WITH ROMAN IN SAN DIEGO, the big house felt empty, the polished gray French oak floors echoing Grace’s every footstep. She spent the first day painting the studio wall, and then called Selah. “I’ll pick Samuel up after work. He can stay with me this week.”
Selah said he would be too much for her on the job. Grace should leave him with her and keep to the plan for weekends only. Grace insisted she could manage. Selah asked if she had permission. Grace lied and said of course. She hadn’t asked, but why would Roman care, as long as the work got done? When he returned, she might ask if he minded a child in the house.
Selah didn’t think it was a good idea. “Samuel has an appointment with the pediatrician on Thursday. You would have to take time off for that, and you know how fussy he is after a shot. He always runs a fever. It’ll be much better for him to stay here with me.”
Grace bristled. Why did it have to be a tug-of-war? “I want more time with my son, Selah.”
“I know you do, chiquita, but you must think of what’s best for him. Samuel will be bouncing back and forth enough as it is, staying with you on weekends. He needs continuity. You don’t want him to feel like a yo-yo, do you?”
Grace wanted to insist, but she felt selfish for pressing. Selah was probably right. Samuel might not be content entertaining himself in a playpen in her office. She wouldn’t be able to put duty aside to play with him whenever he or she wanted. Selah would be able to see to his every need. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Everything in good time, chiquí. He’s doing so well. Everything will work out just as it should.” Selah’s mantra—and true enough.
Grace went shopping for guest room furniture and bedding and didn’t spend anything close to forty thousand dollars. By the time Roman returned, all would be in place, including the few touches she had added to make the room more welcoming. Back at the house, she checked the office voice mail and found a message from Roman. “Where are you? Call me.” He sounded irritated and repeated his cell phone number twice. “Call me!” She added it to her contacts, but called him back on the office line. He didn’t even give her a chance to say hi.
“Why didn’t you answer the phone?”
“I’ve been shopping for bedroom furniture.”
“Oh.”
“I just got back. Your guest room will be furnished by the end of the week. Stickley Whitehall.” Hopefully that information made it clear she hadn’t been sunning herself on a beach in Malibu.
“Whatever that is.” He sounded calmer. “Am I going to like it?”
“I don’t know, but your guests will be very comfortable.”
“Guest. Singular. Jasper. What about sheets, blankets—?”
“Purchased. Jasper will have two pillows from which to choose. I’ll make the bed as soon as everything arrives.” She told him how much, and hoped he was a man of his word and wouldn’t yell at her. “It’s the kind of furniture that will grow in value.”
“I’m sure it’s perfect.”
He sounded distracted. Did he have something else on his mind? “I have some messages for you.” One from his financial adviser, another from a Realtor who had a buyer if he was interested in selling. Roman told her to tell the financial adviser he’d be in touch after the art show, and he wasn’t ready to sell.
Grace gave a soft laugh. “I’m glad to hear that. I just moved in.”
“Oh?” He laughed low. “Are you sleeping in my bed?”
“I meant the cottage, of course.” At least he was in a better mood. “Do you have anything else you want me to do around here other than the usual? Anything that doesn’t involve entering your bedroom or studio? I did repaint your wall, by the way. You didn’t say I couldn’t.” When he was silent, she wondered if she’d overstepped. “I hope that’s all right.”
“Just thinking. You could deliver the last painting instead of having Talia pick it up.”
“I’ve heard Laguna Beach is a lovely town.”
“You’ve never been there?”
“Nope. All I’ve ever seen is what’s between Fresno and Los Angeles. Now I can add Topanga Canyon, Burbank, and the supermarket at Malibu.” She hadn’t had the money or time to travel. “Someday I’ll make it to Disneyland.” With Samuel.
“You’ve lived a sheltered life, haven’t you? Well, here’s your big opportunity if you want to hand-deliver the piece. Which reminds me. I need your cell phone number.”
Grace dispensed it without hesitation.
“When I call, pick up.”
“Yes, boss.” As soon as Roman hung up, she downloaded a suitable ringtone, then called Talia to set a time to meet at the gallery the next day.
