I walked over to look at it. She was doing a really good job considering she’d only had one class on oil painting so far. I think all the time she’d been spending at my dad’s studio watching over his shoulder was probably helping a lot. I know watching him and my grandad paint everyday growing up had been a huge help for me. I nodded supportively as I looked over the painting. “It’s already kicking ass. When it’s finished, people are gonna love it.”
“Do you think Brandon will put it in the Contemporary show?” she asked tentatively.
“If he doesn’t, he and I are going to have a long talk involving a lot of knuckles.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she grinned. “I’ll do my very best. For the sake of Brandon’s teeth.”
I walked back to the mirror and posed to match the painting. This self portrait shit required a lot of walking. I walked back to the canvas and put down another brush stroke. “You know, I’ve been thinking.”
“Yeah?” Samantha asked from her easel.
“I really need to do a portrait of just you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she dismissed. “We already have LOVE. It shows the two of us. What could be better than that?”
“I’m loving the LOVE,” I grinned, “but I’ve been getting inspired by your Phoenix painting. You’ve come so far since I met you. I sort of want to capture how you’ve changed as a person. How I see you, the woman you’re turning into right before my eyes. Not just the way we are together. But you. Samantha Anna Smith. And the way you’ve grown so quickly into the most amazing woman I’ve ever known. You’re my inspiration, you know that, agápi mou?”
She blushed and set down her paint brush. “Oh, Christos. That’s so sweet. I love you so much.” She walked over to me and leaned up to kiss my cheek. “But I don’t know, isn’t that going to be too much of me in your show? I mean, how many paintings of me do you really need? Isn’t one enough?”
“How could there ever be too much of you, agápi mou?”
A bashful look knotted her face as she said, “Who wants to look at me all the time?”
“I do,” I said. Grinning to myself, I marveled at how Samantha still doubted her own beauty. The irony was, her innocence elevated her level of sexiness into the stratosphere.
In my experience, hot women who knew they were hot tended to play it up. I had always been able to see through their acts like it was a practiced performance. Because of this, these women lacked a certain spontaneity. Knowing men worshipped them turned their beauty into a tiresome facade sooner or later, as if it had become a burden or a job, and they were bored with it. Ironically, they would never give it up, never walk out the front door without maximizing their beauty with hair, makeup and clothes. These women couldn’t even go to the Emergency Room in the middle of the night without making sure they had at least a touch of eyeliner on.
Samantha was the total opposite. She had a smudge of paint on her cheek and another on her forehead, and her hair was in a messy ponytail. Her beauty was an after thought for her. The outcome was that she was a considerate, thoughtful person who was always trying so hard to be kind. She didn’t think about her looks. She thought about being a good person.
Every minute I spent with her was refreshing, genuine, and inspirational.
I knew that combination of her determination and her open hearted authentic spirit was where all the magic was. She might doubt it, but I saw it every day. I wanted it to go into a painting of just her. Samantha Anna Smith.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“You really want me to pose again?” she said with considerable doubt.
“I do,” I grinned.
A strange look flashed across her eyes.
“I do,” she swallowed, “I mean, I will.” She blinked a bunch of times and smiled up at me.
I leaned down and kissed her passionately.
Chapter 23
SAMANTHA
Brandon sat at the desk in his office at Charboneau and flipped through Kamiko’s new paintings. Me and Kamiko sat in the chairs facing his desk, on the edges of our seats.
Brandon reminded me of one of those fashion magazine photos you see of a young guy in a stylish suit sitting in a fancy office, doing important things, all while looking ridiculously dashing. All Brandon needed to do to sell the image was stand up and lean against his desk while looking out a high rise window at a throbbing metropolis. But La Jolla was too quaint and beachy for that. And instead of stylish designer furnishings, the office walls were crowded with amazing paintings. But that didn’t make Brandon any less hot.
He nodded thoughtfully to himself, engrossed in the paintings. I hoped that was a good sign. After he examined the last one, he looked up and said, “Kamiko, this is excellent work. You painted all of these?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Uh huh.”
