Artistic License Page 2

  With the calendar date facing up at her, Annie sat in her kitchen, elbows propping her chin, staring at nothing. Memory fragments flipped through her brain like a poorly edited movie. She ought to call her sister Karla.

  She ought to splash cold water on her face and get started.

  She knew what she ought to do, but she also knew she had no energy for any of it.

  With a sigh, she closed her eyes. Then jumped as the phone rang.

  Instinctively, she moved to answer it, stopping herself with her hand poised over the receiver as it rang a second time. She looked at the clock. Nine in the morning meant that it was probably a telemarketer and she didn’t feel like dealing with that at the moment. The answering machine could pick it up.

  Sitting down again, she heard her own chipper voice on the tape and waited while the machine clicked and beeped.

  “Annie?”

  It was Gary. Thank God she hadn’t picked up.

  “Umm. I . . . I need some help here.”

  You and me both, she thought.

  “Could you meet me tomorrow? In the morning? At . . . uh . . . the, hang on . . .” Annie heard him talking with someone in the background, and from the muffled words, she assumed Gary’s hand was over the mouthpiece. When he came back, his words rushed out. “Yeah, sorry. I’ll be at the Court building. The one at Twenty-sixth and California, Courtroom 324. You’ll be able to find it, won’t you? And bring some money. Cash. As much as you can, okay?” He mumbled a few more details as Annie scrambled up, reaching for the phone. “Nine o’clock tomorrow. Uh . . . Bye.”

  Annie lifted the receiver just as Gary hung up.

  She waited, as if expecting it to ring again, while she tried to sort through the hundred questions that were flying through her mind. She replayed the message, twice.

  With a numbness borne of confusion, Annie sat down. The window across from her framed a small part of the bright, cloudless July sky. A beautiful day. Picture-perfect. Her mind registered that tidbit the same detached way it recognized her own hands, folded like a schoolgirl’s, resting on the gleaming oak table top, poised in anticipation.

  Chapter Two

  Sam Morgan sat on the pink-striped seat of the white wrought iron chair and stared at the long blank wall across from him. He glanced at his watch. Ten-thirty. Annie Callaghan was due here any minute and he still didn’t have any ideas for the mural he’d hired her to paint.

  Okay, that wasn’t true. He’d had several dozen thoughts, but none of them grabbed him. None of them fit with his visions for this place. He craned his neck to glance around. What had once been a large free-standing sports bar in the center of the Chicago suburb of Tinley Park was now Millie’s Ice Cream Parlour and Restaurant. The old owners, caught in a sting operation for selling liquor to minors, had had their license revoked and they’d gone under. A little clean-up, a little change in décor, and now the place sparkled.

  Warm honey-colored oak gave the restaurant an air of yesteryear. The massive former bar took up one wall along the far side. Now it served as the soda fountain, with a brass footrest running the length and Tiffany-style lights hanging above. Two teenage boys behind the counter, dressed in white long-sleeve shirts with striped vests and bow ties, pulled sundae glasses from the rack over their heads and spun them with cocky flair. Ragtime piano syncopations provided the background music, giving the impression of having just stepped back in time to the Victorian era.

  In the past three months since he’d opened Millie’s, the place had really gained a following. July’s hot weather kept people scurrying in for air-conditioning and frosty treats. Sam hoped to keep it open eight months each year—which wouldn’t be bad for a Chicagoland location. The first three Millie’s, in Georgia and Florida, stayed open year-round. With any luck, he’d be able to start selling franchises soon.

  Grabbing the chair by its seat, he repositioned himself to be able to see the front door of his shop. The restaurant opened every morning at eleven in the summer months, and he’d planned to discuss plans with Annie for a little bit before the lunchtime crowd hit. He was still surprised at himself for hiring her. Although she hadn’t said it in so many words, he’d gotten the distinct impression that he was her first client.

