The Essence of Perfection Read online

  She rang the bell twice before a grumpy voice yelled from the other side. “I’m coming. I mean really. People aren’t patient anymore.”

  The door swung open and Jeremiah Coleman frowned at her. A faded Atlanta Falcons t-shirt and ripped jeans fit snugly on his five-foot-six frame. Dark eyes similar to her mother’s, the irises rimmed in blue, stared at her with only annoyance. His hair was white around the edges and nonexistent in the center of his head.

  “Why are you here?”

  So much for getting a welcoming smile and bear hug. “To see you.”

  “This about that damn list?” One bushy white brow rose.

  Really? Even her grandfather knew about that. Would she never escape this? “America’s second chance. That’s what we’re calling you.” Stacie’s words rang through her head.

  “C’mon, Grandpa, I don’t need a reason to see you.”

  His eyes narrowed. The glare that had made her confess all her sins as a kid or lean in to kiss his cheek to make him grin when she was a teenager came to his face. Nicola was proud of herself for not fidgeting.

  “Okay, it’s kind of because of the list.”

  His head lifted and lowered. The glare was replaced with a look that said he’d known that all along. “Come on in. Might as well help me if you’re gonna come around.” He stepped back, froze, then gave a narrow-eyed glance over her shoulders. “No cameras.”

  “Grandpa, I don’t have a camera.”

  “How am I supposed to know? Your mom said cameras would be following you.” One more suspicious look over her shoulder and up and down the street.

  “The cameras are only for fun stuff.”

  “I’m not fun?” His chin lifted.

  “You’re a loveable grump, but you’re not fun.”

  Her grandad grunted but finally allowed her to enter. Nicola kissed his cheek before going further into the house. She was immediately struck by how much the house still smelled like her grandmother’s perfume. No matter how successful and famous Nicola had become, her grandmother hadn’t agreed to change the perfume she wore and stuck with the Imari perfume she’d purchased from her same Avon sales representative for nearly two decades. The blend of citrus and musk with hints of jasmine and vanilla had blended with her grandmother’s own perfect scent. Nicola loved Grandma Cindy’s loyalty to her friend who sold her the perfume, and therefore, hadn’t gotten upset when her grandmother didn’t want to switch.

  The house smelled the same, but it didn’t look the same. The furniture in the den was different from the last time she’d been here. The plush, dark purple sofa and love seat she remembered her mom saying Grandma and Grandpa had fought over purchasing was replaced with a tan leather set. A new rug covered the floor, and the curtains were gone. Only blinds kept the inside of the house shielded from prying eyes outside.

  “You redecorated,” Nicola said.

  “Obviously. I hated that purple sofa. Your grandmother’s choice,” he grumbled. Nicola stopped in the den, but her grandfather kept walking. “I’m working.”

  “What are you doing?” When he kept going down the hall, she had no choice but to follow.

  “Cleaning out the attic.”

  They went into the hall where the extendable ladder to the attic was down. “What are you doing that for?”

  “Because it needs to be done. I need something to keep me occupied. I can’t just sit around in this house listening to nothing all day.” Jeremiah grabbed the ladder and put one foot on the bottom rung.

  Nicola crossed her arms and raised a brow. “Is that why you fired the landscaping crew?”

  Her grandfather gave her a mind your business smirk. “I fired them because they weren’t cutting the grass right. I like parallel lines in the lawn. They were making them diagonal. Your grandmother’s idea.”

  If anyone else had said that, she might not have believed them. Coming from her grandfather, who was prickly but loveable when you caught him at the right moment, it was believable. She’d argue about the landscapers after she found out what else was going on with him.

  Nicola eyed the wobbly ladder. “Do you think you should be going up and down this ladder? It doesn’t look secure.”

  “I’ve gone up and down this ladder a hundred times in the past few days. So, either stay down here and entertain yourself, or come on up here and help me.”

