Portrait


by Leslie Moore

Chapter Eleven

As we drove along, I turned to Matt. “You know, we’ve had two weeks of breathtaking skies, fresh air, and gorgeous views.”

Without taking his eyes off the road, he spoke. “Yeah, I know I’m happy. I feel better than I’ve felt in a long time.”

“That was an amazing house. I never knew that a camp would be a three-bedroom house with a panoramic view of the water. I envisioned cots, a wood stove, and cold running water.” The coastal Maine house that Matt borrowed was a dose of happiness injected with dishes of ice cream, and lobster rolls dipped in butter.

He smiled. “Yep. I did good.”

“What do you think that something like that costs?”

He grinned. “A couple million.”

Even though Maine was only a few states north, it had eluded me. Its rugged beauty was exhilarating. I especially liked the merging of the ocean to its rocky coast. We hiked, we walked, and we window shopped.

“I understand why people flock here to vacation. And the natives are very obliging.”

“They have to make their money in a short time. The only see skiers in the winter. The rest of us are too smart to come up there in January.”

We spent our days wandering around and discovering. I’d drop Matt and his easel, paints, and canvasses off in some beautiful locale. Mabel and I would drive around until we found hiking trails or cute little towns to sightsee. In the afternoon, I’d go looking for Matt, and we’d eat lunch together. Some days it was a picnic, and other days it was an outside umbrella at a cozy restaurant.

Other days, we’d go nowhere. While Matt painted, Mabel and I would lounge on the deck and stare out at the water. Each morning, we’d plan our itinerary for the day. I’d vote for small towns with lots of stores and windows to look through. Mabel always voted for walks and hikes. Mabel won most of the time.

I had my eyes closed but heard Mabel shift and stand. I opened one eye to see Matt trooping back up with his equipment and two finished canvasses. “Hey! Did you catch any fish?”

“Tried to. But I think I’m using the wrong bait. I keep trying Cadmium Yellow, but they’re not biting.”

“I don’t miss my Pantone colors, but let’s see. That would be 15-1054.”

He smiled. “Show off.”

I stuck out my tongue. “I think I’m going to learn all the names of the native plants indigenous to Brooklyn. I think we need a butterfly garden out back.”

We day-tripped as far north as Bar Harbor to hike in the National Park. We ate lobsters and drank local beers at a local lobster pound. It was fun for all.

For me, there were no deadlines, no calls, and no stress. Each day was always something new. As a single woman developing my own business, I’d spent all my time working for the past six years. My breaks from work were going to the gym or jogging. But, the joy of this year-old relationship changed my life. In the process of sharing my world with Matt, it brought a new perspective to my way of thinking.

Mathew had always lived his life by the seat of his pants. The privilege of being a trust fund baby meant he could be a successful painter without worrying about making ends meet. Taking a trip to Maine to get away was a big deal for me. The fact that he’d spend his time painting, his version of working, was just part of his unique and privileged lifestyle.

My world was much more ordinary. If my income faltered for a brief minute in time, I could disappear. I was in touch with all my clients, and when I told them I was going to Maine for two weeks, no one said a word. I was shocked. It was a realization that this vacation thing was the norm for the rest of the world. I wondered where I had been.

Since I started my own business, I’d never taken time off. I always put all my money back into my business. Matt’s perspective was decidedly different from mine.

“You know, this is the first time I’ve had a vacation since college. It’s rather refreshing to get away. I hope my business is still there when I return.”

Matt laughed. “You’re not a dairy farmer. You don’t have to worry about milking cows. Your clients will love you more when you return.”

“I hope so. I can’t afford to play at work for a living.”

Matt grinned. “Don’t be mad at me, but I’ve never held a job in my life. All my money is from selling paintings.”

“That and your trust fund.”

“You’re right. But that will soon be ending. When we start the foundation, all the money goes there. I’ll become a starving artist from then on.”

But his present lifestyle came with a curse, his mother, Helen Statler. The Red Queen needed blood to survive. The crone had been dependent on draining his life force regularly as tribute until a year ago when we became a couple. Now, the harpy had been forced to look elsewhere.

The good news is there always a greedy politician willing to cut open their vein for a generous donation to their campaign. So Helen doled out cash to anyone willing to bend to her will. She was a real society charmer, all right.

By living with me, Matt was saving money. I was a cheap date. It also meant Matt had been freed of the guilt and the need for his angry rebellion. He was saner, too. His dealings with his mother had lessened. In simple terms, he’d stopped his blackout drinking just for me.

On our way home to Brooklyn, Matt was in a joyful mood. He had painted every day as if he was on the clock. He had found his groove and loved himself again. Me, I’d gained five pounds. Our third member of the happy band was content to sleep most of the way back New York.

When we arrived, the first thing we did was drive over my house and the construction site. We noted the progress our contractor made on the property. Then we unpacked at Matt’s condo. The rental place came to get the shiny new Volvo.

Back over at my place, Matt’s future studio was ready for occupancy. They’d painted the new building inside and out. Mabel mourned her old yard sacrificed to the two-story Craftsman-style building. But was pleased with her new yard behind the flower shop. She had new bushes to sniff and the contractors had built a nice fence to keep her secure.

Matt would schedule the move from his existing studio for the end of the week. He'd start packing his materials this afternoon. He’d made arrangements to have the Manhattan Gallery receive his large Maine paintings and remainder were shipped to my shop. He’d done all his plein air work on site. He had forty completed canvasses. Fortunately, there were places for him to buy stretched blank canvass right around the corner in Booth Bay. He had ten large pieces for the Manhattan gallery.

Over at our future home at the flower shop, the new addition was framed in, had windows, and a roof. They were working on the cedar siding when were arrived.

Inside the flower shop, my future office, the kitchen and bathrooms had been gutted. They were installing floors and new walls. The builders had added structural beams and replaced all the rot. Matt went down in the basement and pronounced it sound. The building was updated to meet building code. The contractor said six to eight more weeks and he'd be gone.

I put Matt was in charge of colors. Even though I did design and graphics, I was more impressed with his color eye than my own. As we were looking at paint chips together, he turned to me with an odd look on his face.

“What?”

He had this strange smile. “This is our first house together.”

I got a tear in my eye and kissed him. “I never looked at it that way.” What I wanted to do was undress him on the spot and make love. But, with fifteen workers all over the property, it wasn’t appropriate. I gave it about two minutes thought.

I smiled. “Let’s take a walk.”

Matt looked at me. “Sure. Where?”

“Your place. I want our bedroom, uh, now.”