Champagne Deception Read Free Page B

ripped off a giant chunk of onion bagel and shoveled it into his mouth.
    With disdain, Coretta watched the stocky man eat.  At one time, his body had been so attractive to her, but over the years the physical connection had faded.  It wasn’t the length of time together that h ad made her lose desire for him; it was everything else.  The surly manner in which he spoke to her, his cold disregard for her feelings and, most of all, his utter rejection of her art.  As his meaty fingers slathered the bagel with cream cheese, Lorenzo’s message replayed in her mind.  A studio space…and a gallery…in Milan…
    Impulsively, she said, “I know you’re not going to approve of what I’m about to tell you, but---“
    Loudly masticating the wad of bagel dough, he interrupted, “I don’t like the sound of this.  What are you planning now, Pollyanna?”
    “Pollyanna?” She echoed , irritated.
    “Yeah, you’re as naïve as that character, and you know it.  Go ahead, Coretta, make it fast.  I have to be on Wall Street in an hour.”
    “I’m going to Milan,” she blurted out, unable to believe the words had just streamed from her lips.  She had intended to tell Jonathan that she was perhaps going to Milan, just mulling it over, but amidst his steady flow of insults, she had decided definitively to investigate Lorenzo’s proposed collaboration.
    “What the hell are you talking about?” He shouted.
    “I want to explore opportunities for my art in Europe.  I still have some, um, connections from when I studied in Milan, so I’m going to start there.” She failed to mention her one connection in Italy, her one male connection named Lorenzo Fiatti.
    “So what, you want me to take you on vacation there?  We just went golfing i n Myrtle Beach six months ago.” Jonathan shook his head in disgust, clearly not understanding the thrust of what she was telling him.
    “No, I’m not talking about a vacation.  And you don’t have to come with me.  I just want to take a---sabbatical from my life here in the city.  I want to try something new.  Honestly, I don’t know how long I’ll be in Italy.  It could be for a while.” As Coretta spoke evasively, the fuzzy details were already becoming crystallized in her mind: she would be in Italy for as long as it took to finally succeed as a painter.
    “Yup, you’ve finally lost it.  What’s that crazy story you told me once about that sculptor and his lover?  The woman who ended up in an asylum?  I think that’s where you’re headed, Coretta.”
    “Why don’t you read a book once in a while, Jonathan?  Then you would know the whole story of Pierre Auguste Rodin and Camille Claudel, and I wouldn’t have to teach it to you like you’re a foolish little school boy!” Coretta shouted, completely outraged.  “I don’t know if I’m angrier with you right now, or angrier with myself for staying with you this long!  All you do is bring me down!  You think you did such an amazing thing by bringing me a bag of bagels this morning?  Give me a break!  I need support from you, and I’m not talking about financial support!  I’m talking about emotional support.”
    Jonathan scowled childishly at the word “emotional.”  Looking at her through eyes that spewed furious blue fire, he yelled, “And I’m sick of being with a woman who lives in a fairy land!  Get in touch with reality, Coretta.  Put down the paintbrush and get into the real world.  Your paintings are as ridiculous as you are.”
    Coretta stepped back, stunned.  He had been needling her on a daily basis for as long as she could remember, but he had never been so blunt in his put-downs as he had been just now.  Or had she just finally reached her limit and taken notice now?  She wasn’t sure but, as she opened the door and gestured for him to leave, it felt like an out of body experience.
    “Please go,” she instructed in an unwavering voice that sounded foreign to her own ears.