by J. J. Sorel
I was so happy for Tabitha. I could see that Evan was really crazy about her. During dinner, his eyes had rarely left her face, even after some knockout babes walked in, smoldering away when catching sight of our broad-shouldered, hot boyfriends.
Mind you, Tabitha and I had attracted our own admirers checking us out. Especially Tabitha, with her white, tight, low-slung pants and a red, low-cut silk blouse. She looked sensational as always.
I had opted for a green wraparound silk dress that drew in tight at the waist, flaring out into an A-line skirt. Aidan, of course, was thrilled at the prospect of undoing the tie and having me naked in one easy maneuver.
He was so insatiable and ridiculously virile that I worried that he’d soon tire of me. But the insecure tinge in his eyes after my mentioning Chris’s night call, warded me off this fear.
When we arrived, the exhibition was in full swing. It was hard to move. There were more women than men, along with the typical mix of patrons I often encountered at exhibitions—a mélange of grungy art students, women in designer dresses, and critics who were mainly paunchy, horn-rimmed-spectacled men.
Although it was hard to see the art in one sweep due to the massive turn-out, my eyes fell on one—a self-portrait of a twisted face, which was very Francis Bacon, surprising me, considering we’d only just spoken of the famous artist the previous night.
“This is buzzing,” said Tabitha, hooking her arm in mine.
At first, we entered unnoticed, but within a moment, there was a ripple effect, as one well-heeled woman after another stopped talking and looked over at Aidan.
And why wouldn’t they? He was like something out of a hunky alpha-male magazine, wearing a mid-tone blue, long-sleeved polo hugging his broad, muscle-bound shoulders and arms, cream-colored jeans accentuating his long, athletic legs, those deep-blue eyes, and light-brown hair that I’d only just tangled in my fingers, while he licked me dry. Their collective moans quivered in the air.
Evan, with his dark looks and equally firm, muscular build also had his fair share of admirers. Both females and males were salivating at the ex-army hotties.
“Our men are probably going to star in the fantasies of half this room tonight,” said Tabitha with a giggle.
“Yeah, tell me about it. I get this everywhere.”
“Look at them. They’re so fucking hot, Clary. How did we get so lucky?”
I smiled. “Our mothers. I’m sure they had a hand in it, somehow.”
Tabitha’s eyebrows drew in tight. Her smile faded. “Do you really think that?”
I nodded. “I do. What else explains this great turn of luck for us?”
“I suppose you’re right. It hasn’t been an easy life for us two.”
“Tabs, you’re going all dark on me,” I said.
Her face remained long. “Yeah… the mention of our mothers sent me there.”
“Do you still think about her?” I asked.
“Fuck yeah… all the time. What about you?”
I nodded. “I talk to her every day.”
“You too?” Tabitha smiled sadly.
The loss of our dear mothers when we were both young had brought us together. Tabitha’s mother, having suffered from ovarian cancer, died before my mother, who perished two years later in a car accident.
After Tabitha’s mother died, we would often have her staying with us. My mother had bestowed as much affection as she could on Tabitha, who was quickly adopted into our family circle.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Aidan took my hand. “I’m going to brave the horde and get us a drink.”
Evan followed along to help.
When they returned, Aidan handed me the cheap wine. I giggled silently, watching the subtle grimace on Aidan’s face after he’d taken a sip.
“Shame there’s no beer,” said Evan, sinking his wine with equal distaste.
“Come, let’s try and check out the work,” said Aidan, taking me by the hand.
I couldn’t see Chris anywhere. I was, however, incredibly impressed by his work. There was such a mixture of styles. His representational work was masterfully executed.
“He can paint. that’s for sure,” said Aidan, pausing at a seascape that had hints of Turner about it. Although painted with a thicker palette of paint, the overlaid colors made the waves almost jump off the canvas, particularly the farther back one stood.
“I like this one a lot,” I whispered into Aidan’s ear.
“Wait here, baby.”
