by Ani Keating
I revel in the feeling of my body coming alive. He interrupts my resurrection.
“Which will you choose, Miss Snow?” he prompts, and I have to remember the choices he gave me. Ah yes, prove it or surrender. Truth be told, I’d like him to prove it. Prove it with scientific precision. But I can’t admit that to him. I have only one option.
“I surrender.” I look up at him. I might as well do it with dignity.
He looks…almost victorious, if not for a trace of melancholy in his eyes. “Safe decision.”
Safe? For whom? I keep my face composed as his eyes burn on mine.
“That leaves only one question before we move on to my other reason for coming here today. Why did you lie about it?”
“I didn’t lie,” I say defensively.
“It’s a loose use of the word but you cannot deny that you were trying to cover the truth. Why?”
Hmm, maybe he doesn’t know about Javier. Come to think of it, why would he? Javier is not in the personnel files. Still, I can’t have him dig further. I have to end this with me. I square my shoulders.
“Because I was working illegally, Mr. Hale. My student visa does not allow me to work off campus. My brief hours of modeling have provided some much-needed income.” I notice with satisfaction that my voice is back to normal and in fact, it has taken a defiant edge.
His eyes widen a little in surprise. “I see. That explains why there is so very little information about you anywhere.” His voice is now pensive and warm. There is no snake, no ice, no secrets in it. In fact, for the first time, I see tenderness in his eyes.
“You researched me?”
“As I said, I’m a man of means. But I couldn’t find much about you beyond your impressive academic credentials.”
I wonder if I should be worried that he has researched me but I’m only thrilled. Besides, didn’t I stalk him on the Internet last night?
“Yes, that would be CIS—the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services. They keep the records of foreign visitors strictly confidential,” I explain. This is why he doesn’t know I’m leaving soon. I feel the same irrational need to keep that from him.
“I must say, you’re unexpected Miss Snow. I thought you were an independent contractor, not an under-the-table worker. But don’t worry, I won’t turn you in. In fact, that brings me to my next point. I’d like to hire you.”
“Hire me?” My voice squeaks, high on Haleum. Hah!
“Yes, indeed. And yes, I realize that would break the law. Apparently, I don’t care.”
“But I have to finish my supplement first.”
He smiles. “I’m not talking about your supplement. I’m talking about a painting. I’d like to hire you to model for a painting for my eyes only.”
Bloody hell! What would Feign say about me brokering separate deals? On the other hand, it means more money for Javier. I hedge.
“What kind of painting? I don’t pose nude.”
He smirks. “What makes you think I want you to pose nude?”
Flame burns my cheeks. “I’m sorry, I assumed that’s what you wanted because of the nature of the paintings you already bought. My mistake.” I look at my cup of hot chocolate, willing it to swallow me whole.
He smiles diabolically. “You assumed both right and wrong. If I were the artist, your reluctance for nudity would be a problem indeed. But since I’m not, and you will have to pose in front of another man, I have no intention of commissioning a nude painting. Does that satisfy you?”
I try to stay coherent but all I can think about is posing naked for him. Bloody idiot, get a grip. “Why should you care if another man sees me naked?”
“I have pondered the question myself. For now, let’s just say that I like my art…unique. In fact, I plan to pay Feign a very handsome amount so that he does not paint you ever again.”
I watch him, gobsmacked. Is that the “unconventional proposal” he wanted to discuss with Feign?
“I regret that this will cause you to be out of a job you desperately need. I will compensate you on a fair trade commission, which will include the share of profits you should have received for your work.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Hale, but you don’t need to pay me. I still have my job at the lab, and my student visa ends soon.”
I let that hang there, hoping he will think it means that my work restrictions will end soon too. For some reason, I hate that he wants to pay me. It makes me feel detached, like an employee. If he had asked me to do it for free, it would have been much better.
“You seem to be under a misapprehension that this is a negotiation, Miss Snow, but it is not. I refuse not to pay you when I’m the reason you will never pose for anyone ever again. And that’s the end of the discussion on this point.”
His words have hit too close to home. I make my voice as detached as possible, my usual way of dealing with anger.
“Mr. Hale, you seem to have picked up on the same thing that Feign has: that some immigrants don’t have any bargaining power. You’re unfortunately right, and you have me cornered because you know my secret. So I have no option but to agree. But make no mistake that, until your ultimatum, I was going to accept your offer with pleasure. Now, all you’ll get is the surrender you wanted. So let’s get down to business, shall we?”
Mr. Hale appears to have left Paradox and in his orange chair is sitting a dragon, slits for eyes, fire from the nostrils, smoke from the ears and scales on the skin. He looks like he is trying to calm himself down. I don’t look away from him. I don’t even blink. Finally, he speaks.
“I don’t view you as a second-class citizen, Miss Snow. But I suppose I can understand why my delivery would be offensive for someone in your circumstances. It was not my intent to make you feel used. My apologies.”
I give him a curt nod. “Accepted.”
He takes a deep breath and his voice is warmer. “Now, about the business details. I’d like you to model in my home.”
Well, that will never fly with Feign but it takes the wrath of the dragon away from me so I might as well agree.
