The Convent Rose (The Roses) (13 page)

Bodey searched for Eve again. He’d implied to his rivals that they would be together, but she hadn’t asked him to accompany her. However, this absurd moment needed to be shared with the woman he loved. He looked across the installation seeking her and found instead Archie and Roger in their white suits, expressions of glee on their faces. Roger made eye contact with Bodey and gave his little finger wave. Bodey started to sink back into the crowd, but thought better of it and stood his ground. He returned the gesture with a real wave. Roger’s eyes brightened. Then, Bodey put his hand down and retreated into the mass of people.

“Watch where you’re going, cowboy,” Eve’s voice said right behind him. “Let the Sisters through to have a look.”

“Oh my!” exclaimed Sr. Helen, placing a trembling, liver-spotted hand over the plain gold cross she wore at her neck. Her other hand rested on a cane hand-painted with tiny birds and flowers in brilliant oranges, yellows, and greens.

Sr. Inez murmured, “Saints alive!” and leaned heavily on the blackthorn walking stick a former student brought her from Ireland. The wooden cross on its leather thong around her neck bounced up and down as she coughed to suppress her laughter.

“Yeah, I thought it looked like a big ole—rocket ship, too.” Bodey suppressed the urge to jump in front of their view and spare the elderly nuns—and Eve—the sight.

“It is rather, well, phallic, I suppose,” Eve said delicately.

“That’s the word I was lookin’ for, phallic, that’s the exact word.” Bodey grinned.

“Sisters, why don’t we move inside before all the chairs are taken? Red paid for some lovely refreshments. You can sit and look at the paintings,” Eve suggested.

Bodey went first, breaking a way through the mob heading en masse toward the food tables while Eve shuttled her guests to the lobby. The elderly nuns creaked slowly toward a curvaceous love seat upholstered in burgundy leather occupying the center of the room after Bodey politely evicted two lounging teenagers with purple hair and multiple piercings.

When the male half of the matching couple raised an objection, Bodey leaned forward and whispered, “Look, they got free wine over there. If they won’t serve you, I’ll bring you some. Go try your luck.”

“Frigid, cowboy dude,” the guy answered and slouched away with his girlfriend.

“How nice of those young people to give up their seats.” Sr. Helen lowered herself onto the cushy leather.

“And they say today’s youth have no manners,” Sr. Inez agreed. “Eve, you haven’t introduced us to your friend.”

“Sr. Helen, Sr. Inez, this Bodey Landrum, four time All-Around Cowboy, five time World Champion Bull Rider, male model, fledgling painter, and who knows what else,” Eve announced.

“Exactly. I’ve got all kinds of potential. Pleased to meet you.” Bodey raised a hand to his forehead as if he wanted to tip his hat, then let it drop to his side again not sure if a person should shake with a nun.

“Eve, dear, would you get me a napkin? My poor old eyes are watering from the glare off that sculpture.” Sr. Inez chuckled softly. As Eve moved off, she added, “Doesn’t our Eve look exactly like a bride tonight in that white dress, Mr. Landrum?”

Bodey regarded Eve’s gown, a far cry from the sexy little black dress of the last art walk. Tonight, she dressed in gauzy white from her high lace collar and long sleeves down to the toes of her low, white sandals. Her braid wrapped around her head like a crown secured with pearl-headed pins and a single white camellia. In Bodey’s opinion, she looked more uptight and locked down than usual, but still beautiful and unattainable.

“You don’t have to hit me with an anvil, Sister. I proposed the other night. She shot me down just like she did fifteen years ago when I asked her out.”

“Time and prayer, my son,” Sr. Helen recommended.

“Yeah, I guess that is supposed to heal all wounds. Must work for some people.”

Eve returned with a paper napkin and stood by while Sr. Inez dabbed her eyes.

“How about if we go get you something to eat and drink,” Bodey suggested to gain more time alone with Eve.

“That would be lovely.” Sr. Helen gave the couple a saintly smile as they moved toward the refreshments. She turned to Sr. Inez. “Strong, clever, and usually confident, I’d say. He’s been bruised a bit lately.”

“Perhaps too confident, so a little bruising won’t hurt him,” Sr. Inez conjectured. “He’s definitely more suitable for our Eve than some artist who ran off to San Francisco when she needed his love and support. Bodey doesn’t seem like a man who would run.”

“Evan might have matured in the intervening years. Keep that in mind, Nessy. As for Hardy Courville, he is out of the question.”