I noticed Aidan looking about until he spotted a woman who looked official with a clip-board in hand. He headed straight to her and spoke to her. She immediately came to where I stood and placed a red dot on the seascape. As we moved to the next, a seascape from the same series, he nodded, and she placed a dot on that also. There were four in all. And Aidan took the lot.
“You’re on quite a shopping spree, Aidan,” I said.
“You do like them?” he asked, tilting his head.
“I love them. There’s such an eclectic mix of styles. The self-portraits, for example, remind me of Francis Bacon. You recall our discussion last night?”
“Yeah, I saw them. They’re a little too deranged and dark for my taste. But really well done. He’s a talented artist. Where is he, by the way?”
I shook my head. “No idea. It’s pretty crowded. I’m sure he’ll be somewhere. I’ll introduce you when I see him.”
Tabitha came up to me. “Hey, Clary, do you want to come to the powder room with me?”
I looked at Aidan. “Back in a minute. Just going to the girls’ room.” I smiled, and Aidan kissed me on the cheek. He lingered.
I was sure everyone was watching. He probably did it to claim me so that the hungry society women kept their distance. Not that that would stop them. I saw a few who had not taken their eyes off him for the entire time. I couldn’t say I blamed them. With a commanding aura of a movie star, it was impossible not to ogle Aidan.
Tabitha looped her arm through mine. “Tell me, where’s this Chris guy?”
“Not sure, Tabs. More importantly, which one of these doors leads to the powder room?”
“Let’s try this one,” said Tabitha opening the door.
I followed her in and then froze.
There, in front of us, was Chris sitting on a chair. His hard cock glistened with spittle as a well-dressed woman in designer clothes, on her knees, moved her mouth up and down it. His eyes were shut, and his head had fallen back.
It was like slow motion. Tabitha remained put, watching. Her lips went from an O-shape to a grin within a second, whereas I had to pick my jaw off the ground. The next moment, his face turned toward both of us, the intruders. Instead of stopping the woman, who, with her back to us, was oblivious to our presence, he painted on a smirk of self-satisfaction. His eyes landed on mine and cast me a “‘can’t stop now, I’m about to come’ look.”
I came to my senses and grabbed Tabitha by the arm, as we stumbled out. We leaned against the wall in the corridor and stared at each other in wide-eyed humor.
I grabbed her arm. “Come on, Tabs. Let’s knock next time.”
When we eventually found the powder room, we broke into raucous laughter.
“That was Chris,” I said.
“Really?” Tabitha had that lascivious glint in her eyes. “He’s sexy.”
“Yeah, I suppose he is, in a kind of Kurt Cobain way.”
“Kurt Cobain? Yummy. He’s got a nice cock.”
“And what about Evan?”
“He’s got an even yummier one. And I’m all horny. I think I might have to take Evan outside and make a meal of him.”
“Oh, Tabs,” I said, laughing. “You’re a wicked vixen.”
“He’s got the hots for you, Clary,” sang Tabitha.
“Who, Chris?” I frowned. “How can you tell from just that?”
“Because of the way he looked at you. It was written all over his about-to-come face.” Tabitha pursed her lips in order to apply lipstick
.
“You’re a nut job,” I said, combing my hair with my hands.
As we left the powder room, I said, “Don’t you dare tell Aidan or Evan. Promise me?”
She pouted. “Oh, Clary, you’re such a party pooper. I was dying to tell them. It was fun. I haven’t caught someone doing that before.” She fanned her face. “It was fucking hot.”
“Mm… don’t tell them.” I furrowed my brow sternly.
Tabitha pulled my hair playfully. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”
After fighting our way through the crowd, we discovered that Evan and Aidan were outside the front of the gallery so that Evan could smoke a cigar.
Aidan looked at me. “Where have you been? You’ve been gone for ages.”
Tabitha said, “We had a bit of an adventure trying to find the ladies room.” Her eyes shone with mischief.
I knocked her in the back, and Aidan, eagle-eyed as always, saw me.
“What happened, Clarissa?”
