by J. D. Mason
“Text me your address and I’ll have the painting shipped to you,” he’d promised, despite her protests. “Of course I have to give it to you. It’s yours, Cristina. The energy you brought into the studio is all over it. It’s not meant for anyone else. Not even me.”
Two days wasn’t enough time to fall in love with somebody. The whole notion was ridiculous. But it was enough time to be awed by someone. Everything about Ellis was so unexpected. He wasn’t trying to be that way. He just was that way. She’d barely scratched the surface with her interview of him. Cristina knew that there was so much more to him that she needed to know if she was going to write this dossier, but the kinds of things that he openly shared about himself were so difficult to put into words.
It wasn’t just the story of Ellis that was captivating, it was the vibe of Ellis, the ambience of him, the smell and feel of him. How do you capture things like that in an interview so that people reading it could see, feel, hear, and smell everything that she did and be affected in the same way that she was? It would have to be a work of fiction, because no one would believe that he was real.
It was almost one in the morning when her phone rang. It was Ellis. She answered and before she could say hello or his name, he said hers.
“Cristina?”
The sound of his voice made her stomach flutter. Cristina took deep, quiet breaths to calm herself. “Is everything all right, Ellis?”
Ellis paused a little too long, but even in his silence he was sending her a message. She let her eyes close and waited.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked.
She nodded. “I-I don’t know. I’ll call you?”
“Yeah. That’s fine,” he murmured.
She could tell he didn’t mean it.
Ellis hung up, but she held the phone to her ear longer than necessary. Eventually, she placed it on the nightstand next to the bed and curled up underneath the sheets. She was broken. Still. Cristina was good at pretending and putting on airs in public, and even in private. But she was never going to be the same again and because of that, she could never give herself willingly to Ellis or anyone. Not now. Maybe not ever.
“That wasn’t so bad.” He kissed her head. “Was it?”
“Not for me,” his friend said.
“C’mon, baby. Let me drive you home.”
She let him drive her home.
At first she wouldn’t call it what it was. She wouldn’t call it rape. His name was Brian. They’d been dating for six months and yes, they’d made love, several times, as a matter of fact. She loved being with him. Cristina was even well on her way to loving him.
“I’ve got someone I want you to meet,” he said. “He and I were roommates in college.”
His name was Don. They met up with him at a club in downtown Austin called Bruno’s, ate, drank, and laughed, mostly at stories of the two of them in college. Somehow they ended up in Don’s hotel room. Cristina had had too much to drink, but not so much that she didn’t know what was happening.
“What … No. C’mon, Brian. Not here. Not now.”
“But now is the best time, Cristina. Now is perfect.”
She tried to stand up. She tried to stand and—she got scared. “Stop it!” Cristina hit someone. Don? Was it Don?
“No!”
“Shh,” one of them said. “Behave, Cristina. Behave.”
She wouldn’t behave. She swung again and again!
“Fuck!” someone yelled.
And … Slap! “Bitch!”
“Man! Cut it out!”
“Hold her arms. Hold ’em!”
“Cristina.” Brian’s voice. “Relax, baby. It’ll be good if you relax.”
Good. It wasn’t.
She’d made mistakes. Thinking back, she could see them so clearly like neon signs blaring at her, warning her to get away, but she’d ignored them. If only Cristina hadn’t ignored them. It wouldn’t have happened. If she’d paid attention, it would never have happened.
She never saw Brian again after that. And she never told.
CHAPTER 6
“He gave you what?” Jules sounded as if she was going to pass out.
“Said it had my energy,” Cristina said smugly over the phone. “Because it has my energy it belongs to me, so…”
“I fucking hate you.”
“I know. I would hate me too.”
“Tell me you’ve got pictures, Cristina. I’ve been watching my e-mail like a fanatic looking for pictures and there aren’t any.”
“Yeah, I have them—I’ll send them tonight.”
Cristina hadn’t taken one picture of Ellis or of his studio or house or anything. She’d been so caught up in getting to know him that the thought of photographing him hadn’t crossed her mind, not really. This whole thing should’ve been a slam dunk. She should’ve wrapped it up a day ago, but from the moment she met him, Cristina had felt skewed somehow and she hadn’t been able to approach this interview with the same discipline and focus that she’d always brought to her writing before.
Ellis seldom answered her questions as directly as she asked them. He did. But he didn’t. As soon as she thought she had him figured out he’d change something and ultimately leave her scratching her head and wondering what in the world had happened.
Over the phone, before she’d actually met him, he’d agreed to do this interview as long as she didn’t ask any questions about his family or the people he knew who were involved in the situation that he’d gone to prison for. That meant that he wouldn’t answer questions about his estranged relationship with his father, or about the man he’d crippled for raping his girlfriend. That also meant his girlfriend.