  Her portfolio, though filled with pictures, featured different views of only four rooms: a living room, a bathroom, and two bedrooms. One of the bedrooms had been painted to resemble an African jungle, with Victoria Falls and Mount Kilimanjaro in the distance.

  “Wow,” he’d said, pointing to the photographs. “I’ll bet that room would be hard to sleep in at night. Make you feel like there’d be wild animals coming to get you.”

  “It’s not so bad,” she’d said. “I find it kind of soothing.”

  Sam had nodded, realizing these were pictures of her own home and, despite the business savvy she exuded, this Annie Callaghan was just starting out. She’d stood next to him as he flipped through her book, her blue eyes bright with anticipation every time he looked over to her. And that’s what did it for him. While good business sense told him that he should hire a “name” to do the work he wanted, he sensed that Annie had spunk. And he was a sucker for enthusiasm.

  He looked at the wall again. Ten feet tall and about twenty feet wide, it was going to be a massive project. He wondered about that.

  And Annie Callaghan hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring. He wondered about that, too.

  He heard a tap on the glass door behind him, and turned. Annie waved without smiling. Sam gestured her in.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said.

  “Don’t worry, I was just sitting here thinking,” he said. “Trying to figure out what’ll work. Any ideas?”

  Annie bit her lip and smiled a little.

  “Actually,” she said, “I’d given it a lot of thought over the week and I came up with some preliminary sketches. . . .” She dug through her large black portfolio and riffled through some papers, her arm up to her elbow inside it. She pulled out a few sheets, frowned, then put them back. “I know they’re here. I put them in yesterday.”

  Sam watched her search, then search again. She blew her bangs from her forehead, concentrating on her work. Her hair was reddish-brown, with gold highlights, just a bit shorter than shoulder length and it kept flipping into her downturned face. She tucked it behind her ear for the fourth time in the space of a minute and he could see her teeth clench in frustration.

  “Hey,” he said, wanting to put her at ease. “Why don’t you just tell me your ideas for now? We can look over the sketches later.”

  Her eyes flashed with embarrassment as she looked up at him. “Great way to start out, isn’t it?”

  Something was different about her today. Gone was the cheerful confidence and contagious exuberance. Sam ran a finger over his bottom lip and shook his head, “Not a problem. What have you got?” They hadn’t signed a contract, though he’d verbally given her the job last week. He wondered if that had been too rash a move on his part. But years ago, he’d felt as though he’d needed a hand when he was starting out. This was his chance to help someone else.

  He watched her nod her head to herself, almost as if she was counting to ten before continuing. “I’m sorry.” She flashed a smile at him, one that was wry and sad at the same time, but for the first time since she walked in, he noticed a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “It’s been a rough day.”

  Sam reached his hand out toward her, but didn’t quite touch. “You okay?”

  “I’ll be fine. I just rushed over without checking everything first. I never do that. I’m always so conscientious. I mean . . .” Annie’s hands danced in front of her, gesturing, “. . . people complain about how conscientious I am. This is so unlike me.” Then, as if she was suddenly aware of talking too much, she stopped abruptly, smiled a businesslike smile, and walked over to the big blank wall to begin.

  Fifteen minutes later, as Annie described her third option for the wall, the one that she admitted was her personal favorite, Sa
m found himself being caught up in the idea. Whatever had been bothering her earlier had taken a back seat to the natural zeal that bubbled up. He wondered what the problem had been, then forgot to worry as Annie made him see, with her words, the whimsical fairy tale mural she’d envisioned.

  “What I mean is, look around,” she continued. He did. “This is a place where parents are going to want to bring their kids and the kids are going to beg to come. You’ve got the ambiance going with the antiques and furnishings.” She trailed her hand along the back of a dark oak bench. The booths, which had been here when the place was still a bar, had lined the walls. Sam had them relocated to the center of the shop and then invested in small, square, wrought iron tables to line the perimeter of the place. These could be pushed together or pulled apart, depending on the size of the party being seated. The booths in the center were great for couples on dates, who preferred the high-backed privacy of the solid wood seats. The entire area had been painted in pinks and greens, and the windows in front expanded to allow lots of light.

