off her feet and ride off with her into the sunset.
She sat down opposite him, and he jumped in his seat and looked at her. “Hey, Valerie.”
She nodded. “Tyler.”
He smiled and shook his head. “Ty. Everyone I know calls me Ty.”
She nodded. “So, you’re an artist, Ty?”
“I guess. I’m trying to be, anyway.”
“What does that mean?” Valerie asked, confused. He sounded so bitter. Did he not want to be an artist?
“Unlike all of my friends, I don’t have everything given to me. It’s kind of horrible seeing them all get jobs and families and houses so easily, while I struggle to pay for one small lousy apartment,” Ty vented. And then he looked up at Valerie apologetically. “I’m sorry. It hasn’t been the greatest day. But tell me about yourself.”
“Okay, well. I’m from London, originally. My dad was a banker. I moved here at nineteen when I was accepted at Harvard. Then I met Seth, and I’m engaged to him, and now I’m in a coffee shop with you.”
Ty started at the name she had just said “Seth? By any chance do you mean Seth Draycott?”
Valerie’s eyes widened. “Yes. why? Do you know him?”
Ty shook his head. Not really. “He was my friend’s sister’s best friend. Her name is Brooklyn.”
Valerie nodded. “We’re going to her Christmas gala on Christmas Eve.”
Ty smiled. “Me too, actually. Hey, do me a favor?”
She smiled coyly. “Depends on what it is.”
“Don’t change your last name to Draycott. Muse is so much better. Very fitting.”
She scrunched her eyebrows together. “What so you mean, fitting?”
He looked embarrassed then, and she watched as color rose into his cheeks. “Well, you know. You’re very pretty. I’d love to paint you. Therefore, the term, muse.” He said it all very fast, and it made her laugh.
She raised an eyebrow. “Would you like to paint me?” she asked, leaning forward on the table so that her elbows almost touched his hands. Seconds later, she drew her arms away, reprimanding herself. She was getting married. Quickly, she folded her hands in her lap and turned away, hoping he would understand that her offer wasn’t real.
He seemed to get the message. She watched him raise his coffee cup to his lips. He had a beautiful face, angular and pale, with dark eyes and long,
feminine eyelashes. He looked tough but vulnerable, all at the same time. If she could paint, she knew she would be itching to paint him.
“I’ll have the paintings over by tomorrow,” he said abruptly.
She nodded, giving him a small smile. He touched her shoulder, and then withdrew and stood up. “Bye, Valerie.”
* * * * *
“Ms. Scott?”
Averil smiled down at the student that she knew, deep down, was her favorite. She knew that as a teacher, having a favorite student was wrong. She also knew it was inevitable. How could a teacher not like one student more than others, when they shined so much brighter? All the pupils were talented, most of them anyway, but how was she not supposed to like Haven more? She was amazing at ballet and smart as well. Averil felt like she could actually be friends with Haven, even though she was only fourteen.
Averil looked at Haven. She was very pretty, and very slight. She didn’t have the muscles of a ballet dancer, but she was still amazingly good. Right now, her slim legs were in black matchstick jeans, and she wore a red leather jacket. Her long straight brown hair fell to the middle of her back like a brown waterfall, and she looked up at Averil with the lightest grey green eyes. “I was wondering, Ms. Scott, if you could read a short story I wrote. I know you teach dance, not writing, but I’m afraid to show it to anyone else.”
Averil smiled, touched that a student would come to her like that. “Of course, Haven. I’d love to.” Haven smiled. Haven, Averil liked to imagine, was like Brooklyn as a teenager. She lived in Park Avenue, in a penthouse and was very rich, but there seemed to be a different side to her.
“Thank you,” Haven smiled. She gave Averil a small hug and walked off. Averil watched her leave the studio, feeling gratified. It was wonderful to know that a student liked her so much.
Still smiling, she made her way into the dressing room and pulled off her ballet outfit in favor of her street clothes. She stared at herself in the mirror. She wore a worn red sweater, one that was in its last days. It was Simon’s, and she loved how it smelt exactly like him. It dwarfed her, though, because he was so tall, and reached to midthigh. Under it were dark jeans, and sensible brown combat boots. Averil pulled her long golden hair up into a high ponytail and stepped out of the studio and into the street. She looked down as she walked, watching her boots trudge a path through the white snow. She hated how footsteps marred the beauty of pure snow, but she couldn’t help it.