by Penny Ward
“Which the New York Times did as well.”
“Right. And like me, they didn’t find anything. So we can safely say that he is not a recent college graduate. But…”
“Yes…”
“He must have painted in high school, right? Everyone paints something in high school. It’s part of the curriculum. And you would think that a person with this sort of talent would be able to paint in high school – possibly even win a prize or two?”
“If it was that easy, then I would have thought that the great investigative journalist skills of those papers combined would have found something. But they found nothing about this artist. Nothing.”
“It isn’t that easy because the artist didn’t win in high school. However, I found this…”
I bring up the picture of the third placed painting in the senior art prize of the Bruny Community High School from twenty years ago.
“Luckily, all these photos have been converted into digital images for the school’s website. They are quite proud of their artistic students and what they have achieved. So, twenty years ago, this painting placed third in the senior high school section of the school’s art prize. Look at the colors, especially the sky.”
“Oh my… that is so close to one of the first paintings he displayed.”
“Right… and then look at the house in the picture. And then look at the house in the picture on one of Joel Mitchell’s later artworks.”
“Oh! That’s the same house!” Marissa exclaims.
“Right! Absolutely.”
“You are a genius,” she plants a big kiss onto my cheek. “You have found something that nobody else has!”
I am quite proud of myself finding this. It is quite an achievement for my new boss, and my new job. Just finding this small piece of information, I feel like I have already paid back the faith that Marissa has thrown into me.
“So what’s the artists name?” Marissa is as excited as a schoolgirl before a pop concert.
“The student’s name is Joel Mitchell Greene.”
“Oh! It’s definitely him then!”
“I think so.”
“And where is Mr. Joel Mitchell Greene?”
“I don’t know,” I shake my head. “He doesn’t seem to exist.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“I mean that I have searched everything and I haven’t found a piece of information on this guy ever. He doesn’t exist. He is listed as graduating from Bruny Community High School but he is listed as absent in the photos. There is no Facebook, Twitter or newspaper article about this guy. He doesn’t exist on the internet.”
“Hmmm… he is as elusive as his art profile. Interesting. Keep looking but make sure you don’t tell anyone what you have found so far. If we find him, this could be the greatest scoop this gallery as ever put up. It would put us on the world map. So don’t tell anyone about this.”
“Got it, boss.”
“I’m going to set up for tonight’s gallery opening, you should keep looking for this guy for the next hour. After that, come and help me get ready for tonight… No, actually, I need you to do something else.”
“What’s that?”
“I need you to get ready for tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that Mr. White is coming along tonight and you are going to ask that sexy man for a one-night stand.”
“But…” I had hoped that Marissa had forgotten about that.
“No. I won’t hear any other answer. Tell him that you will meet him in a hotel for one night of hot sex. If he wants it, then he will organize the hotel and the night.”
“But…”
“No. I won’t listen to your excuses, Amber. Finish up there and then go and get ready for one wild night…”
****
The gallery is buzzing with tonight’s opening.
The crowd is excited as they move from picture to picture by French-American artist, Audrey Whitney. Her works capture life from a complicated time – computer screens highlighted in empty grain fields, or people standing in busy train stations surrounded by plants. I think she is trying to say something, but you can never be sure what artists are actually trying to say.
I listen to Audrey talk about one of her paintings to a group of eager collectors, engaging them with her beautiful accent.
I am wearing one of Marissa’s dresses that she has leant to me. It is a long, elegant red gown, and it fits my body perfectly. Although Marissa is older than me, we have the same body type. In an attempt to smell seductive, I am also wearing some of Marissa’s favorite perfume, ‘Men can’t resist it,’ she said.
I hope she is right.
Then the man that has my thoughts walks into the gallery and is greeted by Marissa.
The light shapes his tall and broad physique, his suit clinging to his shapely muscles.
Oh…
My heart is in my mouth as I stare at his body.
Mr. White walks with poise, slowly moving his long legs around the room. He is full of composure and his movements are smooth.
This is a man full of confidence.
“Breathe,” Marissa whispers to me as she brushes past.
After he looks at the intricacies of one of the new paintings in the gallery, he moves towards me.
“Hello.”
I freeze. I don’t reply to his greeting. I don’t even smile. I stand there looking like a fool, staring at him.
“It is full of beautiful detail,” he stares at me.
“Pardon?” I squeak.
“The painting.”
“Oh, right. Yes… the painting.”
I snap back to reality. I have talked to him twice before, both times to process a transaction after he has bought a ridiculously over-priced painting. He must have more money than he knows what to do with. Marissa has said that he has bought over one hundred paintings from her gallery – where does someone even put all those paintings?
“Do you like that painting?” he asks.
“Um… yes. Actually, it is my favorite of Audrey’s,” I stammer as I hold the champagne glass in my hand. “I like the balance of light and dark and the contrast of the field with the screen.”
