Triple Exposure Page 6

  “Victor wants a divorce.” Margo’s voice cracked and tears welled in her blue eyes.

  Nicky reached for her friend, held the large woman against her—ashamed because she felt more concern for herself and her job than she did for Margo’s pain. “I’m sorry,” she said lamely.

  Margo laughed bitterly. “Me too. He’s got some young thing he can’t let go of.” She freed herself from Nicky’s embrace and searched through her pockets. Nicky handed her a tissue and Margo blew her nose. “He wants to sell the building.”

  Nicky stood frozen, her thoughts racing. She had no training, no degree. The job at the Art Barn had been a comfortable outlet for her talents. She might even have to sell her house.

  Margo dried her eyes and looked apologetically at Nicky. “I don’t have a choice. I could accept the building as part of a settlement, but it would be risky. I really need to take the money and invest it.”

  “Have you considered counseling?” Nicky asked. Wasn’t that what everyone did these days?

  “He wants out.” Margo sat dejectedly on the short ladder. “Look at me. Can you blame him?”

  Nicky didn’t think Victor was such a prize and said so.

  Margo laughed, a harsh, nearly hysterical sound. “You’re right there, honey, but you’ll never convince him of that. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”

  Nicky seldom saw Victor and had never looked at him as anyone other than Margo’s husband—middle-aged, affable, big but not fat. His crowning glory was his gray hair, still thick and wavy. Philanderer, she thought.

  “Guess I better start looking for another job,” she said, as much to herself as to Margo.

  “I’ve had time to think about all of this,” Margo said, looking and sounding more in control, “and I think I’ll use my home as a gallery. I can show your photographs there. I wish I could do more.”

  “Thanks. It’ll work out, Margo,” Nicky said, not at all sure how. She gave Margo’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “How do you want to do this?”

  “We’ll just continue business as usual until there is no more business.” She began crying in earnest then.

  Pouring over the classifieds on the front porch after work, Nicky waited for Natalie to call her to dinner. Natalie had told Nicky that she would cook, but only if Nicky stayed out of the way. “No more Cleos in my kitchen,” Natalie had said, referring to her mother by her first name. “Mom hovers. She thinks I can’t do anything. But Scrappy, he can stay.” Nicky felt sure that Scrappy was there right now, waiting for food fallout.

  Having found no job prospects for her in the ads, Nicky folded the newspaper and tossed it on the floor. She settled back on the chaise lounge and watched the evening develop.

  Normally she loved the time just before dark, when work was over and her thoughts could wander while the day quietly came to a scenic conclusion. But now she hardly heard the cardinal singing in the white pine at the edge of the yard or the crickets starting their nightly ruckus.

  She had chased her thoughts aimlessly around ever since Margo’s news had blown her out of the water. If worse came to worse, she could always waitress somewhere or work at a fast food place. She sighed and got a whiff of Natalie’s cooking. Tonight promised a Mexican feast. Nicky had agreed without interest when Nattie suggested that Dan join them.

  Dan’s truck jolted down the driveway, Nicky knew that Scrappy’s few barks were directed at him. She slid lower in the chaise lounge as she listened to the sounds of Dan’s and Natalie’s voices. Not at all sure she was up to company, she briefly thought about declining dinner, but the tantalizing odors got the best of her.

  Natalie’s menu included chicken fajitas, refried beans, Spanish rice. None of it came ready-made. Natalie scorned easy cooking. She often made her own bread and happily spent hours preparing food, causing Nicky to wonder where this penchant for creative cooking came from. Certainly not from their mother.

  As a child, Nicky had eaten canned beans, Kraft macaroni and cheese, frozen pizza, hot dogs. It wasn’t that Cleo didn’t know how to cook from scratch, because Nicky had eaten fancy meals often enough, but her mother considered time spent in the kitchen as time wasted. Nicky knew that her sister, Nancy, followed her mother’s example. Her dad grilled on occasion but never anything more ambitious than chicken or steak or bratwurst.

  “Cutting hay again?” Nicky asked Dan between bites, consciously controlling the urge to wolf down her dinner. She had never eaten Mexican food this good.