  He went up the ladder without a hitch to his step. Sighing, Nicola looked up into the dreary darkness of the attic. Images of spiders, dust, and the dank smell of mildew filled her mind. Good thing she’d worn a pair of jeans and an inexpensive red t-shirt today. She put her foot on the bottom rung and made her way up. This is what she was here for.

  * * *

  They worked in silence for over an hour. Going through old boxes and putting things into keep, donate, and throw away piles. The keep, she’d been informed, wasn’t for him to keep. Those were items he thought her mom, one of her aunts and uncle, or the grandkids would like. There wasn’t much in the keep pile. Her grandpa was trying to get rid of as much stuff as possible.

  The junk in the attic seemed endless. Piles and piles of boxes all with dates going back fifty years. They were starting with the more recent boxes and working their way back. Her grandfather’s logic. Each box contained reminders of a family reunion, holiday party, or cookout where she and her grandmother had sat together and talked or laughed. Nicola’s eyes burned with tears and her throat clogged up. She couldn’t empty another box that brought up fresh memories of her grandmother—filled with her grandmother’s clothes and other items she’d worn in the years before her stroke. Nicola decided to tackle things differently.

  Nicola pushed aside the last box of clothes she’d sorted and reached for a box from the early 1980s with her grandfather’s name on it.

  Jeremiah stopped going through his own box of old Easter decorations to peer at her. “What are you doing with that?”

  Nicola scraped at the old tape on the box so she could pull it off. “I’m going through it.”

  “That doesn’t follow my process.”

  “Well, Grandpa, the process doesn’t have to be followed to the letter.” She removed the last of the tape.

  “Says who?”

  “Says me. The girl who is supposed to be breaking rules and trying new things, remember?”

  He pursed his lips and shook his head. Showing Nicola exactly where Quinn got her skeptical scowl from. “I saw that interview. They set you up.”

  “I’m glad you noticed. Everyone else seems to believe I sent that list on purpose.”

  “Who would send a list like that on purpose?” He pointed at her. “They got ahold of it and smelled a story. I don’t like it.”

  Nicola flipped back the top on the box. “I don’t either.”

  “So why are you going through with it?”

  She sat back on her heels and sighed. Her reasons had all sounded logical when she’d had Stacie on the phone. In her grandfather’s dusty attic, with his don’t come at me with any bull personality, she didn’t feel as confident in her decision. “It’ll be good publicity and hopefully bring in more business.”

  He grunted. “There you go again.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You and your excuses for why everything has to be about work and that cosmetics company. You’re always thinking of an angle. Always trying to make your mom and sister respect you.”

  “I am not trying to earn their respect. I’m trying to turn an embarrassing situation into something good. This will be fun for me.”

  Jeremiah did not look convinced. “Amazing how you’ve found a way to turn something that’s supposed to be fun for you into something to do with work.”

  “If I don’t turn this into something that will benefit Queen Couture, I not only put our account with Desiree in jeopardy but all of our clients. I can’t have them think the fancy perfumer they trust is really a fuddy duddy. I might as well turn this embarrassment into a win.”

>   He shook his head and went back to rifling through his box of stuff. “Or you could just try to enjoy yourself.”

  “I enjoy myself all the time. Thank you very much.”

  She looked away from what was sure to be a frustrated scowl to the box next to her. The dim light of the attic glinted off what looked like toys. Her brows drew together. Unfamiliar toys. She pulled out a black cape and top hat. Decks of cards. A microphone, sequined vest, and thin black stick.

  “What is all this?”

  Jeremiah shuffled over. His brows rose and then a smile creased his face. “My magic kit.”

  Nicola swung around. The giddy excitement in his voice was something she’d never heard from him. “Magic kit? Whoa, wait a second. You like magic?”

  He lowered to the floor beside her and ran wrinkled hands over the items. “I thought she threw this stuff away.” His eyes glistened and his lips trembled.

  Nicola placed a hand on his shoulder. “You know grandma wouldn’t throw away any of your stuff.”

