CHAPTER12
Kari finally stopped work at five that afternoon, exhausted and famished and eager for the evening ahead. As she showered and dried her hair, the kitten remained sprawled on her pillow, as close to pouting as a cat could possibly come. Kari carried the beast into the kitchen, fixed another half bowl of granola, then sat, settled the kitten in her lap, and ate with one hand. The night held an electric promise, at least for her. It was not merely that she was meeting her favorite musician for a drink. Kari had grown up surrounded by stars and their oversized egos. There was something distinctly different about Ian Hart, a vulnerability that suggested he might actually be one of those rare gems. The sort of people she hoped might populate her new world. Individuals who were the same inside as out. Impossible as that might seem.
She dressed and left for town, impatient and hopeful. The drive was made more special still by the echoes of her creative flow. As the hills gave way to Miramar’s outskirts, yet another idea struck, one with such potency that she halted on the roadside and opened her sketchbook and worked. The waning light finally warned her she was beyond late. Reluctantly, she closed the sketchbook, restarted the car, and continued on. Quietly ecstatic.
As she started along the downward-sloping central avenue, the phone in her purse rang. She received so few calls, she had forgotten it was even there. She pulled into a space opposite the restaurant and answered. “Hello?”
Graham demanded, “Are you so important now that you don’t bother to check your messages?”
“I’ve been painting.”
Graham said in an aside, “She’s painting.” To Kari, he replied, “In that case, all is forgiven.”
Kari spotted Ian as he stepped out of the restaurant’s entrance and searched the street. She said, “Just a minute, Graham.” She rolled down her passenger window and called, “Ian, hi. I’m sorry.” She held out her phone, then added, “Three minutes.” To Graham, she said, “I’m back.”
“And who, may I ask, is Ian?”
But she wasn’t ready to talk about that. “I’m working on two new canvases. I think they’re good.”
Graham said to Rafi, “She changed the subject. Something about new work.”
“They’re really, really good, Graham.”
“She says they’re special works, both of them.” To Kari, he said, “When can we see?”
“I should finish them in another day or so.”
“What, both?”
“I’ve worked all day. Things are going well.” She studied the restaurant’s empty doorway. “I like it here.”
Graham’s silence was punctuated by Rafi’s whine. “I’m happy for you, Kari. Truly. We both are,” Graham told her.
“Thank you, Graham.”
“You’ll send us pictures?”
“Soon as they’re finished.” She used her free hand to caress the sketchbook’s cover. “And I’ve started a third.”
“Wonderful.” To Rafi, Graham said, “Hush now, else I’ll banish you to Starbucks. Yes, of course I’ll ask her.”
“Ask me what?”
“Oh, it’s a silly nothing sort of thing. Rafi, just stop. It’s only that we’ve been contacted by Miami’s premier art fair. They’ve heard about your coming-out here at the gallery. Don’t ask me how, but I suspect it was that television journalist who would not let you go. They want to showcase your work.” He paused while Rafi hit a high note, then went on, “Apparently, several of their biggest clients collect your work. They’re offering to put on a retrospective. I told them no, of course.”
She knew Graham expected her to refuse out of hand. Which was no doubt why he was making the call and not Rafi. But the day’s exhilarating rush, the sense of entering a new life chapter, made her pause. She shut her eyes, trying to bring back the fearful reserve. Instead, she saw herself standing there at the gallery’s front door. Only now it was a portal, open to the night, leading her to . . .
What, exactly?
“Kari?”
She opened her eyes. “From Rafi’s song and dance, I assume he wants me to do this.”
Graham huffed a laugh. “Add a double measure of sheer desperation and you might have an idea of what I’m going through here.”
“Why Miami?”
The fact she had not responded with an immediate rejection caused Graham to accelerate. Zero to ninety in one sentence flat. “Rafi has been six times. Six. Trying to insinuate himself into the event. Everything but walking the carpet on his knees, doing penance for being a successful Beverly Hills gallery. They have never given space to one of our kind before. But here they are, contactingus. Being the ones to beg. Literally.” He waited through a pair of audible breaths, then said, “Kari?”
