“Well, some folks say I’m an artist, ma’am. I paint on canvas.”
“Would you have painted anything I know, Mr. Spence?” Mrs. Rockdale leaned forward in interest.
“Maybe. After tonight, you probably will. You see, this gallery opening is for me.”
“How fascinating. You hardly look like an artist. I would have guessed you were a movie star, or a professional wrestler. George, don’t you agree?”
Mr. Rockdale nodded admiringly.
Erin reeled. Had Patricia told her the art gala was for Spence? No, she was sure of it. Patricia never mentioned Spence or the book anymore.
“Now, all this flattery is beginning to embarrass me. I’m sure Mrs. Andersen here has a much more exciting life, living here in the city and working for a hot shot publisher.”
“Miss,” she corrected him. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but my life is very simple and would bore you.” She smiled sweetly at the elderly couple before turning toward her window.
“Now, Miss Andersen, I doubt you’re a simple woman. That dress tells me you’re not as boring as you claim.” Spence smiled disarmingly.
“You are mistaken. I lead a quiet life.”
“A little librarian, eh?” Mr. Rockdale interjected.
“Exactly,” Erin agreed.
"Mr. Spence, if you don't mind me asking sir, where are your socks?" Mrs. Rockdale tilted her head and nodded towards his feet.
Erin leaned over and looked. Trust Spence to break the rules. He wore black leather deck shoes -- but no socks.
"Burned them this afternoon, ma'am," he drawled.
"Whatever for?" Erin couldn't prevent asking.
"Sailor's tradition on the equinox. We salute first day of spring by burning our socks in a bonfire and knocking back a few beers. We don't wear socks again for the rest of the year. That is, until the winter solstice."
Mr. Rockdale chuckled. "It's true, my dear," he said to his wife. "A couple of years ago a friend asked me to join his crew for a yacht race. He called us 'rail meat' because our job was to sit on the windward side of the boat to counteract the heeling. First thing we did before getting onboard was toss our socks in the bonfire. They would only get wet and uncomfortable anyway. I recall there was a lot of beer after the race too. It's best not to question a sailor's traditions."
The car slid to a stop outside the museum. Tuxedoed ushers stepped up to the car and opened the door. Erin and Mrs. Rockdale placed their fingers into gloved hands and slid out of the car.
Spence appeared at her side and tucked her arm through his. “We’ll see you inside. It sure was nice meeting you, Mr. and Mrs. Rockdale.”
Instead of following the couple up the marble steps, Spence guided Erin towards an adjoining sculpture garden. She shivered against the frigid air.
“Cold?”
“Yes.”
She felt as if she were floating, rather than walking down the steps. Her gown glittered in the dark. They paused in front of a black sculpture, unable to tell what it was in the dark.
“What do you think that is?”
“I already know. It’s a thumb,” she said.
“Is that right?” He cocked his head. “Well, I’ll be. Do you think it was the artist’s?”
Erin turned to Spence. The breeze riffled his wavy, hair, not quite as long as it had been last summer. He seemed oblivious to the cold.
“Spence.”
“Erin.”
She groped for the right words.
“You never came back,” he finally said.
“You left me!” she flared.
“You left me. I just drove away.”
Erin lifted her chin, defiant.
“How’s Aidan?”
“How’s your book?” she countered.
“You first.”
She sighed. “Aidan’s gone. He’s at Columbia University. He has a grant and a long-distance girlfriend. How’s your book?”
“I broke the contract and paid back the advance, with interest.”
She whirled, her hands outstretched. “Oh no! That’s not what was supposed to happen. Patricia told me she had hired someone who would help you!”
“She did. A former drill sergeant. Best drinking and fishing buddy I’ve had in a long time. Didn’t mean he could drag a book out of me. He finally gave up and he’s running a dive boat at the marina. In fact, I think he’s seeing my mom.”
