Second Chance for Romance

Chapter 32

I went to Professor Joska’s office the next morning. I told him about Christy’s project and asked if I could skip class to help her. I promised to get the notes from Freddie.

“Professor O’Riordan mentioned that you were helping Miss Carmichael,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“So you aspire to be Michelangelo?”

“I’d rather aim too high and fall short than aim too low and hit the mark.”

He knew the actual quote and didn’t even try to hide his approval.

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll see that Mr. DeFeo gets an extra copy of today’s handouts.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome. Good day.”

“Thanks. And Happy Thanksgiving. See you next week.”

“Yes, Happy Thanksgiving.”

I dashed down to the studio where Christy was already at work. I snuck up behind her and covered her goggles.

“Who’s your favorite replicant?”

She dropped her tools and threw her arms around my neck.

“Told you I’d help,” I said.

“But I thought you had class. Professor Joska.”

“I told him I’d be here. He was cool with it. And I’d already decided to skip my Structures class. So I’m yours to command.”

Her eyes glinted with mischief, but she wasn’t quite brave enough to say

whatever she was thinking.

“Give me a sec to get my gear on,” I said, “and I’ll start working on the rough spots. You can do finish work. Okay?”

And so we went to work. Christy skipped her classes as well, and we kept at it through lunch and into the afternoon. I used rasps and progressively finer files to smooth away the remaining seams. She checked my handiwork and gave me the go-ahead to polish the stone to its finished look. She switched to detail work and used tiny chisels and sandpaper to highlight features that the mold had blurred. Siobhan checked on us between her own classes and seemed happy with our progress.

We finished with a couple of hours to spare, which surprised all of us.

Christy and Siobhan surveyed the sculpture from every angle. I turned it on the dolly so they could look at it in the best light. Then they ran their fingertips over it, feeling for imperfections we couldn’t see.

Once they were happy with everything, we gave the statue a thorough cleaning. Christy headed off to Siobhan’s studio to gather the rest of her exhibition pieces, while I wheeled the dolly toward the atrium. Other artists were already getting ready for the show, so I recruited three guys to help me (one was Jonas, the plexiglass sculptor).

Together we manhandled the statue onto its proper pedestal. I slotted the retaining bolts through the holes in the base. Then I tightened the nuts and covered the bolts with plaster plugs.

We stood back and enjoyed our unofficial preview of the sculpture.

“Damn,” Jonas said, “I’m so jealous of her talent.”

“Is this Little B’s new one?” one of the other guys asked.

Jonas nodded.

The guy glanced at me and then looked closer. “You’re the model, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“She must like you.” He nodded at the statue’s genitals.

“Eh. It was cold the day I posed.”

He blinked and then guffawed. “Cold the day he posed,” he said as he walked away shaking his head. “That’s a good one.”

Christy and Siobhan arrived with her smaller pieces and sketches. They’d also brought a black satin sheet to use as a drape. I threw it over the replicant and helped them finish setting up.

Christy and I walked home on cloud nine. I wasn’t sure which of us was

more excited. We were tired, sore, and slightly less covered with marble dust than the day before, but neither of us cared.

Wren came through from the kitchen when she heard us at the front door, and Trip emerged from his office.

“We’re done,” I said. “It’s as ready as it’ll ever be.”

“Congratulations!” Wren said. “Do you wanna celebrate after you shower?”

I looked at Christy.

She shook her head. “Let’s wait till tonight when we get home.”

“You wanna shower first?” I asked her. “Or you want me to? I don’t care which, but I want some hot water this time.”

“You go first,” she said. “I wanna take a bath and try to get some of this dust out of my hair.”

“I can wash it for you,” Wren said.

“Would you? Oh my gosh, that’d be awesome!”

Trip and I waited in the living room. He was dressed in a dark blue three-piece suit with a red and blue checked tie. My suit was charcoal gray, also three-piece, with a baby blue shirt and gold tie that I’d chosen to complement Christy’s eyes and hair.

We’d been cooling our heels for twenty minutes. Trip shot his cuffs and adjusted his tie for the third time. I glanced at my watch. I’d lost track of how many times I’d done it. We stood when we finally heard the girls come out of the master bedroom.

I saw Christy’s shoes first, black and strappy with a gold buckle and four-inch heels. She’d painted her toenails red. The smooth skin of her legs glowed in the light from the lamp next to the couch.

My breath caught when I saw the rest of her. She was wearing a black sheath cocktail dress with threads of gold shot through it. It was so tight that she looked impossibly small and curvy at the same time. She’d done her makeup and teased her hair into a golden cloud that framed her face.

Trip let out a long, low whistle, while I stood there showing my molars.

Christy’s eyes glowed with pleasure at my reaction.

“Wow,” I said at last. “Words fail me.”

“And you’re usually so good with them.”

“Not enough blood flow to the brain,” I said.

Wren rolled her eyes. “Oh, brother.”

“Hush,” Christy told her. “I like it.”

“Are you ladies ready to go?” Trip asked. “We’re a little behind schedule.”

“We need to make an entrance,” Wren said tartly. Then she draped a black shawl around Christy’s shoulders.

