Chapter 25

ABBY

The next afternoon everything changes. Suddenly there are picketers in front of the studio. A swarm of them appeared overnight. They stand on the front lawn and in the street holding signs that say wonderful things like:

"RESSURECT MORALITY"

"PORNOGRPHERS WILL PERISH"

"LUST IS A DRUG "

And my personal favorite: "ABBY GRAY: THE HAMPTON WHORE"

I'm sitting with Gus and Jack in the conference room. Their faces are straight, utterly serious, waiting to see how I'll take the personal attack. After the painting session last night, Jack thinks I'm fragile. Maybe I am a little, but not about this.

I can't be somber about it. I laugh and say, "They made me sound like a ghost. Wooooo, the Hampton Whore used to haunt this very building." I make more ghost noises as the guys' eyebrows creep up their shocked faces. I can't believe it. I lean back hard in my chair and say, "Oh, come on. It's funny."

Jack looks at Gus and then back at me. "This doesn't bother you?" His eyes are kind, worried.

I shake my head and lean in across the table. Jack mirrors me. I whisper loudly, cupping my hand to my mouth, "I'm not really a whore, so it doesn't bother me."

"Abby, be serious," Gus chides when Jack sits back in his chair and smiles widely.

I hate it when people say that. 'Be serious,' as if I don't know what I've gotten myself into. I stop laughing and say, "You be serious, Gus. This is nothing. I don't care. They can say what they want. I bet I've slept with less men than the woman holding the sign. This is stupid. It doesn't warrant a reaction."

Jack presses his fingers to his eyes and lets out a rush of air. He didn't sleep well last night. Jack stayed up painting for most of the night, joining me in bed well after midnight. He tossed and turned, like something was bothering him.

"Maybe she's right." Jack drops his hands and looks at Gus. "If we do nothing, they'll all leave sooner. Let's just make sure all the doors are locked, and the studio is shut up tight. I don't want any blinds open. The press will start sniffing around, trying to get comments. Don't talk to them." That last part was directed at me. I shrink back into my chair a little and Jack gives Gus a scathing look. "No press, Gus. I don't care what she says. If you do that again, you're dead to me."

"Holy crap, you sound like your mother," Gus replies, shaking his head, like he can't believe it. "I never thought you'd use that line on me." There's a playful tone in his voice, even though things are serious. I watch the two of them go back and forth for a few rounds until Jack cuts it off.

"I can hold a grudge, Gus. Don't piss me off." Jack stands and grabs the papers that are in front of him. He taps them into a pile and gestures for me to follow. He's all serious until we're clear of Gus, and then he laughs. "I can't believe you sometimes. Gus and I were both freaking out when we saw them show up. They piled out of a bus like ants and swarmed. I thought you'd cry."

"Wooooo!" I say, laughingly, making my best ghost noise. "Come on, you have to admit that's a bad sign. I think they did it wrong if it was supposed to make me repent or something. What group is that, anyway?"

We walk down the hallway to the studio. Once we're inside, Jack pulls all the blinds and the room darkens. I flip on the lights. No natural light kind of sucks, but I can deal.

"I don't even know. I think there are a few civic groups and a church."

"Hey, what time is it?" I ask.

"One o'clock, why?" He looks at me funny.

"Let's call the pizza guy and send them lunch." There's a huge smile on my face. I can picture it in my mind and giggle.

"Oh, God. You're going to get them to throw bricks at us, aren't you? Listen," Jack takes me shoulders and looks into my eyes. He's too serious. I stop smiling. "I love you, but they are going to get worse if they think that their picketing has no effect on you. At least pretend that they're hurting you when they see you coming and going. Smiling and giving them food, while very hospitable of you, is going to piss them off." He smiles at me like I'm a bad kid.

I sigh, "Fine. I'll be good." Jack kisses my forehead and releases my shoulders. We walk into the studio. The painting he was working on last night is on the wall behind the curtain. I sigh dramatically and slump my shoulders. "Are you serious? I'm not allowed to see it? Again?"

