Loving Again

chapter Four


“I met with her,” Eubie Kane said, “and I really made her sweat.” He was having coffee at a café a couple blocks away from the scene of his confrontation with Amanda. With him was a man who could have been his brother — tall, dark-haired, young, although more muscular than the slender artist. “And you should have seen the reaction I got from everyone in Bullseye. That was inspired. I’m glad I took your advice.”

“Dude. You’re rocking it.” His companion put up his hand for a fist bump.

“And I’m going to tell Liz Fairchild about my other opportunity, too, like you suggested.”

“That only leaves Bullseye.”

“I’m not sure I can get what I want from them. They’re different.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I’m sure we can come up with a plan.”

• • •

Amanda finally felt at home. After days of moving furniture back to the way she liked it and unpacking boxes, her books were in the built-in bookcases, her favorite leather couches were arranged around the stone fireplace, the Persian rug and low table were centered between them.

In the resettled dining room, she’d set the table for dinner. All she needed was Sam. He said he’d be there at seven but had called to say he’d be late. He offered to bring take-out. She’d turned him down, saying she wanted to cook a meal in her own home. She didn’t add “cook a meal for you” but she thought he might have figured it out.

He arrived with a six-pack of beer and a bottle of her favorite pinot gris. As he rummaged around in a kitchen cabinet for a wineglass, he asked, “Did you get the rest of your studio settled?”

Amanda busied herself with the chicken breasts she was broiling, not sure how to answer him. She must have taken too long because when she straightened up from poking around in the oven, he was staring at her as if trying to figure out why she hadn’t said anything. “Well, I guess you can say I’m settled, but … ”

“What’s the ‘but,’ baby? You look worried.”

“God, Sam. All I seem to do is dump my problems on you. I hate it. Doesn’t it bother you?”

“What’s going on?” He had his cop face on now. Sadly, she knew it all too well.

After another long pause, she gave him the highlights of her confrontation with Eubie Kane that afternoon at Bullseye. She ended by saying, “I can’t afford another scandal. Not after last year. My career would be buried forever. It makes me wonder if I should have stayed in Seattle after all.” She was sure she had tears in her eyes and not from the heat of the oven. “Is threatening me like that against some law or another?”

“First of all, don’t let this a*shole send you running back to Seattle. Second, Kane’s talking about a civil suit. That’s not against the law. Unfortunately. Talk to an attorney. He — she — can help you. Do you know a good corporate-type attorney?”

“I guess I could call the man who helped me set up my business.”

“Do it. First thing Monday.” He handed her a glass of wine. “And don’t let Kane spoil your homecoming.”

“It’s hard not to.”

“Maybe I can help you out.” He cocked his head and raised one eyebrow.

“What did you have in mind?” The frown lines between her eyes disappeared as she waited for him to say what she was sure he’d suggest.

Taking her into his arms he said, “How about I spend the night? I’m not scheduled for work tomorrow. We could sleep in. Or something.”

“Hmm. Sleeping in. That sounds like fun.”

“Maybe something more interesting might occur to us. Something even more fun than sleeping.” He kissed her but before the kiss got too involved, he pulled away and stared at something over her shoulder. “But if you don’t get those chicken breasts out of the oven, we’re gonna have the fire department join us in our evening.”

When she disentangled herself from his embrace she saw the smoke pouring out of the oven. “Oh, crap. Maybe we’ll have to get take-out after all.”

• • •

When he woke the next morning, Sam was alone in bed. Chihuly was curled up asleep on the rug next to Amanda’s side, and he could hear the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. Unsure of what it meant that she had disappeared so quickly after waking, he debated whether to dress and go downstairs to start coffee or join her in the shower. The thought of her body wet from the shower, her beautiful breasts with those dusky pink nipples waiting to turn hard and pebbly from his mouth, made up his mind for him and brought him out of bed with an erection hard enough to split a brick.

He knocked on the door to the bathroom but she didn’t answer. He could hear her but wasn’t sure if she was singing or talking or what. It sure as hell didn’t seem like the sounds of a happy woman after a night of hot lovemaking.

Taking a chance, he opened the door. He could feel the cool draft follow him in and knew she would feel it over the top of the shower enclosure, too. “You want some company?” he asked as he knocked on the enclosure door.