  The blank wall was directly across from the windows and would be the focal point as customers walked in. Annie stood in front of it, gesturing.

  “Okay. Little girls.”

  Sam raised a questioning eyebrow and she continued.

  “The way I figure it, little girls are the ones who’ll be most interested in the wall, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t going to include elements that’ll pull the boys in too. So, here . . .” she waved her hand on the far right end of the wall, “. . . would be a castle. Not just any castle, but one with all sorts of little surprises, with windows, at different heights, where the kids could look and pretend they’re seeing inside. And maybe we could have a knight taking a bath, or a dog stealing some food. Fun things.”

  She walked to her left and Sam wondered at what point she’d forgotten he was there. She seemed lost in the magic of her own creation and even though he listened to the description, he found himself more interested in the transformation that had come over her. With great gusto she gestured and pointed, laughing a bit at herself as she spoke, and apologizing for running off at the mouth. Yet she continued.

  “The best part, or, well, my favorite part, of this mural would be the hidden pictures.” She turned toward him, smiling as she spoke. Her eyes sparkled and it seemed as though her speech was having a hard time keeping up with her brain, her words were coming so fast. “I thought that we could make it almost like a puzzle. Maybe when you have the menus reprinted you could put in a legend of what they need to look for. Simple things, like paintbrushes and buckets and brooms. But we could also hide other things, trickier ones, that’ll keep the older kids guessing as well.”

  Sam, caught up in the idea, took a moment before he responded. “That sounds like a lot of work, and I know we talked about price . . .”

  “I’d love to do it, and I’m not asking for more,” Annie interrupted. “It would be great for my portfolio and it would make it even more fun for me.”

  “How long do you think this will take?”

  “Probably . . .” Annie said, her voice high with excitement. Then, as if she’d just remembered something unpleasant, her shoulders dropped and she looked away. When she spoke again her voice was quieter, more controlled. “I’m not sure. I would think maybe a month, but it might be a bit longer, depending on the hours I can put in.”

  Sam wondered at the change in her. “You’d want to work during the hours we’re closed, wouldn’t you?”

  “Mostly, yes,” Annie said. “But I can adjust to whatever times are convenient for you. And, I could start right now.”

  “Well then, Ms. Callaghan,” he said, gesturing, “my wall is yours.”

  * * * * *

  Annie went out to her car to get her supplies. No time like the present, she thought. It’ll get my mind off of my troubles. For a little while, she’d been almost able to pretend life hadn’t thrown her the curveball it had. She could almost forget.

  On the passenger seat of her blue Ford Escort were the sketches she’d looked so hard for inside. Damn, that’d been humiliating. Her first client and she’d made every possible mistake. She’d seen the doubt in his eyes for just a moment, and it had almost been enough to make her grab her things and leave. Hoisting her backpack to her shoulder, she grasped her tackle box of supplies and took a breath, glad she’d had the fortitude to stay.

  She wasn’t quite sure how she’d managed to land Millie’s Ice Cream Parlour as a client, especially when she’d slipped and practically admitted that all the pictures she had were of her own home. Some businesswoman. Still, this Sam Morgan seemed like he’d be a nice person to work for. For a big guy, he had a quiet manner of speaking. At her five-foot-four, everyone looked tall, but she figured he topped six feet. In his late thirties, he didn’t look like a man who’d made his fortune selling ice cream, not that Annie thought there was a stereotype for that; Sam looked more rugged. Tougher.

  Both times she’d seen him, however, he’d been wearing a long-sleeve white shirt and black pants with matching black vest, dressing up the outfit with a red, white, and blue garter around each upper arm. It took a pretty masculine man to carry that off with the panache that Sam did.

  Rattled at first by the solemn way he’d watched her, she’d started second-guessing herself, wondering if he disapproved of her ideas. But once she’d started to explain, to get into the dreams behind her designs, he’d smiled, energizing her.