“And I don’t want just glimpses of your body. I want all of it, including your face.”
Under other circumstances, this would be a deal breaker. But since he said no nudity, I guess I don’t mind. And truthfully, I’m flattered.
“I don’t know why, but okay.”
His eyes turn gentle. “You don’t know why?”
“No, not really. But it’s okay. You don’t have to give me some speech about how I really am beautiful and don’t see myself clearly.”
“It seems you’re familiar with that speech.”
“Yes, and frankly it never works for anyone. It would be better if we used our time productively.”
He shakes his head and narrows his eyes like he is plotting some other way to convince me. I feel some heat return to my skin so I start babbling. “What would you like me to wear?”
His eyes sparkle, and his teeth graze his lower lip just a tiny fraction. “My shirt.”
The quintessential morning-after attire. At this rate, I’ll blush until June thirteenth. “And what else?”
“Nothing else. Just my shirt.”
I have to negotiate on this because even if it’s just Javier and me in the gallery, I need my knickers. “Will the shirt be open or buttoned?”
“Open,” he mouths.
My mouth goes dry. “Umm, that might be a problem with the no-nude rule. I’d feel more comfortable if I could keep my knickers.” Mortified, I look down at my cup of hot chocolate again.
“Okay, knickers. But I get to pick them,” he says softly.
I nod. “Thank you.”
“That’s it. Unless you want to talk price.”
I shake my head. No, that would be humiliating.
“Now, I’d like the same color a
nd style as the rest of the paintings but before I hire Feign, I need some information from you.”
“What kind of information?”
“Are you sleeping with Feign?” His voice is even and cold again.
Whoa! That’s abrupt and kind of offensive. But I guess he is entitled to suspect it given what he knows. “No, I am not.”
“Incidentally, are you with someone else?”
“No.”
He leans back on his chair. “Then, I’ll discuss the schedule with Feign and get back to you.”
I’m confused. “Why would you not hire Feign if I were with him or someone else?”
He raises an eyebrow. “I don’t want you distracted, Miss Snow. And I certainly don’t need to invite the ire of a jealous boyfriend. It wouldn’t end well for him.”
“I guess that makes sense,” I say, but for some reason, I get the feeling his words mean something else. Oh well. Feign will throw a wrench in the works anyway, so I don’t need to worry.
Mr. Hale sips his espresso. “Do you go back to England often?” he asks abruptly.
“No.” It’s technically true.
“What about your parents? Are they in England?”
I guess I knew this was coming. I go through my routine for such questions. Take a breath, recite to carbon. “My parents have passed away, Mr. Hale.” I don’t look at him because I don’t want to see what I know I will see. Pity. I dislike it from anyone but apparently, I really despise it from him.
“I’m very sorry.” His voice is the softest I’ve heard it yet. From the corner of my eye, I see his hand extend a little toward mine and then stop as if he thought better of it. “And I’m sorry I asked. I had no idea.”
“No need to apologize. There can be no fault when the intention is kind.” I risk a look at him. His face is tender, like he is seeing something painful. And not just painful, but maybe familiar.
“Do you have siblings?” he asks in that same gentle tone.
“No.” I always wanted one but Mum couldn’t have children after me. She always felt a pang for that.
“I’m an only child myself. I sympathize.”
This voluntary disclosure feels like an olive branch. I accept it with a smile. “I went through a stage when I would draw my brother and sister. My parents had to endure the stick figures at the dinner table for several months.”
“I should have given that a try. It might have made me less selfish.” He’s joking but his stormy eyes betray some regret. For some reason, I want to vanquish it.
“Most kind people think of themselves as selfish, I’ve noticed.”
He smiles but the dimple does not pucker in his cheek.
“What about your parents?” I ask.
“They’re vacationing in Thailand for the next month. My father, Robert, is an architect; my mother, Stella, an editor.” His voice turns guarded and distant. “Why did you leave England?” He puts the spotlight on me again.
“After my parents’ car accident, I needed a fresh start. I’d always thought the States were more immigrant friendly than Europe. So, here I am.” I leave out the long, torturous journey of the last four years, the Top Ramens, the dependence on others. It would be a real downer.
“This must have been very difficult for you,” he says softly.
“I’ve had my moments. It’s better now though. I miss them still, but I have done my best to keep parts of them alive. Like the nutritional supplement that my dad was so keen on. Most days, I just feel really lucky to have had such unconditional love even for a short while.”
“Well, from what I’ve seen, they would be really proud.”
“Thank you. I’d like to think so.” I have a feeling he is trying to catch my eye but I stir my now-cold hot chocolate. A phantom hole sinks in my chest. Not like I’m missing something I’ve lost, but something I’ll never have. I fidget with my watch, or rather my dad’s Seiko watch.
Mr. Hale looks at it, too, and his eyes soften. Suddenly, I am sure he knows.
“Yes, this was my dad’s. I know it’s masculine, but I can’t imagine wearing something else.” I look at Mr. Hale’s watch reflexively. An Audemars Piguet that probably cost as much as one year’s tuition at Reed. He moves his hand under the table, looking almost embarrassed.
