Art and Artifice: Sneak Peak No. 2

[Below is Chapter 2, titled “A Few Months Earlier,” from my soon-to-be released memoir, Art and Artifice: A Memoir.  Stay tuned for more excerpts and news of the actual book launch, which is planned for September 2025! You can read Chapter 1 here, Chapter 3 here, and Chapter 7 here.]

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In the months leading to the birthday party weekend, a gradual flirtation started to develop between me and a colleague of mine named Paul. But he was not just a colleague, he was the supervisor responsible for assigning work to me at the company I was contracting from, and we’d worked together in that capacity for close to 10 years. We complemented each other well on a business level. He knew he could count on me to meet deadlines and turn in quality work, and I knew he’d have my back if there were ever issues with difficult managers or project engineers. I felt like I had an ally at that company, and the contract was mine to lose.

In the spring of 2003, there was a change in my personal circumstances. I’d separated from Don, my husband of 9 years, and moved out of our four-bedroom home and into a one-bedroom apartment. As the summer wore on, our divorce settlement was being mediated. I should have kept that quiet as long as possible from my work associates, but I’ve never had a great poker face—if something’s going on with me, I usually end up divulging it sooner or later. As life became more and more complicated for me, it dribbled out in my email exchanges with Paul. Instead of the impersonal “Have a great weekend!” on a Friday afternoon, it became more along the lines of “Ugh, I have to spend the weekend getting ready for the meeting with the mediator on Monday.” Gradually, because I’d known Paul for so long, he was soon filled in on the trouble in my personal life. He initially responded with kindness and concern, but still maintained a cool professionalism.

Slowly, though, a subtle shift took place in the late summer. For starters, he started to suggest more lunch meetings than usual, and this was no small thing. Population-wise, Houston is the fourth largest city in the US, but geographically, it is also a huge city, being built on the ancient Gulf Coast coastal plain. Translated, that means f-l-a-t for almost 100 miles in every direction. City planners and developers took advantage of all that space. My office was in what was called the Energy Corridor in northwest Houston, on Dairy Ashford just south of I-10 and Memorial Drive. His office was in Sugar Land, almost 20 miles southwest of Houston. All this is to say that these additional get-togethers took a great deal of effort on our part—that 1-hour lunch ate up close to 3 hours of our work day when you factored in the distance and traffic.

The topics of conversation became more personal. We started exchanging suggestions of favorite bottles of wine. Learning each other’s tastes in books, music, and movies as if we were a newly dating couple. Something seemed to be happening that was fun and exciting. Yet we always had the excuse of a steady project load as a pretense for getting together.

Paul and I were about the same age; he was less than a year older than me. Premature hair loss that started in his 20s left him almost completely bald by his mid-40s, with only a small patch left in back. But he had an almost perfect, Michael Jordan-shaped head and such a beautiful face that it left you with the impression that hair wouldn’t have made any difference—after a while, you simply stopped noticing. He had those mesmerizing hazel eyes that changed color depending on the lighting: they got chocolate brown in low light and almost ice blue in bright sunlight.

Navigating the obvious land mines of acknowledging an interest in a work supervisor was one thing. I was risking a lot—a 10-year contract that had gone so well that they put me on retainer with the company, granting me a guaranteed 25 hours a week of work. In reality, the workload ended up to be almost a full-time gig. This steady supply of work enabled me to rent office space and hire employees and temporary contractors. So the potential conflict of interest there put my financial security in jeopardy, as well as my employees.

But the bigger risk was that I knew Paul was married. And with a child younger than 2 years old. Rumor had it this was his third marriage, and his current wife was younger than him by 20 years. Another coworker of his had told me on several occasions that he was “absolutely smitten” with this wife, that he “glowed” whenever he talked about her.

So when the flirtations started to come from him loud and clear via email, it threw me off balance. At first, I tried not to read too much into it. Surely, he didn’t mean… and Did he really say such-and-such?

The personal emails escalated, interspersed with project talk. I shared how I was a season ticket holder for the Houston Ballet, and he would respond with “I love the ballet, my daughter used to be a dancer.” He’d share how he had plans to take the family to San Antonio over the weekend, and I’d ask all about it on Monday morning. I’d mention I was taking French classes twice a week in the evenings. He’d respond with fractured French dialog, trying to be funny.

