Restoration: A Novel (Contemporary / Women's Fiction) (24 page)

He’d kissed many women, but she could tell by his patient
self-control he was a man who desired his partner’s satisfaction, content not
to rush their passion along or race ahead without first kindling it within both
of them.  He kissed her tenderly, probing her mouth, patiently searching for
the right kiss while she followed his lead, searching with him.

Kenyon slipped his hand out of hers and used it to free
her body from her blouse and bra.  He pulled her toward him.  Her soft breasts
pressed into his firm chest while he kept his lips against hers and unfastened
his jeans.  Reluctantly, he pulled his mouth away and, after he slipped out of
his jeans, he helped her out of the rest of her clothing.

When their clothes lay at their feet in crumpled heaps,
they stepped back to admire the other’s body.  With a satisfied smile on his
face, his outstretched hands invited her to draw close to him again.  She did
and he kissed her, caressed her and combed his hands through her hair, in no
rush to hurry things along. 

His hand explored her body, then slid down her side and
followed the crease between her thigh and pelvis, venturing into the warm, wet
space between her legs.  His fingers entered her and she moaned.  She wanted to
lie down, draw him next to her and revel in the sensation building in her body,
but he resisted her attempts to coax him to the floor.  As she arched her back,
her toes lifted her body up, and just as the tremors within her were about to
peak, he withdrew his hand.

“Not yet,” he whispered in her ear and slipped away from
her.

The muscles in her stomach and legs were weak from
tightening and clutching onto the combustion his touch created.  He came up
behind her, put his arms around her and started massaging her breasts.  His
hands were black from the wet ash he’d scooped out of the bowl and now rubbed
into her skin.  Any objections or questions she had, he stifled by the sensual
way he worked the soot into her skin. 

After he painted her breasts with wet ash, he weaved his
hands through the triangle of hair between her legs, coating them with soot. 
Standing behind her, he kissed her neck and shoulder and urged her forward. 
She closed her eyes and tilted back her head, further exposing the sensitive
skin on her neck to him.  She felt his stiff arousal rubbing against her while
he encouraged her halting feet forward.  She opened her eyes to gain her
bearings.

Looming in front of her, Tess saw one of the empty canvases
that leaned against the apartment wall.

Kenyon crouched slightly.  His erection slipped between
her legs and he drew one hand away from her breasts to help guide himself, then
pressed the other against her flat stomach, steadying the back of her body
against the front of his.  As his arousal pierced her, he pushed his body
against hers and pressed her body into the canvas, searing her blackened
breasts and triangle of hair onto the white field.

Tess trudged into her apartment, through the living room
and into the bathroom.  She grimaced at her fatigued reflection greeting her in
the mirror.  Dark half-moons bruised the space beneath her eyes.  A hazy pink
hue coated the whites of her eyes, etched with red lines.  She saw her reflection
reaching to touch the smudged fingerprint on her neck.  A quick splash of water
to her face was all she’d managed before leaving Kenyon amidst the rubble of
their artistic and physical frenzy.  Beneath her clothing, dried soot still
coated her body.

She reached into the shower, turned it on and then
undressed.  Slipping her hand into the shower’s spray, she tested the water’s
temperature before submitting herself to it.  She stepped in and the hot water
pelted her skin and melted the ashes.  Rivers of dark water streaked down her
breasts, washing down her legs and forming a shallow black pool at her feet.

As she washed, her soapy hands traced the path Kenyon’s
had followed, over her breasts, down her belly and along her thighs.  She
watched the continual spray of fresh water dilute the ink-colored water
surrounding her feet, turning it gray and then clear as the evidence from her
tryst swirled down the drain.

Before she’d left, he’d asked to see her again, but she
knew neither would be wounded if that didn’t happen.  Their encounter left no
lasting marks, no permanent links to their souls or chains on their hearts. 
She’d vanquished Randall Wright’s control over her creative vision and found
passion with a man who, if there was to be a sequel, guaranteed her a
thoughtful lover, intelligent conversation and shared interests. 

In all respects, it had been a perfect evening; except,
her contentedness with him had ended as soon as her orgasm had faded.

