While Laurie made no pretense toward the nature of his and Stanford’s relationship, Stanford still felt skittish as Agatha bid the two couples goodnight. She had amiably permitted Lynne to wander through the kitchen, the women discussing various recipes, then childbirth. Stanford had tried to tune out that conversation, but Agatha could be loud, and that evening she was vociferous. If Lynne wanted to have her baby at home, by all means she should. Agatha Morris had birthed all six of her children right in her own bedroom, and all had survived just fine. That evening Stanford learned much about his longtime cook, that her third and fourth children, who had given her the most trouble at their arrivals, were actually her most dependable offspring. She had coddled her two youngest, and they were up to no good. Use a firm hand, Agatha advised, and don’t forget it takes two to make babies.
Eric laughed as that sentiment had leaked into the dining room, where the men were waiting for dinner. Laurie had a small grin, but Stanford was slightly irritated. Then he shrugged; Agatha was too good of a cook to dismiss, plus he trusted her. Having Eric and Lynne staying over wasn’t troubling to Stanford, at least not outwardly. He did fret the morning, however, although by the time he stirred, all he’d be considering was that night’s exhibit. Eric had never asked just how much that hawk painting had fetched, so Stanford didn’t bring it up again. But he ached to infer the scale of the increase, to warn Eric, and Lynne, how differently this show would be.
Instead, after Lynne woke from her nap, and Eric spoke to the New York Times reporter, all the talk centered on Seth’s sculptures. They made Lynne cry, which in turn made Laurie a little maudlin. But their moods were different; Lynne wept from release, while Laurie sniffled in sorrow. Stanford had never noticed the man’s deformed foot, the same left foot as what Eric had suffered. Stanford said nothing of that to anyone, mostly because he felt foolish for only now realizing it. He wouldn’t ask Laurie if he had noticed, in part to let the subject drop, and to not have to explain how now Eric possessed no such defect. But during the rest of the night, whenever Stanford felt he could get away with it, he stared at Eric’s left shoe, which looked the same as his right shoe. Stanford was certain that years before, Eric’s left foot was larger, the shoe significantly altered.
Now the two couples relaxed in the living room. Normally, Stanford would have ushered them into the library, but he didn’t want Seth to again usurp the conversation. Yet, Lynne yawned, as Eric and Laurie spoke, and Stanford was glad for a pregnant woman’s inclusion. Soon enough the Snyders would excuse themselves for the guest room, and shortly afterwards Stanford and Laurie would retire to their bedroom. The master suite was down the hall from where the Snyders would slumber, but Stanford didn’t feel like making love. Too many issues crowded his mind, and those damn figurines were top of the list.
He should be stewing about tomorrow’s show, although there was little over which to worry. That Eric’s early paintings were changing hands, and for significant sums, was indicative of an active market for his work, and once the paintings of Lynne and Renee were seen…. Stanford smiled, as Lynne’s voice decreased from the chatter, Eric and Laurie carrying the conversation. It would only take moments for a discerning art collector to deduce the truth behind those landscapes, then the murmurs would explode, what with Lynne there next to her husband, but who was the redhead in the rest of the canvases? Perhaps some might realize she was a relative to those Catholic clans shown in spring, but was she more than an acquaintance to the artist, who would cling to his pregnant wife as often as possible. Intrigue was good for sales, Stanford allowed, plus Eric and Lynne didn’t care about the buzz. Eric hadn’t even asked about the resale value of that early canvas. Stanford gazed at his client, then at Lynne; she was nearly asleep, safely nestled against her husband. Eric stroked her arm, nodding at Laurie. But if Laurie wasn’t present, Eric would be collecting his wife in his arms, then carrying her to bed.
Stanford had never been attracted to women, but in watching this couple, he nearly had an inclination toward what men and women shared. It was proprietary, what Laurie always told him, but Stanford had few protective feelings toward his lover. More were his concerns for his clients, which were all men, he smiled to himself. Not that he disliked women; he loved his mother, even if she hadn’t seemed like his mom in years. He adored his three younger sisters, but from childhood he had been drawn into the world of art, through his grandfather, a realm almost solely consisting of men. Laurie had been a challenge, in that Stanford had become enamored of him while Laurie was involved with someone else. That girl had been no match for Stanford, however, especially since Laurie wasn’t fully committed to women. That was how Stanford and Laurie had fallen in love, Stanford chasing after a slightly younger man who preferred to keep gender out of the picture. But once Stanford made his feelings plain, Laurie never looked back. Fifteen years later, here they were, entertaining overnight guests for the very first time.