  “Mmm-hmm.” His mouth full, he nodded.

  Natalie bent to her plate and, with a small smile, took a bite. She looked pleased.

  “The food is superb,” Nicky said, putting aside her apathetic stupor over Margo’s news. “Have you ever thought of starting a restaurant, Nattie?”

  Natalie looked at her as if she had just noticed her presence. “What? No.”

  “You should talk to Dad about it. He might be willing to set you up or something. He and Mom are always trying to foist money on me. I think cooking is your calling. Aren’t they paying us a visit this weekend?”

  “Yes, but we’re going to a show with Meg.”

  “Doesn’t Matt have a riding lesson?” Nicky asked, feeling out of touch.

  In Meg’s absence, Natalie and Dan had taken over the care of Brittle, who was now being kept inside days and turned out evenings for a few hours. Meg said it would keep his coat from fading and him from getting a belly.

  “Saturday morning.”

  “Well, I’ll call Mom and tell them to come Saturday.”

  Natalie shrugged indifferently.

  After dinner Nicky thought she would take a walk with the dog, see how Brittle and Tater were doing, and call Beth. She needed to talk to someone about what had happened today.

  Lingering outside, even though most of the light was gone, she leaned against the fence while Dan turned Brittle loose. The horse thundered out of the barn to join Tater in the pasture, where they squealed and ran off together for a turn around the field. She found their head-tossing, bucking, kicking greetings disconcerting—a bit excessive, she thought, for a friendly hello.

  “You going to meet the folks Saturday?” she asked Dan.

  He nodded. He seemed like such a silent man. She thought it would be lonely living with him. Then he quietly said, “I think your idea about a restaurant is a good one. Why don’t you suggest Nattie fix dinner Saturday night?”

  “She always does. Oh, you mean something really good, something to convince the folks.” She smiled slyly, relishing any underhanded attempts to direct her parents’ decisions.

  After Dan and Natalie disappeared together, Nicky called Beth to tell her about the inevitable loss of her job. Just saying the words made them more real to her, and she felt momentarily desperate. “I don’t have any training, Beth, other than photography.”

  “Maybe you can work for the Gazette.”

  “Oh, sure. I don’t have a degree either.”

  “You have experience. You’re already a professional.”

  But Nicky thought they wouldn’t see it that way at the newspaper. “I might try a photography studio.”

  “Do that, too. I’m sorry for Margo, but at least there’ll be an outlet for your work at her place.” She suggested they meet for lunch.

  Saturday morning Meg caught Brittle, and Tater followed them into the enclosure. She had put a gate where the lot outside the barn opened to the pasture, and now she closed it behind herself and the two animals, then tied them both to posts. “Get in here, Matt, and clean Tater up.”

  While Matt and Meg worked on the animals, Nicky and Beth sat at the picnic table and drank coffee. “The ‘For Sale’ sign went up in front of the store yesterday. I can’t believe how fast everything is moving. One day it’s just talk and the next it’s reality.”

  “It might take a while to sell, Nicky. Real estate isn’t a hot item these days.”

  Nicky studied her coffee gloomily. “I can’t seem to get moving. I need t
o get a resume ready.”

  Beth clasped Nicky’s hands, which were wrapped around her cup. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”

  “It’s easy working at the Art Barn, hardly work at all. And it’s a place to exhibit my stuff. I didn’t even appreciate it.”

  Beth shrugged. “That’s what happens. It’s called taking things for granted.”

  Nicky grunted. “Yeah, well, I won’t do it again.” She looked up as the Wagoneer turned into the driveway. “Look who’s here already.” She got up to greet her parents.

  They spent the day outside, some of it talking in the shade of the maple, some of it touring Dan’s farm, some of it watching Matt and Meg ride.

  When the five of them sat down to dinner, Nicky was tired. She had thrown the restaurant idea into the conversation sometime during the afternoon, after Meg and Matt and Beth left. Her parents had looked surprised, then she thought her dad appeared thoughtful.

