Method Acting: An opposites attract, found family romance (Center Stage Book 2) Adele Buck (e novels to read .TXT) 📖

Colin suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. What he had seen from the periphery of The National Gallery Sculpture Garden had always made it seem like it was full of annoyingly abstract pieces and twee pop art he didn’t like. As such, he had never felt lured to go inside.

Steady on. Maybe there’s something here you don’t know about.

“How is it that you know so much about the museums in D.C.? Haven’t you only been here a short while?” he asked.

“When we went into production, my daylight hours were mostly free when we didn’t have matinées. And I like to learn and don’t do well without something to occupy my time.”

A determined look crossed her face as she tugged him to the entrance. As they walked in, he almost groaned. A ladder of quasi-abstract, chair-like shapes stretched toward the sky to his left; a concrete pyramid that looked like it was made out of breeze blocks loomed to the right.

Just as he had feared. Incomprehensible. His feet dragged.

She pulled at his hand again, her jaw set in a firm line. “Don’t worry, it will all be over soon, and we can go inside that big block of stone to soothe your soul with some eighteenth century French paintings or something.”

“You read my mind,” he said, knowing he was being petulant and somehow not being able to stop himself.

“Come on,” she said, pointing at a jumble of red-painted steel. “Who doesn’t like a Calder?”

“What is this supposed to be?” he muttered. “Ah.” He read the placard. “Cheval Rouge. Looks more like a stegosaurus on psychotropic drugs than a horse. Sorry. Though I’ll grant that it is red.”

She released his hand and planted her fists on her hips. “You don’t have to apologize for not liking something, but having an open mind might be useful.”

Colin shrugged. “It’s not that I have anything against contemporary art. I have a few modern pieces myself. It’s just that I don’t get the point of a great bit of steel business like this. Though I don’t mind his mobiles so much.”

Alicia rolled her eyes. “Generous of you to say so.” Walking him to the other side of the path, she said, “You can’t say this is unrecognizable.” A cartoonish representation of a house stood there, one visible wall white, one wall yellow, shutters picked out in a bright red to match the jaunty little chimney that stuck out of the roof.

“No, but I can wonder why it can lay claim to the title of ‘art,’” he said as they circled it, his comment cut off by the realization that the house seemed to be spinning in place as they moved. “What?” He frowned and blinked and they moved a few steps further around the structure and the mystery was solved.

The little house wasn’t three-dimensional. At least not in the way he had thought it was. It was two walls only and they were concave, not convex, but their orientation appeared to be inverted when you faced the piece head-on, the proportions and angles combining to confound the viewer.

An optical illusion.

Alicia bit her lips together, trying to suppress the satisfaction she had felt at being able to fool him. Granted, she had distracted him with the Calder until they had moved to a point where the little house was at its most misleading.

But he was being so smug, it felt like a major victory to see him confounded.

“Surprised?”

“Gobsmacked.” He moved around the sculpture again, rubbing his chin with one hand. She had been pleased when he hadn’t shaved, and now the stubble across his cheeks was dark and rough in contrast to his usual smoothness. His body was like a playground of textures now: harsh stubble, soft hair, smooth skin over hard muscle.

She realized he had caught her ogling him. He blinked, his eyes uncertain, and she reached out a hand to take his.

“Come on,” she said, towing him farther into the garden.

“Really?” he asked. “Didn’t you make your point?”

She stopped, turning to him. “If I had, you would be curious to go on, not eager to leave. But we can go look at the boring old stuff you’ve seen at least thirty times already if you feel that strongly about it.”

The muscles of his jaw worked for a moment, his eyes going from uncertain to hard. “Fine. But do you like all these things?” He waved at an aluminum tree stretching bare branches to the hot, blue summer sky.

“Some of it. Some of it confuses me, some of it I really dislike. Do you like every…” she floundered for an example. “…Van Gogh you’ve ever looked at?” She rubbed her index finger with her thumb, a loose piece of cuticle irritating her.

“No, but at least with Van Gogh I know it’s art.”

“How do you know it’s art?”

He stopped, considered her question. “There’s a history. A provenance. A pedigree.”

Alicia’s breath caught in her chest. “Everything that now has a pedigree was new once. And just because something is new doesn’t mean it’s inferior.”

“That’s not what I said. But this…” He waved his free hand at the tree. “It just seems like showy, vulgar display.”

Alicia dropped his hand, backed away, fought the urge to turn and walk away. But she wanted that last word.

“And where’s the guy who defended me and my ‘showy, vulgar display’ to Mrs. Thurston Howell III last night?” she asked through gritted teeth, her shoulders tensing painfully. “Or do you only tolerate that sort of thing when you want to fuck it senseless?”

For a few moments, Colin scrambled to figure out where he had gone wrong.

Why was she taking this personally? A fierce, hot surge of defensive feeling built in his chest.

He opened his mouth to speak, then paused. Her tense, unhappy face said she was one second from turning and walking away.

He bit back his words. It didn’t matter why. It mattered that she did. And he could still see her