Patchouli For Christmas

PATCHOULI FOR CHRISTMAS

Bren Christopher

www.loose-id.com

Patchouli for Christmas

Copyright © December 2011 by Bren Christopher

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eISBN 978-1-61118-668-0

Editor: G. G. Royale

Cover Artist: Anne Cain

Printed in the United States of America

Published by

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Chapter One

“But do you have anything like…I don’t know…one of those Norman Rockwell things?”

“No.” The voice on the other end of the speakerphone spoke with the exaggerated patience of a serious
artiste
. The superior tone made Michael’s jaw clench, and that made his head hurt.

He persisted anyway. “How about something with some bright colors? If it’s not exactly
Christmassy,
then at least sort of, um, Christmas
ish
?”

“I don’t think that’s a real word. And no.”

Michael rested his elbows on the desk and cradled his head in his hands as he tried not to groan out loud. “Maybe,” he said weakly, “a nice landscape?”

“I don’t do that dime-store crap. I paint the state of the world. Dark, stormy nights. Floods. Abandoned houses and polluted, dying lakes. Despair.”

“Listen, Mr. Kendrick—Jude, isn’t it?—do you mean it’s all like the painting in your grandmother’s study? The black rock in the ocean?” Michael stared at the painting on the wall of Mrs. Kendrick’s office. Angry streaks of lightning crossed a black sky above a lone rock thrusting upward from violently crashing waves.

“You’ve seen it? One of my better pieces, I have to say. Yes, it’s pretty representative.”

“And…uh…she knows this?”

“Of course.” There was a pause, and then, as if in an effort to sound reasonable, Jude added, “I could do the really depressing stuff. Starving children, torture scenes…”

Michael listened in horror. He was supposed to get paintings from this guy for a damned holiday party?

To his relief, Jude continued, “But that’s too real for me, you know? If I did that, I’d be jumping off the roof on Christmas Eve. Sometimes I just do splashes of color to, like,
represent
the chaos. Yeah…” Jude’s voice turned thoughtful. “That’s a good name for a new one—Chaos—slap on some carmine and black. Maybe some cadmium yellow…” The voice trailed off. With an abrupt, “Gotta go, man. The muse is calling,” the phone clicked.

“Wait! I need to… Ah, damn it.” Michael stabbed at the phone to end the call. Now that was just rude. Rude Jude. Despite his annoyance, Michael couldn’t help a little snicker at his own cleverness.

Then he groaned and slumped forward until his forehead rested against the satiny wood of the cherry desk. He breathed in the scent of some expensive polish. It smelled a little like almonds. It smelled a lot like money. The money of his best client, who expected him to obtain paintings from her precious grandson to decorate her annual Christmas Eve party.

She’d been satisfied enough with his work the previous year to give him some referrals and to call him to plan the event again. But this would be the last time she called him. It would be the end of expanding his client list through her socially prominent friends. Maybe the end of his business. He squeezed his eyes shut. Definitely a headache coming on.

Drama queen
. Doug’s favorite term to call him when his brother thought he was overreacting. Hard as he tried to hang on to his bad mood, a spark of amusement forced one corner of Michael’s mouth into a slight smile. Doug would be back from his accounting conference soon, and they had an appointment to go over the books later in the week. He’d get a kick out of hearing about the dilemma. Decorate a holiday party with a bunch of angry, depressing paintings.

He sat up and ran his fingers through his fine hair in an attempt to smooth it back into place. None too soon, as he heard the thump of Mrs. Kendrick’s cane as she made her way down the hall. Straightening his tie, he rose to greet her.

“Mrs. Kendrick.” He took her arm as she entered the spacious room and helped ease her onto the couch that ran along one wall. He sat beside her. “The arrangements are going well. I’m finalizing the schedule with the musicians tomorrow.”

She nodded. “And did you talk to Jude? I haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks. Such a sweet boy, but he gets strange this time of year—a little withdrawn.”

Michael’s headache grew worse as he gazed up at the painting and tried to reconcile the supercilious voice on the phone with Mrs. Kendrick’s doting image of her grandson.

She noticed the direction of his stare. “Lovely, isn’t it? My Jude is very talented.”

“I’m sure he’s an excellent artist, although I confess I’m no judge.”

She seemed amused. “I thought you were a New Yorker. You’re supposed to have an opinion about everything.”

Michael cleared his throat as he tried to think of a polite way to phrase his concern. “He told me most of his work is rather dark.”

“Oh yes. I’ve seen it. Quite dismal, really. Well done though, as it should be. That art school he went to cost me a small fortune.”

