“Really?” I asked, shocked that she seemed to know anything. She rambled on like Kate, and the only reason Kate knew stuff was because of her connection to MOMA. “But the scandal. You really think it’s still worth something?”
She shook her head. “Just between us girls, not in this lifetime. Even if Jack clears his name, which would be a miracle, his reputation will remain damaged. People don’t forget things like this.”
“No, they don’t.” Sipping my tea, I thought fast, or I tried to think fast. My brain felt like it was submerged in cement that was rapidly drying. Something was wrong here. Doilies, crazy old bat, Jack’s painting, knowledge of art... I couldn’t put my finger on it.
“I’m so sorry that this affected you too. Jack can be quite the charmer. I had no idea he was capable of something like this.” Her shrewd eyes were on me. This was a test. I could feel it.
I played the too-innocent-to-be-alive card, “Neither did I. That’s why I came out here. I wanted to ask you what I should do. They told me I can sign something that will damn Jack, but it’ll get me off. I don’t really have anyone to talk about this with.” Emily watched me carefully. I threw in, “I really need someone to bounce things off of—someone who’d understand—someone who knows Jack.” I put my cup down and buried my face in my hands. I was so going to Hell. Real tears streamed down my face. When Emily patted my shoulder, I glanced at her. She seemed to make up her mind.
“Oh, you are the most foolish girl I’ve ever met. No wonder your mother’s dead. She probably wanted to get away from you.” Her sweet old lady façade splintered as she spoke, more venom spewing from between the cracks as she talked.
My jaw dropped as more tears lined my face, “How can you say that?” My voice became thin and shrill.
Emily stood, and ripped my cup out of my hands. “If you have half a brain, do as I tell you. I know you’re screwed and I feel kind of guilty for taking down a minister. I thought you’d fold first, not be the last moron standing.” She yanked my chair out from under me, shoving me toward the door while she spoke. “Settle. Sign the damn papers. Then when Jack’s things are put up for auction, go get one. This is my good deed for the day.” She stopped me in front of the screen door, talking to me like I’d taken too many shots to the head. Hands on my shoulders she said, “Get yourself a few hundred dollars and buy a painting. That’s all they’ll be worth at the auction. Then hold onto it. People have short memories, and Jack’s work defines a new movement in art. His pieces were the first in the post-modern Evokism Movement.”
“What?” I gasped, jaw open. I wasn’t playing dumb, anymore. I had no idea what she was talking about.
She shook me once, hard. “If you’re too stupid to follow my directions, you deserve what you get. It’s called Darwinism, Abby—or did they fail to teach you that concept at seminary. Now pay attention. Jack’s name is mud, but in a few years it won’t be, and his paintings will be in limited supply and high demand. Sell it then. Pay off your loans and go find some happy farmer to marry you.” She tried to push me through the screen door, but I dug my heels in.
“Why did you do this to him? He trusted you. He thought of you like his mother! And you used everything you saw against him. How could you?”
A wicked smile spread across her lips, “Because I could. Jack didn’t watch his back. It was his own damn fault. All those models were all too happy to comply after their arrests. Jack’s auction will look like a group of misfits bidding on his crap so they can destroy it. And I hope to God that they do. That will make the paintings I have worth more. And we all know, money talks, darling. So do yourself a favor, and remember what I told you.” She shoved me through the screen door.
Tripping over the threshold, I yelled, “I’ll tell the cops what you did! That you set Jack up.” I was seething. I spit the words between my teeth at her, my hands balled into fists at my sides. She destroyed Jack. She nearly destroyed me.
She laughed, “Hollow threats from a hooker. No one will believe you, girl. It’ll just keep Jack’s name in the paper longer, and make it that much harder for him. If you want to know the truth, this was fun. Much better than I thought it’d be,” she laughed clasping her hands together. “For years I looked for dirt on Jack, but there was nothing. I couldn’t get a thing on him. That bitch Belinda was the skeleton in his closet and I kept dragging her out, hoping he’d do something. But then you came along and I didn’t have to. You’re charming naivety worked perfectly. All those things Jack vowed to never do, he did with you. It was easy to tip off the press, report a prostitution ring to the cops after that.”
“There is no prostitution ring!” I yelled stamping my foot like a child on her front lawn. It was undignified, but I didn’t care at this point. Spill your guts Emily! My stompy feet only made her laugh harder.