But Eric and Lynne Snyder weren’t just any couple, because Eric wasn’t simply any painter. He was, in Stanford’s opinion, a wonder, even at his relatively young age. He wasn’t Picasso or another rare genius, but Stanford didn’t want to battle an eccentric virtuoso. That would be Seth, and look at where he was, locked away outside of Burlington. The facility was one of the best; it was also exclusive, and was where Stanford’s father was considering placing his wife. In Stanford’s opinion, his mother needed more than in-home nursing. She needed….
Eric stood, breaking Stanford’s concentration. Lynne weaved, then was helped from the sofa. Laurie smiled as Eric mumbled goodnight, and Stanford followed Eric to the hallway. “We’ll see you in the morning,” Stanford whispered.
Eric nodded again, softly crooning something to Lynne. Stanford watched them until Eric opened the guest room door. Only when Eric closed it, a minute later, did Stanford rejoin Laurie, who looked nearly as tired as Lynne. “Time for bed?” Laurie said quietly.
“Yes, I believe so.”
Laurie smiled, caressing Stanford’s face. Then Laurie kissed Stanford’s cheek. “C’mon, I’m beat.”
Stanford grinned as Laurie squeezed his hand. Perhaps Eric and Lynne would fall right to sleep, but Laurie had other ideas. And making love would clear Stanford’s head. He needed a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow held the makings of an exceptional day.
Eric stirred to fragrant coffee, men’s chatter, and Agatha Morris’ low but melodic hum. Lynne was sound asleep, and Eric was pleased for that, would let her rest as long as possible. But he wanted some coffee, and was curious as to his hosts’ morning attire. He suspected Stanford would be showered and dressed, but might Laurie wear something more casual?
After using the toilet, Eric put on his robe and slippers, then padded toward the kitchen. The hum was beautiful, like a song being sung, but the lyrics were known only to the vocalist. Eric entered the dining room, but it was deserted. He smiled, then headed for the kitchen, knocking on the closed door.
“Come on in,” Laurie said.
Eric entered the room, finding what he’d expected. Stanford looked impeccable in grey trousers and a white dress shirt, although the top two buttons were unfastened. Laurie wore a charcoal dressing gown with blue piping, slippers similar to Eric’s, and what appeared as a plain white t-shirt under the robe. Agatha wore her usual attire, a full apron covering her cream blouse and black skirt. But she didn’t stop humming, although she poured Eric a cup of coffee, setting it in one of the open table settings.
“What a lovely way to wake,” Eric said cheerily. “Good coffee, amiable conversation, and the most beautiful tune. Mrs. Morris, you’re a woman of many talents.”
She turned, then smiled, still humming. Then she stopped. “Mr. Snyder, please call me Agatha.”
“Only if you’ll call me Eric.”
She chuckled, then nodded. “Juice Eric? And will Mrs. Snyder be joining us any time soon?”
“Juice please, and I think Lynne will be resting for a bit longer.” Eric sat between hi
s hosts at the place Agatha had designated for him. He was glad not to be in a hotel, although it had been fine for last spring. He preferred this homey atmosphere, even if Stanford looked like he’d slept in his work clothes. Eric fought a chuckle, then spilled it, gazing at Laurie, who appeared like he’d just tumbled from bed.
What Eric would give to paint these men as they were, in love and very happy to be so. Agatha was a part of it as well, like a substitute mother, which Stanford did need. Laurie’s mom was still living, and Eric had learned that Seth’s breakdown was as hard on her as it was on Seth’s own mother. But Agatha was this couple’s stronghold, keeping their secret and easing their sorrows. And providing a feminine touch that Eric thought was necessary, no matter what Stanford might assume.
The men ate, then talked, but not about Seth or Stanford’s mother or the show. While neither Stanford nor Laurie was keen on sports, they mentioned Roger Maris breaking Babe Ruth’s home run record, which Eric had followed, alongside Sam. Laurie spoke about the recent release of West Side Story, and that he’d heard it was a terrific film adaptation, asking if Eric had seen the play. Eric noted that he hadn’t, but that when the movie came to his and Lynne’s town, he would take her to see it. Perhaps it would be a double date with the Aherns, which made Stanford chuckle. “I can’t imagine Sam Ahern sitting through a musical.”
Agatha stopped humming, Eric noticed, but she didn’t turn to face them. “Well, Sam likes a good movie now and again. Especially now that baseball season’s over.” It had been long over for Sam’s beloved Red Sox, Eric explained. Boston had endured a dismal year, finishing in sixth place in the American League, more than thirty games behind the Yankees. Eric nearly felt like a Red Sox fan from Sam’s laments. The Curse of the Bambino, Sam had sighed, especially when Maris overtook Ruth’s record on the last day of the regular season.