  He shook his head and cleared his throat. “No, you don’t understand. Your grandmother almost left me over this. She said either get a real job or get out.”

  “W-what?” Nicola sputtered. “I never knew Grandma almost left you.” The idea was ludicrous. Her grandparents had always seemed perfect for each other. Grandma Cindy was able to easily soothe Grandpa Jeremiah’s ruffled feathers.

  His laugh was filled with nostalgia and melancholy. “Mid-life crisis. That’s what she called it. I’d always wanted to perform, you know. Be on stage in front of people. So I started dabbling with magic. Learned a few tricks. Added a few jokes. People hired me to do birthday parties and things like that. I got it in my head that I could be good. Do it up. So much so that I quit my job at the bank.”

  Nicola placed a hand over her mouth trying, unsuccessfully, to hide her smile. “You didn’t seriously do that?”

  “Where do you think your mom got her dramatic personality from. It definitely wasn’t from your grandmother.”

  Her mom could be dramatic. Tending to go with wherever her impulses lead. Part of the reason she left a good job at L’Oréal to start her own cosmetics company. Her grandfather, on the other hand, always seemed to be so taciturn.

  “But you were always so serious.”

  Jeremiah chuckled and twirled the wand between his fingers. “Which is why I wanted to do something fun. I loved your grandmother. Loved the kids. But raising a family isn’t always fun or fulfilling. I wouldn’t ever leave my responsibilities, but getting on that stage gave me a little bit of joy I didn’t get at home when we had to worry about bills, braces, and bad bosses. Your grandmother indulged me until I quit my job. She didn’t think I should follow flighty ideas. So, I quit. Got my job back at the bank and moved on. Before I could even consider getting back on stage, she had that stroke. After that, all I wanted to do was take care of her.” His voice cracked on the last. He blinked several times. He may complain, but the love between her grandparents was real and had always been apparent. “I never believed she would have kept this.”

  “Because she was so against the idea?”

  “She said one day when the kids got out if I still wanted to play magic then I could again. But I thought she was just trying to humor me.”

  Nicola thought about how she’d given up her original plans in order to help her family’s business. She didn’t regret it. She would do it all over again. There was no way she could watch her mom’s company fail if she had the ability to make it succeed. Still, she knew what it was like to make a change for others and put your own dreams on hold.

  “Well, maybe you should.”

  His curious gaze met hers. “What?”

  “I’m doing the things I always wanted, maybe you should, too.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Just think about it. Grandma obviously realized you loved entertaining people, otherwise she wouldn’t have kept your stuff. She’s not here to tell you to try, but I am. So try.”

  A slow smile spread across his face. With a soft sigh, he placed the top hat on his head and nodded. “Maybe I will. But that means you, too.”

  “I am, Grandpa, everyone who saw me on that television show knows I’m going to try something new.”

  “Don’t just focus on stuff on your list for publicity. Pick something that you really want to do and do that, too.” His stomach rumbled and he checked his watch. “Time for a break. Want a sandwich?”

  “Sure.” As she left the dusty attic to go make a sandwich with her grandfather, Nicola thought about something she really wanted right now that wasn’t on her list. Make Desiree’s perfume the most successful out there topped her list. There wasn’t much outside of that.

  Yes there is. Just admit it.

  “What are you thinking about?” Jeremiah asked while he spread mayonnaise on bread.

  Nicola smiled. “About signing up for a pottery class.”

  Chapter 9

  “Please let this be a good idea.”

  Nicola whispered the thought to herself for the third time as she sat with six other members of Damien Hawkins’s latest pottery class. She’d barely gotten in on time. Thanks to the persuasive tactics of LeShawn—tactics that were used in earnest after accidentally sending the list to television producers—Nicola was allowed to slip into the hard to get into class.

  They were spread out between two long rectangular tables in the art studio behind his gallery. Shelves filled with pottery in various stages of completion, a variety of clay, and buckets of stains lined the walls. Paint stains covered the tables, floor, and the wooden stools they sat on. A row of pottery wheels was lined up between two doors marked office and storage.