He turned to her and grinned. “It wasn’t the same, Erin. He’s not as good a kisser as you are. Turns out he’s not as good an editor, either.”
Erin hung her head. “Spence. This is my fault. I was supposed to help you, but instead I was selfish. I should have never taken you to the farm. If we had stayed at your house, we would have worked this out. You trusted me and I let you down.”
“What are you talking about, Erin?”
“I’m saying I’m sorry I let my infatuation interfere. I let my personal feelings come between me and my job, that I distracted you from your book and now you’ve lost it.”
Her head drooped sadly.
Spence lifted her chin, sliding an arm around her waist. “Erin, how can I convince you that I never wanted to write the book? McDowell dangled a nice boat in front of my nose and I jumped for it. That doesn’t mean I want everyone reading my private thoughts. Painting is personal. It’s almost my religion, and I don’t want to share it with the world until it’s finished.”
Erin bowed her head, her unshed tears glistening at his confession.
“You’re the only one I wanted to share it with. The only one I could.” He touched her blonde curls. “You’ve let your hair grow.”
“Yes. I couldn’t get an appointment with Billy Peachy,” she quipped, blinking quickly.
“Still got your sense of humor? You know what else you have?”
“What?” she whispered.
He kissed her, softly at first. Then, feeling her breasts heave against him, he deepened the pressure.
“Erin, you’re so beautiful tonight.” He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, moving down to her throat. “Why did you leave me?”
“I’m here now.”
He gazed into her eyes. Long, searching moments later, he stepped back.
“Yes, you are. For how long?”
Wounded, she turned away. “It doesn’t matter. Everything’s changed.”
“I haven’t.”
“But you don’t have your book.”
“I never wanted it. I had all I wanted.”
Erin’s breath caught in her throat and she tried to speak. She heard someone on the sidewalk calling for Spence. “You have to go. It’s your show.”
He took her hand and they walked up the steps to the front of the museum. A worried-looking man, a curator at the gallery, rushed Spence and grabbed his elbow. “Where have you been? We’re starting without the guest of honor.”
Erin watched as Spence moved away. Bereft, she glanced around. She saw Patricia watching her from across the room. She glided across the floor towards her mentor.
“I see you found him.”
“Patricia, why didn’t you tell me this gallery opening was his? Can you imagine how I feel?”
“Would you have come if I had?”
“Maybe. Probably.”
Patricia gave her a sidelong look.
“Okay, probably not. I’m falling apart. He still takes my breath away.”
“Save it for the romance houses, honey. I’m not in the market for fiction.”
“How can you say that? You know I love him.”
“Are you through babbling? Yes? Good. Honey, if you love him then why did you leave him?”
“What? Are you insane? You fired me!”
“Jobs are a dime a dozen. Why did you listen to me?”
Erin felt betrayed, doubling over from the gut wound. “Patricia. How can you say that? You’re a sick old woman.”
“Maybe. Maybe you’re a sick young woman. What about the Aidan baggage? Who divorces a perfectly rotten
cheat and then lets him live in her apartment? And then, instead of punishing him forever, sleeps with him whenever she’s lonely?”
“Lots of women,” Erin said in defense.
“Sick women.”
Patricia pitied the grief she saw in Erin’s eyes. “What’s stopping you now?”
Erin panicked. “What can I do?”
“What do you want to do?”
She grabbed a glass of champagne off of a passing tray and downed it in two gulps. “Find him. Wish me luck.”
“You’re going to need more than luck tonight, sweetie,” Patricia said, noting the beautiful and young women crowded around the speaker’s podium.
Erin stepped away, needing space between herself and the caustic, manipulative woman. She wandered through the crowd, looking for Spence. She recognized many of the paintings from his personal collection and his unfinished canvasses. He had kept busy these past few months, she thought. She turned a corner and stumbled, aghast. On both sides of the gallery were portraits of her. Spence had finished his “pin up” series. Although each model had different hair style and color, they all had the same face -- hers. Mortified, she looked wildly around to see if anyone recognized her.
