The Art of Appreciation (12 page)

“I just…I don’t know,” Abby admitted in a low voice.

“We’ll play it by ear, okay?” Matt murmured into her hair, smelling salt and sunshine and a lingering note of her shampoo. Leaning back, he tilted her face up with one finger. “No pressure. I promise that.” He smiled down at her. “Benefit of dating an older man. We can be patient. For a while.”

O
PENING
H
IS
F
R
ONT
D
OOR
, Matt was surprised to find a sheepish Chris sprawled on the couch, eating popcorn and watching
Kill Bill
. He sat up, brushing errant crumbs off his shirt and into his bowl. “Sorry about this, cuz. I couldn’t find a flop tonight. I swear I’ll sleep in the Jeep.” His eyes darted behind Matt. “Where’s the pretty lady?”

Matt tossed his keys toward the basket on the table and missed completely. “Crap,” he mumbled, scooping them off the floor and dropping them safely inside the basket. “She’s at home. I told you I don’t bring women here. Best instruction I ever got from my dad.” Matt didn’t mention that he’d considered bringing someone home for the first time ever that night.

Chris looked down at the hands that were loosely clasped between his knees as his forearms rested on his thighs. “Dude. That’s saying a lot—your dad is pretty badass—but you know he had his own reasons for keeping things simple.”

Matt just shook his head, not feeling up to a discussion of his parents’ relationship. Whether Ted Clarke had decided that his ex-wife was his one and only love or whether he just liked his peace had been fodder for speculation for years; either way, Matt thought keeping things simple made sense.

He dropped his bag on the floor and headed for the kitchen. “Well, it’s worked for me for years, Chris. What did you have for dinner?”

Chris followed, bowl in hand. “That attitude, man…You’re going to risk missing out on something that could be incredible because something bad
might
happen?” He shook his head. “Man, there’s nothing like waking up with the woman you’re digging on all warm and soft against you. If there’s nakedness involved, it’s even better.”

Matt gave up on real food and grabbed a handful of popcorn. “Like that’s news to me. Married once, remember?” He shoved a few kernels of corn into his mouth and crunched, wondering vaguely what Kate was up to these days. “Besides, what makes you think I’m digging on Abby? Why can’t we just be friends?”

Chris yawned and returned to the couch. “Call it a hunch from the fortune-teller.” He snickered. “Besides, you were a freakin’ nervous mess this morning. Friends don’t do that to you.”

Matt shook his head, smiling, and Chris continued. “And Kate doesn’t count. Too long ago. You were barely a zygote when that was on and over. I think I was in high school, maybe, when ya’ll split up.” He yawned again. “Try living with a crapload of men for way too long in the desert. Teaches you to appreciate a soft bed and a warm woman.”

Matt had never pried, no matter how much Chris’s mother asked him to, but for Chris to leave an opening to talk about his last couple of years in the military was rare. “There were women there, right?”

“Not where I was.” Chris’s eyes never left the screen, though his jaw tightened. He stopped on a channel and tossed the remote toward the coffee table. “How about a little
Matrix
?” The subject was clearly closed.

Matt settled back against the cushions and grabbed another handful of popcorn. “Only if you promise not to geek out on me again. Explanations of how this is possible just make my head ache.”

“It was the tequila that made your head ache. My explanations were perfect. I know things.” Chris tapped his temple and grinned.

As he got ready for bed after the movie, Matt pondered the day to come. Surprisingly, his meeting with Bambi and The Corpse occupied very little of his thoughts. Maybe it was because Claire would be there and Matt knew he could count on her to take care of all the real negotiations. What was occupying him were thoughts of Sarah and Pretty driving down an unfamiliar coast to a new town. She’d told him on the drive home that they planned on going to Monterey for the day, and that had him worried. He wished that he’d warned Abby about the panhandlers and the pickpockets that infested tourist towns, and he could have kicked himself for not recommending a few good places where they could get food at locals’ prices.

The logical part of his mind reminded him that the panhandlers in Santa Cruz were usually far more persistent than those in more affluent Monterey. Besides, Pretty and her friend came from one of the most tourist-clogged cities in the US—they must have a dose of good sense about what areas and people to avoid—but Mr. Logic was being out-shouted by Mr. Worry. Matt even went so far as to consider whether Claire could handle the meeting herself; if it hadn’t already been past midnight, he probably would have called her to ask.