Talia Reisner didn’t look anything like the hard-edged businesswoman Grace expected. Dressed in a tiered, multicolored skirt and peasant blouse with a chunky turquoise-and-red coral necklace, her mass of curling red-and-gray hair pulled up in a loose chignon and held by Japanese hairpins, she looked like an aging love child from Haight-Ashbury.
“Grace Moore! It’s nice to finally meet you in person.” Talia ignored the extended hand and hugged Grace. “Did you know there was a movie star by the same name? Grace Moore was around long before you were born and could sing like a nightingale. Where’s the painting?”
Grace opened the trunk of her car. Talia reached in and carefully extracted Roman’s most recent painting. “Oh, look what the boy has done this time.”
The boy again. Grace couldn’t help but laugh. She closed the empty trunk and followed Talia inside.
The gallery had several showrooms with a variety of paintings, not walls laden with modern art as Grace had imagined. She paused to admire an oil of an elegant Renaissance vase filled with purple lilacs that looked so real she could almost breathe in the scent. She liked another of blue herons among reeds. A display pedestal showed off a bronze whale and calf; another, a pod of six dolphins. A large pottery platter looked like a star-studded night sky. Grace leaned in and read the price. “Oh, my!”
“We go for the gusto.”
“Everything in here costs more than I’ll ever make in a year.”
Talia carefully placed Roman’s painting against a wall. “So? What do you think of it?”
“I’m hardly one to ask.”
“Because you know what you like, and it’s not modern art.” She gave Grace a sly smile. “I’ll tell you a secret. I wasn’t wild about Roman’s work in the beginning either.” Talia stood back and studied the painting as she talked. “He came in here with a chip on his shoulder the size of a boulder. He’d been up and down the row, and no one would even look at what he had in his car.” She laughed. “He was ticked off. Do you know what he said to me? ‘Just take a look. If it’s no good, I’m out the door.’ In much more colorful language, of course.” Talia tilted her head. “I know exactly what kind of frame this one needs.” She picked up the painting and moved it into her office.
Grace followed. “What changed your mind?”
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they say. And it was a very slow day. I told him to bring in his best. He lined up a couple of paintings and wandered off while I studied them. I was going to say sorry, but then a customer came in. I can tell a serious buyer when I see one. He went through the gallery on a mission and stopped at Roman’s paintings. He wanted to buy one on the spot. I told him I hadn’t put a price on it yet. When he handed me his card, I knew I had something special. Roman had caught the attention of a curator from one of the finest modern art museums in the country. He was in Laguna Beach on holiday, just for the day. Talk about coincidence. He bought Roman’s first piece. For his private collection. An investment, he called it.”
Grace looked at the painting again. “Clearly, I don’t appreciate art.”
“It’s a matter of taste, but some people have an eye for new trends. Roman knows what he’s doing.”
Roman’s mural impressed Grace far more than the modern art he set up on easels like an assembly line. The transfers anyway. She might never see the actual mural in San Diego. “This piece is so different from his other work.”
“His murals, you mean.” Talia looked mischievous. “He did one for a friend of mine. An Italian Riviera scene—columns, bougainvillea, urns, and nymphs pouring water from pitchers. Roman has a wicked sense of humor. It took Leo six months to discover the phallic symbol. Several guests noticed before he did and had wagers on how long it would take him to spot it.”
“What happened when he did?”
“Leo’s a good sport. He laughed. He told me recently he gets a kick out of watching people’s expressions when they spot the hidden picture. It’s very cleverly done, I must say. He never figured out that Roman was calling him a nasty name, of course. Men like Leo never do.” She shook her head. “Roman has more gifts than he knows what to do with, but he hasn’t found himself yet. All he cared about when he came into my gallery was getting the paintings on a wall and seeing if they’d sell. I told him a real artist doesn’t care what people think. He said if Michelangelo could prostitute himself, so could he. I told him he either believed in what he was doing or he didn’t. He said he didn’t believe in anything.”
That saddened Grace. She had noticed the restlessness in her employer, as though even the best of what he did brought no sense of accomplishment or satisfaction. He worked hard but never looked content.
