Chapter 19

Switching from a five-by-seven or larger canvas to a three-by-three painting surface took an effort to shorten my brush strokes so the finished painting would match the vision in my mind.

I cursed under my breath and threw the brush on a table. Agnes's gurgling laugh echoed off the studio walls. I looked up and saw her leaning on the loft railing.

"Not as easy as you thought it would be, huh?" she said. She held a glass of wine in her hand. I remembered her arriving at the studio but had forgotten that she'd arrived.

"No," I said, "but I'm convinced that the discipline to master the switch in size will improve my work overall." I wiped my hands on a rag and bounded up the stairs. "Have you started a smaller piece?" I asked.

"Yep. Except for the forged elements, it's easier and faster."

I put a cup of water in the microwave and hit the minute button. A cup of hot green tea would hit the spot.

"How'd you do on the GED test?" she asked.

I groaned. "I'm not as smart as I thought I was. I need a tutor. Do you know one?"

"Nope, but I'll make some calls, and you'll need more than one tutor unless you passed all sections in the test but one."

"I'll need more than one," I admitted. "One for geometry and algebra in the math section, and another for every part of the science section. I just skinned by in the social studies part of the test, and my essay sucked. I think Grace's tutor will help me with the writing section; so three tutors should get the job done. I want to pass the GED by December, so I can start the University of Phoenix online program in January. They offer an online business degree."

"Brent, you skipped half your high-school years. Do you think it's wise to spend your college years in front of a computer? What about college as an experience?"

I shrugged. "Online, I can go at my own speed. I won't miss classes because I'm behind in my painting or away for an opening. If I want to experience college, I'll join Mary or Grace on the ASU campus for lunch."

Agnes huffed. "You're incorrigible."

I sipped the green tea, savoring the flavor and aroma.

"You missed our tai chi session at dawn," I said.

She blushed, which surprised me.

"I was busy," she said, and her blush deepened.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Believe it or not, you young whippersnapper, I do have a sex life."

Tears flushed my eyes.

"What?" she said, looking alarmed.

"Whippersnapper. My mom called me that sometimes." I snorted a laugh. "Usually when I exasperated her."

"Sorry," she said.

"No, don't be sorry. It was a bittersweet memory. I hope I have them the rest of my life. You have a sex life, huh?"

She grinned. "Not as active as I'd like, but yeah, I have a fella."

"Fella?"

"Don't make fun of me, Brent."

"I'm not making fun of you. I'm having fun, though. What's his name?"

"Oscar."

"Something serious?"

"No. We're friends that enjoy sex together. Neither of us needs or wants more out of the relationship. We usually go out to dinner on Saturday nights, and he stays over for breakfast Sunday. Last night, he just showed up." She frowned. "Unusual. He wouldn't say why, except that he needed to hold me. What he really needed was for me to hold him. He's a nice man, Brent, but he's a confirmed bachelor, and I enjoy living alone. Having a husband underfoot all the time would drive me bonkers."

I nodded. "Have you got a small forged piece I can help you with? I feel in need of some anvil work."

She smiled. "You bet. While you flex your muscles, I'll make some calls to pin down some names and phone numbers of some potential tutors."

I called Clarence Kitt, my San Francisco P.I., for the name of a colleague he could recommend in L.A.

"What's the job?" Clarence asked.

I told him about David Bailand. "Something's odd about the man, Clarence. Before I do business with him, I want to check him out."

"Okey-dokey, call Hector Olbrecht." He gave me a phone number and spelled Olbrecht's last name.

Okey-dokey? I chuckled to myself. Clarence was remaining true to form.

"Mention my name when you talk to him," Clarence added.

"I will." Did private dicks pay finder's fees? Didn't matter. If they did, Clarence deserved one. "What's the status of the Milton Tucker lawsuit?"

"Don't know. Jack Stark deposed me. You'll need to call Jack for an update beyond that."

I hung up, dialed Stark's phone number, and when he answered my call, I asked him the same question.

"Tucker's lawyer responded with the normal denials in time to avoid defaulting," Stark said. "That's about it. We're waiting for a court date."

"Any offer to settle?"

"No. A settlement offer this early in the game would be a legal blunder. I know Tucker's lawyer. He'd advise his client not to make that kind of mistake. "

"Okay, thanks. I called Clarence on another matter, which reminded me to call you."

"What are you into now?" he asked.

I told him.

"I see," he said.

I think he was disappointed that my problem was as benign as a business issue. We said our goodbyes, and I called Hector Olbrecht.

"Olbrecht, here," he said. He had a deep voice. I pictured a large man to go with the voice, and then chuckled silently. He was probably five feet nothing and thin as a rail.