Shaking his head at his own idiocy, he rinsed his mouth and wiped his face on the towel next to the sink. He made his way to bed and stripped down before climbing between the sheets. Plumping the pillow, he tried to relax on his back, throwing one arm over his head and listening to the sound of his heart. No good. He couldn’t get comfortable, and the bed felt cold. He moved his hand restlessly against the sheet, remembering the relief of Abby’s skin against his when their hands linked. His mind’s eye traveled up Abby’s arm and over the curve of her shoulder, lingering on the delicate structure of rib and clavicle at the top of her chest, the sweet dip between that bone and the muscle of her shoulder as it curved into her neck, and he could almost feel how silky and warm it would be under his tongue…

Damn it. Not where he wanted to go mentally, not when he had to be up in—Matt glanced at the clock and groaned—four hours if he wanted a run before the meeting. He flopped onto his side, hauled the other pillow over to him, and wrapped his arm around it. Unfortunately, that just reminded him of the way he’d wrapped his arm around Pretty, half-pulling her under his body and half-levering himself over her so he could kiss her the way he’d wanted to. And the way she’d asked him to. Matt could still feel her hands against his back, feel her shoulder move against his chest as her hand moved higher, her fingers curling around the muscles next to his spine and stroking the valley between them.

“Piss.” Matt sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. It was clear that he wasn’t going to sleep until he was exhausted. Sliding back into his shorts, he headed for the studio, knowing from long experience that work could calm his mind when nothing else stood a chance. As he passed his phone on the kitchen counter, he snagged it on impulse and carried it into the studio.

He was snapping on the overhead lights when its sudden chime made him jump. Looking at the display, he saw that it was after two in the morning. Who the hell would text at that hour?

Good luck w/ your meeting. I had a great time yesterday.

A smile crooked one side of his mouth upward. No need for any name.

I did too. Be careful today. Later. Whatever.

What are you doing up?

Matt approached the table with his Pretty statue, not even looking toward the finished Jason and almost completed Zoe mock-ups.

He replied, lifting the cloth off the clay so he could see his Pretty.

Can’t sleep.

Me either.

Why not?

Gathering tools from their set places, Matt waited to see what she’d answer. When no response came for several moments, he gave up and tossed the phone onto an adjoining table. Just then, it chimed again.

You. Good night, Matt.

Matt grinned and tapped in a reply.

Good. ’Night, Pretty.

Putting the phone down again, he turned to his statue and envisioned the smooth movement of Abby’s arms, the flexible strength of her body. Within minutes, he was absorbed in transferring everything he’d seen and experienced about her body into the clay before him. He shaped the roughed-in collarbones and shoulders into duplicates of the soft flesh and hard bone he’d had under his hands that afternoon. He’d intended to just work on the shoulders, but he found himself adjusting breasts and stomach muscles as well, shaping the curve of her waist and the swell of her hips. He became so absorbed in transcribing what he’d experienced, smoothing knife and wire marks with his fingers until all he could see was sleek clay, that he didn’t even hear Chris enter the studio. Matt finally noticed him patiently sitting on a low table, watching his older cousin with interest.

“New statue?” Chris swung one leg back and forth at the knee and examined the clay. Matt nodded. “It’s beautiful,” Chris said with quiet seriousness. “Did she commission it? The pretty lady?”

Warmth rose up Matt’s neck. He gently covered the statue, now more than half-finished. “No,” he admitted, unable to meet Chris’s eye, “and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to her. It’s just something to…de-stress, I guess. It’s nothing.”

“Right,” Chris said. “Have you been to bed at all?”

“Briefly.”

Chris held out the cup of coffee that had been sitting beside him. “Then you’ll need this. Didn’t you say that you have a breakfast meeting?”

“Yeah. I’m meeting Claire at the gallery at eight.” Matt gathered his tools and carried them over to the sink, only to turn back toward Chris when he chuckled.

Chris was rubbing his head and smiling. “Dude, it’s seven thirty right now. Don’t you have to shower or something?”

Matt’s eyes darted to the white clock face with stark black numbers and groaned. He’d spent five and a half hours on Abby’s likeness and missed any chance at sleep. “Fuck me.”

Chris strolled over to take the tools from Matt’s hands. He nodded toward the now-covered sculpture. “No thanks, but if Abby sees you like you see her, I don’t think lack of that will be a problem for long.” He nudged Matt toward the door. “Go. I’ll clean these. You’ve gotta get dressed up for The Man, right? Get that big paycheck.”