“Do you like them?”
Spence came up behind her and put his arms around her waist. He rested his chin on her shoulder as he surveyed his paintings.
“Spence! How could you do this to me? What is someone realizes it’s me? Oh my God, my boobs aren’t that big!”
“You can’t imagine how popular they are. I’ve been offered $60,000 for that one,” he said, pointing to the pin up of her in her red dress, lying on the couch. “Remember how much fun we had working on that one?”
There were a few she didn’t recognize. One featured her from the back, bending over, an icy beer in her hand. In another she wore cut-offs and a red-checked blouse, tied beneath her breasts. She sat on a rock, a fishing pole in her hands. A third featured her with a losing poker hand, naked except for a pair of pink lacy panties. Playing cards shielded torpedo breasts.
“I didn’t pose for those,” she said, pointing. “And I never lost a poker game against you.”
“I painted those from memory.”
“Did you say $60,000? That’s crazy!”
“I’d like to think it’s because of the artist, but the truth is, I’ve never had a better model. In fact, some critics say this series could bring back the Pin Up movement.”
“Spence. You can’t show these to people. I’m practically naked. What if someone sees them?”
“Someone has seen them. I’ve made the cover of ‘Time’ this week. Do you live under a rock?”
“I could sue you.”
“No need. You can have it all if you want.” He squeezed her tight and kissed the back of her neck. “I’ve missed you, Erin.”
Chapter Fifteen
“It took you long enough,” she grumbled when at last he was at her side.
“I had to find the butter. Can’t eat biscuits without butter. Or honey.” He slid the tray laden with carbohydrates and coffee across the sheets and then crawled on all fours onto the bed.
“You didn’t get dressed, did you?”
“Now why would I do that?”
He pulled the sheet down and stared hungrily at her naked bottom. Then he bent over and bit it.
“Ow. That’s not a biscuit.”
Spence lay on the bed, his hands resting lightly on his furry chest. “Feed me, wench.”
Erin, sitting on her heels in the middle of the bed, picked up the honey bear and a hot, buttered biscuit. She held his eyes with hers while she squeezed honey onto the biscuit, then on her breasts, letting some slide down between her breasts to her belly.
Spence watched with a slight frown. Then he bit his bottom lip. He gingerly took the biscuit from her hand and put the entire thing in his mouth. He swallowed it, gulping hard. Meanwhile, he watched as honey continued to slide down Erin’s stomach and below her navel.
“Gotta love honey,” he murmured as he maneuvered between her knees.
She stretched her hands to the wall, grabbing the headboard for support. Soon she had pulled it loose from the wall, banging it rhythmically. Spence moved his head to the side.
“That’s very distracting, you know?”
Erin giggled. “I’m never letting you go again,” she whispered.
Once again, they were spending their days indoors, naked and feasting.
“You know, this can’t go on,” she said. She looked out her apartment window. A late snow had fallen all night and the city was gridlocked. Offices closed, traffic stood still. The city was a wonderland.
“Why not? I can’t go sailing in the snow.”
She picked up a pillow and swatted it with him. “Let’s go outside. Make a snowman.” She waggled her head encouragingly.
“What kind of clothes do I have here? You’ll have to dress me.”
“Come on. Get up. Let’s go outside. I’m getting bedsores. And I want a Krispy Kreme donut. Can’t you smell them?”
She tossed up her window and indeed, Spence could smell the donuts from around the corner. Erin slid into her jeans, pulled a sweatshirt over her head and struggled into socks and boots. She flexed her feet suggestively and smiled at Spence. "Bet you wish you had socks now," she teased.
"There is a wimp-chill factor," he hedged, slipping his deck shoes on bare feet, "but the wind isn't blowing out there so I'll just have to suck it up."