“Sure,” she replied. “Come on in. Like they say, the water’s fine.”

He opened the door and stepped in as she turned her back to the shower spray to make room for him. He reached behind her, traded what he had in his hand for what was on the soap dish. When he pulled back he said, as lightly as he could, “You sound awfully sad — or serious — this morning.”

She touched his face lightly. “I was just thinking how special you are, how lucky I am. But how sad it is that all I seem to do is ask you to solve my problems.”

Taking the washcloth she was holding, he soaped it up and then he began to rub the cloth over her breasts and abdomen. “There’s a difference between depending on someone else to take care of you and sharing things that worry you with someone who cares about you.”

“It doesn’t feel like I’m just sharing. More like I’m depending.”

“Am I complaining?”

“No, you’re … oh, God, you’re … ”

He drew her against him and made long, lingering strokes down her back and butt with the washrag.

“You’re changing the subject,” she said.

“Is that bad?” The washcloth was on the floor and his arms were around her waist in less time than it took to draw a breath. The kiss he gave her wasn’t a sweet “good morning” kiss. It was more an “I want you right now” kiss. When he broke from it, he asked, “How about changing the subject to this?” He retrieved the condom he’d put on the soap dish and handed it to her.

“How?”

“I’ll show you. Cover me.” She tore open the packet and rolled the condom over him. Light as she was, he didn’t have any trouble lifting her so she could wrap her legs around his waist. As he pressed her against the wall of the shower, he went back to kissing her, doing to her mouth what he desperately wanted to do to her body — make love with fierce intensity. But he had to be sure she was comfortable with the idea. He drew back far enough to look deep into her eyes, trying to see.

“It’s okay, baby,” he said. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“I know I am. Believe me, I know.”

For the first time he could see in her eyes the beginning of what he wanted to see there — not just passion but trust.

Carefully, his back to the shower so he took the brunt of the spray, he slowly guided her onto the tip of his rock-hard penis, wanting to give her the time she needed to feel comfortable. But he didn’t have to. She was there already.

She ground her hips against him, her nails bit into his shoulder, the passionate moans she was making echoing in the shower. That’s what pushed him over the edge — the sounds. With one thrust he was inside her, driving himself in up to the hilt. In what seemed like only a few moments, they both found release.

When he could feel her breathing return to normal, he lowered her to the floor, still maintaining his hold on her until she was again in control of her rubbery muscles. Even then he didn’t want to let go of her. He kept one arm around her as he rinsed them both off and turned off the water. He pulled a bath sheet off the towel rack and dried first her, then himself off.

They stepped out of the shower and he wrapped a fresh towel around his middle. As he watched her wrap herself up in the bath sheet, he said, “Whatever happens, I want you to know you can rely on me. Not to make it all go away but to be there when you need me.”

“You’ve been there for me since the first time I saw you, Sam. I wish I could say I’d returned the favor.”

• • •

“Amanda, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you looking so splendid,” Mr. Todd said as he sat across from her at the dining room table in his floating home at a marina on the Columbia River. The sliding glass door, which framed snow-topped Mt. Hood in the distance, was open slightly to let in a breeze. The river was alive with sailboats and wave-runners jockeying for air and space.

As Sam had suggested, she’d called Mr. Todd’s office the Monday after their dinner, to discover he’d retired from his law practice but his former secretary gave her his home phone number saying Mr. Todd would be happy to talk to her. With a bribe of dinner, she’d gotten an appointment with him that evening.

“And the food you brought was delicious.” The white-haired, eighty-ish attorney had finished up a plate of grilled shrimp, sesame noodles, and tossed salad, and his blue eyes were wandering to the plate of brownies on the table in front of him. “I hope my legal advice is up to this standard.”

“I was surprised when I was told you’d retired,” Amanda said. “I thought you were going to be there until they carried you out on a gurney.”

“When I realized I enjoyed sitting here watching the river as much as I enjoyed the view from the twenty-first floor, I knew it was time to leave a full-time law practice. But I made a list of a handful of clients I’d be willing to see at home. You were at the head of the list. So, tell me your problem.”

Amanda summarized her run-in with Eubie Kane and ended by saying, “So, what should I do? Is this even an area of your expertise?”