“No need to hide your James Bond watch, Mr. Hale. Trust me, orphans don’t like making others uncomfortable. On the contrary, I’m happy for you.” I put as much honesty in my voice as possible. He obviously has some darkness he is hiding and despite it, or perhaps because of it, he has done quite well. He should be proud, not embarrassed.
“Your parents must be proud too,” I say.
His eyes zoom in and out of focus briefly, as if tectonic plates are shifting underneath. Then, they still.
“If I ever sell my supplement, I’ll send you a picture of my Audemars.” I crack a joke to bring him back from whatever thought is emptying his eyes this way. It works. He is back with a melancholic smile.
“Or maybe you’ll find yourself winning the lottery, Miss Snow.”
Suddenly, the “Miss Snow” sounds jarring. “You can call me Elisa, Mr. Hale. Or Isa.”
“Elisa.” He nods.
My body thrums at the sound of my name from his lips. He does not make the same invitation to me. That’s good. For some reason, Aiden would be too much for me. Like the moment I say it out loud, I will be tied to him in a tangible way. But after witnessing his dimple-and-scar contradictions, his intelligence and now his tenderness, I have a feeling that if I allow myself to get close to Aiden Hale, it would be a hold for life. Suddenly, I want to leave.
“I’d better go. I have a lot of information to download on poor Eric.”
He stands with me. “I’ll walk you to the lab, Elisa.”
He leaves a bill on the table and steps aside to let me lead the way. I walk into the misty morning, feeling new inside out. Even my own name.
Chapter Eleven
House of Sun
By the afternoon, the mist has changed into a full-blown downpour. I huddle in my rain jacket as I ride Bus Six to the Solises, trying not to think about Mr. Hale or my ridiculous reaction to him. When I lose the battle, I recite the periodic table until the bus drops me off at the Solises’ napkin-sized clapboard home in Immigrantville on North Williams Avenue.
Javier keeps Casa Solis painted crispy white. Pots of daffodils line the windows with Maria’s lace curtains. The mailbox has no name, just numbers. The Solises’ American dream in the flesh. And mine. I know every nook and cranny. The nutmeg in Maria’s kitchen, the lemon-scented dish soap, the couch that doubles as Javier’s bed because his room serves as a studio.
I sprint to the door, knock once and go in. “It’s me,” I call.
Javier’s little sisters run from the living room and turn into a pretzel around my waist. Javier strolls behind them, with a pencil behind his ear. They’re doing homework. Maria is at work even though it’s Saturday. In the kitchen corner is Antonio’s wheelchair—he must be resting. Since his construction accident last November, he is weak despite physical therapy every Thursday.
“Here you go—new paints,” I say, tossing a Ziploc bag full of pigment jars to Javier. One of the benefits of being a chemist? You can make things like your own shampoo, your roommate’s hand moisturizer or your de facto brother’s acrylic paints in a lab.
He catches it. “Thanks! Denton’s still okay with this?”
“Are you mad? He thinks I should patent the formula.”
He nods and sets the pigments on the counter. I start cleaning the kitchen while the girls give me a detailed account of their day.
“Still no hot water?” I ask Javier as Isabel tells me about her biology test.
“Need three more paintings for a new heater.” He shrugs, helping Isadora practice her ballet pirouette.
By
the time I’ve wiped the counters with ethanol, Bel and Dora go back to their homework on the dinner table, and Daniela starts drawing in her coloring book, while four-year-old Anamelia starts banging on her toy drums.
I catch Javier’s eye and cock my head toward his bedroom. He needs to know about Mr. Hale’s project. He follows me with knitted eyebrows.
The more I talk—quietly, so the girls can’t hear—the more his eyes dilate in fear. By the time I finish, his sienna skin is pale.
“What did you say?” he whispers. His hands are shaking. I can’t stand the sight of him terrified. I walk over to him and take his hand.
“I know it’s scary, Javier, but think about it. There’s no way Feign will go for it. Hale wants this done in his house and if Feign agreed, he’d practically admit his fraud. Shh, calm down.” I rub my hand across his back. His breathing has picked up, shallow and fast, like a wounded deer’s.
“But, Isa, the girls! What if Feign freaks and fires me? Or I get caught? They’ll be wards of the state with a paralyzed dad and a housekeeper mom.” His whispers tremble. I squeeze his hand.
“Listen to me. Please! Feign will come up with some excuse about the location and, at most, we’ll end up in the gallery as always. And in the end, I’ll give you all the money. I’m done here but you can go on. Maybe put it toward a college fund?”
Javier drops my hands. “A college fund for what?” he spits out. “You of all people should know better.” He shakes his head and stomps to the other side of the room.
“Why did you agree at all, Isa? Why even take this risk?”
“I’m so sorry, I was afraid he’d dig deeper and I was—” I stop immediately because he shoots me a look of pure fury. His ebony eyes are so deep I have a vision of falling. His nostrils flare. I have never seen this look on Javier before. When he speaks, his voice is quiet.
“Don’t give me that bullshit, Isa. You didn’t do this for me.”