“You sound like a fan yourself,” Agatha said, bringing the coffee pot to the table.
“By osmosis,” Eric laughed, as Agatha refilled his cup. “Thank you so much. This is just delicious.”
“I swear Eric, I couldn’t wake up without a cup of Agatha’s brew.” Laurie smiled, then stood. “All right, time to make myself presentable. I’ll see you gentlemen later, several items on my agenda before tonight. Give Lynne my love, if I miss her.”
“Will do.” Eric watched as Laurie made no motions toward Stanford, who drank his coffee while reading the paper. Eric didn’t smile, but he wanted to. Instead he leaned Stanford’s way. “So, anything in there about an art exhibit?”
Stanford nodded. “It’s a good piece, notes that your prices are going up as well.” Stanford chuckled. “That will entice anyone on the fence. Get a canvas now, before they go through the roof.”
Agatha clucked loudly, making Eric grin. “Well yes, Stanford, definitely rope them in tonight. You never know, I might have a dry spell, or be too busy changing diapers to paint much in the future.”
For a few seconds the room was silent. Eric didn’t look at his dealer, but felt Stanford’s intense gaze. Then Agatha hummed, and Stanford huffed, rattling the pages of the Times. Eric chuckled quietly, looking forward to sharing that morning’s adventures with Lynne.
Many hours later, Lynne recalled Eric’s tales, wishing she had been awake to see Laurie in a slightly disheveled state, and to hear Agatha’s gentle chidings. Now, walking slowly with Laurie Abrams, Lynne felt transported into another realm, which was inhabited by wealthy, cultivated New Yorkers, all seeking to either own a canvas painted by Lynne’s husband, or to speak with the painter, or to even chat with his wife. Yet Laurie monopolized Lynne’s time, when she wasn’t standing at Eric’s side, and Lynne was grateful for Laurie’s calming presence. The gallery was teeming with guests and the press, and while Lynne had known a change was imminent, it had been nothing on the scale either she or Eric had expected.
She felt slightly out of place, unless she stood with Laurie, who sensed her unease. Even near Eric, Lynne was wary, for he was just as overwhelmed; neither had anticipated this much interest, or the waves of praise, which Lynne accepted were now unavoidable. No longer was Eric Snyder a nature artist, even if two thirds of tonight’s canvases were devoted to landscapes. The paintings of Renee were thought to be of Lynne’s sister. That had emerged by accident, when a reporter asked who was that redhead with the most intriguing eyes? Off the cuff, Lynne had replied it was her sister, and the answer stuck, helping to quell suspicious that Eric had a mistress. Many recalled similar faces in family portraits shown last spring; those must have been from the painter’s wife’s family. Lynne didn’t try to dispel those assumptions. Renee was Lynne’s sister, if not by blood, then by deeper ties, which would have been just as impossible to explain.
Lynne also didn’t deny that she was pregnant, but those queries were far more subtle, brought on by her loose blue and cream dress, and that she still caressed her baby whenever that child moved about. Which on that night seemed a constant, Lynne told Eric and Laurie. When Michael inquired as to her health, Lynne slyly placed his hand upon her belly, making him blush, then smile. She didn’t ask about Constance, not wishing to cause the older man any heartache. He had embraced her, but not too tightly, then he’d laughed, grabbing Lynne in a bear hug. She looked forward to spending an evening at his home, even if other issues intruded.
She was eager to end this night, in part due to fatigue, and that she wanted to separate herself from this arena. Not that she wasn’t proud of Eric; Lynne was immensely pleased for all the accolades that rumbled throughout the gallery. Either people were admiring Renee’s stoplight eyes, or they were musing over various natural settings which thinly disguised the woman who weaved through crowds as if she heard nothing more than rumbling waves or rushing leaves on stiff breezes. Lynne spoke little to anyone, for Laurie was protective, and while the canvases depicted her likenesses, this night was about the man who had cleverly fashioned the illusion. How had he done it, rustled about the room. From where did his genius spring?
While Stanford might not want that label applied to his client, Lynne heard it repeatedly, and thought it a fair assessment. Eric was a brilliant artist, but his gift wasn’t from a tortured soul, or not anymore. It emerged from love, then she caught herself again stroking her abdomen. She giggled, then whispered to Laurie. “I need to sit for a bit.”
