Loving Grace (16 page)

Summer evenings were hot, still, with the
sameness that only changed when a tropical storm blew in. He
relished those days, sitting at the big window in a studio chair,
his feet propped on the low sill while rain spattered over them. He
replayed the morning’s proceedings so much in his head, sifting
through it again and again, that the simple act of watching a gray
sky, feeling the blunt force of the cooling wind, was a welcome
interruption in his thoughts.

One evening in July, after fighting the
downtown traffic and knots of yelling reporters, he was clad in old
denims hacked off short, sipping a cold beer, and watching a storm
brew. He thought he saw Grace walking down the side street. For a
moment he watched the woman, head high, looking straight ahead,
taking purposeful strides. Her brown hair was piled up and she wore
a straight beige dress and sandals. Nevertheless, as she walked to
a car parked in the alley, Noel realized it wasn’t her. The woman
was taller, fuller in the hips and she didn’t wear those ugly
glasses.

He laughed, sighed and shook his head. What
most of the world considered bland on women like Grace, he found
fascinating. Not until she told him the truth did he bring together
all the things that didn’t fit when she was modeling for him. Her
name now fit. Grace shouldn’t be a dancer or some swan-creature,
no, the Grace that fit her was the other meaning of the word. She
had a way of making him feel, even then, more of a man than an
oddity or machine that churned out paintings, or made money. She’d
looked at him, spoke to him in a real way that brought him down
from the lofty heights Elisa used to hold him to.

He’d been confused with Elisa, torn between
his drive to create and paint and the roles she wanted him to play.
She made him confuse his body, emotions, needs and desires, to the
point he couldn’t give one hundred percent attention to the
Gallery. She’d played him, used him, betrayed him, and now,
stripped him bare.

But not Grace.

Jane or Grace, it didn’t matter which, even
when she had lied and tried to be someone else, it wasn’t to
manipulate him or get something. He hadn’t really known that until
they made love. He hadn’t been sure. But where Elise had been skin
and surface, Grace had been soul and mind, heart and hungers. There
was a beauty he could never capture with oils, a strong spirit in
Grace that wouldn’t let her take without giving or betraying those
she cared about.

Noel looked down at the fingers holding the
beer bottle, remembering the feel of her and the vibrations in her
lithe body from the emotion that built, churned, and overflowed.
Grace carried something secret, something special under her tan and
tweed and glasses, and he, who had held beautiful women in his arms
many times, felt something stirring that she’d unleashed and freed
herself with him. It changed his whole perspective and likely saved
him from completely loathing her sex. It took him out of that
worshipping, adoring, and ivory tower mindset, and defined for him
that there were unique, very rare women out there, who were living
ordinary lives, seemingly ordinary in appearance. He believed he
had sensed that about her from the beginning. Nevertheless, he
couldn’t have guessed what getting close and intimate with Grace
could feel like.

Noel looked up at the dark clouds rushing
overhead and heard the distant rumble of thunder before the hiss of
rain rushed in. It blew in hard and thick, wetting his lower legs
in seconds but feeling good. He was done here in this country,
couldn’t imagine living his life, whatever he had left, in the
place where he’d found and lost his dreams. The trial, the charges,
made him bitterly angry and the Feds’ attitude bordered on
contempt. No, he didn’t plan to stick around if he was free. His
only regret would be never seeing Grace again, but then, he didn’t
kid himself that some perfect man didn’t exist that was more suited
to Grace. They were opposites; they thought, lived, and expressed
themselves in opposite ways. Shit. He didn’t even know how he’d
make his living, or if he’d ever care about anything again. He had
no more illusions.

Chapter Eighteen

Seth was Grace’s window on the trial, outside
the sensationalism of the press. She worked from her house, went to
the old office and had gone out with Bernard and Helen, even did
lunch with Rosa. But she stayed connected to the trial, as did most
of the public, speculating and talking about it as the evidence
phase was complete, and the serious business of trying a Federal
drug case got under way.

Seth called her twice a week and Grace went
to his apartment on Saturdays, sometimes cooking for him and his
latest female friend, other times they’d sit on the balcony and
talk about the case.

