subjects. My mother says Iâm scary.â
âMother knows best.â
Although she said the words lightly, he frowned. âDo I frighten you, Jane?â
âMe? The original Bride of Frankenstein? Hardly.â
âI hate when you talk about yourself that way. Youâre beautiful. A beautiful person.â Ted motioned the dressing room. âNow her, I feel sorry for.â
âAnne? Why?â
âNot just her. Most of your subjects. Their view of life is so narrow.â His expression altered subtly. âWomen like her, they donât feel anything authentically. They donât know what real pain is, so they make some up.â
The simmering anger behind his words caught her off guard. âIs that so bad? Who are they hurting besides themselves?â
âYou tell me. Would you give away your pain to become like her?â
Anne emerged from the dressing room before Jane could answer, clothes artfully arranged, face done, hair coifed. âThatâs much better, donât you think?â
âYou look gorgeous,â Jane said.
She beamed and turned expectantly toward Ted.
Instead of offering a compliment, he turned away. âIâll get the appointment book.â
After heâd made the appointments, Jane showed the woman out, thanking her again, assuring her that the session had been a huge success.
When she returned to the studio, Ted was waiting where she had left him, expression strange.
âIs something wrong?â
âShe was looking for a compliment,â he said. âWomen like her always are.â
âWould it have hurt you to give her one?â
âIt would have been a lie.â
âYou donât find her beautiful?â
âNo,â he said flatly, âI donât.â
âThen youâre probably the only man in Dallas who doesnât.â
He looked at her, his expression somewhat ferocious. âShe canât see beyond the surface. All I see is inside. And what I see in her is ugly.â
Jane didnât know quite how to respond. His feelings, their depth, surprised her.
âIf you give me the go-ahead,â he said suddenly, âI can have the invitations to your opening party in the mail by noon tomorrow.â
She glanced at her watch, relieved he had changed the direction of their conversation. âIâm meeting Dave at the Arts Café for coffee. Iâll do it when I get back.â
âIn the meantime Iâll finish cataloging the pieces for the show.â
Jane watched him walk away, an unsettled feeling in the pit of her gut. She realized she knew little about his personal life. His friends, whether he dated, how he spent his leisure time. Until today, he had never mentioned family.
Until today, she hadnât a clue what made him tick. Not really.
Weird, she thought. That they could have worked together for more than a year and still she knew so little about him. How could that be? Because he was secretive? Or because she had shown so little interest?
SIX
Monday, October 20, 2003
4:00 p.m.
J ane stepped out into the gray, chilly day. She tipped her face to the sky and drew in a deep, invigorating breath. She loved her work, loved her studio, but after having been cooped up under the artificial lights and breathing recirculated, processed air all day, it felt fabulous to be outsideâgray and cold though it was.
Sheâd chosen to live and work in the area of the city called Deep Ellum. An alternative neighborhood located east of downtown, deep on Elm Street, its name originated from the areaâs original residentsâ pronunciation of Elm. Known for its nightlife, it catered to the young, the misfits and freaks, artists, musicians or anyone who didnât quite fit into Dallasâs image-conscious, monied culture.
Which was what Jane loved about it.
She felt at home here.
Jane began to walk, briskly, greeting those she recognizedâfellow artists,