“I’m just not sure it’s entirely appropriate for the sort of cheerful holiday party you might have in mind.”

“Nonsense. You’ve seen the guest list. Many of New York’s most influential people will be here. Gallery owners. Critics from the newspapers. It’s a perfect showcase for his art. I’m certain you’ll manage to show the work to advantage and still give us a delightful venue for the party.”

Michael found himself caught between pride at her faith in him and fear that he would fail her. Right where she wanted him to be.
Manipulative old woman
. No wonder she’d been so successful at running her husband’s company after he’d died. Retirement might have softened the edges a little, but occasionally he caught a glimpse of the uncompromising businesswoman under the kindly old-lady veneer. What could he say? “I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will, dear. My grandson is wonderfully talented, but he’s not good at promoting his work. When he’s not painting, he’s busy with all of his causes. So earnest. He really believes he can make the world a better place.” She sighed. “One day he’ll lose some of that innocence, but I hope it won’t be soon.”

Knowing Mrs. Kendrick’s own involvement in a multitude of charities, Michael had to look away to hide his amusement as he struggled to keep from making a crack about the apple not falling far from the tree. She had put her wealth to good use, and he had always held her in high regard for her activities.

“And what of your brother and his lovely wife?” she asked. “They must come to the party.”

Michael paused in surprise. “That’s very kind of you.” Doug and Lauren certainly didn’t move in the same social circles as Mrs. Kendrick and her friends.

“Douglas has been most helpful in straightening out the finances of one of the children’s charities I help run, and his wife has volunteered much of her time to the organization. They deserve a lovely night out. I’ll see they’re sent an invitation.”

“I’m sure they’ll be happy to accept.” Michael had known his small event planning business was only one of Doug’s many clients, but hadn’t realized his brother had become so successful. He couldn’t wait to tell Doug about the invitation.

“Are you spending Christmas Day with them?”

“Yes. I always enjoy watching my nephews open their presents.”

She nodded in approval. “I haven’t met them, but I’m sure the children are delightful.”

“They’re good kids. I took them to see the tree at Rockefeller last year.” He touched his silk tie. “They gave me this for Christmas.”

“It’s lovely. No doubt they had some help from Lauren picking it out. The blue matches your eyes.”

Michael stood, and then helped Mrs. Kendrick to her feet. She hooked her arm through his. They walked through a hall decorated with wreaths and bright red bows. The thump of her cane echoed from the oak floors with every slow step.

At least she’d already had the professional holiday decorators in, probably the day after Thanksgiving. That would save him some work, although he might add a few touches here and there. The scent of pine filled the air and underlying it, a slight aroma of cinnamon and apples. He wondered if that came from candles or someone actually baking. Regardless of the origin, it made his stomach rumble, and he realized he hadn’t eaten since early morning.

They made small talk as they left the hall and strolled through the spacious living area to the private elevator. Michael glanced out the wide glass doors leading to the rooftop patio of the penthouse. The lights of the city brightened as twilight fell. No wonder his stomach growled. How had it gotten so late?

The living and hall areas already held several paintings as well as wreaths. Lovely, benign landscapes, he noted with a suppressed sigh. He paused by the giant Christmas tree filling one corner of the large foyer leading into the living room.

Surveying the area, he tried to ascertain which of the pictures and other decorations would have to be removed to make room for the new work. “How many of your grandson’s paintings do you want to hang?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, dear. Whatever he wants to show.”

The voice on the phone hadn’t sounded interested in showing much of anything. Michael bit back another sigh.

“I’ll call him,” Mrs. Kendrick continued. “He has a loft in SoHo. You can help select the paintings first thing tomorrow. Why, it’s only two weeks until Christmas. If I rely on him to do it, he’ll be at one of those meetings to save the whales or the rainforests or whatever, and he’ll just forget.”

Terrific
. As if Michael had nothing better to do tomorrow morning. He’d have to call the florists and push his appointment to the afternoon. Pulling on his leather jacket, he prepared to brave the chill of a December evening.

At the elevator doors, she stopped him with a hand on his arm. She appeared to be studying him. He shifted, a little uncomfortable under a gaze which no longer seemed entirely friendly. Mrs. Kendrick gave his arm a final squeeze and then let him go when the elevator doors opened. As he stepped inside, she pressed the button to hold the doors open.

He turned to face her as she added, “Oh, and Michael… One more thing.” For a moment, steel glinted in her faded brown eyes. “You’re a handsome, charming man, and Jude is a bit…sensitive. Like you, if you know what I mean. But not quite as worldly and
experienced
as you are, dear. I do hope you won’t take advantage.” Then she stepped back, releasing the button.