"Nope. You'll have to wait like all the other models do. Since I stayed up all night, it's pretty far along. I can't wait to show it to you." He beams at me. I can tell how pleased he is, which makes it even harder not to peak behind the curtain. Jack notices the look in my eye and reads my thoughts. "Don't you dare peek."

I make a pouty face and say, "Fine, but know this..." I say, raising my finger and sucking in a deep breath. "I hate waiting." Jack laughs. I resume my normal stance as Jack walks toward the unused canvases.

Jack starts to roll the biggest one back up. "Help me roll it," Jack says, grabbing one end of the massive roll. It's as big as a roll of carpet. I grab the other end and we try to get it on the long brown roll.

"So, what'd you have in mind for today, art boy?" I say with a grin on my face.

"Keep it even," he scolds.

"I am, but it's like trying a roll a tree." I sigh and tuck my hair behind my ears. "This was from a new roll, right?"

"Yeah and it's not the canvas that I usually use. It's thicker. The texture is really coarse, like burlap."

"Ooooh, burlap. Sexy."

He grins at me and pulls his end tight, trying to get rid of the wrinkle in the middle. "What's gotten into you today? If I didn't know better, I'd think you were giddy."

"Yeah, nervous glee is my way of dealing with stress. Get used to it, Jack."

He looks up at me, his dark hair in his eyes, and I wink. "If you keep doing that, I'm going to ravage you right here on the studio floor. Gus will walk in and you'll turn all shades of red." His threat is hollow. He says it to tease me, knowing that I don't have an exhibitionist bone in my body.

I can't help it. Maybe I am a little bit giddy. After talking to Jack last night, I feel like a weight has been lifted from my chest. I want to play. I want to laugh.

Straightening, I taunt him and hold my arms out at my sides. "I dare you." Jack looks up at me with a sexy smile on his face, like he doesn't think I'm serious. "Come on, painter boy, are you all bluster and no bite?" Teasing him, I smirk and gesture for him to come get me.

He laughs and runs straight at me, which I didn't expect. I barely have time to turn and run when he reaches me. Jack grabs at my waist, but I giggle and move out of his reach. I run away from him, swirling as I go, dancing around the buckets of paint and tables of brushes and solvent. I shriek as Jack narrowly misses me and I dart around the table. I stop, waiting to see which way Jack is going to run. He does the same. We stare at each other for a second, catching our breath. My pulse is pounding and there's a huge smile on my face. So far, today is pretty good. I plan on it getting better. I fake right and run left. I nearly fall on my ass doing it. I slip, and my hip bangs the corner of the table.

"Frack! That hurt!" I say, half laughing, still trying to avoid Jack's arms.

Chasing me, he says, "'Frack?' Come on, where's my girl? Say it like you mean it."

"I reserve that word for pillow talk, Mr. Gray, and since there are no pillows present, I won't be saying it." Breathless, I stop on one side of the brush table. He's on the other.

He laughs as mirth flashes in his eyes. Jack is radiant when he's laughing. It's hard not to just stare. "I sense a challenge."

"No you don't," I laugh.

Jack lunges forward and grabs hold of my waist. I shriek and giggle as he knocks the brushes on the floor as he slides across the table-top. I realize that he can't stand and start to drag him across. I dig my heels in and pull, intending to knock him on the floor, but the man has catlike reflexes, and instead of falling, he manages to lunge at me. Lunge! We go down in a tangle of legs and arms and roll along the floor. He's tickling my sides so hard that I can't breathe. Tears are streaming from my eyes as I try to curl into a ball and kick him at the same time.

"Say it!" he says, as his ruthless fingers find a horribly ticklish spot at the top of my inner thigh. His other hand is trying to get to the same spot. I kick and thrash.

"No!"

"Say it!" His fingers manage to find an opening and his other hand is getting nearer to that most ticklish of spots. He continues to tickle since I keep trying to get away.

His hands reach that ticklish spot on both of my sides. I'm toast. I scream and laugh uncontrollably as his fingers torture me. Jack is perched over me. He leans down close to my face, and his fingers slow their onslaught. "Say it, Mrs. Gray. Say it."

The smile on my face hurts. I feel my lips curl, trying to say that nasty word, but I can't. It's daylight and I'm not feeling it. Jack's fingers start to move like he's going to begin his tickle-slaughter again, and I concede. "Fuck! FUCK! Stop!"