It looked good for Noel, and worse as the
weeks passed for Elise and Bryce. Those glimpses Grace got of Noel,
crushed by reporters, harassed by fans and yes, groupies who
supported him because of his good looks, weren’t much to go on. He
didn’t defend himself to the press and public, and though it gave
them room and reason to interpret it negatively, she agreed with
his tactic of letting Crumm do the talking, because Crumm was well
liked, respected, and knew how to handle the sticky questions.

In August, Seth called her, saying, “There
are rumblings in the courthouse, and word the Government might drop
the proceedings against Noel. I heard from a reporter yesterday
that after reviewing the defense’s evidence, they’re considering
Noel might make a better witness for their stronger case, on Bryce
and Elise, than the time and money it will take to get through a
case with less chance of conviction.”

“Oh, God. Will he be charged with anything
then?”

“Depends on what the deal is. Could be a
reduced sentence, could be a fine and probation. Crumm’s assistant
told me that they believe Noel. He thinks they are satisfied with
the proof of innocence, but his legal name on the property used for
illegal activity requires accountability, for what went on
there.”

“I see.” Grace was standing in the kitchen
pouring iced tea. It was stuffy in the apartment even with the air
conditioner on. One hundred-degree heat boiled down on the old
cobbled streets and toasted the brick buildings.

“I’ve a feeling they found the end of the
money trail. Right now, it’s rumor. However, there were some damned
happy Federal Agents interrupting the hearings today. The tension
was electric. Going by my gut, I’d say they’ve hooked a big one,
and broken up a ring that likely spans a few countries. If Elise
and Bryce have sticky fingers, it’s going to go down hard and
fast.”

“Have you talked to Noel?”

“Two days ago. I wanted to see how the guy
was doing.”

“How is he?”

“Not painting. Just sits in that loft I
guess... I think this possibility might snap him out of it of
though. Crumm says Noel will leave the States. Can’t blame
him.”

“No.” She pressed a hand to her tense
stomach. “I can’t either.”

“Well, at least you can see him if things
change.”

“He’s not going to fall in love with me, and
we’re not going to spend the rest of our lives happily ever
after.”

“I know that. But, hey, why not enjoy what
you have before he leaves?”

“I probably will.”

Seth laughed. “Yeah, I figured that. I wish
it was different for you two.”

“Perfect moments are sometimes worth more
than a lifetime of mistakes. I’ll take what I can get in those
moments, Seth. I’m not the kind of woman who’s ever going to have
the social life and romantic encounters others do.”

“Love ya, Grace. I’ll call.”

“You too.” She hung up and took her tea to
the settee to finish her work. Under the surface was a spark of
hope that Noel’s nightmare was ending.

~ * ~

Grace got a visitor two weeks later. She
opened the door to the man in the black suit, dark sunglasses and
shiny briefcase.

“Agent Runyon. FBI.”

They shook hands and Grace invited him into
the living area.

He sat down in the leather chair. “You don’t
seem surprised to see me.” He grinned. “Most citizens aren’t so
hospitable.”

“I expected you.” She watched him extract
several papers. “You need my signature to confirm the statements I
gave to Crumm?” Her brother had already forewarned her.

“Yes. And I need you to agree to testify to
them, and to your activities concerning the case should we need
you, or if something comes up in the future.”

Grace signed fifteen different sheets after
scanning them. She handed the last one to him. “Will I have to
testify that I took those pictures in the back of the Gallery?”

“This has grown into an international case.
No. We’re just dotting all the I’s and crossing the T’s.” He closed
the case and they stood. Agent Runyon shook her hand and said in
parting, “you should have been an Agent, Ms. Dean. I was impressed
with your evidence gathering and the covert, ah, operation you
pulled off.” His gaze went over her, lingering on her thick
glasses. He smiled again. “Smart, beautiful, and a hell of a good
detective.”

Blushing Grace shrugged. “I’m just a boring
accountant, Agent Runyon.”

He turned to leave, still chuckling as he
went out the door.

Grace sat down and sighed, pulling her
glasses off. So now, the government knew what she’d done. She
should have known, the FBI probably had tabs on her from the time
she’d first gone to the gallery.