Ellis was selective about what he wanted to share with her. If she wanted to give Jules the story she’d been salivating over, she’d need to get to those parts of that book that he wasn’t so forthcoming about. Days before she’d driven to Blink from Austin, Cristina had made an appointment to see the mayor of Blink, Randall Brewer, Ellis’ father. Rather than take the chance that he wouldn’t talk to her if she mentioned his son’s name, she decided to leave out the part about being in town to interview and write an article about his brilliant and talented son that he’d disowned. Instead she chose to say that she was a freelance writer working for a magazine out of New York and wanted to interview him for a piece she was working on.
To say that the two looked alike was the understatement of the year. Randall Brewer’s green eyes were as vivid as his son’s. He was tall and more slender than Ellis, but he had the same thick, wavy hair worn more conservatively, of course. He led the way to his office inside the small City Hall building. Randall Brewer certainly had that big fish in a small pond attitude. Everyone who passed them greeted him the same, “Good morning, Mr. Mayor.”
Cristina wondered if these same people called him that outside of this building or if at five o’clock, when they all got off work, he became “Randy.” Studying his staunch demeanor, she doubted if anyone ever called him Randy.
“Please,” he said, in that thick drawl that sounded so much like Ellis’. “Have a seat.” He motioned for her to sit in a leather chair across from the massive mahogany desk he sat behind. “Can I get you anything? Water, perhaps?”
“Yes. Water would be nice,” she said, curious to see if he’d get up and get it himself. Of course he didn’t. He pressed a button on his phone.
“Josie. Bring two waters.”
This one was all pomp and circumstance. The rooms were small enough that he could’ve just called out to Josie sitting outside his door and asked her to bring water.
“Thank you, Josie,” she said, smiling.
He leaned back casually in his chair. Cristina half-expected him to put his feet on the desk. “What’s the name of the magazine you work for again?”
“Vutura,” she reminded him, not bothering to elaborate. He waited.
Cristina twisted off the plastic cap to her water and took a sip.
“So what are we h
ere to talk about, Ms. Cole?”
She’d gotten this meeting by omission. Now that she was here, Cristina decided to take her chances. “I’m writing an article on one of the art world’s most dynamic new talents, Mayor Brewer. Someone from here that you might know.” She smiled pleasantly and feigned ignorance to the nature of their relationship. “Ellis.”
Any hint of amusement he’d once had on his face disappeared. “Ellis.”
“I know you must be proud,” she continued, pushing forward. “Do you know that there was an actual bidding war for his last piece between a British CEO and a Saudi prince? For someone like Ellis, someone no one’s heard of before, and who has no formal training that’s just amazing. But I’m sure you already know how amazing he is.”
“Ellis has always been talented,” he reluctantly offered. “He hasn’t always made the best choices in his life.”
“You’re referring to the time he spent in prison.”
“You know about that?”
“He was in a rage over what happened to his girlfriend, lost his temper, and attacked the man who’d attacked her. Yes. I read about that.”
“Crippled the man,” he clarified. “Vincent Henderson will spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. My son served a meager sentence compared to the one he committed Henderson to.”
“But if Henderson raped his girlfriend…”
“It was never proven that he did,” he admitted. Ultimately it came down to Daneen’s word against Henderson’s. When it came time to make a statement, she shut down, never said another word about it, except to say that she might’ve made a mistake.
Mayor Brewer obviously wasn’t convinced that Henderson had been guilty.
“You’ve seen your son’s work, Mayor?”
He smiled that cheesy, political grin. “Of course I have. Like I said, he’s always been talented.”
“I know some people who are interested in Ellis showing his art at a gallery in New York. I haven’t mentioned it to him yet, because I’m not sure he’ll agree to it. He’s very private.” It wasn’t a lie. Cristina had been meaning to mention it to him, but hadn’t gotten around to it yet. She was curious to see the mayor’s reaction.
“Why are you telling me?” he challenged.
“Well, I’d like to invite you and the rest of his family, if he accepts.”
“Ellis’ mother passed away several years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, sincerely.
“Would you accept my invitation, Mayor, to the gallery showing?”
A chilling expression washed over him. “Probably not, Ms. Cole. Ellis and I aren’t close,” he said. “Haven’t been in years. I’m happy for him and the way he’s turned his life around, but that’s the extent of it.”
Christina was stunned by how impersonal the man sounded. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, earnestly. “Would you care to elaborate?”
He abruptly ended the interview and called Josie again. “Will you come show Ms. Cole out?” he asked coolly.
Cristina smiled politely and stood up to leave. “Thank you, Mr. Mayor.”
He nodded, then turned his chair slightly and shifted his gaze to the window.
* * *
“Hello.”
Leaving City Hall, Cristina recognized the man coming toward her from the restaurant, Belle’s, a few nights ago.
“Hi.” She smiled. “I remember you.”
The brotha was tall, dark, with one of the most beautiful smiles she’d ever seen.
“Cristine?” he asked.
“Cristina,” she corrected him.
“It’s nice to see you again.”
“Yeah. You too.”
“I thought you were just passing through town.” He shrugged.
She’d told him the other night that she would only be visiting for a day or two.
“I am. But my business here has been extended.”
“I work here,” he offered.
“Okay. Um … what do you do?” He looked as if he wanted her to ask.
“Aide to the mayor. My name’s Drew, by the way.” He grinned. “You look like you forgot it.”