I introduced myself, mentioned Clarence's name as my referral, and told him what I wanted. After we discussed my desired time frame for a report, as well as his fees, I hired him. I hung up and called my banker to wire Olbrecht's retainer, wondering if I was wasting some money. If only to fabricate a modicum of justification for hiring Olbrecht, I called Gary Frazier. He took my call.

"Congratulations on your Denver show, Brent," Frazier said enthusiastically.

"Thanks. I didn't hear from David Bailand about a summer show in L.A."

He said nothing. I waited.

"I'll call him," Gary said, finally.

"No, don't. Because I didn't hear from him, I committed those paintings to Katrina Leonard. If Bailand wants to show my work, it'll have to be in the fall. What's more, I don't want you to chase him for a commitment, and I won't. What's with him anyway, Gary? I mean, I knew he was upset because I committed the spring show to you, but his reaction was immature. It was as if he wanted to punish me for putting you ahead of him."

Frazier sighed. "I don't know what to say, Brent."

"The other gallery owners in your network are great, Gary. Very impressive. Professional. Likeable. I'm not sure I want to do business with Bailand. Something's not right about him. I could be wrong, so I'm checking him out before I etch my negative feelings about his approach to business in stone. Still, I'd like an opening in L.A. Bailand was right about L.A. being an important market for an artist." I expelled a derogatory laugh. "But it's not as important as New York City, not by a long shot."

"I agree," Frazier said. "I'll be frank with you, Brent. When we made our deal, Bailand was new to my network. Your show would've been the first I referred to him."

"Has he referred any to you?"

"No. What did you mean when you said you were going to check him out?"

"Just that. I'll check with some of the artists he represents, maybe some of his buyers, that sort of thing."

"Let me know what you find out."

I hesitated, and then thought, Why not? Gary was a friend. "All right. I will."

Ominous thunderheads turned the dawn into pockets of fire filled with molten clouds like the yellow heat from the interior of a forge, and sent rays of sunlight streaming in odd directions. The air was heavy with moisture, and I was sweating when we finished tai chi, so I skipped Kung Fu, but stayed outside to watch the gathering storm. Interesting weather in Phoenix didn't happen all that often.

Mary wandered out to say goodbye. She had an eight o'clock class. Deanna and Agnes left with her. Grace would leave next, but when she walked out onto the patio, she wasn't dressed for school. She'd showered; her hair was still wet, and she wore shorts and a t-shirt. I couldn't decide what I admired more: her long, long legs, or the allure of the barely hidden as her breasts swayed unfettered under thin cotton, stiff nipples peaking the garment.

Lightning flashed, brightening the sky, but the following thunder took its time.

"The storm's an hour away," I said.

"If it gets here at all," Grace said and handed me a cup of hot tea. She sat next to me at the table.

From her comment, I couldn't decide if her glass was half-full or half-empty attitude-wise. So I asked, "How are you, Grace? Are you all right?"

Tears misted my eyes when she bit her lower lip with her upper teeth, just like... I miss you, Mom. The silent words, like the mist of tears, happened without volition. I didn't mind.

"So, so," Grace said.

Her legs, I decided as Grace folded them under the glass tabletop. I admired her legs more.

"No classes this morning?" I said.

"One. I'm skipping it. The professor tests from the text, not his lectures."

"My kind of teacher," I said.

"Yeah. I need to break it off with Deanna."

I said nothing.

"For a gal who maintains an open relationship with a man, she's getting way too possessive with me," Grace said.

"Has her relationship with you become more important to her than her relationship with James?"

"When he's not around, yes. Otherwise, I don't know. Yesterday, I was having lunch with Carrie, a new friend from my biology class, when Deanna showed up. She was jealous, Brent, and there was no reason for jealousy. Carrie is just a friend, not a lover."

"Could she become a lover?" I asked.

She blew air over her coffee cup and sipped. "Probably." Her lips curled into an evil grin. "Likely."

"Perhaps Deanna sensed the possibility."

"No perhaps about it; her comments later referenced that point."

"Are you worried that you might lose James if you break it off with Deanna?"

She grimaced. "Yeah."

"You won't. He loves you."

Lightning flashed again, and the interval between the lightning and thunder was brief. The storm would hit before the hour. The clouds had lost their fire and hung heavy without the glow of a new sun.

Grace said, "James is around so little that it'll be difficult for him to keep both of us happy when he is around, not to mention my personal promise that I wouldn't get between James and Deanna. I made the same promise to Deanna. It's a mess."

"Do you have any candidates for a male lover?" I asked.