Hovering over me, Jack grins wickedly. "There's my dirty girl." He kisses my nose.

"You suck!" I giggle and take a shot at his head, but I'm too wiggly. I miss by a mile. Jack grabs my wrists and pins me to the floor before sitting on me.

"No, no. You're saying it wrong. Fffff..." He makes the sound, pressing his teeth to his lips. "Fuck. You try." He laughs and wiggles his hips against me.

I can't stop laughing. Everything he said and the way he's straddled me makes me laugh hysterically. Jack's eyebrow lifts as he looks down at me like I've lost my mind. I manage to say, "You're doing it wrong," before I'm ravaged by more laughter.

"We can fix that," he says and reaches for his zipper.

I flush and the giggles evaporate. I grab his hands, stopping him. "I can't. There are people here." The office girl is here and so is Gus. They could walk in. As it is, Gus heard me screaming profanities. My face burns and I know I'm blushing.

Jack laughs and lowers his face to mine. "I know." He watches me for a second, like he might do something. My heart is thumping in my chest, totally freaking out. I want him. I want to say yes, but I can't. His eyes are glued to mine as his warm breath slips across my face. "I'll take a rain check on this one if you'll consider sex on the beach when the paparazzi leave."

"The drink?" I can't help it.

"Okay, back to now," he says, lifting himself up enough to reach for his belt and unfasten it.

"No, no. I'll consider it." I say, laughing, pulling at his hands to make him stop. A tear streaks from the corner of my eye. I still feel uber happy.

"No, I mean really consider it. Not just say that even though the answer is already no. Think about it - about what it would feel like, about what you might like." His eyes are so dark. They look like gemstones.

I nod slowly. "All right. I will."

He looks surprised. "Are you serious?" He strokes a stray hair from my eyes.

"Of course I am. The idea scares me, but I'll think about it. Maybe there's something that might appeal to me that I haven't thought of. In the meantime, you can tell me about what you want. I'd like that. Use the word fuck a lot. I hear that works really well."

Jack laughs and holds me tightly. When I see him happy like this, when I get a chance to be around him without distraction, I feel so perfect. Jack rolls and I'm on top of him. He holds me there, looking up at me, and gives me the first little tidbit about sex on the beach. "I'd want you to be on top so I can look at you." His hands run over my sides and come up under my breasts. He cups them through my shirt and I sigh. He's about to tell me what else he wants to do when someone pounds on the door that leads to the hall and it flies open.

Gus runs in. He stops short when he looks at us. He turns away quickly. Horrified, I climb off of Jack, who thinks it's amusing. He pulls me off the floor and tells Gus, "Knocking only works if you wait for someone to answer, jackass."

Gus's back is turned. There's a sense of urgency about him. His hands are clenched at his sides and he's breathing hard. "Sorry, bro. I didn't mean to walk in on you."

"Turn around, Gus. There's nothing to see." Gus turns around, and Jack leans back against a table, still smiling at me before directing his attention to Gus, asking, "What's going on?"

"Something bad happened at the opening in Biloxi. One of the guards was attacked. A protester tried to spray-paint Abby's portrait. The guard tackled him. There was a knife and the guard was hurt. Jack, I need you." Gus turns and sprints back down the hall.

"Make sure every door is locked," Jack says to me, and squeezes my hand tight before he follows Gus out of the studio.

For the first time since all of this started, I feel truly afraid.

Chapter 26

ABBY

I walk around the studio to make sure all the doors are locked. The studio is secure, but the way the studio offices and house are arranged means that there are some doors that you can only get to by walking outside. I head to the back of the studio after grabbing my keys. I walk outside along the path to the cottage. I open the door and stick my head inside. Nerves get the better of me and I feel skittish. I'm ready to bolt like a spooked cat. I can't shake the feeling that someone is watching me, but there's no one inside the cottage and no one on the beach. I pull the door shut and lock it before walking back to the main building. I let myself in, and lock the door behind me. It feels strange. This is a safe neighborhood. People don't do things like that here. The residents that stay year round are nice; many of them are artists like Jack  -  writers, sculptors, and painters.