Tess had always chosen foreplay over courtship, copulation
over coupling and immediate gratification over the chore of building trust. 
Kenyon had posed the question to her, asking if this wasn’t who she really
was.  She knew that was who she’d been.  It was a formula she wasn’t ashamed of
and made no apologies for, but in the aftermath of her sanitized sex with
Kenyon, untainted by words of everlasting love, she knew that was no longer who
she wanted to be.  It was as simple as that.

It wasn’t only that she’d tried being different; she felt
different and realized she wanted something different.

Through the spray of the water, she heard her phone
ringing.  The recorder would get it.  She immersed her head beneath the
shower’s stream, closed her eyes and allowed the warm water to massage her
scalp before moving her neck and shoulders into the water’s pulsating path. 
The hot water relaxed her tired body.  She reached for the shower faucet.  The
thought of expending any energy to crawl under her bed covers overwhelmed her.

Stepping out of the shower, Tess toweled herself dry. 
From the living room, the phone continued its incessant ringing.  She stared
out the bathroom door, glaring at the recorder that wasn’t doing the only job
it was commissioned to do.  If she’d had any energy left, she’d have screamed
at the phone to shut up; instead, she slipped into her robe, left the steamy
bathroom and relented to the demanding ring by picking it up.  She quickly
forgave it when she noticed the solid red light glowing next to the replay
button.  The recorder was full.

“Hello.”

“Finally!  Where have you been?”

Tess closed her eyes, attempting to recall the voice on
the other end of the phone.  Her mind was slow to work in the haze that
followed a sleep-starved two days.  Or had it been three?  Maybe it had only
been one but felt like many more.  She didn’t know.  The nap she’d taken at the
studio in Kenyon’s arms wasn’t enough to rejuvenate her. 

While time had escaped her, the world had turned without
her noticing much else besides her own existence, marked with bouts of
creativity and passion.

“We’ve been worried about you.  Where have you been?”

“Sharon?”

“Yes!  Tess, are you all right?”

“Yeah.”  She sank to the sofa, rubbing her eyes and
struggling to regain her bearings.

“I’ve been calling all morning.”

“I’m fine.  Just got a little delayed.” 

She squinted at the clock on the wall.  It was almost two
in the afternoon.  She wanted to ask what day it was but thought better of it. 
Eventually, it would come to her.   

“I got the message you left over the weekend saying you
were catching a later flight out on Monday and wouldn’t be back until today. 
Maybe I misunderstood your message, but it was too late to check because I
deleted it.  When you didn’t come in today I started calling.”

“It’s Tuesday?”  She tried sounding confident instead of
questioning.

“All day.  Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah, positive.” 

“You can probably erase most of the messages on your
machine.  It’s just me worried about you.”

“Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine.  Just a little
tired.  Sorry I didn’t call.  I was tied up with something else.  It slipped my
mind.  You know how it goes.  Tell Mr. Mazzaro I’m sorry about today and I’ll
be in first thing tomorrow morning.  I’ll talk to him myself and explain.”

“Save yourself the trouble.  I told him he’d given you
today off.  He gave me this funny look, but I think he was worried that his
mind is starting to slip.  I didn’t want him worrying about you, too.”

“You take care of all of us, don’t you?”

“It’s the unwritten part of my job description.”

“Thank you, Sharon.”

“Is everything all right?”  Sharon fished again for an
explanation.

“Just family stuff that needed my attention.  Nothing
serious.”

“I was hoping you’d eloped or something savory like that,
but my fantasy theory was shot to hell when your boyfriend called looking for
you.”

“Who?”

“Who?  How many do you have?  Obviously too many to keep
track of, right?  The writer guy.”

“Ben,” she said under her breath and sank farther back
into the sofa, biting her lip to quell the groan lurking behind the sound of
his name.  “What did he say?”

“He didn’t leave a message.  In fact, he didn’t even leave
his name when I asked who I could say was calling for you.  But I recognized
his voice.”

“Oh,” Tess murmured beneath her breath, disappointed. 