“It’s not one I’m familiar with, no. Art law is a specialized field particularly when it comes to issues like copyright.”

“I’ve never filed a copyright for any of my work.”

“Even if you haven’t registered it, for both the visual and literary arts, the creator holds the copyright from the moment of creation. There may be subtle differences between literary arts and fine arts and crafts, I don’t know. But I can find out for you.” He took two brownies from the plate, nibbled at one and started to speak again. “And I can also … ” The doorbell interrupted.

A woman was at the door. “Hi, neighbor,” she said. “I’ve got the olive ciabatta rolls you asked me to pick up for you. And I added an éclair because I know how much you like them.” She handed him a bag, a small white box and a handful of change.

“Thank you for both, although my doctor wouldn’t approve of the addition.”

“I’ll never tell, if you won’t.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Do you have a minute? I’d like you to meet someone.”

“I have nothing but time for you.” The woman followed him to the dining room.

With a sweep of first one hand then the other, he introduced the two women. “Margo Keyes, meet Amanda St. Claire. She’s a glass artist and a client of mine.”

“For heaven’s sake. I’ve always wanted to meet you, Amanda,” Margo said, “I have a piece of your work — Serenity, it’s called — from LOCAL 14 about four, maybe five, years ago. It’s my favorite piece of art.”

“Good,” Mr. Todd said. “You’re a fan. Amanda has a problem and you might be able to help me help her.” He turned to Amanda. “Margo is not only my neighbor but she’s a deputy district attorney.”

Amanda had smiled at Margo’s praise. Now the smile froze into an expression of distrust. “A DA?” Thanks to her recent experience with the criminal justice system, the DA’s office was almost as high on her shit list as the Portland Police Bureau.

“Yeah,” Margo said. “Me and the boys and girls in blue get the bad guys off the street.”

“Not always … ” Amanda began.

“Oh, God, how insensitive.” Margo reddened with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why don’t we get to the reason Amanda’s here,” Mr. Todd said.

“While you do that,” Margo said, “I’ll work on getting my foot out of my mouth.”

He gave his neighbor a thumbnail of Kane’s threat and asked if she had any advice, other than finding an attorney who specialized in art law.

“Not sure I have any advice, but I can tell you there’s been litigation around copyright involving glass artists that might give you comfort, Amanda. The first was a case about jellyfish and the other was Dale Chihuly suing over his designs.”

“I remember the Chihuly case,” Amanda said. “It settled out of court, I think, and the terms weren’t made public. But I believe the guy Chihuly sued still had a career when it was over and that says something. What’s the jellyfish one?”

“Guy sued another artist for doing glass representations of jellyfish like the ones he did. The case was decided for the defendant because natural forms aren’t subject to copyright. More importantly for you, the court ruled the technique the second artist employed was in common use and wasn’t subject to copyright either.”

“Based on that precedent,” Mr. Todd said, “if Amanda can show she’s using commonly practiced techniques, there’s not much to Mr. Kane’s claim, is there?”

“Probably not, but if he’s lawyered up, you need to be, too, Amanda,” Margo said. “Can you give her a couple names, Mr. Todd?”

“I plan to. Anything else you’d recommend?” he asked.

“Dating your work earlier than the time he claims you saw his might help.”

Amanda said, “Your piece is part of the series he accused me of basing on his ideas. Maybe the organizers of the LOCAL 14 show have records of what was exhibited that year.”

“In my insurance file I have the receipt from the piece I own. There must be a date of sale on it,” Margo said. “I’ll make a copy and get it to you. And please take this seriously. Even if he’s got no case, Kane can make your life difficult with bad publicity.”

“Wonderful. Bad reviews and pickets for my next show. No gallery owner will want to represent me.” Amanda closed her eyes for a few seconds, sighed and opened them.

“Thank you both for your help. This thing has made me very uncomfortable. I wish I knew what set him off.” Amanda realized she had been chewing on her thumbnail and stopped.

“What set him off is less important than getting him shut down,” Margo said.

“Yes, absolutely.” Mr. Todd nodded his agreement. “But once you have a lawyer retained, you’ll be prepared for whatever Mr. Kane’s next move might be.”