  She was excited to be there, but after meeting Damien, she wondered what he’d think of her sliding her way into his class. He had to know about her embarrassment on Your Morning Wake-Up Call. LeShawn had used Nicola’s appearance as a reason why she wanted to sign up in the first place. Maybe he’d taken pity on the woman who had no passion for what she did in her life, or he hoped to gain cross publicity based on her embarrassment. Regardless of the reason, Nicola was going to try and enjoy this. She’d convinced her grandfather to do magic on stage, the least she could do was honor her promise to do something for her, unrelated to the promise she’d made to America on national television.

  A dark-haired woman who looked to be in her mid-forties and wore a pair of stained jeans and a Hawkeye Pottery t-shirt stood at the front of the room. “Hello, everyone, I’m Fran Cogdin, and I’m one of the master potters who works with Damien at Hawkeye Pottery. I’m happy to welcome you to our newest class and I hope you not only learn a little about making pottery, but also learn something about yourself. Every person puts a little piece of themselves into the things they create. You may be surprised by what you put into your work over the next six weeks.”

  Several people in the class nodded and grinned as if they couldn’t wait to begin the journey of art and self-discovery. Nicola could barely stop herself from rolling her eyes. She didn’t need yet another expectation that she find herself.

  “I’m with you.” The man to her left leaned in. “I’m just here because my wife went to this class a year ago and loved it. She says I need to learn to be creative.”

  He was older, with pale skin, kind brown eyes behind frameless glasses, a neatly trimmed grey hair and beard, and a slim build. Immediately she got the sense he was a no-nonsense kind of person like her grandfather. She immediately liked him.

  “I convinced my grandfather to do something different and promised him I’d do the same,” Nicola said. “Learning pottery seemed like a safe bet.”

  He held out his hand. “Larry Goldberg.”

  “Nicola King.” She returned his handshake.

  Fran continued her introduction. “I will be taking you through this six-week journey of discovery and creation. Damien will check in once a week to view your progress and answer any questions you
may have related to making pottery.”

  A woman at the next table raised her hand. “He won’t be teaching himself?”

  Fran shook her head. “No. He wants to introduce more people to the joys of working with clay, but as you can imagine, he doesn’t have the time to commit to teaching the class.”

  Larry leaned toward Nicola. “He’s very busy you see.”

  Nicola covered her grin. Yeah, she was going to enjoy sitting next to Larry. His remark had distracted her from the flame of disappointment that tried to ignite at Fran’s announcement. Disappointment quickly followed by an overwhelming relief. Not having Damien You-Don’t-Have-Passion-In-Your-Voice look over her shoulder for six weeks would make the class better.

  Less pressure. Less distraction. Less temptation.

  After a basic housekeeping message of how the class would progress, first making items by hand, then moving on to the wheel, Fran went around the room so everyone could introduce themselves and say what they hoped to learn from the class. Nicola said she hoped to learn more about the basics of pottery. No one seemed to recognize her from the television show and she preferred to keep it that way for now.

  After that was done, Fran showed them where the clay and other materials were stored. The class put on aprons to protect their clothes before Fran jumped into the day’s lesson on the different types of clay and working it with their hands.

  Even though Fran continued talking about letting your inner self guide your hands and allowing your essence to flow, Nicola stopped herself from laughing every time Larry rolled his eyes whenever Fran told them to “become one with the clay,” and followed the techniques taught between the spiritual therapy lessons.

  Their assignment was to make whatever came to mind. Whatever the clay told them it needed to be. A piece of instruction that annoyed her the moment Fran said the words. Sure, her imagination helped her when she made scents, but she also had a brief to follow, and the knowledge of how various chemicals would react. Some sort of starting point. How was she supposed to know what the clay needed to be? The possibilities of what to make were endless. A lopsided bowl? A long roll she could call a snake? A circular bracelet or a dozen rings?