“I had no idea you were so versatile,” he said.
I shook my head and hid a smirk. There were a lot of things Brandumb didn’t know about Kamiko. If he gave her half a chance, maybe he’d find out.
“You paint in a wide range of diverse styles, Kamiko,” Brandon said. “Few artists have that ability. I’m impressed,” he smiled.
“Does that mean you’ll accept one of my pieces for the Contemporary Artists Show?” she asked hopefully.
Brandon leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his face.
Me and Kamiko leaned forward an inch.
He lifted an eyebrow.
We leaned forward another inch.
Oh boy, he better say yes or I was going to jump over his desk and stab him in the heart with the brass letter opener sitting on his desk. Oh wait, if he said no, it was because he didn’t have a heart, so I’d have to stab lower, where it would hurt a man the most.
Brandon opened his mouth to speak.
Kamiko and I leaned so far forward we were about to slip off our seats and fall on our butts like idiots.
I drilled Brandon with my gaze and put my ESP to work. SAY SOMETHING!!!
Kamiko glanced at me, a surprised look on her face. Had she heard my ESP? Kamiko raised an eyebrow at me. I think someone had finally heard my ESP! Yay! But Brandon hadn’t heard a thing.
He took a deep breath and said, “Yes.”
“Oh my god!” I started clapping and threw my arms around Kamiko. “You did it!”
“I did?” Kamiko said skeptically.
Brandon nodded, “Yes. But.”
BOOM.
I knew Brandon was always too good to be true. I scowled at him.
“You’ve brought me a dozen pieces, Kamiko. But I only have room in the show for one more.”
Kamiko looked from Brandon to me and said, “But what about…”
“I really like this one,” Brandon said, pointing to Kamiko’s painting of the three kimonoed Kamikos standing on a bridge over koi fish Brandons. “Something about it really works for me.” He chuckled as he looked at it.
Kamiko gave me a surprised glance and bit her lip.
I wasn’t going to say anything.
Brandon held the painting up to examine it more closely, “Yes, I really like this,” he smiled. “It has a great sense of humor. Are these triplets supposed to be you, Kamiko?”
Oh shit, he was figuring it out!
Kamiko grimaced, “Ahh…yes?”
Note her guilty question mark.
“Who is the fish?” Brandon asked innocently.
“An old boyfriend of hers!” I blurted. “From high school!” There were those guilty exclamation points again.
“Uh, yeah!” Kamiko nodded frantically.
Brandon chuckled, “That’s great. I’m sure he was a complete jerk.”
Kamiko and I gaped wide eyed at each other. In unison, we both said, “Yes!”
“Love it,” Brandon smiled, completely unaware. He set the painting down on the desk. “Kamiko, if you leave this with me, I’ll have it framed and hung for the show.”
“Okay,” she
smiled.
Brandon stood up from his desk and clapped his hands together once. He smiled, “This means I’ve got all the slots for my show filled!”
“But what about…” Kamiko trailed off.
“What about what?” Brandon asked.
“Sam’s painting?” Kamiko sighed.
Brandon cocked his head toward me, “You brought a painting for the CA show as well?”
I nodded nervously. The last thing I wanted to do was for Brandon to have to decide between my painting and Kamiko’s. I was afraid of this turning into a replay of our last visit. If Brandon chose my painting over Kamiko’s, I would die. Then I would haunt Brandon from beyond the grave until he went mad. It wasn’t my preferred choice of outcomes. I was still into this being alive thing. But if it happened, I would faithfully haunt Brandon, out of respect for Kamiko.
“Uh,” I said, “that’s okay. Mine’s not very good. And you’ve got your show filled up anyway.”
“Come on,” Brandon smiled. “Let me see it.” He motioned with his hand.
“Go ahead, Sam,” Kamiko groaned.
Crap, she was worried too. I pulled my phoenix painting out of the black portfolio case I’d bought to carry it and handed it to Brandon.