  Now Natalie placed before them roasted beef tenderloin, glazed fresh beets, mashed rutabaga, a tossed salad to be served with her own salad dressing, and homemade bread. The wine was a Napa Ridge Pinot Noir.

  The smell of the food filled Nicky with hunger and hope that her restaurant idea would take hold in her parents’ minds. Maybe she could wait tables and take photos of the diners, she thought wryly. She hadn’t told any of them that she would soon be jobless.

  They ate in silence at first, the food too good to be ignored. Then her dad raved about the beef, her mother praised the vegetables, Dan commented on the bread, and Natalie looked indifferent, saying, “There’s raspberry pie for dessert.”

  Her father hoisted his wineglass. “A toast to the cook.” He fixed a look on Nicky. “You’re right. She’s a first-class chef. Your mother and I will have to talk this over.”

  “Talk what over?” Natalie asked.

  “Your future, Nattie.”

  Natalie rolled her eyes.

  “Have you done any of the reading?” her mother asked.

  “Some. I couldn’t tell you what, though.” Natalie sounded bored. “I’m thinking about getting a job at a restaurant in town.”

  Her parents exchanged looks but said nothing. Later they told Nicky they liked Dan and asked if she was serious about him. Nicky stared at them with disbelief before saying, “It’s he and Natalie who are interested in each other, not me.”

  Her mother frowned. “He’s too old for her.”

  When they left and Natalie and Dan disappeared, Nicky climbed into bed, although darkness had just set in. She didn’t know why she was so worn out. Most nights she read herself to sleep with the windows open and a summer breeze wafting through the room. She jumped when Meg spoke from the open doorway.

  Leaning against the door frame, half smiling, Meg apologized. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I need someplace to sleep tonight.”

  “The sheets and stuff are in the closet next to the John.”

  Meg straightened and came into the room to sit on the edge of the bed. “How come you’re between the sheets already? You have a rough day with your folks?”

  Feeling naked because she wore only a thin white undershirt, Nicky pulled the sheet over her breasts. “Nothing better to do.”

  “You lonesome?” Meg raised blonde eyebrows.

  Nicky knew she should say no. Instead, she told Meg about Margo and the Art Barn.

  “Tough. I really am sorry. That’s a rotten break,” Meg said. “I’m glad I’m here. You shouldn’t be alone.”

  “Oh, I’ll be all right. Is Denise out of town?”

  Meg grinned wickedly. “No, I’m at my folks.” She moved closer to Nicky.

  Wondering what Meg had in mind, Nicky licked her lips nervously. No one had come on to her for a long time. She wasn’t even sure that Meg was being more than friendly.

  “Natalie out with Dan?” Then, after Nicky nodded, “Want to play a game of cribbage?”

  “Sure,” Nicky said. She and Beth kept track of their games, and the board and cards were on the bedside table. “Should we play in the other room? Natalie might come home.”

  “So? Is it a crime to play a game of cribbage?” Meg glanced at the open doorway. “Want me to shut the door?”

  “No.”

  Meg sat cross-legged on the bed while they played. They were in the middle of the tie-breaking third game when Natalie came in the back door and went up to her room. “Now we’re really alone,” Meg said. Looking directly into Nicky’s eyes, she suggested casually, “Why don’t I sleep here with you?”

  Nicky was thinking that Meg’s eyes looked like smoke. And when Meg’s question registered, she felt a hot spurt of adrenalin. Shaking her head, she said almost angrily, “You know I’m involved, and you’re in a relationship. What about Denise?”

  “No one needs to know.”

  “I’d know.” But she was focused on Meg’s mouth, on the pulse beating in her throat. She saw Meg’s slow smile and felt the flush on her skin deepen.

  Still smiling, Meg got up. “I only wanted to share the bed. I didn’t intend to take advantage of you.” She laughed softly. “Sweet dreams.”

  Turning her light out, Nicky slipped under the sheet where she lay listening to Meg readying the couch. She refused even to consider where she and Meg might be heading.

