by Marni Mann
“It still needs some work, but I’ll finish it at home,” I said. “The leaves aren’t done, neither is your shirt, and the bark can be more detailed. I’ll probably add a bench—”
“Charlie, this is incredible.” My mouth fell open, but not because I had something to say. “You captured it. All of it.”
“It is? I did?”
His face had been the most difficult element to paint; I tried to ensure the shading remained true to the red lighting, that his characteristics were genuine, that the natural setting of the background didn’t distract the eye but blended into the greater image of the portrait instead. I hadn’t expected him to approve of the tones I had used, or my darker style. And I definitely hadn’t expected incredible.
His fingers gripped the top of the easel and his face leaned closer to the piece. “My expression here…it matches yours.”
Our expressions weren’t the same. Not even close. His was more like he’d stumbled upon something elegant and touching, soul-changing. It reminded me of the first time Emma had taken me to the beach, the way I had cherished the ocean and stared at it for hours.
Emma…
She always found a way to creep up on me and enter my thoughts. Cameron had begun to have the same effect. The emotions weren’t as deep as they’d been with Emma, though. They were different…and definitely alive. Was it because he’d strengthened my ability and helped draw my inspiration to the surface? Or was it because of my growing affection for him…something beyond the admiration I held for his talent?
There was the stinging truth that came with it all: I had nothing to offer him. And so much of me was still empty…and I had to lie about my job.
About being a prostitute.
That word sent a shock through each of my muscles; its echo pulsated. I wasn’t even a possibility—not for him, for anyone, really. Not unless he wore a mask and paid in cash. But that wasn’t Cameron; he was real, he was scarred, and he deserved someone much less tarnished than me.
“Do you know why I look this way?” he asked.
I shook my head.
He took a step closer. He was in my space, the area around my body that someone entered only if they were going to kiss me. Cameron kept his hands to himself. But because of my height, the air he exhaled hit my forehead. It tickled…and the feeling began to spread. As the seconds passed, the puffs of breath seemed to come faster. They caused a stronger reaction within me. A wetness started to form; a dull, familiar ache followed that would soon begin to throb.
“To have been a part of your journey, your story, and your life these past few weeks…it makes me want more, Charlie. More of you.”
My heartbeat sped up; my hands clenched, released, and clenched again. My palms were covered in sweat. He was giving me an answer. Was it the one I truly desired, though? Did I feel the same about him, or was I confusing my feelings with how much I wanted his success, his talent, his quiet confidence? I knew what had pulled me to Dallas…but aside from his undeniable sexiness, what was attracting me to Cameron?
I felt my phone vibrate from my pocket, and I broke our connection to look at the text. Tonight’s pick up was about eight train stops from my apartment. I needed to go home first so I could drop off the painting. I didn’t have that much time.
“You have to go?” he asked.
“I have…to meet someone. For work. It has nothing to do with you. Please don’t think that’s why I’m leaving.” The lie made me ramble. It wasn’t like me at all. “I would so much rather stay here.” It was the only truth I could manage.
He rested his hand on my shoulders. My thoughts became even blurrier.
“You said you needed help getting ready for your exhibit. Is that still true?”
I nodded.
“I’m free tomorrow after class, if you want me to come over.”
“Come over? You mean, to my place?”
He nodded. “You said you didn’t have a studio, so I assumed that’s where your paintings are.”
“Yes, that’s where they are. It’s just…I don’t have a couch yet. I’m going to get one. I just moved.” My face turned hot. I was rambling again.
“Why would we need a couch?”
“To sit.”
“If I feel like sitting, I’ll use your bed.”
That was the problem right there: his studio was safe. It was where we created art, where I could busy my brain and my hands with paint and canvas and imagery. Nothing about my place was safe, least of all my bed…I knew the thoughts it would produce and the urges it would trigger. I couldn’t let my fantasies about him transfer to my sheets. Not yet, anyway.
Cameron was always so in control with his words and movements; there was never any anxiousness or fluff in his tone. I envied his calmness. And I was going to attempt to assume it, to replicate it in myself. But I didn’t have much time to practice.
I reached for my canvas just as he did, too. His hand landed on top of mine. “It’s still wet,” he said. “I’ll wrap it once it dries and I’ll bring it to class tomorrow.”
Instead of pulling my hand away nervously, I left it where it was, and I smiled.
CHAPTER TWENTY
With Cameron holding the door, I exited the art building and waited for him on the sidewalk. Several students passed through behind me. The women who bothered glancing in his direction to thank him for propping the door open all had similar reactions: eyes widened and lips smiled, some faces flushed. Either they recognized him, or they were simply turned on by his looks. And if they were art majors, I suspected both were true. I wondered if my expression was anything like theirs; did I blush, or smile foolishly? Did I appear as doe-eyed? As experienced as I had become with sex, Cameron’s grin had a profound effect on me.