“Hmmm… It is wonderful,” he smiles. “I don’t think we have been formally introduced?”
“Amber,” I smile and hold out my hand to shake his.
“Mr. White,” he states with a cheeky smile.
As his hand shakes mine, he almost engulfs it. His large hand wraps around mine, and when our skin touches, I feel a sense of warmth dance up my arm. His skin is tough but smooth. He is a man that has worked with his hands before.
“And what is your main role around the gallery, Amber? Before you arrived, I have only ever known Marissa to work by herself.”
“I’m her assistant. I help out with all the work that needs to get done around here.”
“And what are you working on currently? Marissa mentioned that you might be working on a project?”
“Currently, I’m looking for anything about Joel Mitchell.”
“The man nobody can find? That Joel Mitchell?”
“Yes,” I nod.
“Interesting… what have you found out so far?”
The way that his smooth, seductive voice asks that question almost makes me melt, but I also become wary of the reason he is asking. An art collector like himself would pay big dollars to find a man like Joel Mitchell.
“A name… possibly,” I whisper. I didn’t want to say that but I find it quite hard to lie to him.
“A name? Really? And what would that name be?”
“I can’t tell you that. But that is also where the lead goes cold. I have a name but nothing more. The man doesn’t seem to exist.”
He nods, ponders his thoughts for a few moments and then states, “If I were you, I would send an email to every combination of that name to all the big email service providers. One email might hit the mark.”
“That’s not a bad
idea,” I say. “Thank you.”
He smiles his delicious smile again, “Which one of these paintings is your second favorite?”
“This one over here. I love the look on the little girl’s face in this painting. It captures me every time I look at it.”
“Then I will buy that one.”
“Oh… ok. Sure. If you would like to follow me, we can process the details over here.”
I lead him to the back room where the books are, and once I grab the purchase book, I turn and his striking eyes are staring straight at me.
It is like nothing else in the world matters to him right now.
As I nervously turn the pages of the purchase book, he states, “You and I need to have dinner.”
His statement is dominant and strong.
“No… no dinner,” I state bluntly.
It has taken all of my courage to talk like that. I am not ready to start a relationship. I am not ready to fall in love with him. I am not ready for my heart to be broken again. Marissa has convinced me that I need a one-night stand. That’s it – nothing more. I stand in front of him and I want to tell him all about my past – how I have broken up with my boyfriend, how I have just moved to the city and how I am not ready for dinner. But I have to play it cool if I just want a one-night stand with this man. And that’s what I have decided.
One night.
No strings attached. This will be my welcome to my new life. It will mark the end of the old me and the start of the new, confident me.
One wild night. That’s all.
“Right,” he is shocked at the rejection.
A man this stunning would not get rejected very often. He nods, and he actually looks quite sad.
The next moment seems to take forever. I indicate for him to lean forward, closer to me.
“One night,” I whisper in his ear over the book. “One night. You organize the hotel and the time. Come back to the gallery and leave the details. You get one night with me – that’s all. One night to impress me.”
He pulls back with a happy shock spread across his face. He smiles, nods and leaves the gallery.
3
By the time Marissa has come back into the gallery, it is well into the afternoon.
She always struggles to come into the gallery the day after a big opening. And last night was a big opening in terms of alcohol consumed. Marissa always drinks a lot when she is nervous.
“Hello, Marissa,” I say cheerfully.
“Shhh… quiet down. Oh… my head hurts,” she moans as she walks into the office at the back of the gallery.
“It was a good turn out last night. You should be really proud of the showing. And nearly all the paintings were sold in the first night. That’s always a good result.”
“It is,” she smiles as she sits into her chair and pops two headache tablets. “And Audrey was wonderful. She entertained everyone and was charming beyond words. That always helps sell a painting. She met with all the buyers expect for the buyer of the ‘Girl in the Field’ painting. Who bought that painting last night?”
“Mr. White.”
“Ooooh… and did you talk to Mr. White?” Marissa sits forward in her chair.
“I did.”
“And…”
“And he asked me out on a date.”
“A date?!” Marissa throws her hands up in the air. “That’s not what we wanted. We wanted wild, rough, primal sex.”
“I said no to the date.”
“Oh?”
“I told him to get a hotel room for us – and come back today and tell me where it is.”
“Oh! Really?!!” Marissa jumps to her feet.
“Yes,” I giggle.
Marissa grabs me into a great big hug, closing in tight on me.
“You won’t regret it. I promise that.”
“I don’t know… he isn’t even my type, Marissa. I want an artist, not a money-driven businessman.”
“Like I said before, a man like that is everyone’s one-night stand type. Screw him and leave. Oh, I’m so excited for you!”
She grabs me into another big hug.