As I head toward the conference room, I hear Gus speaking, "The guard was taken to the Biloxi Regional Medical Center. I've notified his family. This is going to make the rest of the southern half of the exhibition more dangerous. Once something like this happens, it spreads the hate. Kate called earlier. Since MOMA is the last stop, she needs to be in on this. The tour might need to be altered."

"To what?" Jack snaps. When I step into the room, I slip into a seat quietly. The blinds are drawn, making the room much darker than usual. "We set this up with Kate. It was supposed to - " He sighs loudly and pinches the bridge of his nose. His dark hair falls forward. I know he's thinking of the guard and the man's family. When Jack looks up, he glances at me.

"Everything's locked up. The cottage, too."

"Good," Jack replies. "Listen, Abby, I know you're pissed at Kate right now, but you need to keep an eye out for her. I don't want the picketers to hurt her."

I nod and stand. Before I leave the room, I lean in and hug him. When I'm on the other side of the door, I pull it shut and take a deep breath. I walk into the front office to find Cara. She's slim, in her thirties, with her dark hair slicked back in a high ponytail. She's wearing a suit, like Gus. The two of them are the only ones who wear suits.

"Hey, Cara," I say.

"Hi, Abby. What's up?" She's sitting at the front desk. We can't see the picketers from here, but we can see the press camped out, waiting for someone to walk outside.

"Cara, I'm watching for someone. If you see her, help her get inside as fast as possible. I need to run back to the cottage to grab my cell." She nods at me and I take off at a jog, my hair sloshing around my face as I move.

Since the doors are usually open, I don't have my phone in my pocket. I leave it on my nightstand. I want to text Kate so she'll know there are a bunch of nuts at the end of the driveway. When I walk outside, I run to the cottage. I grab the phone and notice that I missed a call. I check it quickly. I don't recognize the number, but there's a message. It's from Jackson. He wants to meet up with me and catch up. Now would be the worst time in the world to catch up. Another message plays after that. It's the from movers. Something's happened to my things and I need to call them. I hang up and take a deep breath. How did they find my things? I get the creeping suspicion that this a lot more serious than anyone thinks.

I text Kate quickly and shove the phone in my pocket, before locking the door. I intend to run back to the main building, but a reporter sees me. She steps from between the pine trees that are between the house and the studio and cuts me off. I nearly slam into her. A microphone is shoved into my face.

"Is it true that you consummated your relationship with artist Jonathan Gray before your marriage earlier this month? Is that why you left your church and married him? Did he make you an honest woman? Or did you entrap him?"

My eyes widen as I'm pelted with questions that I can't  -  I won't  -  answer. I push the mic away and run for the house. She chases after me with a camera crew on her heels. The others figure it out and soon they are all around the back of the house. I fumble the key, trying to unlock the door as countless microphones are shoved in my face. I can't see the lock. I feel my temper slipping. They hurl questions at me until I crack. Slowly, I turn and say, "I will answer one question and one question only. Then you will get off my property or I will have the cops take you off. Do you understand?"

The reporters roar to life, all speaking over each other. I manage to get the key into the lock. One question is heard above the rest: "Did you love him?"

Twisting the key, I say, "I've always loved him." The door opens and I back inside, slamming it shut and locking it quickly.

My heart is pounding. I hate it when that happens. When everything is good, the reporters act civil. When things are bad, they turn into vultures, all clawing to pick at any scrap of flesh they can get at. Damn. I try to shake it off, but my skin is still prickled with goose bumps.

I run my hands over my arms and feel the phone vibrate in my pocket. I pull it out. It's from Kate.

One word: "SHIT."

I run to the front just in time to see her car. People are chasing her up the drive-way, yelling at her. She blares the horn and keeps her hand there with a smile on her face. She stops in the closest parking spot and runs inside. An egg hits the door as it swings shut. More eggs are flying through the air and hit her car.

"Holy shit," Kate says so slowly that I can see all her teeth. She glances at me and says, "I'm mad at you about last night, so don't think that's over." Her finger is in my face.