I hadn’t become immune to his talent or his beauty; I was childishly mesmerized by his sexiness, that strong-yet-soft intensity that he possessed. His words almost had a hidden meaning that awakened the darkness living within me, and his darkness was equally enchanting, the pain I knew was there but hadn’t yet been revealed. I was drawn to him and his scars. Every second that I didn’t touch him was a milestone; every thought spent on the abstract was a much needed breath of space. Now that our projects were completed and he wanted to help with my exhibit, I didn’t know what was to come; the restraint that I needed to focus on the project was no longer necessary. It was one thing to be in class, or alone in his studio, with our work to focus on. But what waited for us inside my apartment both frightened and aroused a strong desire in me. The mystery of it was almost as tantalizing as his presence.
Once he joined me, the air between us turned even thicker than the fudge-like syrup I had eaten off Jay’s body last night. It didn’t seem to repel us; instead, it made me believe that we were being drawn side-by-side. Cameron gripped his case, though its leather strap was firmly resting on his shoulder. I gripped mine, too. I needed to relieve some of the intensity, the power that pulsed through me as we began to walk toward the train station. I felt the cracks in the concrete and counted the tiny imperfections that were worn into the ground. Each step caused my legs to tighten, my muscles contracting and exploding as I moved. I wanted to concentrate on anything except being in a familiar place with Cameron.
The subway wasn’t far from the art building and Ruggles Station was only two stops from my apartment. Sweat had already formed between my breasts. At night, I showed so much endurance. I only hoped I could endure this primal need that became more pronounced every hour that we spent together. Cameron hadn’t even asked where I lived, or how we were going to get there. Sometimes, silence was my ally; it allowed me time to compose my thoughts.
“Do you mind if we take the train?” I asked.
“Not at all. It’s how I usually get around the city.”
I didn’t know if someone like him took public transportation. I was happy to know this…and maybe even a bit relieved.
“My place is sort of empty.”
“You just moved. It’s
to be expected.”
He had remembered.
“I just wanted to warn you,” I said.
“No need. I’ve been planted a lot longer than you and I’m just finally getting my place the way I want it.”
It was a casual answer that seemed to come with no expectations. I didn’t think of myself as a casual thinker, but I also tried not to set too many expectations. The accident had taught me this. It also taught me that, in spite of my best efforts, I had no real control over the outcome of any situation.
“Are you taking another class this summer?” he asked.
I stared at his hand shifting back and forth as he walked. His nails were trimmed short, different colors of paint had stained his cuticles; dark brown hairs sprouted between his knuckles. The sunlight caught on his fingers, revealing little white lines. They were thin and jagged…some were longer than others. They seemed to be scattered all over his skin. I hadn’t noticed them before, but now I couldn’t peel my eyes off of them.
More scars…
“Yes,” I said. “3D Tools, Forms Basics. But it’s just a three week class, like ours.”
“Who do you have?” he asked.
I looked toward him casually and noticed his other hand bore similar scars. “A grad student,” I told him.
We stayed on the outer rim of the sidewalk, the part that lined the street, as we moved farther from school. I shifted my stare dead ahead so I wouldn’t trip. The center was packed with students and faculty. Everyone rushed in both directions; the backpacks protruding from every body made the spaces between that much tighter. I had to balance along the sidewalk ledge. As tricky as it was for us to maneuver our way through, he never drifted from my side.
“I wish I had you,” I said.
His lids narrowed as he glanced toward me with a hint of mirth.
“As a teacher, I mean. You’ve already taught me so much, I think the other students could benefit from your talents as well.”
“The department requires a Master’s degree to teach.”
“You don’t have one?”
He shook his head. “I have more than enough credits, just not the right level of classes. I keep repeating the basics.”
I noticed the limo from the corner of my eye, though it kept its distance by several feet. The windows too tinted to see anyone inside. It had first caught my attention as it idled by the sidewalk when we left the art building. It maintained a steady pace behind us the entire time we walked. I thought there was no way it could have been for me. The mansion would never scoop me up in a public place; anonymity was too important to them. But it continued its slow pursuit, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that it actually was for me after all.
As Cameron discussed how many credits he needed to complete his Master’s, I snuck short glances over my shoulder. The light had turned green and the traffic had cleared; it still drove so slowly, stayed so near. The headlights flashed, but I continued walking. Several seconds later, the back window rolled down.
“Charlie…I need to speak to you.” The man in the backseat poked his head out, and we made eye contact. When I didn’t respond, he beckoned me over with his hand.
I didn’t recognize him, but he sounded familiar…familiar enough that I stopped walking. Until then, Cameron hadn’t noticed that my attention had shifted from him to the limo. “I’ll be right back.”
I crossed the few feet of space to the vehicle and gripped the edge of the window, pushing my stomach up against the door. “Who are you?” I glanced back to see Cameron standing in the spot where I had left him, facing the limo with his eyes darting between the window and me.
The man in the back leaned against his seat, his face shielded by my body. “The Doctor.”
My pulse spiked.
“From the—”
“Yes,” he said, “that’s the one.”
“But I thought—”
“You thought correctly, Charlie,” he confirmed. “No one from the mansion is ever supposed to contact you outside the confines of the gate. I’m making an exception.”