“What are you working on here?” she asks as she catches a glimpse of my computer screen.
“Sending some emails.”
“To who?”
“Mr. White had a good suggestion last night. He said that if I found out the name, and I didn’t tell Mr. White what the name was, then I could send out emails to any combination of that name.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve sent out emails to all the big providers like Gmail, Yahoo and AOL mail. And I’ve put all the combinations together like: joel.mitchell.greene, j.mitchell.greene, j.m.greene, joel.m.greene etc. etc.”
“Oh, clever. And what did you put in the email?”
“That we were looking for the artist who did the work in the Bruny Community High School. That way, he’ll know that we’re onto him. And I’ve also said that we are happy to protect his privacy if he will meet with us.”
“Oh, you are such a clever girl. Hiring you could be the greatest business decision of my life.”
“It was Mr. White’s idea.”
“Hmmm… clever and uber-hot. That man is a winner. When is he due back to tell you the hotel room?”
“Sometime today,” I raise my eyebrows.
I am starting to hope that he doesn’t come in. That way I don’t have to go through with it. If he doesn’t come in, at least I can say that I tried and be happy with that.
If he does come in, then I’ll have to go through with my commitment…
****
He hasn’t come back.
I keep looking to the entrance to see if he is about to walk in but he hasn’t returned.
My entire afternoon is flooded with nerves. My heart jumps every time the gallery door opens, and a feeling of complete nervousness fills my stomach.
As the day comes to a close, I wonder if I have scared him off. Maybe I came on too strong? Maybe I was too overwhelming? Or maybe he isn’t the one-night stand sort-of-guy?
“Has he come back yet?” Marissa asks when there are no people in the gallery.
I shake my head.
“He’ll come back,” she tries to reassure me. “No man would leave you behind.”
What if he does come back?
Really, I haven’t thought that far ahead.
It took all my energy to build the courage to talk to him, and I’m not sure if I can take any more excitement tonight.
I wouldn’t even know what to do.
I have only ever been with one man before and I was bored by sex. I think we only ever tried three positions during our two years together. He was my first man… and my first disappointment.
I look to the clock and start to hope that he doesn’t return. It is five minutes until closing time, and I even consider closing the gallery early. I am too nervous to wait any longer.
But the door opens…
I look to the entrance.
Wow.
Mr. White.
My heart stops.
My breathing stops.
He looks even more dashing in the early evening light.
I don’t know what to say. Instead, I stare straight at him. My mouth is open and my body is frozen stiff. How embarrassing.
But he is the opposite of me.
Confidence is radiating off him and his beautiful face has a smirk stretched across it.
He strides to my table, places a plain white card down in front of me, winks, and then walks back out of the gallery.
No conversation.
No words.
I stare at the card for five minutes until I gain the courage to turn it over and see what is written on it.
Oh.
Wow.
The plain white business card reads:
The penthouse suite. The Grand Hotel. 9pm tomorrow night.
4
“Haven’t you closed up yet?”
When Marissa comes out of the off
ice, I realize that I have been staring at the card for the past ten minutes.
“Um… no,” I quickly put the card back on the table.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing,” my voice breaks.
“Give me a look,” Marissa’s quick hands snatch the card off the table. “What is this?”
“An invitation.”
“From Mr. White?”
I can’t contain the smile on my face.
“Woo! The penthouse suite! That is going to be a great night!” she exclaims.
“The penthouse suite sounds nice,” I shrug my shoulders.
“Do you even know ‘The Grand Hotel’? It’s just one of the most fancy hotels in the whole of New York!”
“Really?”
I am overjoyed. I have never been inside a hotel any better than the cheapest on offer. I have only ever seen hotels with ripped curtains and uncomfortable beds that present the chance of catching an unknown infection.
“This man must be made of money. To get the penthouse suite at ‘The Grand Hotel’ would cost your annual wage. This is big money. Crazy money.”
“I don’t care about the money. It doesn’t really matter, but it would be nice to spend time with someone who is rich. Richard struggled to hold down any job longer than six weeks. And whatever money he did earn, he spent it on alcohol, partying and cigarettes.”
Imagine if someone had money to spend on me…
“Amber.”
Marissa snaps me back to reality from my daydream.
“You said just one night, remember?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t get caught up in the daydream, Amber. If it’s going to be only one night, then you need to keep it like that. No daydreams about him. That’s the way to break your heart. If you’re going to do this, you have to get in, get sex and get out. No daydreams.”
I nod.
“What if he is perfect? I mean, what if he is everything that I have ever dreamed of?”
“Don’t get pulled into that. Life isn’t all about fairy-tales. It’s about adventure. And a one-night stand with a man like that is the most amazing adventure you can ever have.”
I shrug my shoulders. I still don’t know if I can do it.