“Nothing,” I insisted. Since I was a terrible liar, my voice wavered.
As suspicious Aidan continued to stare at me with narrowed eyes, I noticed Chris heading toward us.
Phew. I took a deep breath. It was perfect timing for a distraction. Aidan could be doggedly persistent.
When he noticed my focus shift over his shoulder, Aidan turned, and there before us stood Chris Wilde.
“Aidan, this is Chris, our new teacher and the artist whose work is on display,” I said.
I side-glanced Tabitha, who had a hard-to-miss grin.
The two men sized each other up. It was an unmistakable display of “mine is bigger than yours.” Or so I sensed. My stomach was in a bundle of knots at this stage. Which was stupid, because I’d done nothing wrong.
Chris wore heavy, smiling eyes like someone either stoned or drunk. “It’s great to meet you, at last,” he said, shaking Aidan’s hand. “I’d like
to thank you for employing me at the Vets. They’re a great bunch of people, you know? And some pretty serious talent.”
Aidan’s face had thawed a little. “That’s good to know. You demonstrate some pretty fine talent yourself.”
Drawing me tight into his waist, Aidan said, “Clarissa, we should go.”
Even though I hadn’t seen all the work, I was so flustered and unnerved that I agreed.
Chris looked at me imploringly. “So soon? Have you seen the work?” He directed his attention back to Aidan.
Aidan nodded. “I have. I purchased everything bar…”
His face lighting up for the first time, Chris asked, “Bar what?”
I responded, “Except for the Bacon inspired portraits.”
His heavy-lidded eyes opened wide for the first time. “Thanks, that’s a compliment.” His flinching expression told me, that like all artists, he was enfeebled by my comment. One thing I’d learned was that artists hated being caught out lifting from others.
“Is it that obvious?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah, a bit. It’s pretty hard to miss the influence.”
“What? To the point of plagiarism?” Suddenly I was the only person there, for his eyes zeroed in on me.
“There’s a fine line between inspiration and plagiarism.”
“Yeah, I suppose,” he said, sounding unsatisfied. “Then which is it in your opinion?”
I took a deep breath while I considered my response. Aidan, meanwhile, had not budged. He was riveted, and I sensed his delight at my knowledge.
“Not sure if I’d call it plagiarism. More inspiration, I think. They’re amazing anyway.”
He studied me for a minute. “You know, I really think I copied them.” He chuckled nervously as if he’d admitted to something seriously personal.
Aidan stepped in. “Let’s go, Clarissa.”
“Sure,” I said, casting a farewell nod to Chris.
As we walked off, I sensed him watching us. I wished he hadn’t made his need to talk to me so urgent.
“I don’t like him,” said Aidan.
I stopped walking. “Why?”
“He’s cocky. And he wants to fuck you. It’s written all over his junked-up face.”
“Junked up?”
“He’s got track marks up his arms, Clarissa. They’re recent. The guy’s a junky.”
“But he’s really talented.”
“I couldn’t give a fuck.”
Tabitha and Evan were a few strides ahead. Tabitha was leaning in tight, and I could imagine what she was talking about.
I stopped walking. “Aidan, you have got to stop being like this.”
“Like what, Clarissa?”
“You have to trust me. I don’t want to sleep with him.”
“But can’t you see it? It’s the way his eyes strip you bare.”
“I can’t help that, Aidan. I don’t want him. It’s only you I want. There’s only ever been you. And there will only ever be you.”
Aidan stopped. His gaze had shifted from icy dark to tender turquoise. He took me into his arms. Our lips met in a crush of passion and possession.
He pulled away. “Clarissa, do you mean it?”
I nodded with a smile.
“Is that a yes, then?” he asked, mining deeply into my eyes.
“It is a yes, Aidan.”
He held me tight.
“But, Aidan.”
“Yes, baby.”
“Chris stays.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
AIDAN
There was a buzz about the place. I felt inspired. Especially seeing the students with beaming smiles and in their element. Clarissa was right. The art was extraordinary. I was gobsmacked. They’d produced so much in only one month.