  Chapter Six

  It had been years since Nicky had doubted herself, her future, her own worth. The first anxiety attack occurred while she was driving. With her heart pounding and her breath coming in rapid and shallow gasps, she pulled over to the side of the road to wait for the uncontrollable panic to subside. At first she was frightened but after a week of panicky episodes, she learned to wait them out.

  She put a resume together and took it to a print shop, but thought it pitifully inadequate. All those years, after leaving UW Madison spent framing pictures at the Art Barn, selling a few of her own along the way… How could she have been so complacent? Why hadn’t she prepared for job loss?

  The Art Barn gave off an ambiance of failure. Fewer people came to its doors. The framing orders that had kept Nicky so busy tapered off to a few a week. She knew Margo would have to let her go before the sale of the building.

  Poring over the classifieds every night, she saw no jobs which interested her or for which she qualified. She still had told no one except Beth and Meg about her dilemma. As the end of July neared, her panic grew. The monthly bills would come due. She hoped Meg would not be late with Brittle’s board.

  Meg’s casual attitude toward her financial obligations irked Nicky, even though she thought it was unintentional. Annoyed that money had become so important, she resented the developing obsession with who owed her what. She lay in bed night after night, trying to figure out how she was going to pay the bills, adding up income against debt.

  On the last Friday in July, when Margo stood hesitantly inside the doorway of the back room, Nicky tried to make it easier for her and spoke the words she thought Margo couldn’t bring herself to say. “I’ll just finish these. I won’t take any more orders.”

  “We need to move the art I’m going to exhibit at home,” Margo said.

  “Why don’t we do it Saturday,” Nicky suggested. “I won’t take money to move a friend, you know.”

  Shrugging, Margo said in a subdued voice, “I’ll get a commission on your prints that sell. You realize that, don’t you?”

  Grateful for the “when” and not “if,” Nicky only smiled and continued working. She had considered framing on her own, but she would have to stock materials, and the farm wasn’t easily accessible to the public. Few customers would drive ten miles out of town on the back roads just to get something framed. She couldn’t afford the slim chance of success. You can’t gamble with money you don’t have, she told herself.

  Margo’s home, located near the lake, was large and too modern for Nicky’s taste. It was, however, ideal as a gallery. Natural light filtered down through windows set just below the roof line in the long main room where Margo planned to
display the pieces she thought would sell. Because the house stood outside the city limits, there were no restrictive zoning laws.

  When they finished hanging the art, Nicky and Margo stepped back from the white walls and examined their work. Nicky sat on one of the leather couches placed back to back in the center of the room, and Margo plopped down next to her.

  “God, it feels good to sit down, doesn’t it? What do you think?” Margo waved an encompassing hand.

  Nicky replied, “I’d buy, if I had any money.” She shot a glance at Margo’s stricken face and apologized. “I’m such an asshole. I’m sorry, Margo. I didn’t mean anything.”

  “It’s okay. You have a right to be angry. I feel so rotten about this.”

  Patting Margo’s ring-laden hand, Nicky envied the large diamonds—not for themselves but for what they would bring. The proceeds from just one of those rings would keep her going for months. But then again, if she asked him, her dad would support her for a few months, too. That was what she didn’t want, she reminded herself. She had to make it on her own.

  “Margo, you can’t keep the place open just for me. Any business has to make a profit, has to justify itself.” She grinned. “Just write me a good reference.”

  Margo squeezed her hand, and the rings dug in painfully. “I’ll sing your praises,” she promised.

  Met by Scrappy, Nicky walked to the fence and watched Tater gallop toward her across the pasture. On the days of weekend shows, he whinnied long after Brittle’s answering calls from the trailer were carried beyond hearing. Wishing her life was so uncomplicated, she reached out to stroke his long, bony face, then snatched her fingers away when he nibbled at them. Meg said he did this because someone had once hand-fed him and he was looking for food. She decided to go shower and change.

  There were still several hours of daylight left. With camera in hand, she started down the road with the dog. She found herself hesitating to take pictures. She couldn’t develop color film herself. She’d have to pay to have it done. And, of course, there was the cost of new film to replace the used. Never before had she weighed the price of a photograph.