He wanted to say Sunday afternoon with the two of them, or maybe his artwork, but once again redirected himself. "Your ass."
She reached back and touched her backside. "Better than what?"
"Better in those leggings you have on." Russell laughed.
"Oh." She turned over and arched her back. "Did you finish your drawing?"
Her shirt rode up on her stomach and her braless boobs gave both of them something new to gawk at. "I finished some art." He closed the sketchbook, but wished she would stay in that position.
"Can I see?"
He wasn't prepared to show them, didn't know if he wanted to. They may take it wrong especially since he was starting to have a stack of the pictures and his stomach tightened. "Not yet."
"I was going to help you with your work."
"You've already done a lot."
"I haven't done anything." She wrinkled her nose. "Come on, don't we have cabanas we need to be creating? What can I do?"
Yes, he had cabanas, he had a job, but was handed his inspiration. "Bend your right leg and don't move." He assessed the points on his pencils, chose one and flipped his sketchbook to a blank page.
This was art. Art wasn't a job, it was a moment, and in this moment with Lauren and Russell and himself was what needed to be shown and what needed to be sold. Not cabanas, and not agents who did corporate work. The pressure on his chest lifted. This is what Victor spoke of.
Without a word she bent her knee and kept her eyes on him.
"Perfect. Don't move." Shit, she was flipping gorgeous and didn't know it, but he had a best friend who did and that made it? Arousing. He had to capture those curves.
***
With his oversized portfolio clutched in his hands, Jason scanned the artwork around Victor's office. He recognized a picture from the woman at the gallery, and a painting from the same artist he and Lauren found at the pop-up store, but among the familiar works were creations he couldn't place.
He walked over to one of the pieces made from found objects. Sculptures artists put together from everyday items or junkyards, or wherever their creative muse led them. The one in the office was made out of medical supplies. Syringes, those red containers to throw needles into, gloves and even surgical masks. He bent down and spied an empty box for the filler Lauren sold.
He wished Lauren would have had to make calls in Hollywood today, but he needed to do this alone, man up and get his career back on track.
"You should see the one he did with musical instruments. It was inspiring."
Jason straightened up and approached Victor with his hand out.
Victor shook his hand. "Enough about other artists, what brings you here?"
He swallowed and let it out. "When I force the art I end up with stock book covers, when I do what speaks to me I end up with what's in the portfolio."
"Do I get to see it, or is it secret art?" Victor motioned toward his portfolio.
"I think it's meant to be seen." He tightened his hold on his work.
"Do you think or do you know?" Victor crossed his arms. "An artist isn't timid of his vision."
"I'm confident in my vision, I never felt more sure of my art, it’s a personal subject."
"Art is personal, never forget that." Victor took the portfolio from him.
Jason watched him take his baby to a desk at the back of the office and unzip the leather holder.
He turned away. Last time he showed his true art to anyone other than Lauren, Russell or his parents he was roasted. Left to turn to char, turn to ash and blow away.
Victor's laugh echoed through the space.
At this agent's total disregard for his work, he clenched his teeth and spun on his heel. Adrenaline pumped, telling him to gather his art, get out and ask Bette for more covers and murals.
Instead he found Victor holding one of the sketches up to the light, smiling and nodding.
"What is it?" He forced himself to stay put.
"I met your girl that day, and I must say you captured her essence." He nodded again. "I wouldn't want to get in her way."
He knew the piece Victor spoke about. His depiction of Lauren on calls, doctors were merely forms in the background and she stood strong and proud with a syringe in one hand and her cell phone in the other. "She will run over you." She was his strength, but he knew she struggled everyday since this relationship started. Girls, especially Lauren, needed things concrete and solid, and he knew at the moment her world consisted full of shaky fault lines. Something he needed to address with the other male in their trio.
"I have no doubt." Victor put the sketch aside and chose the next one. "She loves you both?"
He inched closer. This drawing was of the three of them in the front seat of a red 1959 Cadillac. "I was going to give that to her."
"Your other…"
"Russell."
"Russell. He's the serious one. How is he doing?" Victor put the sketch down and picked up the painting of Lauren asleep on the couch with Russell in the background. He wanted Russell to have this piece.
For the man who wouldn't hold Lauren's hand in public only a couple of weeks ago he was making big strides. "He's doing great."
"The three of you love each other?" Victor tilted his head to take in the painting from another angle.
He froze, a question and an answer hitting him hard at the same time. Lauren loved them, she wanted more, but what would Russell want? What did he want?
"I don't need an answer." Victor replaced the sketch and flipped through a few until he came to a few of the more racy works. He stopped, put one aside, put another aside, and put a third aside creating an NC-17 patchwork on top of the table.
Jason held his breath his heartbeat loud enough to throb in his ears.
Victor rubbed his chin and paced back and forth in front of the pieces.
"What is it?" Jason shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
Victor held up his hand. "Never force a reaction from someone looking at your work. If we are silent, we are thinking, and if you have us thinking you have done your job."
He bit the inside of his mouth to remain silent, his mind returning to Lauren and Russell.