“There was something about him,” Talia went on, “aside from how good-looking he is.” Her mouth tipped in a worldly smile. “Of course, I put his picture on every brochure. His face brings in the women, ones with money or with husbands who have money. The name Roman Velasco has a nice ring to it, too, don’t you think? Oh, so foreign and mysterious.”
Grace caught her meaning. “You don’t think that’s his real name?”
“Do you? Whatever mix he is, I don’t think he has a drop of Italian blood. Indian, perhaps; Arab, possibly. Black. Not that it matters. He’s not just beautiful. He’s interesting. Wouldn’t you say?”
“I keep my distance.”
“Probably wise.”
Why would Roman make up a name? Did he have something to hide? She pushed curiosity away. Whatever his reasons, it wasn’t her business.
Grace accepted Talia’s invitation to lunch. The waves glistened in the sunlight, seagulls rising and dipping on the wind. Talia talked about art, customers, travels. Roman’s ringtone came on: Elvis Presley singing “Big Boss Man.”
“Roman.” Talia laughed as Grace dug for her phone. “Yes, boss?” She grinned at Talia.
“Are you going to Laguna Beach today?”
“I’m in Laguna Beach right now. The painting has been safely delivered. Talia and I are just finishing lunch. I’ll be heading back soon.”
“You’re halfway to San Diego. Why don’t you come down?”
Grace froze. He must be joking! Talia’s laughter stopped, and she watched Grace. Embarrassed, Grace looked out at the sea. “It’s after two. It’d take me hours to get back.”
“Spend the night.”
“What?” Her pulse shot up. “No!”
His tone dropped. “I’m not asking you to spend it in my room, Grace.” He sounded amused. She felt the blush fill her cheeks. Talia noticed, too, and then he made it worse. “I can arrange for you to have a nice mini suite.”
Annoyed, she dumped caution. “No, thank you.”
“Don’t you want to see the mural?”
“Another time.”
“I won’t be here after it’s done.”
“I know.”
“Wow. That was cold.” He didn’t sound particularly upset.
“You asked for it.” Her own emotions were another matter. “Did you have an errand you wanted me to run?” She tried to keep her tone neutral, so he wouldn’t guess what his teasing had managed to do.
“No.” He ended the call.
Grace gave a soft gasp at the abruptness and stared at her phone. Shaking her head, she tucked the phone away.
“The boy can be exasperating, can’t he?” Talia had a speculative gleam in her eyes.
More than Grace wanted to admit.
Roman didn’t call Grace again. He caught himself watching the clock every afternoon around three, usually minutes before she called him. She went over his messages and whatever mail had come in. She asked how the work was going, but he couldn’t tell if she was really interested or just being polite.
Roman eliminated the lion eating the baby giraffe before Hector arrived to start the final protective coat. People stood around, watching them finish the work. The wall looked impressive. It was the best work he’d done.
Clearing supplies and tarps, he wondered why he felt vaguely disappointed, as though he’d failed to include something essential.
“You don’t look happy, señor.” Hector spoke in accented English. He’d been improving greatly over the last few weeks, and Roman felt a twinge of jealousy.
“Is Grace tutoring you in English?”
Hector grinned and raised his brows. “No. I met a girl. On the beach. Muy bonita. She teach me English. I teach her Spanish.”
Roman could tell by Hector’s expression that the two had jumped over more than language barriers. “Sounds like a nice arrangement.”
Hector pulled out his phone and showed off a selfie. The girl, a plump, sunburned redhead, looked smitten with her Latino Romeo. Hector looked victorious with his arm around her.
He pocketed the phone. “Is Grace coming down?”
“Isn’t one girl enough?”
Hector laughed. “To see the mural, jefe.”
“I don’t know.” Roman wasn’t about to admit he’d invited her and she’d said no. He caught Hector looking at him and stared back. “What?”
Hector nodded toward the reception desk, where a man was pointing him out to a middle-aged couple.
Roman faced Hector. “Let’s go have dinner. I don’t feel like playing nice with strangers.”