Once I sent him a picture of a painting I bought at a recent Houston arts festival, and he responded by emailing JPGs of some artwork he’d drawn. The artwork seemed to seal the deal. I was astounded by his talent and wanted to see more.

Paul responded with, “It just so happens (go figure) that I put some of my work in the car this morning. Can I stop by your office on the way home from work tonight, to show you?” This was a Friday night, and he was asking to stop by on his way home before the weekend started.

The fact that he had preemptively put his artwork in his car that morning, told me that one way or another, he wanted to see me before the weekend. I had no doubt at that moment that the attraction between us was mutual. Whatever his marital status was, it was not strong enough to keep him from making up an excuse to come and see me that day. For the first time, the pretense for our meeting was not work related. This was our watershed moment.

He came to my office at the end of that day, Friday, September 5, and showed me 20 or 25 transparencies of his artwork, which blew me away. He really was an amazing talent, and I was surprised that he’d never tried to sell any at the art shows or festivals I frequented.

Then I felt it was time for the “come to Jesus” talk. I needed for the games to stop.

“So. Paul. What are we really doing here?”

“Right,” he said. “We need to talk. I think there’s no question of my interest in you, and I think it’s mutual…correct?” He raised his eyebrows and looked at me questioningly. I nodded and indicated for him to continue.

“This is my situation. Of course, you know I’m married, and we have a little boy. My son Danny was born premature about 18 months ago. Because of the extra alarm around his difficult birth, and his continuing poor health ever since then, Hannah—that’s my wife—has had little energy, time, or attention left over for me. It’s been all-consuming for her, plus now she’s gone back to work. I admit to feeling pushed aside and ignored—it’s all just Danny, Danny, Danny. It’s been a very long year and a half of being made to feel like I am nothing more than a paycheck. Then I feel guilty because the poor kid never asked for any of this, you know? He never asked to be sick.

“Then you came along and started sharing some of your situation, and started showing me some attention, and it felt good. I haven’t felt like that in a long time. I haven’t felt like anyone listened to me or cared what I had to say in a very long time. So I am starting to feel a bit torn inside.”

He reached across my desk for my hands and held them while he was talking, and the strong attraction between us was evident. He continued.

“But this is what I keep coming back to: even though things are tough for me at home right now, it’s really important to me to do right by people. And it’s important to me that you know that.”

Now it was my turn. “Yeah, it’s time we had this talk. Because I do know about your wife and kid—well, I didn’t know the premature part, but—the fact of the matter is, a married man is sending unmistakable flirtations my way, which at first caught me by surprise. Then I admit, it felt good to me too. But this is what I can tell you about me: I’ve heard that your wife is quite a bit younger than you. Well, I’m not. I think we’re about the same age. I’m in the process of going through my second divorce, as you know. That means I’m not naïve. I’ve been around the block a time or two. Linda in your office has said to me a couple of times that you’re ‘just smitten’ about your wife and that you glow every time you talk about her. And I nod and smile, but I think to myself: oh yeah? Then why is he flirting with me? And this is what I know for a fact: someone who is happy in their marriage does not flirt outside of it. They do not secretly meet other women for lunch and privately after work in their office. So I don’t believe the smitten part. I think there’s a crack in the foundation there.”

I paused for a moment, to see if he would interrupt me. But he just steadily gazed at me, not saying anything to contradict me or to tell me I was right. So I continued.

“So I need to know: what is really going on with you? Do you have one foot out the door, or are you just playing games here? I mean, yes, you have my interest, but…is this something that is going to bite me in the ass down the road? I need to know where your head’s at. We both have a lot at stake here, and I don’t need to get hurt.”

I didn’t really get a solid answer to that last one. He said he had a lot of thinking to do, especially about Danny, who was a huge responsibility. We talked a bit longer, and agreed to keep the lines of communication open. He didn’t leave my office until about 6:30 p.m., meaning he got home extremely late for a Friday night. When we shook hands at the door, I took his hand in both of mine and held it there for a long time.

I felt good about the chat. We’d cleared the air, acknowledged our attraction for each other, but also acknowledged the sticky situation this represented. It could go either way, and normally that might have discouraged me. But something inside me knew this wasn’t the end. For some reason, I was filled with hope. It was the memory of that final tender moment that was keeping me afloat in Megan and Mike’s pool the next day.