"The sweet paintings and sketches will have to come later." Victor started making piles. "We need to capture our public first. A little shock, a little romance, a lot of sex."
Jason bit down harder, it sounded as if the man was going to take him on.
"It's an interesting life you have. An artistic one."
"Yes." Jason cleared his throat. It was what he wanted, an artistic life with the two of them. They built it and it was tailor-made for his muse.
Victor faced him. "I need more. You have to push it so we make a huge wave."
"More?" He shifted his focus from Victor to his art.
"I need everything pure and raw." Victor leaned over the table. "Are you ready for this?"
Was he ready for this? Ready to be recognized? Ready to have his art seen? Ready to be a success? It was only a five word question, but five words he had been waiting to hear. His blood raced, and he inhaled trying to keep his cool. "What do you mean?"
"Are you ready to expose your life like this?" He picked up one of the paintings. The three of them in bed, covered but definitely sizzling with sex.
Once more he scanned the art in the room. "Do you think that will do it?"
"I'm not in the business of collecting art, I'm in the business of selling it." Victor went to him, stared right at him. "I am asking you if you are ready for putting this on display? Are you ready to sell your life? Your real life with no barriers."
Art was life. His life was art in more ways than one. He created what he felt and an agent, one who made stars, wanted him if he only pushed his muse a little further. He nodded.
Victor didn't move, but his jaw jutted out. "Are they ready for this?"
Jason attempted not to blink, not even when his eyes seemed to dry out. Both Russell's and Lauren's insecurities swirled around
him, for the first time he was the solid one. He didn't answer.
Victor raised his eyebrows and walked over to the desk. He pulled out a file folder and held it out to him. "I want you ready for a show in two weeks."
"I had an idea this morning." Jason took the file and peeked inside at the contract.
"Good. Give me a few more options." Victor picked up a pen. "Fire your book publisher and give me twelve months."
Jason glanced at the pages. Though a standard contract he knew he should take it home and have Russell read it anyway. Instead, he signed his name.
"Leave these pieces with me." Victor shook his hand.
He put the contract on the desk and went to the table. "I need these two pieces back." He returned the sketch for Lauren and the painting for Russell to his portfolio and zipped it up.
"Make sure your models stay in love and are ready." Victor patted his back.
He nodded. "They'll be ready."
Chapter Twenty-Two
"At least on a holiday there's no traffic." Jason nodded as they pulled up into the circular driveway to Russell's parent’s home.
"Yeah, I was really hoping for some closed roadways." Russell put the car in park and squeezed the steering wheel.
"Maybe there could have been some freak snow storm, that would have definitely shut So. Cal down." Lauren leaned forward and put her head between the two front seats. Today they each had their job to do. Russell got to brood, she was perky and positive, and Jason played the comedy relief.
"That would have been perfect." Russell blew through his lips making them puff out.
"No. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair wouldn't allow it. Not when we've been summoned there for turkey and all the fixings." Jason turned back to her. "Did we remember everything?"
She grabbed her list. "I have the bottle of wine in the trunk."
"My father won't like the year." Russell mumbled.
"Then we'll drink it. I'll swig it out of the bottle." She put her hand on Russell's shoulder. "I have the candle Jason made."
"It was very 1970's of me." Jason grinned.
"They'll only pretend to like it." Russell pushed his glasses up.
"Your parents adore me." Jason pointed to himself.
"My parents adore money, they love my brother and they tolerate you." Russell tilted his neck from side to side.
"I have my gourmet salt." She reached out and rubbed his neck. Her poor man was tight and tense.
"Salt?" Russell turned back to her.
"It is this awesome pink salt that cost like forty bucks. Salt is the new vinegar." Jason gave her a thumb up.
"You bought my parents forty dollar salt?"
"It is a salt collection. The salt is from the Himalayan Mountains." She stifled a groan. Unlike Jason's tolerability, it didn't need to be said she wasn't his family's favorite, not since the first year Russell took her home and they saw her with her purple hair and the three piercings in each of her ears. After she toned herself down, she went from being disdained to being invisible. "I thought it would give them a little spice."
Jason chuckled. "I brought the vodka."
"They don't drink vodka." Russell growled.
"That's for you." Jason opened the door and got out.
"Come on." She coaxed Russell out of the car. They gathered up their gifts, or offerings, but stopped when Russell held his hand out to her.
She gave him the salt.
"Lauren." He put the salt under his arm and put his hand back out.
Since Vegas they overcame a lot, but this was a battle that didn't need to be won, not yet. Maybe next year if they were in this position next year. A sour taste rose in the back of her throat, but this wasn't about her and her needs, this was about Russell. "See that path there." She motioned toward the flagstone trail that led to the front door of the house. "It's called the path of least resistance."
"I'm sick of worrying about this." This time he took her hand and leaned over to Jason.
Jason grabbed her other hand. "Why don't we just let things happen?"
As they walked up to the door she held her breath. By the time Russell rang the bell, the cold evening air coupled with the heat generating over her face made her lightheaded.
"I forgot something." Jason let go of her and sprinted back to the car. "I'll be right back."