I smack it away. "It's so not over." I release a slow breath so I don't strangle her. Kate is so prickly when she's mad. Prickly is a Texas word. In New York, she's just being a bitch. "Go into the meeting room. I'll be right in."

Kate gives me a don't tell me what to do face and turns her head toward the door. Her earrings swing as she works her jaw and goes in to see the guys. I'm glad that we're usually on the same side. I hate fighting with her.

I tell Cara, "Call the local police station and tell them that the press and the picketers are on our property and won't leave. Ask if they can come down and get them to scatter."

"No problem. I'll keep an eye on the door. I have pepper spray in my desk. It's there if you need it."

I thank her and invite her to come in with us. It's nice knowing that another person is watching out for us. I want to watch out for her, as well. Leaving her alone in the front makes me nervous. I wonder if we should lock the doors and shut down altogether until this blows over, but I can't do that to Jack.

I walk into the conference room and tell them that the press came around the back of the studio and trapped me outside.

"I talked to them," I say, glancing at Jack, knowing he'll be upset.

Gus tries hard not to react, but Kate flips out. She stands and presses her hands on the table, bending her fingers backward as she leans forward, yelling, "You talked to the goddamn press? How stupid are you?"

My mouth flies open to scream back a snarky retort, but Jack beats me to it.

"That's enough," Jack says, his voice rumbling like thunder. He's pissed. The look he gives Kate could kill a chicken. When he turns his gaze back to me, he asks more gently, "Are you all right?"

I nod. "Yes. They ambushed me out back. I couldn't get in because all the doors are locked." Jack's eyes hold mine and I tell him, "I told them that I've always loved you." Jack's brow wrinkles as he looks away from me. He pinches his temple with his right hand and takes a deep breath.

For a moment, everyone is silent. When the talking starts again, no one is yelling.

"It makes Abby look worse and Jack look better," Gus offers. He's staring at Kate, who's pacing the floor across from him. Jack stands at the head of the table with his thick arms folded and flexed across his chest. Jack glances at him, but says nothing.

Kate is chewing on the ends of her hair, thinking. Her eyes dart to the side and she looks at me. The soggy hair falls out from between her lips. Turning her head slowly, she looks toward the window. Everyone watches at her. "Did you hear that?"

Cara rushes toward the door, her eyes searching the room for a sound that some of us missed. I glance at her and the hairs on my neck stand up.

"Hear what?" Gus asks, and gets up from his chair. A second later, something smashes through the glass and tumbles across the floor before coming to a stop. It would have hit Gus in the head if he were still sitting there.

Heart pounding, I ask Cara, "Did you call the cops?"

"They're coming, Abby," she says from the doorway with worry pinching her face. Her jaw hangs open, staring at the broken window.

Jack swiftly moves across the room. The blinds were drawn, but that didn't keep the brick from coming through. It just made it harder for us to see it coming. The salty sea air rustles through the blinds. Jack rips open the shades. Every muscle in his body is flexed, ready to fight. I step toward him with my hand outstretched. I'm not sure what I intend to do, but I move all the same.

The blinds rip off in Jack's hand and the entire thing falls to the floor with a loud clatter. No one is there. No reporters, no protesters, no one. The glass is shattered, glistening in long sharp shards like crystals in the sunlight. The shattered bits spill into the room and glitter on the carpet.

Jack bends down and lifts the brick. He turns it over, and on the smooth side his fingers brush over the big black letters as his eyes narrow with rage.

There are only five letters on that brick, five letters that form one nasty word. I feel my throat constrict when I see the fat letters. They wanted me to see it. They knew we were in this room. Still, it jars me, making my stomach lurch like I'm going to be sick.

"WHORE."

Jack's eyes shift to me as he holds the brick in his hand. Kate is standing perfectly still. Gus says nothing. I walk over and take the brick from Jack and put it on the table. I've been taught since I was a child that words are only words, that they only hurt you if you let them, but that isn't true. Words can build you up and words can destroy a person. I pretend it doesn't hurt me. I don't want it to sink beneath my skin. I don't want to spend hours crying over what some hater thinks of me. I shouldn't care.

My finger touches the word on the top of the brick. I say, "It's only a brick. It could have been worse."