He took it carefully with both hands. “Would you look at this?” he gawked. “This is amazing.”
Great.
“I need to see this under good lighting,” he said. “These oils are spectacular. Follow me.” Carrying my painting in both hands, he walked out of his office. We walked along the upstairs hallway and into a little room that had a couch against one wall and an empty easel standing opposite. Brandon set the painting on the easel and slid some light switches on the wall. Little spotlights came to life, shining on the painting. Then he turned off the fluorescents, darkening the room, except for the painting.
There was a fricking spot light on my painting.
Brandon slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks, pushing back his stylish sport coat.
“This is really nice,” Brandon nodded, enraptured by my painting.
I rolled my eyes. This was ridiculous.
Brandon sat down on the couch, on the edge of it, knotting his hands together.
“What is this room, anyway?” I asked.
Kamiko said flatly, sounding slightly annoyed, “It’s a viewing room for customers who need some convincing to buy a painting. The lighting is set up to really make a painting look its best.”
Brandon wasn’t paying attention because, oh my god, he was literally worshipping my painting. Holy shit, I felt like an ass and an idiot. All I could think about was what might be wandering through poor Kamiko’s mind at the moment.
Any second now, Brandon was going to turn to me and ask me if he could use my painting in the Contemporary Artists Show instead of Kamiko’s. Then I would feel like a total jerk and Kamiko would hate me. I wouldn’t blame her.
Brandon turned on the overhead fluorescents again and said. “This piece is phenomenal, Samantha, but it’s not right for the Contemporary show.”
I glanced at Kamiko. The frigid scowl that had etched its way into her face warmed thirty degrees.
Brandon turned to Kamiko, “I really like your piece, Kamiko. It’s staying in the C.A. show.” Then he turned back to me. “Samantha, you and I need to talk about you putting together some more paintings for me. For your own show.”
What the what?!?
“My own?” I stammered.
“Solo show,” Brandon grinned and nodded.
“Wow, Sam,” Kamiko smiled. “That’s awesome!”
I grinned sheepishly as Kamiko hugged me.
Phew! More than anything, Kamiko’s excitement meant she wasn’t bothered by all the attention Brandon was giving my painting.
That had been a really close call.
Maybe Brandon wasn’t so bad.
===
I was completely naked, standing in front of Christos. He was clothed, at his easel, working on the nude solo portrait of just me.
He paused from mixing a pile of paint and looked up from his palette. He grinned, “I’m really missing the Viking helmet.”
“Maybe next time?” I rolled my eyes at him, but held the pose, which was a standing one. I also had to hold my arms out wide, which was really tiring. So whenever Christos wasn’t studying my pose, I rested my arms at my sides. It was really hard work. But I was determined to do a good job.
I was also high up on top of a chair, which stood atop a foot tall stage, putting my head over eight feet in the air. I looked down on the whole studio. Fortunately, the studio had a really high ceiling, so I didn’t have to worry about bumping my head. “Why am I up so high again?”
“It makes you look more majestic,” he smiled, back to mixing his paint. When his brush was loaded, he looked at me and said, “Ready?”
I nodded and assumed the pose, which was also on my tiptoes. I held my arms aloft and arched my back. Fortunately, Christos had made so many charcoal sketches of this pose, he could mostly work from them and from memory at this point. So I never had to hold the extreme pose for more than a minute or two at a time. If I’d had to hold it longer, my neck and shoulders would’ve cemented into place permanently, and no amount of massaging would ever be able to work out the kinks.
A minute later, Christos said, “Got it, you can relax.”
I lowered my arms and massaged my own shoulders. “You’re totally gonna owe me a hundred massages after this is done.”
“Let’s make it a thousand,” he smiled.
“Sounds good to me,” I gloated. “You’re sure?”