A slim, fortyish blonde wearing a sophisticated powder blue suit with a pencil skirt approached the nuns’ couch. A silk scarf patterned with Van Gogh irises lay tucked under her jacket collar, the ends floating down her chest. She bent over to greet the Sisters, taking one of their hands in each of her own.

“I’m so glad you could come, Sisters. Eve must have brought you. She is so thoughtful. Are you enjoying the art?”

“Amanda Dwyer, so good to see one our best students again.”

“It’s been Amanda Courville for more than twenty years now.”

“Yes, we know. How are all your beautiful children?”

“The eldest is at Tulane. My youngest daughter will be transferring to the Academy next fall.”

“We’ll be so pleased to have her, another generation of Mt. Carmel girls. Amanda, dear, could you possibly bring the sculptor over to speak with us for a moment? We so admire his work and our old legs simply won’t hold us up for very long,” Sr. Helen asked. She could see Evan Adams standing in front of one of his pictures, expounding on it for an audience of three.

“Of course, only give me a moment.”

Amanda Courville crossed the room on her dyed to match pumps, placed a light hand on Evan’s arm, and gestured toward the nuns. Adams seemed annoyed to be interrupted, but allowed himself to be towed over to the sofa.

“Our sculptor, Evan Adams. Have a nice chat while I go greet some of our other guests.”

“Sit down, Mr. Adams. Don’t fidget!” Sr. Inez ordered.

Evan set his narrow ass into the small space they made for him. He hadn’t been to Mass since high school, but his upbringing forbade being rude to nuns.

“You’re one of Eve’s old friends from art school, aren’t you?” Sr. Helen queried.

“An intimate old friend.” Evan smirked, as if a nun would have no idea to what he was inferring.

“You want her to return to San Francisco with you.”

“She’ll never amount to anything in the art world in this backwater. She should come with me and develop her talent. I’ll introduce her around, encourage her to explore new horizons.”

“Eve will make a beautiful bride,” Sr. Helen claimed, her head bobbing gently in time with her heartbeat.

“She was such a lonely child. Eve will want a large family, I’m sure. Hasn’t she said so?” Sr. Inez asked her fellow nun.

“Our Eve will probably want a dozen,” Sr. Helen said.

“No, no. What I had in mind was a creative collaboration. No children, messy little rug rats that they are. I am married to my art, you see, as you are to—ah—God, you understand.” Evan squirmed in his seat.

“Children are the epitome of creative collaboration, wouldn’t you say, Sr. Inez?”

“The epitome, and with Eve being such a good Catholic—”

Evan shot to his feet. “It’s been so nice chatting with you, but…”

“Oh, sit, sit,” Sr. Helen yanked at his arm far stronger than she appeared. “Let’s talk about your sculpture. It’s so dynamic. I understand Mr. Courville paid $250,000 for that piece and took you into his home while
Progress
was being installed. He and Amanda must be very fond of you.”

“As I am of them. Truthfully, I could have gotten twice that amount on the coast, but the Courvilles appreciate my work. I’ve been looking for new venues outside the bay area.”

“Amanda was one of our Academy girls, you know. Isn’t she a beautiful and gracious hostess? Did she show you around and see you were well taken care of in every way during your stay?”

“Yes, yes, beautiful, gracious, showed me around a bit, let me use her car. Now in
Progress
I was trying to capture the elemental …”

“Mr. Adams, we shouldn’t keep you any longer. If you see Mr. Courville, would you send him our way, please? We do want to thank him for sponsoring this wonderful exhibit.” Sr. Helen dropped Evan’s hand.

For a moment, he looked like a captive animal unsure if the cage door had truly been left open. Then, he backed slowly away from the nuns. “So nice meeting you.” Evan fled.

Bodey and Eve returned from the refreshment table, successful after a long wait in line. They carried clear plastic plates laden with little spinach quiches, bacon-wrapped shrimp, tiny hot dogs in a picante sauce, a small cluster of red grapes and a few wedges of fresh pineapple. Sr. Inez speared a wiener on a toothpick and popped it in her mouth. She fanned her lips.

“Spicy. Bodey, Eve, perhaps a small glass of wine.” Off the couple went again.

Hardy Courville hastened over. “Sorry I didn’t get to you sooner, Sisters. Are you having a nice time?”