I couldn’t take my eyes away from a painting of a mangled car. Peering right into me were a pair of tormented eyes. The military vehicle was meant to protect, but the wreckage removed any doubt that it was just as destructible as the person inside.
Chris was with Roy, one of my army buddies. Roy watched intently as Chris mixed paint on a palette with a metal implement. I approached quietly and waited until he’d finished what he was doing.
He looked up, and his face warmed slowly. Chris’s heavy-eyed gaze told me that he’d been hard at it the previous night. Something told me that Chris was always hard at it.
But who was I to judge? His work ethic was above reproach. And my best friend, Ben, having also been a drug addict, was one of the kindest souls I’d ever known.
“Aidan, good to see you, man.” His mouth turned up at one end.
“Hey. This is pretty fantastic in here. I’m totally blown away by the work.”
Chris nodded. “Yeah, as am I.”
“How’s it going, Roy?” I asked, casting a quick glance at the large canvas he was working on. Filled with half-buried, faceless bodies, the painting was mainly gray. There were splotches of thick red paint, making it appear as if someone had bled on it.
Clarissa’s words rang true about the emotional impact art has on its viewer. Because for me, at that moment, it felt like someone had thrown a bucket of water on my face. Such was its power.
Chris stood by and studied my face. He read my reaction, for I saw his brow contract.
“I’m okay, thanks,” replied Roy. “Hey, it’s great to see you here. Love what you’re doing, Aidan. It’s saved my life.” His eyes glistened with sincerity. Roy was my age but looked older. He’d been through the wars with PTSD. It did that to a person. Endless sleepless nights. Too frightened to close your eyes and sleep because of what you’d encounter.
I knew it well. Only in my case, my cure had arrived in the shape of an exquisite, tantalizing creature named Clarissa Moone.
“Aidan, can I show you something?” asked Chris.
I shrugged. “Of course. Lead the way.”
Chris turned to Roy. “Can you come with us as well?”
Roy put down his brush and wiped his hands on his paint-spattered overalls and followed along silently.
Chri
s led us into an adjacent room. He turned on the light, and the room had around forty paintings, all leaning against the wall, unhung.
I shook my head in disbelief.
“Has this been produced under your watch?” I asked Chris.
With a smile and a look of pride, not cocky like the night of his exhibition, but a genuine heartfelt smile, Chris nodded.
“I never expected this.”
“Nor I. But here you have it. You could exhibit or auction. Whatever you want. They’re quality works.”
I moved about, holding my chin. Chris had placed them into matching groups.
Noticing my focus, Chris said, “I’ve put the decorative, pretty stuff in that corner and the most intense, dramatic themes here.”
I followed his pointed finger and saw the piece that Clarissa had sent me on my phone. The man with the gun for a cock, shooting out blood. I winced. It was even more powerful live. I now understood Clarissa’s enthusiasm for it, even if it was dark and seriously edgy.
“That’s Roy’s little baby there. And in my humble albeit trained opinion, it’s spectacular. And my favorite.”
I looked at Roy, whose brows had knitted. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention. “Where did you learn to paint like that, Roy?”
“When I was a kid. I used to draw all the time. But then, you know my old man ended up in prison, and I fell in with the wrong dudes.”
Familiar little story, that one. I was thinking of my guitar playing as a teenager and how that got put on hold while I battled life’s little demons.
“It’s very special, Roy. Are you happy to part with it?”
He nodded. “For sure. It’s all for a good cause. Love the work you’re doing here at the Vets. I’d love to contribute somehow. And these classes have changed my life. I’m here all the time. Soon as I get up, I can’t wait to come in and work.”
I nodded with an appreciative smile.
Directing my attention back to Chris, I asked, “What do you think? An exhibition or an auction?”
“I reckon an auction. Invite all your rich friends. You know how competitive they can be when it comes to paying big wads of cash for art.” He chuckled.
“Mm… okay, then, an auction it is. I’ll speak to Clarissa about it.”