She sighed. "You and James have raised that bar too high."

"I'm conflicted," I said.

"Why?"

"Your comment pleased and dismayed me at the same time."

She laughed. "If you're feeling a little schizophrenic, join the club. I want to talk about something else. A while back we decided to sell this house and build a scaled-down dream house."

"Yes we did, but the dynamics have changed since, and they'll change again and again as the years go by."

"Yes, they have, and yes, they will. Are you saying you no longer want to build our scaled-down dream house?"

"Yes, but..."

Sudden tears welled in her eyes, and she started to gather herself to jump up and leave.

"Don't even think of walking away," I said, hurriedly. "Let me finish first."

She didn't relax, but she didn't stand up either.

"I don't want to build our scaled-down dream house," I said, "because I want to build our dream house. I'll earn over $500,000 next year, Grace. If we don't get ridiculous about it, we can go all out, especially if we buy enough land to start with to let us stage growth over the years. And I want you to think about another change. Consider two homes on the property. One for you, and one for me, but joined with communal spaces like a large formal dining room, a big kitchen, a great room, an entertainment room, those sorts of spaces. Outdoor elements can be shared, too, like the swimming pool, hot tub, and bathhouse."

She wiped the tears from her eyes and gave me a dazzling smile. "Are you serious about this?"

"Yes, it allows the dynamics to change, which means it allows us to stay together, but apart at the same time. It allows us to marry others and have children. What it doesn't allow for is the possibility that we'll stop wanting to live together. I, for one, don't see that happening, but it could, and if it does, I'll buy out your share of the residence. It also lets me invest more in the property than you. I'm thinking four acres: one for you, one for communal spaces, and two for me. That's minimum. I wouldn't be unhappy with an extra acre, or two. Between us, we have about $3,000,000 right now. I'm not suggesting we put all of that into the house, but I'd be willing to put up $1,000,000, in other words, my share from the sale of this house and $500,000 in cash, and I'd sign a mortgage for $2,000,000 more to start with."

"I'll put up a million, too, but..."

I knew where she was heading, so I interrupted her. "I'll cover the mortgage, Grace."

"That doesn't seem right."

A gust of wind swirled under the overhang; lightning struck; thunder crashed and rolled. The storm was minutes away, not an hour.

I said, "After your first bestseller, if you want to pay for your share of the mortgage, have at it, but that's not a condition of the deal."

She looked inward and nodded, and then gave me another dazzling smile.

"I adore your happy smiles," I said. "Ah, hell, I adore you, all of you." I watched as love filled her gorgeous eyes, her love for me, and I felt exalted as if I were the subject of parental praise. I miss you Mom and Dad, I said silently. Out loud, I said, "The last time we spoke, I assigned you the task of finding the land. With you in school, I'll do the looking this time. Okay?"

"Do what I planned to do. Assign the task to Ed Desmond, and we'll narrow down the choices together," Grace said. Desmond was the real estate agent Pete Turner had pointed Grace at for her real estate investments, and like Grace, I'd invested some of my money in land through Desmond.

"All right."

Sporadic large raindrops splashed the wind-agitated water of the swimming pool. I smiled when another gust of wind slapped my face just before the large raindrops gave up sporadic and got serious. We stayed dry under the patio roof and watched in silence as the thunderstorm quenched the thirsty earth.

It had been a good morning.

"I'm going inside to do some writing," Grace said as the storm started to drift east. "Can you fend for yourself for breakfast?"

"Sure."

While I ate shredded wheat with some sliced bananas, I called Desmond.

Others weren't as excited about our dream house as Grace and I. Grace reported that Deanna's agitation was a sight to behold. Upon hearing about the house, she went into a tirade. "You and your brother are going to build a house together!" Deanna exclaimed. "Are you out of your mind? Why don't you just fuck him and get it over with!" With that Deanna stomped off. This happened on the ASU campus the afternoon on the same day that Grace and I made the decision to go ahead with the project. Others heard Deanna's astonishing and angry words, Carrie being one of them, which embarrassed my sister. Carrie was Grace's new friend from biology class.

And that wasn't the end of the squabble. I think Grace used the occasion to drive a wedge between her and Deanna, and Deanna cooperated with later, more private comments like: "You own the house you're in with Brent, but that's understandable. You inherited it together. Then you bought a boat together. I can understand owning a boat together. Boat ownership is often parceled out to friends and relatives to reduce the expenses of owning the luxury item. But a dream house! Get real, Grace!" And, "You need a life of your own." And, "You need to break your dependency on Brent, Grace. It's not healthy."

That's when Grace turned on her heels and stomped off.