They got a booth in a nice restaurant down the street. Hector spent most of the time texting with his girlfriend. Conversation had never been easy with Hector, but even a stilted conversation would have been nice. Whatever she said made Hector decide to head back to Los Angeles rather than spend the night at the five-star hotel in San Diego. Roman waved him off and sat alone and had a brandy.
It was a little after eight when he got back to his hotel suite. He stood at the windows, feeling adrift. Grace hadn’t called today. Good excuse to call her. He took out his phone and tapped her number.
It took five rings before her voice mail kicked in. She didn’t offer the usual pleasantries or give her name, just instructions to leave a message. She didn’t even say she’d get back to whoever called. Roman didn’t leave a message. It was a Friday night and well past five o’clock. Why should she answer?
The heaviness increased in his chest. Too much steak, too much alcohol. His jaw ached. A dentist said he must grind his teeth in his sleep and recommended a custom mouth guard. That and less stress in his life. He felt a little off, and not just because he’d had a few drinks.
Why should he be stressed? He had everything everyone else wanted.
Stretching out on his bed, he tried to sleep. He was edgy, in need of something. He could go back to his old habits. Go to a club, hook up with a girl. But the emptiness always came back later. The inner tension never went away.
He turned on the television and rented a movie violent enough to distract him. His arm ached from reaching up and doing the fine work every day for the last several days. He rubbed the muscles. Another drink might help. He opened the minibar and took out three shot bottles of Scotch.
Roman relaxed after the third drink. Only the heaviness remained. He called Grace again. She answered on the second ring. “What?” She sounded groggy and annoyed.
“Are you in bed?
She let out her breath sharply. “No. I’m singing in a karaoke bar. What do you think?”
“Man, you’re grumpy.” Roman craned his neck to look at the clock on the nightstand. “What time is it?”
“Please tell me you didn’t call to ask for the time. It’s after midnight. Are you in a movie theater?”
“I’m in my room watching a movie. I doubt it’s one you’d like.” He shut it off.
“What do you want, Roman?”
You. The thought caught him by surprise. Thankfully, he hadn’t said it aloud. Oh, he could tell her what he wanted, but she was too far away to do anything about it, and she wouldn’t anyway.
“Are you all right?”
When had the sound of her voice started doing things to his body? “I think I had too much to drink tonight.”
“I can tell.”
“How?”
“You don’t sound like yourself.”
That sobered him. How did he sound? Vulnerable? Clearing his throat, he sat up and rubbed his face. “You didn’t call me with an update.”
“I told you I wouldn’t bother you unless it was necessary. It was a quiet day. There was no reason to call.”
What if he wanted to be bothered? “The mural is done.” He spoke carefully, not wanting to sound as drunk as he now realized he was. “Hector finished the protective coat tonight. He went home. He’s got a girlfriend.”
“I know.”
“You met her?” How often did she and Hector talk, and why should that annoy him?
“Not yet. He showed me her picture. She looks nice.”
Roman could hear Grace moving around and hoped she was making herself comfortable. He didn’t want to end the conversation yet.
“Congratulations on finishing the mural. I guess that’s why you’ve been celebrating.”
Celebrating? Was that what she thought? The longer she worked for him, the more he wanted to know about her. There was something about Grace Moore that had caught his attention right from day one. “Actually, I just felt like getting drunk in my room.” He realized how pathetic he sounded. What a loser! Just shut up, Roman, before you say something even more stupid.
“I’m sorry, Roman.”
“Sorry about what?”
“I don’t know. That you’re alone after you’ve finished something people are going to enjoy for years to come. You have every reason in the world to be happy and proud of what you’ve accomplished, and you’re not.” She didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “I’ve never known anyone who needed the Lord more than you do.”
“The Lord?”
“Jesus.”
Roman felt the energy seeping out of him, like air from a punctured tire. He thought of the sign in the Tenderloin, right across the street from the flat where he and his mother lived. “Jesus saves,” Roman said sardonically. “I used to sit in a window at night and ask Him to save my mother. He didn’t do squat.”
“Do you want to talk, Roman?”
He figured he’d already said too much. He knew he’d said more than he ever intended. Tapping End Call, he tossed the phone onto the nightstand.