  Maybe it was his great teeth. Maybe his self-conscious glance—as if feeling guilty for finding pleasure in the plan. But whatever it was, his character-rich face transformed from serious and handsome, to smiling and downright gorgeous. And the more she’d explained, the more interested he seemed to become.

  Balancing her supplies as she opened the front doors, she thought about the little bit he’d told her. This was the fourth Millie’s he’d opened, though the three others were in Georgia and Florida. Assuming things went well here, she wondered if she might earn a chance to work on the other locations, too.

  When she settled her drawing supplies on the floor near the wall, she saw him make his way from behind the bar to the kitchen area. Grabbing the sketchbook, she called, “Mr. Morgan.”

  He turned. A smile twitched at his lips. “Even the little kids who come in here don’t call me that,” he said, “so let’s go with Sam.”

  “Okay . . . Sam,” she said, feeling a little odd saying his name for the first time, “and . . . Annie’s fine.”

  He nodded.

  “Here, while I get started. I found those sketches after all. They were in the car.”

  Sam paged through, spending a couple of minutes on the first two before flipping to the third one. “Wow,” he said. “You described this perfectly. This is exactly how I saw it.” He looked up at the wall, then back to her with a grin. “This is excellent.”

  Annie let go of the breath she’d been holding. As he moved off to oversee the food preparation, she stood in front of the blank wall and stared. She touched the wall, laid her palms against it and said, “You are going to do great things for me, you understand?” And with that, she began to draw.

  * * * * *

  Two hours later the castle was roughed in and Annie took a bathroom break. When she returned, Sam was standing in front of the drawing, with a milkshake in his hand. “You like chocolate, I hope?”

  Annie was startled. She’d forgotten to eat and, now reminded, her empty stomach started to feel funny. “Thank you,” she said, as she took the shake from him. For the first time she noticed Sam’s eyes. They were an unusual shade of blue, a color that reminded Annie of a favorite crayon she had when she was little. Azure blue. “This is wonderful. It’s so thick.”

  “Hand-dipped,” he said, “and the ice cream’s homemade.”

  She pulled a big spoonful up to her mouth and Sam gestured for her to sit in one of the booths. “You’ll be more comfortable.”

  It was as if the chocolate shake was the
last remaining food on earth, Annie thought. She couldn’t stop herself. She was starving. Sam sat across from her, watching her. She could tell from the look on his face that he was amused.

  “Been a while since you had one of those?”

  Annie smiled, a little embarrassed. “This is just so good.”

  “I could have the guys make you a burger or something.”

  Annie licked some of the cold chocolate from the end of the long spoon, “No, this is perfect. Hits the spot.” She glanced up at him, “Thanks.”

  “Well, while you’re working here, just let us know when you want anything. Food and drink on the house, okay?”

  “Sounds great.”

  “How’s it going? It looks like you’re really moving along.”

  “I’d like to get as much as I can roughed in. I’m finding that working here has improved my day.” She looked away for a moment. “A lot.”

  “I’m glad,” Sam said. “You’re welcome to stay as late as you’d like. I have to warn you though, it’s going to get crowded in here, soon.”

  Annie nodded. “I figured. But as long as I’m just drawing and I don’t have to worry about paint and kids and all, I should be okay.’

  “Well,” he said, “let me know if you need anything.”

  Standing up, Annie realized that she needed to go to the bathroom again. Geez, after one milkshake? So this is what pregnant is like, she thought as she pushed open the door to the ladies’ room. At least I don’t have morning sickness. She grimaced. Yet.

  After washing her hands, Annie looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. The fluorescent overhead lights didn’t do much for her coloring, but she looked into her eyes and thought that maybe, just maybe, there was a touch of resilience there after all. Had it only been this morning that she’d almost fallen apart in her bathroom? She shook the excess water from her fingers and reached for a hand towel, still watching herself. She would get through this. She had to. She had a client now.