The little blonde smiled back at her.

Wren’s dress was dark maroon and strapless, and showed off her natural assets. She wore a dove gray shawl draped around her arms.

Both girls were beautiful, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from Christy.

“Stop it,” she whispered. “You’re making me nervous.”

Wren fetched a Polaroid from the dining room table. She took pictures of Christy and me together. Then I snapped several of her and Trip. I finished the cartridge with two shots of the girls together.

“Now are we ready?” Trip asked.

“You sure are surly when you don’t get laid enough,” Wren snapped. She was only partly kidding.

“You said it, not me.”

I rolled my eyes and grinned at Christy. Nothing could dampen our enjoyment.

I drove us to the A&A building, where I dropped off the girls and Trip.

Then I whipped into the parking lot and rushed to join them. The party was in full swing already, with a string quartet playing classical music from the balcony.

The Art Department had pulled out the stops with the food and drink.

And even though the campus was officially alcohol-free, waiters at the punch table had bottles of wine wrapped in cloth napkins. As a fig leaf it wasn’t very clever, but the normal rules didn’t apply if enough bigwigs attended a party. The University of Tennessee had to uphold its long tradition of hypocrisy, after all.

We picked up glasses of wine, ate a few hors d’oeuvres, and went in search of Siobhan. She was holding court in front of Christy’s draped sculpture.

“Ah, ladies and gentlemen,” Siobhan said, “here’s one of the stars of the show.”

Christy blushed prettily and shook hands as her mentor introduced her around. I stood in the background and smiled.

“Did she say Johnson?” Christy asked one man all of a sudden. “Seward Johnson?”

“So you’ve heard of me?” he said with a self-effacing smile.

“Oh my gosh, yes! I love your work. I’ve only seen pictures of The Awakening, but it’s beautiful.”

“Thank you very much,” he said. “I could say the same about your work.

Siobhan gave me a sneak peek before the party started. I hope you don’t mind

—”

“No, not at all! I’m flattered.”

“And I was speechless. Much better than my own feeble attempts. You’ve captured the essence of humanity. And it’s a very clever blend of classical and futuristic.”

She blushed.

“You call it The Dying Replicant?”

“It was all Paul’s idea.” She looped her arm through mine and took possession of me for the duration. “And he’s the model.”

“Now might be a good time to unveil it,” Siobhan interrupted. “Don’t you think?”

“By all means,” Johnson said. “It’s your show.”

Siobhan tapped her wineglass with a fork and called for everyone’s attention. Conversations continued in the corners of the atrium, but everyone around us grew quiet. Siobhan wasn’t quite the performer that Wren was, but she made a short speech and built up the suspense. Then she handed the floor to Christy, who smiled and stepped forward. I thought she’d be too nervous to speak, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Thank you for such a wonderful introduction, Siobhan. And thank you everyone for coming. Art has always been a personal thing for me, a part of who I am. So I’m always nervous to unveil one of my pieces. It’s like sending a part of my soul into the world for people to judge.”

Most of the artists in the crowd nodded, including Johnson.

“Physical art exists in the mundane world, but the real art is inside us.

You can’t take this statue with you, but you’ll carry it forever in your memory. I hope so, at least. And when you do, I’ll know that a part of me is with you. That’s humbling and very inspiring.” She paused as people nodded.

“Art is often a solo pursuit,” she continued, “but I couldn’t have created

this piece without the help of many people. So I’d like to thank Siobhan for being my friend, mentor, and constant source of support. I’d also like to thank Nikki and Todd, for countless hours of help during the process. And finally, I’d like to thank Paul. He’s the model and inspiration for the piece.

And yes,” she added as an aside, “he really is that good-looking in person.”

Everyone chuckled.

She smiled radiantly at me and then returned her eyes to the crowd. “So without further ado… Ladies and gentlemen, The Dying Replicant.”

She whipped the sheet off the sculpture and basked in the applause.

The rest of the party was a whirlwind of introductions, congratulations, and praise. Christy blossomed under all the attention. She chatted about styles and influences. She described her inspiration and gave me too much credit.

She talked about artists she admired and what she aspired to in the future.

Much to my amusement, she introduced me as “my friend” at first, followed by “my boyfriend” as the wine flowed. I accepted the growing intimacy in stride, but I almost choked on a canapé the first time she introduced me, toward the end of the party, as “my future husband.” I managed to smile and keep a straight face, but I was suddenly a lot more sober than I’d been a moment before. Pure adrenaline will do that.

The party finally wound down around midnight, and we said goodnight to the few people left who we knew.

“Oh my gosh,” Christy said as we went from the heat of the building to the cold November air. “I think that was the best night of my life.”

“You were amazing,” Wren said. “Beautiful, charming, brilliant.”

“So was Paul, wasn’t he?” Christy bounced up and down on my arm.

“You were awesome!”

“‘Future husband,’ huh?” Wren smirked. For the hundredth time.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Christy said to me. “It just seemed natural.”

“Natural,” Wren echoed with a significant look.

“And I can’t wait for you to meet my family.”

To be continued…

Read the next book in the series,

Family Ties.