“Of course not! There never was a prostitute at Jack’s studio. The best lies are laced with truth my dear, saying the things that people want to hear. Thank you for your assistance. Now, get off of my lawn before I shoot you.” She slammed the door with a loud bang. The floral heart wreath swayed and fell, wedged between the door and the screen.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
My heart was pounding in my chest. I went straight from Emily’s to Phil’s office. I barely got there before 5:00pm. The secretary rolled her eyes at me. It made me certain why Emily spilled her guts. She thought no one would believe me and she was right. I could have repeated the entire conversation, and I wasn’t sure if Kate would believe me. Not with the way things happened. Not with the way the news painted me as some too-simple-minded-to-be-alive type of person. I was still wearing jeans and a tank top, my hair in a messy ponytail, not a stich of make-up on my face.
“Mr. Green will see you now,” the receptionist led me to a door.
I was polite, even though part of me wanted to kick her. Phil sat at one end of the table. “Miss Tyndale, finally, you’ve come to your senses.”
I shrugged, and produced the manila envelope, placing it on the table. “I did. He used me. I get it. Fine. Tell him to take this and fuck off. His angel has fallen.” Pushing the envelope hard, I sent it sliding toward Phil. He caught it with his hand. The first thing he noticed was the bulge on top. Something was inside, and it wasn’t just paper.
Phil looked at me, “What’s this?” He looked at Jack’s iPhone and pulled out the papers under it. Cocking his head, he sighed, “These aren’t signed. Abby...”
“They don’t need to be, Phil. Listen to the recording on that phone. And if I were you, I’d do it right now.” A sadistic smile spread across my lips. Emily deserved what she had coming. The fierce Abby, the girl I kept locked in a box, was proud. I turned on my heel as Phil started the conversation.
Kate appeared in my doorway. “You saved him, Abby. It’s all over the news. That old bitch was arrested, and Jack’s name was cleared. Way to work the system. Everyone thought you were too innocent to do something like that. What’d you do, press record and just go knock on her door?”
Nodding, I said, “Something like that. She planned Jack’s destruction down to the letter. She didn’t care what happened to everyone else. I’m not going to feel guilty about it. She deserves what she gets.” Grabbing my coat, I slid it over my shoulders.
“Ah, but you do care. Don’t you? And that’s why you’re running. You can’t face Jack.”
“Jack’s destroyed,” I said, wandering around the room. “He’ll keep me around out of pity, and I don’t want that. Out of sight, out of mind.” I stood there, staring at her.
“You’re lying to yourself now?” she asked, arms folded over her chest.
“I have to go, Kate.” I pushed past her, bags in my hands. “Thank you for putting up with me, but I can’t leech off of you anymore.” Walking down the hall, I came to an abrupt stop. There was a large package sitting in front of the door. I’d spent the entire day hiding in my room after I got back from Phil’s. I packed as fast as possible, but it still took several hours. Eventually Kate noticed, but she failed to mention this.
My heart was in my throat. “What’s that?”
Kate stepped around me, tapping the crate, “Something from Jonathan Gray, to Abby Tyndale.” She watched me for a second, standing frozen, not knowing what to do. Part of me wanted to open it, part of me wanted to run. “At least look at it, Abby.”
Look at it? Look and see what Jack sent me? I wondered if I could do it. It felt like there was no air in the room. I pressed my lips together wondering if it was what I thought it was. Dropping my bags, I walked to the crate. Kate produced pliers and we pulled it apart. Inside was a massive rolled canvas. I glanced at her, but she was already moving, pushing furniture back to make room for it. I placed the canvas on the floor gently, like it was a baby. My heart pounded in my chest, threatening to crack my ribs. I pushed the canvas and it unrolled. Shoulders rigid, I stood there shocked, staring.
Kate gazed over my shoulder, her jaw dropped, “Abby,” she gasped. “This is exquisite… It exceeds all his other works combined.” She sounded giddy, but I stood there frozen. Staring. Staring at something that might have been, something lost, like a once upon a time story without an ending. I couldn’t breathe. Kate looked more closely at it, examining the vivid blue and orange brush strokes. When the painting was created Jack said he wouldn’t show my face, but there was a perfect likeness of me, soft and sensual, staring back. Everything about it was perfect. My chest constricted. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
Leaving my bags in the hall, I ran outside. The press was gone. It was just a dark street lined with cars. Kate followed me half a beat later. “What’s wrong with you? Abby, talk to me!” She grabbed my arm, turning me back toward her. The sky had finally stopped dropping buckets of rain, but the streets were still damp. They shone like ink.