Matt thanked him and rushed out of the studio. He hurried through a shower and slipped into a pair of slacks, a button-down, and jacket, choosing to forego the tie this time because he only owned two and didn’t remember where either of them was.

He made it to Claire’s gallery just as she was heading out the door. “Impeccable timing as always, Matt.” Claire looked at him out of the corner of her eye as she locked the front door. “Of course, you were supposed to meet me here a half-hour ago, but at least you didn’t stand the Bakers up.” She walked toward her Lexus and nodded toward the passenger door.

“I’m so sorry, Claire.” He slid into the indicated seat and snapped his seatbelt closed. “I lost track of time, and…” He shrugged.

“Please tell me you were working.” Claire sounded amused. “Or have you gotten things straight with Abby? She impresses the hell out of me, you know. Smart girl.” She patted Matt’s knee. “Not enough of those over the years. Haven’t I always told you that you’ll never be satisfied with someone who doesn’t challenge you? That’s how I snagged Charles—I teased him cruelly and refused to let him sit on his piles of money and do nothing. Not unless he felt like being ridiculed.”

“Food for thought.” Matt rolled his eyes, and Claire slapped his leg. “Yes, I was working. And stop trying to play matchmaker. Abby…we’re…” He waved his hand vaguely. “She goes back to Boston in two months.”

“Mmm hmm. Try to play cool with someone else—someone who hasn’t known you for almost two decades. You don’t do ‘summer things.’ You do casual dates and hook-ups. None of which have ever made you smile like you do every time I talk about Abby.” Matt shook his head. “Well, something or someone had you pretty damned preoccupied this morning. Look at your feet.”

Glancing down, Matt was horrified. Instead of the dark loafers that he’d intended to wear, he’d slipped on his broken-down sandals. With socks. “Oh God…turn around.”

“Too late,” Claire said calmly. “Methuselah is known for his punctuality. Never early, never late. We just have time to get to the table—you can hide your feet under it. Pray you don’t have to pee until breakfast is over.” She reached into the back seat and grabbed a tie. “I brought one just in case.” She looked at Matt’s feet again and giggled. “Good Lord, Matt. I think you were wearing those when I met you in college. Don’t you get rid of anything?”

“Maybe I should start by getting rid of funny friends,” Matt grumbled, knotting the tie. “Thanks, by the way.”

“Anytime. Does my favorite student and good friend deserve less?”

After the restaurant hostess led them to their reserved table, Claire and Matt went over their pitch. He showed her pictures of the finished mock-ups and emphasized how important it was that they push terra-cotta. Guaranteeing delivery of three finished sculptures in that clay within a couple of months was going to be hard enough; Matt didn’t think the more traditional marble or granite would be possible at all.

Just as they were finishing, Claire looked up, and her professional smile covered her face. “Game time,” she whispered.

Carefully keeping his feet under the table, Matt stood to shake hands with the oldest man in North America and his child bride. Mr. Baker scrutinized Matt’s appearance and nodded approvingly. After they’d ordered and the meeting itself was in motion, Matt handed around the file of pictures he’d brought along. He had the feeling Baker had expected to see little progress; the old man seemed impressed that the two mock-ups were finished and the other sculptures already planned. Baker relaxed in his seat, lingering over the pictures of Zoe while his wife drooled over Jason, squealing that he was exactly what she’d had in mind.

Breakfast spilled over into lunchtime as Claire and Baker politely sparred over prices and materials. It became difficult for Matt to focus when his mind started to wander out the restaurant door. He hadn’t realized the reservations were in Monterey. If he had, he might have suggested to Abby that they meet. He was longing for a look at her; the comparison between her lithe body and the plastic surgery wonder that sat next to him was not trending well for Mrs. Baker. He pasted on a smile at one of her more obvious innuendo-laden comments and took a deep swallow of his water to avoid having to reply. Then he cursed under his breath, because he really did have to pee now.

In the end, Claire got what she wanted. Matt was glad once again that he’d had her as a teaching assistant in one of the first art classes he’d taken at UC Berkeley, where he’d hit on her and ended up as her friend. After marrying Charles Eastman, she combined her love for the arts with the financial acumen of Warren Buffett and became the best friend any artist could have.