Chapter Nineteen

The first thing she did the next morning was
knock on Rita Delotto’s door. The cocktail waitress answered it,
wearing a red silk robe and eating cold pizza.

“Hi.” Grace smiled at her.

“Hey, come in.” She stepped back.

The apartment was neat and open with all
white and green furnishings. Grace said, “I need the name of a good
hairdresser and a cheap one.”

“Got a date?”

“Sort of.”

The woman put the pizza on the counter and
offered Grace a piece. When she declined, Rita pulled a card off
the fridge. “Go here. She’s good and don’t charge much. If you call
this morning, she’ll fit you in.”

“Thanks.” Grace took the card and slid it in
her pocket.

Rita said, “Get some contacts. Your eyes are
too pretty to hide behind glasses.”

“I’ve got an appointment.” Grace stared at
her, then said, “Sorry I was abrupt before. Maybe we could go out
sometime, get coffee?”

“Sure. I work nights, you work days, but we
could meet for lunch.”

“I’d like that.”

Rita grinned and considered her. “Unless that
man of yours carries you away from your account books—”

“That’s not likely to happen.”

“You never know. Say, while you’re here, how
about giving me your handsome brother’s phone number?” Rita hopped
on a stool and the robe parted to reveal beautiful long legs.
“Women like you think chicks like me live a wild life, but we work
too hard, with crazy hours to have much of a social life. I don’t
get a chance to meet decent, good-looking, fairly normal men.”

Grace laughed. “Sure. Just tell him Grace
gave it to you.” Grace had her hand on the knob when she added,
“He’s really a nice guy, intelligent.”

“I know. But he’s also a hunk.”

Grace nodded, “By the way, his name is Seth.
He’s a PI and he likes sports, beer, seventies music, and he’s
fun.”

“Sounds like my kind of man.” Rita sighed and
laughed.

Downstairs later Grace got her hair
appointment. She had seen the headlines early that morning and knew
the charges were dropped against Noel. He’d paid some cash in fines
and had to testify next week. After that, he was free to go. It
filled her with a euphoric joy that was indescribable. Noel was
free. He’d won, they had won.

~ * ~

Noel got most of the gallery paintings back,
but they were sitting with the others in the far corner of the
room. After Crumm called him and he’d spent most of the morning
meeting with the Feds, he came back to the loft and started
cleaning. Physical labor seemed to help burn off his anger at
finding out what a couple of sleazes he’d let sucker him. Elisa’s
thirty million-dollar stash was found in Brazil, and her lovers and
contacts equaled Bryce’s, who it turned out, had nearly as much
stash as she did.

Noel spent three hundred bucks on cleaning
items and fifty on a cheap stereo. He stripped down and pulled on
his hacked off jeans and left the door open. Not only was his plan
to clean the floors with the shop vac and buffer, but to climb
around on the ladders and wipe away months of dust and cobwebs.

This morning he’d called his mother, soothing
her happy tears and laughing at the clapping and shouts from her
friends who’d gathered to wait for the news. He’d felt a moment’s
nostalgia hearing her thickly accented voice and feeling the warmth
of her support. Nevertheless, like most mothers, she’d gotten right
to the point, asking him if he was painting.

She’d insisted he work out his emotions
through his art. Noel couldn’t give her an answer. He didn’t have
one yet. She’d judged his mood by his bringing up the fact that his
father was right, maybe it was more curse than gift. Maybe people
like Grace who possessed more acceptable gifts, useful ones,
weren’t so susceptible to ego and idealism.

The morning hadn’t been without its
humiliating moments when the agents exchanged looks as they’d gone
over the facts and evidence. He was thirty years old, had traveled
a good bit, and had considered himself anything but naive. But he
didn’t need raised brows to see what they were thinking about him.
It made him damned angry. However, given that his fate was in their
hands, he’d played whatever game was on the table during these past
months. He had to, but it didn’t make the pill any less bitter to
swallow.

Sometime around midnight Noel finished
cleaning, and felt the scrapes and sore muscles and grime on
himself. He showered and pulled on soft Levis and sat against the
headboard looking out at the now shiny and clean space, like a
blank canvas. Only he knew he could wait forever for that urge to
paint to come over him and it wouldn’t.