Sitting in his chair, he leaned his elbow on his knee, holding a brush in one hand and the elliptical palette in the other. With his thick dark tousled hair, his chiseled features, shoulders bulging beneath the material of his V neck tee, and his dimpled, cocky grin, he was the consummate sexy artist. “Of course I’m sure. Having any excuse to rub my hands over every inch of your body for hours at a time is hardly what I’d call work. I think you’ll be the one who gets the short end of the deal on the massages.”
I grinned at him. I wasn’t going to argue. “So, when do I get to see the painting?”
The canvas was huge, at least eight feet high and five feet wide. Christos would never let me look at it. I hadn’t even seen the final sketches he’d done, beyond the very first rough, which just gave me an idea of the pose so I knew I wasn’t flashing my lady junk at the world. My knees were close together in the pose, so it was fine.
“You’ll see it when it’s finished,” he smiled.
I pouted, “I don’t get a sneak preview?”
“Nope. No one does. Sometimes, the surprise is what makes it special.”
I gave him a grinning dirty look, “You’re such an ass hamster.”
He chuckled. “A hamster? I like to think of myself as more of an ass weasel, or maybe an ass ferret. Something with fangs.”
“Take your pick,” I said sarcastically. “Either way, you’re a small, sniveling, furry animal used to wipe people’s butts.”
He snickered. “Who in their right mind would wipe their butt with a rodent?”
“Primitive people who were tired of using leaves?”
“But hamsters?”
“Did you say butt hamsters?” I snickered.
He rolled his eyes, “You know what I mean.”
“Hey, I’m sure thousands of years before the invention of quilted toilet paper, people looked around for softer alternatives than birch bark.”
He grimaced, “Birch bark?”
“Scratchy as hell, I know,” I smiled. “A wiggling hamster is way better. Plus the wiggling action does half the work for you.”
He scoffed while smiling, “Maybe you need to go into advertising, because I’m willing to buy your line of bullshit.” He chuckled, “Don’t tell anyone, but your insanity is your most attractive feature.”
“Are you saying I’m not attractive?” I demanded from where I stood
on the chair. “Because I’ll smite you if you say I’m not.”
He grinned up at me. “I merely referenced your intense beauty to give your incredible insanity some context. They could fill an entire asylum with your craziness.”
“Hand me a sword, because I’m about to go on a smiting spree,” I giggled.
My phone suddenly rang. It sat on a work table nearby. The ringtone was for an unknown caller.
“Do you want me to answer that for you?” Christos asked.
“Nah, I don’t know who it is. Let it go to voicemail.”
A minute later, the phone rang again.
Christos glanced at me, “Want me to get it?”
“I’m sure it’s a telemarketer,” I dismissed.
Christos went back to mixing some paint. “Can you take the pose again?”
“Sure.” I stood on my tiptoes and lifted my arms.
My phone rang a third time.
Christos sighed, “You sure you don’t want me to get it? Or I can turn the ringer off.”
“Why don’t you answer it and say something menacing,” I grinned.
He arched an eyebrow, “Menacing?”
“I don’t know, you’re the tough guy. Be tough. You’re totally sexy when you’re tough.”
He set his brush down, walked over to the table, and answered the phone. “Hello?”
“That’s tough?” I scoffed.
He nodded his head, “Yeah.” Nodded again, “Uh huh.” Nodded a third time. He turned to me and held out the phone, “It’s your mom.”
“What?” I climbed down from the chair and took the phone from Christos. If my mom could only see me now, standing naked in Christos X-rated painting brothel. It gave me exquisite satisfaction.
“Hello, Mom,” I said sarcastically. I put it on speaker phone so Christos could hear everything. I didn’t want to have to repeat whatever horrid words my mom had to offer. I was pretty sure I was going to be doing a lot of crying to Christos as soon as I hung up. But I was determined to do my best not to shed a tear while my stupid mom was on the line. Stupid bitch.
“Sam,” she said, “Who answered your phone?” I noticed that her words were slurry. Had she been drinking? I don’t think I’d ever seen my mom drink.
Painless (The Story of Samantha Smith #3) Page 42