Soon they were dressed and outdoors in the cold, crisp morning. Spence raced her down the steps and made a snowball. Erin ducked, and he missed. Her Yankee aim perfect, she hit him in the ear with an icy missile. At the little park in Dupont Circle, Erin lay in the snow to make an angel. Spence pounced on her. “Somebody get a water hose,” she called weakly. He pulled her knit cap over her eyes and heaved off after a friendly couple passing by answered her distress call and pelted him with snowballs.
The snowball frenzy escalated and soon dozens of people were in the park tossing snowballs at each other and at slow cars traveling through the circle.
Spence and Erin rolled boulders into a snowman, and Erin offered her scarf for its neck. Spence grabbed her cap and shoved it atop the snowman. Then he grabbed her arms and pulled her mittens off.
“He needs these more than you do,” Spence said, shoving the mittens onto sticks and impaling the snowman’s sides.
“You wretch. You owe me a new ensemble.”
He pulled off one of his gloves and gave it to her, smiling.
They held hands and walked to a little restaurant down the street. There, they roasted s’mores over a blue flame and drank hot cocoa.
They were on the floor of her apartment, on a blanket spread before the fireplace. The warm, woodsy smell intoxicated Erin. Glasses of wine made her head spin. Spence lay beside her, staring at the flames. Erin flipped over to her side and looked at his profile.
“Spence.”
“Hmmm?”
“I need to tell you something.”
He nodded slowly, still watching the flames.
“Spence. I want you to look at me.”
Warily, he turned to Erin.
“It’s not bad, Spence. Well, I hope it isn’t.”
“What is it, babe?” He rolled onto his back, then remembering her request, he looked at her.
“I think you should know that I love you.”
He snorted.
Horrorstricken, Erin hid her face in her hands.
“No, no, babe. Don’t do that. You had me worried, is all. I thought you were going to tell me I had to leave, that Aidan was coming back. Don’t cover your face. Erin. Listen. I’m glad you love me.”
“But you don’t love me,” came her muffled reply.
“Come here.” He pulled her onto his chest, covering her hands with his and resting them on his heart. “So you love me, eh? What do you love about me?”
Erin stuck out her tongue.
“No, I really
want to know. Tell me.”
“Hey, I’m hanging out here, all alone. It’s scary and I’m going to cry and you’re making fun of me.”
Spence cupped her hands and brought them to his lips. Then he kissed her eyes, tasting her tears. “It’s okay to be scared, Erin. Now tell me what you love about me.”
Erin struggled to sit up and Spence slowly let go of her hands. She hugged her knees to her chest.
“I love …. uh.”
Spence smiled encouragingly.
“I love your smile. It’s so bright. I feel as if a window opens each time you smile at me,” she said.
“You are a good writer,” he encouraged.
“I love your sense of humor. I know I complain, but sometimes I enjoy your teasing.”
Emboldened, Erin moved closer to Spence and picked up his hands. She brought them to her face and held them against her cheeks. “I love your hands. Your hands turn on this switch inside of me. Lately, I’ve been a robot. Walking, talking, working, going about my business. But you’re back and touching me again and I’ve turned on. All of a sudden I see everything. I feel everything. Food tastes better. Sex is better. Even my clothes smell better.” Erin let go of his hands and lifted the neck of her sweatshirt, inhaling deeply.
She continued, “You never hurt anyone else. You never say anything negative and you always say what you mean. You have a lot of integrity. You want me to go on?”
Spence nodded, crossing his arms behind his head.
Erin bent over and traced his lips with a finger.
“Did I tell you that I love your mouth? Especially your lips. They drive me crazy. And your tongue. You’re very good with that. I’m not asking any questions, I’m just happy to have it around.”
Spence shook his head at her, smiling at her audacity.
“Most of all, I love that you took my arm at the art gallery opening. If you hadn’t been kind to me then, if you hadn’t given me another chance, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you that I love you, and that I have, almost since the day I met you.”
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