“Oh, we are. Mr. Adams was so informative, and he just went on and on about your beautiful wife, how she accommodated him in every way, how they had such a good time in her car. Wasn’t that what he said, Nessy? You must be so proud of Amanda,” Sr. Helen gushed.

“No, Sr. Helen, I’m not sure those were his words. He did say how fond he was of Amanda, how lovely she is, and how they went around a bit. I can tell Amanda is a little lonely now that the children are nearly grown. I am sure Mr. Adams was great company for her while you were at work and the children attended classes. He seems to be a talented man in so many ways.”

Sr. Inez nodded toward Evan who regaled rather loudly a cluster of young women with tales of the San Francisco art world. Amanda Courville joined the group and laughed at one of his anecdotes with her head tilted back, her light blue eyes sparkling.

Sr. Helen observed the scene. “Your wife is still a fine looking woman, even after giving birth to your four lovely children.”

Hardy stared at his wife as if he hadn’t seen her in years. Amanda always kept herself thin and impeccably dressed. He watched as she put a hand on Evan’s shoulder and begged him to stop making her laugh so hard. The nuns glanced at each other, then back at Hardy like gypsy mind readers discerning his every inner thought—when was the last time she’d laughed at his jokes that way? When had he last told her a joke?

“So if you have everything you need, Sisters, I have to take care of some business.” Red couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of Amanda as Evan gave her a fond squeeze of the shoulders.

“I thought he was after Eve,” Hardy muttered under his breath. “Right under my nose, in my own house, and I missed it.”

“Artists are so fickle in their tastes, don’t you think, Sr. Helen? First one style attracts them, then another,” Sr. Inez went on as if her sharp ears hadn’t heard a thing. “Hardy, dear boy, I see another of our old girls over there. Would you ask Renee to come visit with us?”

“Sure, sure.”

On his way to reclaim his wife, Hardy spoke a few words to Renee Hayes who stood by her three paintings and fished for compliments. Renee raised her eyebrows but strolled in the direction of the nuns, working her hips under a tight, electric blue dress with a sway worthy of a streetwalker on very high heels.

“Sisters, have you taken a look at my paintings yet? Remember, I got my start in your art class, Sr. Helen.”

“I remember you well, my child. We took a look on our way in, but somehow I don’t think Mr. Landrum wears his pants that low. Who modeled for the torso?”

“Oh, my yard man. Doesn’t he have a delicious physique?”

“Certainly statuesque. What do you think of Mr. Adams’ sculpture?”

“I find it rather suggestive.”

Sr. Helen choked on a bite of quiche. Sr. Inez pounded her back.

“But worth $250,000. He told us he can get twice that on the coast. Mr. Adams must be very well off. Sadly, he and Eve aren’t compatible on the child issue. He doesn’t want any, and Eve would probably have a dozen if she could. I fear for their relationship. Now if Mr. Landrum is as—ah, masculine—as you’ve painted him, Renee, well, that’s a man who wants a family, perhaps a big family, to raise on a huge ranch in west Texas where you can see for miles and no lights shine on the horizon to blot out the stars. I’m just speculating, of course,” Sr. Helen said sweetly after catching her breath.

“Excuse me, Sisters. I see someone interested in my pictures. I might have a sale.” Renee hurried off to where two men in white suits regarded the paintings of Bodey, his front and backside, and the black yard man with lascivious smiles on their faces.

“Here you go, Sisters. Two white wines and two red. Take your pick.” Bodey held out the glasses of red and Eve the white. Sr. Inez seized the pinot noir and tossed it back. Sr. Helen sipped on the chardonnay genteelly.

“Thank you, we were so thirsty from talking. If you would help us up, we’ll take a closer look at the art now. You young people go and enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Find me when you want to go home. Nothing ever sells at an art walk. I don’t have to stay all night,” Eve told the nuns as they hobbled away, leaning heavily on their canes.

“Thanks, Bodey, for being so kind to them. The Sisters mean the world to me.”

“Not their fault they’re old and helpless.”

“I guess we’ll all be that way some day. Roger and Archie are certainly taking an interest in your portraits.”

“Now that just gives me the willies. Can we hide out somewhere behind a potted palm or something?” Bodey led the way toward a cluster of tastefully arranged plants the size of small trees. They drank their wine and watched art connoisseurs pass by.

“Hardy gave you the best place. He put your giant landscape on the wall nearest the food table. Lots of people are taking a closer look after they stuff their faces,” Bodey remarked.