“Before I let you go, Francesca wants to speak with you. 
Let me put you on hold and buzz her.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tess clamped her hand over the spot on her neck where
she’d just washed away Kenyon’s fingerprints and squeezed her tender skin until
it ached.  She and Ben hadn’t exchanged words of love, although he’d already
proclaimed his to her.  They hadn’t promised lives based on fidelity and trust;
no such commitment existed between them, but she knew she’d betrayed him yet
again and wondered if her sabotage was beyond repair.

“Tess,” Francesca’s lilting voice came through the phone,
“thank goodness you are fine.  Is everything all right?”

“I think so.”  She released her grip on her neck and
allowed her hand to slide to her lap.  “I painted.”

“Magnifico!  Oh Tess, I am so happy for you.  I thought I
had great news, but you have trumped me.”

“What is it?”

“You are going to Florence.”

“When?”

“In two weeks.”

“So soon?”

“There is a project in Florence we did not anticipate
starting for another six or nine months.  It was moved up to ensure its
completion before the five-hundredth anniversary celebration of the artist’s
birth.  The conservator scheduled to work on it will not be done with his
current project until at least the spring.  It will not give us enough time to
start and finish this one.  Someone else needs to do it.  I suggested you.”

“Me?”  The idea of being in Florence before Christmas
stunned her.

“In October I was in Florence assessing it with Gisela, so
I am very familiar with the requirements of the restoration.  It will be
perfect for you.  You have all the expertise this type of restoration
requires.  It will take at least a year, probably a year and a half to
complete.  Gianni has agreed to allow Florence to borrow you.

“No doubt, you will be asked to stay on with them when it
is completed.  You will then have to decide if you have had your fill of
Florence, but that is a long way off.”

“Who’s the artist?  What needs to be done?”

“I have photographs, images, drawings and a chemical
analysis; everything is here.  I will go over it all with you tomorrow.  You
will leave in two weeks for a short trip to familiarize yourself with the project. 
You can fly back here for Christmas, arrange for your move and head back after
the first of the year. 

“And Tess, while you are there, you will have the
opportunity to observe and learn about fresco restoration.  Gisela has promised
me that.”

After hanging up the phone, Tess curled up on the sofa. 
Her encounter with Kenyon didn’t seem as damaging as it had five minutes ago. 
She was moving to Florence.  That fact alone sealed the fate of any
relationship she’d contemplated with Ben.  She hadn’t expected to go until at
least spring or summer.  There was too much to do in the next two weeks to get
ready.

Somewhere in the midst of her planning for Florence and
self-exoneration of her sins, she fell asleep. 

***

Vaguely aware that she hovered between the conscious and
unconscious worlds, Tess heard the muffled ringing of her phone in her dream. 
The ringing became sharper and finally pulled her out of her sleep.  Her eyes
opened.  Evening’s shadows had replaced the daylight that filtered in when she
first lay down.  She squinted to read the clock in the kitchen but couldn’t see
it clearly enough.  She didn’t know how long she’d slept, only that her woozy
head suggested it hadn’t been long enough.  

She sat up, her head spinning, and picked up the phone. 
“Hello.”

“I expected the answering machine,” Ben said.

“Ben?”

“Hello, Tess.”

“Hello,” she repeated, not sure what else to say.

“I called a few times these past few days and kept getting
your answering machine, but I didn’t leave a message.”

She stared at the recorder’s red light glowing in the
dark.  “So all these really are Sharon’s.”

“Pardon me?”

“Nothing.  The recorder is stuffed with messages, so you
wouldn’t have gotten through tonight.  I’ll have to do.”

“You were my first choice anyway.”

“So how are you?” she asked.

“I’ve been keeping busy.  And you?”

“About the same.  How was your Thanksgiving?”

“Mom really outdid herself this year.  Turkey and
honey-baked ham.  It was a real treat.  Of course, I ate too much.”

“You’re supposed to on that day.”

Their mundane chitchat was very different from the
contentious conversation that had marked his exit from her life until now.  A
lull settled between them and her mind sifted through the past weeks for any
innocuous events she could share that had happened since she’d last seen him. 
Nothing seemed simple enough to share.  Land mines littered her everyday life.