"What?" Russell called after him.
"Happy Thanksgiving!" Mathew Sinclair opened the door.
"Happy Thanksgiving!" Lauren straightened up and shot Russell's brother a smile fit to grace any cosmetic dentistry advertisement.
"Come in, mother's waiting." Mathew backed up and held his arms out to her. "Where's Jason?"
"He forgot something in the car." She now had the perfect excuse to extract her hand from Russell's and gave his brother a hug, sinking in, like when she stepped in mud with her good boots. While Russell bore his resemblance to his father, Mathew looked like his mother and was more rounded and bloated versus Russell's angles and edges.
"Well, thank you for that welcome." He held her tighter.
She was going under, being sucked into the mire, but Russell caught her hand again and pulled her out.
"Come on." Russell yanked her away.
"I haven't said hi to Mary and the kids." She tried to go the opposite direction toward the billiard room where Mathew's equally puffy wife and two matching children sat like polite little statues. They all gave her some finger wiggles.
"We are making the rounds." He gave her another tug.
"Maybe we're running in circles." She glanced back, searching for Jason as she wondered how she could get her hand back before they encountered the parents, but Mathew continued to stand there with his eyebrows raised.
"He shows with his entourage in tow." Mr. Sinclair cut them off at the pass. "Or at least part of his entourage."
She flashed another smile, this one a little less dental ad and a little more dental patient. Mr. Sinclair wasn't the hugging type and she couldn't liberate herself from Russell before the man saw.
"This is for you." Russell squeezed her hand and thrust the bottle of wine at his father.
She wanted to open her mouth to tell him to stop breaking her hand, he may want to use it later. Instead, she bit her lip as his father only glanced at the label on the bottle and focused on their hands.
"Not the worst year, not the best." His father shrugged his shoulders. "I see you have many things to catch us up with. Good to see you, Lauren."
She got a good to see her and widened her smile, but it came out more as a grimace. "You too."
"Your mother is waiting for you." Mr. Sinclair pointed, dismissing them.
Russell kept on his trek, now moving toward the kitchen.
The first time she was here, she remembered swooning at the kitchen. Made of marble, steel and stone it wasn't the best of the best, it was better. The kitchen was big enough for it to have two of every major appliance and still have room for an island and a specialty pizza oven.
The first time she was here, she had dreams of helping Mrs. Sinclair in that kitchen, but when she asked she was abruptly turned down and told they had a maid.
The first time she was here, she also had visions of playing pool with Mr. Sinclair in their billiard room.
Now after more than eight years and twice as many visits to this grand house, she settled for flanking Russell's side, a human buffer between him and his kryptonite. Every year she asked if she could help, and every year she was turned away. She still held out for the game of pool. Well, not really.
"Russell." Mrs. Sinclair turned, smoothed down her skirt and went toward them.
"Hello, Mother." He let go of Lauren to give his mother a hug.
She was free! They wouldn't make a scene. She moved her fingers to get the blood circulating again. In the background there was a ruckus that could only be Jason returning.
"Lauren brought you this." He handed his mother the salt and reclaimed her hand.
"Thank you." His mother looked
between the gift, the two of them and their hands.
Right now Lauren was positive the smile she possessed made it appear as if she got some sort of shot in her mouth. Her dreams of being a dental model dissolved. "They say salt is the new vinegar."
His mother didn't say a word.
Even if his mother wouldn't speak, she still had to ask the question. "Can I help you do anything?"
His mother reached forward and touched their hands. "You know, Lauren, I could use some help with the salad. Rosie is very busy."
"I can help?" Every part of her wanted to check and see if maybe it did start to snow in Southern California.
"Lauren has always wanted to cook in this kitchen. She's a wonderful cook." Russell moved closer to her.
"Well, come along and we'll let the men do what they do." Mrs. Sinclair took her arm. "Do you cook for Russell often?"
"I love cooking."
Mrs. Sinclair leaned over and gave Russell a kiss on the cheek. "Go find Jason, I'm sure he's drawing with the children."
Jason. He didn't forget anything in the car. A master of observation, he knew what would happen the moment Russell walked in holding her hand making them look like a couple when they were a trouple, or whatever word he invented.
Russell may need to prove something, but she couldn't let him do this. In all the years this was the first time she ever witnessed his mother kiss him.
"Go find Jason." She spun around, stood on her tiptoes and gave him a peck on the lips.
"Come along." His mother led her away. "How are the two of you with Jason in the house?"
She swallowed. This woman did not need any details on what she did for Russell, or Jason. "It all works out." For the first time in eight years she walked into the kitchen. A couple was something to be happy about, a trouple would be a freak show, especially here. She understood why Russell hid before. Tonight they would be a couple, and she was certain she wouldn't have to worry about this next year.
***
"How did you like the salad?" Russell's mother put her hand on Lauren's shoulder and leaned toward him.
Russell pierced the last lettuce leaf, radish piece and cucumber wedge and shoved it into his mouth hoping he didn't have to answer his mother. He'd been taught never to speak with his mouth full.
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