That same afternoon, Mary found me in my studio. With an angry expression and her hands on her hips displaying a scolding posture, she said, "I won't cut and run, Brent, but I've got to tell you that sometimes you piss me off."

At the time, I didn't know about Grace and Deanna's argument. I also didn't know that Deanna had taken it upon herself to inform Mary about the dream house, a subject I had not brought up with Mary.

I stopped painting and started to clean my brushes. "Mary, before we can resolve this problem... I perceive we have a problem. Correct?"

"Damned straight we do," she huffed.

"Before we can talk about the problem, it would be helpful if I knew what this problem is about."

"I understand you and Grace plan to sell your parents' home and build a dream house together."

"That's correct. We made that decision this morning."

"When did you plan to discuss this with me, if ever?"

"At our first opportunity, but it appears that Grace informed you before the opportunity arrived for us. What's your problem with this, Mary?"

"Grace didn't inform me about your dream house, and if you can't see why I'm upset about it, maybe..." Tears flushed her eyes. "Damn you!" She rushed up the stairs to the loft.

Utterly befuddled, I finished cleaning my brushes and walked up the stairs. If I'd reached down inside and assumed my Jane Wilson persona, perhaps I would've understood, but I didn't, so I approached the problem with a male mind and personality. Worse, the mind and personality that came forward was Fang Hong's. In Fang's time and place, men ruled and women followed — sort of.

She was sitting at the table drinking green tea. Another cup sat on the table across from her. I took that chair and sipped the tea. Her tears were gone; and her demeanor had returned to tight-lipped fury.

"If Grace didn't tell you, who did?" I said.

"Deanna, but that's beside the point."

I was slow, perhaps even a little dimwitted, but the first inkling of what the problem might be was starting to glimmer off in the distance like heat lightning.

"What did Deanna tell you?"

"I told you already. She said that you and Grace planned to sell the house you're in and build your dream house."

"That's it? That's all she told you?"

"Well, no. Like me, she's pissed. She told your sister that she should just fuck you and get it over with."

"Hoo boy!" I huffed, but then I remembered a time when Mary had said something similar. "How did Grace respond to that rude comment?"

"I don't know; Deanna didn't say, but at the moment, Deanna and Grace are not speaking to each other."

"And at the moment, from the expression on your face and your body language, you're considering taking the same stance with me."

Her shoulders sagged, but then she squared them. "I'm more hurt than angry, Brent. Let me be angry. I'll handle this better with anger than tears."

"It appears that you and Deanna don't have all the facts, just enough to get your backs up. What I don't understand is why you're taking Deanna's side in this... ah, misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding! Are you or are you not going to build your dream house with your sister?"

"I am." I seriously considered letting her stew in her own angry, hurt juices, but I loved her and wanted to make everything right between us again. "What's misunderstood is the configuration of this dream house."

I heard the faint sounds of a knock on the studio door. It opened and Agnes yelled, "Brent?"

"In the loft, Agnes. Come on up."

"I'd rather Agnes didn't join us right now, Brent," Mary said.

"Hi, Mary, Brent," Agnes said as she stepped into the loft apartment. "Just the two I wanted to see." She ignored us otherwise and poured herself a glass of wine before she sat with us at the table. I made no attempt to chase her off, and Mary sat silent and sullen.

"Deanna called me," Agnes said.

I laughed but not with any joy. The laughter sounded cynical — the way I felt. "Deanna is a troublemaker of the first order," I said.

Agnes cackled. "Yep. She's like the National Enquirer, only verbal. She paints shocking gossip with verbal words, not the printed kind. Dream house, huh?"

"Yep." I sipped tea. "Mary and I were just discussing the issue. She's upset, too."

Agnes huffed. "Well, she should be, you young whippersnapper."

"Thank you for that," Mary said to Agnes.

I heard the door open downstairs, and Grace called out my name. "We're in the loft, Grace. Come on up," I hollered.

"Oh, oh," my sister said when she spied Mary. She didn't explain her concerns. Instead, she rummaged in the refrigerator and found a diet Pepsi. She poured the bubbling brown liquid over ice and took the remaining chair at the table.

"I didn't call this meeting, Grace," I said, "but all the parties involved are present to discuss our so-called dream house, so let's discuss it. Mary's pissed. Agnes says she ought to be pissed. I understand you're not speaking with Deanna, and Deanna is flitting around causing trouble everywhere she lands." I looked around the table. "Is that a fair assessment of the current state of the problems swirling around the dream-house issue?"

"I'm confused," Agnes said. "You implied that I'm involved with your so-called dream house. I'm not. Perhaps I should leave."