She laughed. “Thank you, Drew.”
“So, what are your plans for tonight?”
She must’ve looked caught off guard or uncomfortable.
“I’m just asking because there’s a live band at Belle’s tonight. A pretty good one. Maybe you’d be interested in going?”
Ah. He was asking her out. “I think that sounds nice, however, I already have plans.”
“No problem. Well…” He started to walk past her. “I need to go see the boss. It was good running into you again.”
The “boss” was Randall Brewer, Ellis’ father. Cristina suddenly saw opportunity. “Do you happen to know his son, Ellis?”
“We grew up together. Before he … we used to be best friends.”
No one knew another person better than a best friend. “Would you let me buy you a cup of coffee, Drew?”
He looked suspicious.
“I’m a reporter and I’m doing a story on Ellis,” she confessed. “Just trying to get background on him. That’s all.”
Drew shrugged those broad shoulders. “I guess. I mean, Ellis and I really don’t hang out anymore.”
“But you used to. I’d like to get an idea of what he was like before.”
“You can’t just ask him?” He smiled.
She smiled back.
Drew thought about it and then responded. “Sure. Coffee would be fine. Say, in an hour? Meet me back here?”
“Definitely,” she agreed.
Papa Bear was a closed book. Maybe Drew would be wide open.
CHAPTER 7
“There’s some ribs left over from the cookout in the refrigerator if you’re hungry,” Brooks said, sitting in the chair next to Ellis on the porch. “Help yo’self.”
Being around Brooks was easy. They’d become friends in prison, playing chess against each other for hours. Brooks like to talk and Ellis had always been good at listening. Brooks had practically grown up in prison. He started his sentence when he was twenty-two. He was nearing sixty now, but looked and acted older.
“Funny how time stands still in prison, but you still manage to get too damn old too damn fast,” he used to say, laughing.
Ellis would come here for the company of a like-minded person. Relating to the people he used to hang out with just wasn’t the same. Either they were different. Or he was different. Or both. But it was like all of his old friends were running on a different track than Ellis was, and he never could seem to get in sync with them. He synced with Brooks, though, without even trying.
“I liked yo’ girl,” Brooks blurted out after the two of them had been sitting there for a good half hour. “Seemed nice.”
Ellis chuckled. “My girl,” he muttered and then took a sip of his beer.
“Nice little frame too,” Brooks said with a sly smile. “Boy, if I was twenty years younger…”
“If you was twenty years younger and checking out my girl’s nice little frame like you were obviously doing the other day, I’d whoop your ass.”
Brooks grunted. “You might try to whoop my ass. Wouldn’t get too far.”
Ellis laughed.
“Where’s she from?”
“Austin. And she ain’t my girl, by the way,” he clarified. “She’s a reporter. Came to do a story on me about painting.”
Brooks nodded, unimpressed. “But you want her to be yo’ girl.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
Ellis hadn’t had a crush in years, but he sure as hell had one now. Cristina Cole had piqued his interest from the first moment he saw her in a way no other woman had been able to do since … well, probably ever. She was beautiful, smart, aloof, and something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. But whatever it was, that whole combination caused his thoughts to reel long and hard about how it would feel to really kiss her, to make love to her. She wasn’t making it easy, thoug
h.
“What kind of signals is she sending?” Brooks asked.
Brooks was all about reading people. He was the one who’d taught Ellis how to do it. “Motha fuckas in here say one thing but mean another. Don’t listen to what they say,” he’d told Ellis. “Watch how they say it. Watch their eyes, their hands, their shoulders. You can tell a lot about a man from how he says stuff, more than you can from what comes out his mouth.”
“You know women and their signals,” Ellis said lazily.
“Crisscross?”
Ellis nodded. Women weren’t like men. Their signals were more difficult to read because they could send more than one at a time. Reading dudes was simple, straightforward. Reading women was like trying to read braille.
“So what’s this interview thang about?” Brooks eventually asked.
“I told you, man. My paintings.”
“Well, what do they want to know?”
Ellis sighed. “Usual shit. How’d I get into it? What’s my inspiration?”
“She came all the way up from Austin to ask you that? Couldn’t she have just texted you?”
“Yeah, well, she wanted to take pictures and shit. She wanted to get into the down and dirty of who I am and what my life has been like.”
“She ask you about prison?”
He nodded.
“She ask you about Vince?”
Brooks was the only person in the world allowed to bring up Vince Henderson to Ellis.
“I told her I wasn’t talking about Vince.”
Ellis and Vince had been best friends. They’d grown up together, slept over each other’s houses, got ass whoppings together. There was nothing they wouldn’t have done for each other. But as they grew up, they grew apart, and Vince had his life, while Ellis had his. And then the firestorm hit, and nothing was ever the same.
“What’s going on with you, Daneen?”
She’d been acting strange all week. Distant. Ellis was connected to Daneen at the soul level and he knew that something was wrong, but she wouldn’t tell him. She wouldn’t say. Not at first. But he kept her in that apartment until she did.
“Neither one of us is leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.”
