Chapter 7 Nola #2
“What’d I miss, ladies?” Max settles into the seat next to me and takes in the table.
“Did you know you two have a lot in common, Maxford? Our new friend was just telling us she, just like you, destroyed her good name in her chosen profession.” Stella gives me a small smile and clucks.
“However, Nola, if you would’ve let me finish”—her eyes still don’t leave mine and I’m intimidated by the way her presence holds the space—“I believe my assistant reached out to you earlier this week and is still waiting on a reply from you.”
It’s her turn to watch me puzzle out information.
The only email I haven’t responded to this week was the one from GoldenDesert LLC.
My assistant, Callie, couldn’t find anything else on the company and then we got sidetracked by The Grove Hotel wanting to meet about a new piece for their lobby.
Wait. My earlier stalking taught me Max grew up in Palm Springs, which is in the desert.
California is the Golden State . . . There’s no way the elusive GoldenDesert LLC is the woman across from me.
I raise a brow in understanding and she offers a nod. “Jaqueline was about to give up on hearing back from you, but I’ll let her know I’ve not only found you but you’ll meet me for lunch on Tuesday at noon. I’m very interested in hearing your pitch.”
“My pitch?” With the exception of the first two years, my whole career has been clients reaching out to me, and we collaborate on their style and color schemes before they set me loose. I’ve never had to fight for a project before—and not one I didn’t know was legit until right now.
“Of course. I’m interviewing three artists and will choose who will best capture my legacy.” No pressure, then.
I nod. “I’ll have Callie check my calendar.” If she’s going to exude self-importance, well, two can play at this game. “I’ll let you know if I’m available at such short notice.”
Max inhales a breath like I’ve made a huge faux pas. However, Stella claps her hands in delight and looks at her best friend. “I think I’ve found a worthy opponent.”
“Indeed you have,” Opal says and turns in her chair toward the front, where the group of men still visit. “Hurry up, Robert! We’re all waiting on you to start calling balls!”
When Max and I leave together, I’m sixty dollars richer and have been invited back by the Bingo crew thanks to what they call my ‘glowing personality.’ They’re too well-mannered to tell me I am not a gracious winner.
My competitive edge comes out whenever I play any kind of a game and today was no exception.
I may have gone into a room full of strangers but I turned into my sister at her bachelorette party, strutting my stuff and shouting “woooo” like my life depended on it every time I won.
This seemed to breathe infectious life into the room, and even Max joined in the frivolity.
By the time the hour was up, I knew about Artie’s new hip, when Johnathan’s grandson was taking the medical boards, how Maggie takes her coffee, and why Robert quit being a cop to open a bakery before retiring.
This group was the perfect way to spend a day without Emma.
Max walks me to my Toyota Rav4 and my phone chimes. I hold up a finger and dig in my crossbody bag.
“Hang on, sorry.” Why am I apologizing like we’re on a date? Why am I apologizing to him at all? “It’s probably from Emma. I hope they haven’t beaten me home.”
He leans against my car and patiently waits as I click on my phone and swipe.
Julie: The girls want to go to In-n-Out before I drop them off. Is that okay?
Me: Are you surviving?
Julie: Yes! They’re currently locked in a deep debate about whether or not Coach is cute.
I laugh out loud, which makes Max ask with a dash of gruffness, “What?” His eyes give away a hint of insecurity, as if he knows it’s about him.
“I’m not telling you.”
“Fine.” He pretends he really couldn’t care less. “Want to grab something to eat?”
“Hang on.” I tap out a reply.
Me: I’m sorry I’m missing that. What’s the consensus?
Julie: They say he has kind eyes, so yes.
I sneak a peek to confirm what I already know and he catches me. They crinkle in the corners as he studies me back. They’re the perfect shade of green. The girls aren’t wrong.
Me: No rush. I’ll be home when you guys are done.
“What did you ask me?” I pocket the phone.
He rubs the side of his face. “There’s a place over in Hyde Park I’ve been wanting to try, but I think that neighborhood is more accommodating if you’re not wandering it solo.”
The North End section of Boise has several eateries and a few shops tucked into the neighborhood below Camel’s Back Park. It’s always lively with lots of people around who don’t care if you’re there alone or not.
“That’s the silliest lie I’ve ever heard.” I roll my eyes. “Just admit you want me to grace you with my company.”
“Okay, fine, I give up.” He holds his hands up in defeat. “You can take me out to dinner since you’re a baller and steal money from the elderly.”
“If I’m paying, we’re going to North End Pizza.” I open my car door. “Hop in.”
Max leaves the ordering to me and I go for my usual: the artichoke dip and the Hyde House Combo pizza.
It’s busy when we arrive. Everybody not at or watching the BSU football game is out, taking advantage of the last of the perfect weather.
We are lucky to get two spots together at a tall table with barstools.
Max absentmindedly twirls his straw around his Pepsi. There’s a question sitting on the tip of his tongue that he’s not asking.
“Out with it,” I say, dipping the toasted crostini bread into the dip. “You’re thinking something and you won’t ask. We’re adults here.”
He fidgets with the rolled sleeve on his left arm for a second. “What did Stella mean when she said you destroyed your good name?”