“Of course.” He steered her to a quiet corner, near a painting of Renee. While sold stickers adorned all of Lynne’s portraits, these carried no such tags, although Lynne knew they too would be snapped up, if it had been possible. Renee was giving them to her relatives for Christmas, except for a few that Sam wanted to keep. Lynne couldn’t wait to tell Renee how her image had been coveted, but Lynne wouldn’t relay that in front of Sam. Staring at a picture of her friend, seated in the Aherns’ backyard, Lynne missed Renee, and home. New York was fine for a visit, and staying with Stanford and Laurie was certainly enjoyable, but Lynne ached for privacy. Thank goodness their house was protected by walls, in a sleepy town far from this city.
She was also grateful they lived on the West Coast. New York was another world, but Lynne preferred her life, just Eric and…. The baby kicked, and Lynne giggled. “I know, you too,” she smiled.
“Someone active?” Laurie asked.
“Just reminding me it’s not going to be only me and Eric for much longer, not even at home.”
Laurie squeezed her hand. “Would you like to leave?”
“Oh, not quite yet.” She gazed at passersby, who slowed as they approached, but didn’t intrude. “This’ll be the last show I attend for a long time. Best to savor the moment now.”
“I suppose I’ll have to come visit you.” Laurie chuckled. “I’m not big on traveling, but I can’t wait to meet Junior.”
Lynne nodded, feeling teary, but it was joyful in nature. Then liquid spilled down her face, and she struggled not to break into sobs. “Have you, you haven’t gone up there, have you?”
Her voice was low, also broken. She ha
dn’t meant to bring it up, but she wasn’t the only one in another world. During the day, she had slipped into the library, mesmerized by Seth’s sculptures. Those were the only two that Laurie and Stanford had, and Lynne held the same notions that Eric did. She also saw Laurie as the male figure, and Stanford as the woman, which she hadn’t said to her husband. As Laurie embraced her, Lynne sobbed, his arms as encompassing, and healing, as those Seth had sculpted not long after Laurie and Stanford had met.
“I think it’s time to take you home.” Laurie’s tone was soft, then he sighed. “I wanna see him, oh my God, but if I did….” Laurie pulled away, then handed her a handkerchief. “He’s so fragile. Right now I’m scared to death we’re gonna lose him.”
Lynne blew her nose, then wiped her face. She perfectly understood Laurie’s fears, and wished she could relay that comprehension. “I’m so sorry,” she mumbled instead. “I wish there was something we could do.”
“Stanford said Eric wanted to send Seth a message. I suppose it can’t hurt. He’s so lost right now, nothing could make it any worse.”
Lynne nodded. “I know you don’t want the Aherns aware, but they’ll ask if we were able to meet him and….” Lynne wanted Sam and Renee to pray for Seth, but she wouldn’t tell Laurie that.
“I just don’t wanna hurt Sam.”
She shook her head. “This won’t hurt him, I mean, he won’t like it, neither of them will, but he’ll understand.” Then she sighed, recalling his confusion in her kitchen, before he knew the truth about Eric. Sam would consign Seth’s setback as a matter of course. At least it had a rational explanation.
But why had Seth given that figure a deformity, the left foot of all things? Lynne hadn’t had time to ask Eric’s opinion, but now that the show was over, their minds would be less burdened. Perhaps tomorrow, when they toured Central Park, or on the train home. Lynne had no illusions; while they had never met Seth Gordon, that figure’s disability was more than a coincidence. Then she wanted to laugh out loud. In this building, a hoax had been perpetrated, momentarily. Canvases allegedly those of landscapes were actually of her, lying naked in the sunroom. Then Lynne gazed at Renee; that woman wasn’t her sister, although she was, so what was truth? Laurie was Stanford’s…. They were as committed as Lynne and Eric. Stanford might try to modulate his affections for this man, but Lynne saw through that aloof veneer, as well as how much Stanford worried about his father, and his mother. Lynne stood, as Laurie joined her. Reality and fantasy were all matters of opinion, and Lynne was ready to call this fabulous but odd day to a close. “Let’s go find those men of ours,” she smiled, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Laurie stared at her, then nodded, his smile wide but sly. “Yes, let’s. Then I’ll escort you home. Those chaps can burn the midnight oil if they like, but there are better places for us to be.”
“Snug in bed is where I’d like to be right now.”
“Me too.”
They laughed together, grasping each other’s hands, weaving through the still stunned crowds. When they reached their lovers, Lynne readily went into Eric’s embrace, as Laurie permitted Michael to separate him and Stanford. That caused Lynne a moment’s sorrow, but it was quickly brushed aside by the kiss Eric set upon her cheek. As Laurie announced their departure, Michael asked to join them. Stanford nodded as Eric again kissed his wife. She didn’t need to tell him to take his time, but other issues would be broached, as soon as that time belonged to only them.
Chapter 39