Her own parents had each been married four times, twice to each other. Sweeney had one younger brother, after whose birth her mother had decided motherhood distracted her from her devotion to her art and had herself spayed. Her father, though, just kept on begetting with his various wives and had produced two half-brothers and three half-sisters for Sweeney, none of whom she saw more than once every couple of years. There had never been any question of fatherhood being allowed to distract him from his art, which was filmmaking. The last Sweeney had heard, he was about to take wife number five, but that had been at least two years ago, so he might well be on number six by now. Or maybe he had gone back to number four. For all she knew, he might be back with her mother. Sweeney didn’t exactly stay in touch.
“Candra moved out of the town house just after last Thanksgiving, I think.” Kai’s eyes shone with the joy of gossip. “I know it was before Christmas, because she had a Twelve Days of Christmas party in her new apartment on the Upper East Side. It’s totally swank. She called the party her Twelve Days of Freedom. Don’t you remember?”
“I don’t do parties,” she said, as politely as possible. The last party she had attended had been her own eighth birthday party. She had escaped to her room before the ice cream was served, leaving the little hooligans her mother had invited to scream and fight without her. The ice cream had been Neapolitan, anyway, which she hated, but which her mother always served on the theory that this was the easiest way to satisfy all the children’s ice cream preferences.
The truth was, Sweeney didn’t do well in crowds, period. Socializing wasn’t her strong point, and she was acutely aware of her shortcomings. She never relaxed, and she was always afraid of doing something totally stupid. Her mother, a great ego-builder, was fond of saying Sweeney had the social grace of a Tibetan goatherd.
“You should have done this one.” Kai moved closer to her, his fingertips once again touching the inside of her elbow. “The food was fantastic, the champagne never ran out, and so many people were there you couldn’t move. It was great.”
Kai’s idea of great differed considerably from hers. She was deeply grateful she hadn’t been invited, though she had to admit that she might have been and promptly forgotten about it. Parties were her idea of hell—and speaking of which, what the hell was Kai doing to her elbow?
Scowling, she lifted her arm away from his touch. She knew Kai was a lover-boy, but he’d never before turned his attentions to her, and she didn’t like it. She made a mental note to return the damn sweater to the back of the closet when she got home.
“Sorry.” He was astute enough to know his subtle attentions weren’t having the desired effect. He smiled down at her. “Like I said, you look hot. It was worth a try.”
“Thanks,” she growled. “I’ve always wanted to be worth a try.”
He laughed, his amusement genuine. “Sure. That’s why your ‘Don’t Touch Me’ sign is high, wide, and flashing bright neon. Ah, well, if you’re ever lonely, give me a call.” He shrugged. “So, what’ve you been up to? Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve seen you at all for a few months. How’s the work going?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m producing, but I’m not sure what I’m producing. I’m trying some techniques.” That wasn’t the truth, but she wasn’t about to cry on Kai’s shoulder. He didn’t need to know how deeply disturbed she was by the direction her painting had been taking or that she was helpless to stop it. She tried to do the same delicate, almost ethereal work she had done before, but she seemed to have lost the knack. Those damn vivid colors kept getting in her way, and even though she cursed them, she was losing herself in them. And not only were her colors changing, but it seemed as if her perspective was, too. She didn’t know what was going on, but the result was jarring, somehow discordant. She had always been confident about her talent, if nothing else, but now she was so paralyzed by insecurity about her new work that she hadn’t been able to show it to anyone.
“Oh, really.” He looked interested. Of course, he was paid to look interested, so she didn’t read a whole lot into his expression. “Do you have anything ready to hang? I’d like to see what you’re doing.”
“I have several canvases ready to hang, but I’m not sure I’m ready.”
“I think you have only one piece left on display; everything else has sold. You need to bring something in.”
“I will.” She had to, reluctant though she was. If her new work didn’t sell, she didn’t eat; it was that simple. And they couldn’t sell if she never allowed anyone else to see them.
Kai glanced at his watch. “The McMillans should be here soon. I hope Richard leaves before then. Candra doesn’t like him coming here at all; she prefers to meet him in the lawyer’s office, so she’ll be furious if he delays her. She’s furious anyway, because he keeps balking.”
“He doesn’t want the divorce?”
Kai gave another graceful shrug. “Who knows what Richard wants? All I know is, he isn’t being very conciliatory. Candra seems to have two moods these days: worried or infuriated.”
Infuriated sounded like normal behavior during a divorce; worried didn’t. “Maybe she’s changed her mind and wants to back out of the divorce, but doesn’t know how to smooth things over.”
“Oh, she didn’t want it at all.” His eyes sparkled with the glee of delivering juicy gossip. “From what I gather, Richard’s the one who filed. Candra’s putting a good face on things, acting as if the decision was mutual, but she isn’t at all happy with the split.”