That’s not a fun story; instead, I’ve got a good question: “Why do you call your grandma by her first name?” It piqued my interest immediately and I’ve been sitting on it long enough.
“She asked us to.” He shrugs and scoops dip onto his bread. “She is a phenomenal woman, but she didn’t like the three of us reminding her she was a grandma. She’s always been about the brand.”
“And her brand was . . .” I put the toast into my mouth and motion with my hand for him to elaborate.
“Being the face of Palm Springs like she’d been her whole life. Anyway, that’s enough from me. What did she mean when she said that about you?” He takes a bite and waits for me to decide how much I’m going to tell him today.
“Do you know what I do for work?” I ask instead.
He shakes his head and grabs his drink, taking a long sip. “You’ve never told me.”
“Well, you haven’t asked.” I tip my head toward him with a smile. “I am an artist.”
“What kind?”
“Acrylics. I’m a painter who was once upon a time on the fast track to . . . I guess you could say world class fame . . . and then my life pivoted. Now I have a business that has partnership accounts with hotel curation packages.”
“That sounds buzz-wordy.”
I don’t say anything and we’re seated so close he leans over and nudges me with his shoulder. “And the fame?”
“Gone.”
He holds the glass up to his mouth and, before taking another drink, says, “That’s something I know about all too well. Do you miss it?”
I wish I were that person that could look him in the eye and say I honestly don’t.
Claim there’s more to life than having people know your name and want to talk to you.
Find self-satisfaction in anonymity. Being on the other side of things now, I know all of that is fleeting and my life is good.
But boy, there are days I miss having that kind of clout.
Knowing what I do about Max and his fall, I’m not embarrassed to admit it.
“I do miss it. It’s nice to be known for and validated where your talents lie. You know?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”
Our gazes connect, and the look in his eyes tells me he understands exactly what I mean.
We’re sharing a moment here not everybody would get.
I don’t know if I’ve ever met a man who lived a big life off the beaten path and has watched it all disappear.
There is so much I want to tell him and ask him, to find camaraderie in our shared disappointment, but it’s too soon.
We can’t go there, especially after Opal reminded me of the rules Principal Bennett has in place.
Plus, there’s still the fact he’s still the guy who made Emma mad and dropped her GPA for a few weeks, which made my life harder.
So I change course. I bring up the one thing that’s appropriate for us to have in common: the students of Garnet Charter School.
“There’s not a lot of glamour with motherhood and lately I’m not winning in that area of my life too often. Kids are hard.”
“Tell me about it. I don’t know how you do it day in and day out.
” He rubs his eyebrow with his thumb, and I’m ready to jump in with a small jab about how he’s not allowed to commiserate with me after only being at it a few months, when he asks, “What is this lunch meeting you’re having with Stella? ”
This question shifts the air between us and I don’t like that he’s implying I’m the one doing anything wrong when he doesn’t know the whole story.
“Did you ask me to dinner so you could drill me on the conversation you missed between me and your grandma? Because that’s how this is feeling.
” I scoot the barstool out and stand. “You know, we could’ve had this conversation in the parking lot and I could be on my couch, in my sweats, watching Netflix and waiting for Emma to get home. ”
His hand shoots out and grabs my forearm.
“Please stay,” he says quietly, pulling his hand back and rubbing it through his hair.
“I wanted to go out—with you. I’m only asking so many questions because you’re new to our world.
I’m protective of Stella, and as her power of attorney, I’m asking you kindly to pull me into the loop. ”
I sit back down and take a drink, collecting my thoughts.
“The way I run my business, Stella has some rights to client-artist confidentiality, but I will say this much: she reached out to me and asked for a commission. At the time of the email, I didn’t even know who she was or what GoldenDesert LLC was. The email came from Jaqueline?”
“Yes, that’s her assistant.”
I nod my head, remembering. “My assistant, Callie, and I tried to figure out who GoldenDesert LLC was, but Stella’s done a great job keeping herself off the radar.”
Max smirks at this. “She loves looking important like that.”
“I had no idea she was your grandma until we were sitting there today. She asked my full name and she was the one who realized the email connection first.”
“You’re taking her meeting?”
“Yeah, I’m taking her meeting. She’s my Bingo buddy now—it would be rude not to.”
“And let’s say she chooses you? Then what?”
“Then I do the commission.” I say, as if it’s no big deal.
Like it’s a favor to an old friend. What I don’t add is the part where I’d looked her up when I excused myself to use the bathroom after the third round of Bingo.
Standing in one of the stalls of the guest bathroom, I learned enough from my phone to become keenly aware that painting Stella Hutchings’ portrait could be my way back into the part of the art world I’ve missed.
I could travel in the same circles I used to a decade ago.
“I could persuade her to pick you.” Max is nonchalant as he leans out of the way for the pizza being delivered between us onto the tabletop.
What he says stops me. Could it really be this easy? Are the pieces of my life falling back into place after what has felt like years of swimming against the current? Some washed-up baseball player holds all the keys to my career happiness? “You would do that for me?”
“Yeah, of course.” He grabs a slice and places it on my plate before choosing one for himself. He flicks off the sausage and takes a big bite. Around the food he says, “I’ll do it. For quid pro quo.”