The Doctor was better-looking without his mask. His eyes were covered by glasses with thick black frames. His features were hard and pointed, and the skin around his lids was as smooth as his cheeks.
“Is everything all right?” I asked.
“Something has arisen…something extremely significant. I need to know, Charlie: do you trust me enough to speak privately, outside of our place of employment?”
Did I trust him? Did I even know him well enough to? I’d shared so many details of my life with him—almost as much as I’d shared with Dallas—and I’d even discussed Dallas with him, as well as Cameron and Professor Freeman. I’d offered him my body and he hadn’t taken it. I’d even given him my new address, and he’d never taken advantage of that in any way.
“I trust you.”
I glanced back once more. Cameron’s feet hadn’t moved, but his eyes continued to bounce between the window and me. I couldn’t imagine what he was thinking, if he assumed I knew the person I was speaking to or thought I was simply giving directions. I hoped it was the latter.
“What do you need from me?” I asked.
“I can’t discuss it now, but I’ll be visiting you again soon. I don’t want you to be alarmed when I do.”
I nodded. “I’ll be ready.”
“Charlie?”
I turned my head to the Doctor again. “Yes?”
“You can’t mention this to anyone. Ever.”
“I won’t.”
“You understand that speaking about our encounter wouldn’t put only you in danger, but the people in your life as well.” He paused. “I’m referring to Dallas and Cameron, of course.”
I held the lip of the glass with my shaky fingers. “I won’t say anything. I promise.”
The Doctor’s soothing voice had been a source of comfort, and my pulse had returned to normal while he spoke, but it began to race again. No one other than the driver knew the Doctor was here with me. Either this wasn’t a driver employed by the mansion, or he was one the Doctor trusted implicitly. But what could be so important that he was willing to breach not only the mansion’s rules, but also his anonymity by revealing his true identity to me?
And if he was able to find me, did that mean my clients might be able to as well?
“If you’re worried that others will contact you—the staff or your clients—don’t give it a second thought. It won’t happen; I assure you of that.”
This wasn’t the first time the Doctor had answered an unspoken question. It was as though he could read my mind.
“I’ll see you soon,” he said. The window slid upward, and the limo pulled away from the curb. As it drove away, I noticed that the license plate was a temporary one. The mansion’s limos used real plates and changed them on a regular basis. It did little to put me at ease.
I turned my back to the street and shuffled toward Cameron. He met me halfway. “You look anxious,” he said.
He didn’t ask who’d been in the limo, or what they had wanted. I had no idea what I would have told him if he had. Nothing felt good about the lie I’d have to create. My lives had crossed now, and they probably would again if I continued to spend time with him. And so far, I had been able to restrain Dallas’s curiosity when it came to my new job by changing the subject whenever he asked. But I wouldn’t be able to for much longer.
“No, I’m fine,” I said.
I waited for a follow up question. None came.
***
The lighting in my apartment wasn’t anything like what Cameron’s studio had. The two windows I had faced other buildings and the overhead let off a golden mist. I didn’t have anything on my walls besides antique white paint; nothing cluttered my countertops. Unlike his phenomenal view and inspirational pieces, there was nothing here for Cameron to get lost in.
Nothing…except me.
As I moved around my one-room, I felt his eyes on my body. And when he sat, I was ver
y aware of his presence on my bed. Not just the way his butt pressed against my comforter, but the way his feet rested on the floor, his hands on the mattress. His smell, a faint spicy cologne and the scent of rain, was mingling with my air.
My fingers fumbled with the paintings as I held them all and spread them out along the wall. Day of the Dead was first. After I set it down, I glanced up to read his expression, the way his lips moved as he studied it. Kerrianna was next. His features hardened; his foot began to tap against the wood floor. The two that followed were pieces I’d created while Lilly was alive. In one I called The Black Crow, I’d painted a woman from the back, with a black crow tattooed down the length of her spine. Her head was shaved; her shoulder blades protruded as though it had been months since she’d eaten. In the other, called The Doors, a wall of doors covered the entire canvas. They were all different sizes; the character in the wood varied, as did the hardware. Each door was painted either black or red, and a staircase rose in front of them.
“These are nothing like I had imagined,” he said.
I glanced between him and the pieces. I couldn’t read his meaning, and I was too afraid of his answer to ask.
“So with my portrait included, you have five pieces for the exhibit?”
“You don’t mind if I use the one of you?”
He shook his head.
“Then no, actually…I have seven.”
“Where are the other two?”
I was hesitant to reveal them, to him or anyone else. They were new, created in the last few weeks and inspired by the mansion. They were a look into my recent life, more personal than anything I had ever painted before. They were me. And they were tucked beneath my bed, where I’d stashed them this morning knowing he’d be coming to view my pieces.
He still hadn’t asked any questions about the limo or why I had moved into a new place, or where I had lived before this. I really liked that about him, the way he let me disclose things at my own pace. I felt as though I’d been dressed in lingerie since our first session together, and he hadn’t even loosened one of my bra straps. Dallas expected more, and had demanded more. But his demands had scared me away. Cameron’s lack of demands tested me; it kept me guessing what he wanted, and wondering if he truly desired me.
