by Elle Casey
She whipped around to look at him and could see from his expression that he was messing with her. “Ha, ha, very funny.”
“Actually, I do mergers and acquisitions for pharmaceutical companies. So in a way, it wasn’t a joke.”
“Well, what the heck are you doing at …” She almost said, ‘Lola’s’ but stopped herself in time.
“What was that?” he asked, coming up to hand her a glass of wine he’d just poured.
“Nothing. Wow, what a view.” She was trying to distract him from her goof-up.
“Would you like a tour?”
“Sure. So long as it doesn’t end in your bedroom.”
“I promise, I have only innocent intentions.”
“Fine then. Show me what you’ve got.” She wanted to smack herself in the forehead for that one. First she tells him no funny business and then practically tells him to show her the goods. I really need to watch my words better than that. He’s going to think I’m making a move on him for his car.
He took her around the apartment and stopped at the entrance to his bedroom. “Through this door is the bedroom and master bath. I’ll let you take a look by yourself. I don’t want you to think I have ulterior motives.”
He stepped away and walked back toward the center of the condo, disappearing around a corner.
Kiki’s curiosity got the better of her. She walked in and was instantly surrounded by the feeling that she was entering someone’s very private space. Where the rest of the condo looked as if it had been decorated by a professional designer trying to please just about any taste, making it classy but bland, this room was more steeped in emotion. The woods were dark and exotic looking. The covers on the bed were a deep blue, setting off the cream-colored walls to perfection. There were pictures in frames on the side table next to the bed showing an older couple and a younger man, not Brent, joined by an alarm clock and an expensive-looking watch left carelessly near the edge. The lamp looked artistic - a one-of-a-kind creation made by someone with a real talent for glass-blowing.
She wandered into the bathroom and smiled at the man-things she saw next to the sink. He used one of those mugs with shaving soap in it and a brush for applying it, a silver razor lying nearby. His closet was twice the size of hers, with row after row of suits and racks of shoes. One side was dedicated to work things, the other to recreation. He obviously played a lot of sports.
She walked out to go back and join Brent in the living room, but stopped when she saw the painting that had to have been done by Sebastian Buisson. It was huge, taking up almost half of the empty part of the wall that faced the bed. It commanded the space. It had blues and reds and yellows and all manner of other shades, all fighting for space on the canvas. As her eyes adjusted to the rhythm of the strokes, she found herself intrigued. There was a figure there. A woman. She was standing in profile, looking off into the distance. She had long hair, dark. The strokes of paint that made up her face hinted at beauty. She walked over to get a closer look, losing the image as she did. But there was a small placard and photo on the wall next to it, and she wanted to get a closer look.
When she reached it she stopped. Staring at the photograph affixed to the wall and the caption underneath it made her blood run cold and then hot … and then cold again. It was a grainy photo of a woman standing in a gym, exercise machines in the background. The caption read: Mystery Woman. It was then that she realized who the subject of the painting was. She was looking at a picture of herself.
Chapter 30
ELIZABETH WAS FASCINATED BY SEBASTIAN. She’d never met anyone like him. He talked about his work as if it were a living thing. It was so completely different than accounting, she couldn’t wrap her brain around it. She found herself feeling sad that she’d never tried to paint before. I wonder if I’m too old for art lessons.
“Would you like to see my work?” he asked. “I could give you a personal tour.”
“Oh, yes, definitely.”
“Come this way. We can start with my older pieces and then finish with the more recent ones.”
Elizabeth followed him to the first canvas.
“You must stand back to get the entire image to appear in your mind.”
“What happens if I stand closer?”
“Well, you will find out. Look for the image here, think about it for a minute, and then get closer. Tell me what you see. Don’t worry, you won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t like it.” He smiled at her graciously, but his eyes said that her opinion did matter to him. A lot.
She looked away from his face, trying to get the look in his eyes out of her mind. He was adorable, and she saw pain there. It made her want to give him a big hug. The rest of him made her want to do other things. He was seriously gorgeous, in a wild, less-conventional way.
She stared at the image on the canvas. Within a few seconds she saw a woman looking down, holding something in her arms. “It’s a woman with a baby. Right?” She looked to confirm whether she was correct.
“Good. Now move closer.”
Elizabeth followed his instructions and realized that as she got closer, she started seeing the brush strokes and the colors, but not the image that together they created. “Wow, that is just fascinating. I’ve never realized that about paintings before.”
“They are not all like this. It is a hallmark of my work, however. I don’t do it on purpose, it just kind of happens this way.”
“You loved this person. Is she your mother?” Elizabeth asked.
“Why do you say that? That I loved her? How could you know that about me from the piece?”
“It’s the body language of the woman. There aren’t enough details to see a facial expression, but the way she almost shelters the child while touching its face … I don’t know. It says to me that you saw the love there and needed to express it. You treated the subject with love.” Elizabeth felt her face go pink and then felt bad when she saw the sadness move from his eyes to his shoulders. They sagged ever so slightly. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I got a little carried away there. It’s silly.”
“No, no, not at all,” he said, suddenly enthused and upbeat again, looking as if he were purposefully shaking off the melancholy that had threatened. “It’s correct, you are reading exactly the truth of this painting.” His accent was getting stronger as he spoke faster and had so much emotion wrapped up in his thoughts. “I did love her - I still do, in a way. She is not my mother, but she is a mother to this child. She was a … friend of mine for several years.”
“A girlfriend?” asked Elizabeth, a little shocked that she’d actually said aloud what she’d been thinking. But she really, really wanted to know the answer.
“She was my muse, and yes, my lover. But not anymore.” His voice lost its excitement.
Elizabeth put her hand on his sleeve. “Is it your child, too?”
“No. He was not my child. I met her when he was a baby. She is with the boy’s father now.”
Elizabeth took her hand back and looked away, trying to avoid the awkward silence her questions had brought upon them. She felt his hand take her elbow and his soft voice in her ear.
“Don’t worry yourself over this. It means nothing to me now. Let’s move on to the next piece. I am truly interested in your opinion.”
She looked at him to see if he was being honest or just trying to make her feel better. From what she could tell, he was being sincere.
“Especially now that I know you are so perceptive. Or maybe I should be worried. I’m afraid I won’t be able to hide anything from you.”
Elizabeth smiled, trying to reassure him. “I’m really not that perceptive. I think you just do a good job putting your emotion into your work. You have a lot of … passion.” She felt herself start to sweat. Great. I’m embarrassing myself now. He’s going to think I’m totally corny.
“What do you think of this one?” he asked, gesturing to the next painting.
They made their way around the gallery, Sebastian presenting e
ach painting in turn, and Elizabeth sharing her interpretation of what she saw and felt when she looked at them. Sebastian became more and more enthusiastic as they progressed, now holding her hand and occasionally reaching over to stroke it with the other.
Elizabeth did her best to concentrate on his work, but his attentions and soft way of touching her and expressing his emotion without even realizing it was distracting and energizing. She was trying to remain neutral, but it became impossible. The more she started to like him, the more she loved his work. When she had first arrived, she had appreciated the artistic talent; now she appreciated the man behind the art.
The prices on these pieces were high, but not so high that she considered them out of her league. She wished she had spending money, but was glad she had left her checkbook at home. She wasn’t sure that she had the self-control to keep from buying one of his paintings. The moody ones really got to her. A protective feeling came over her whenever she saw them, making her want to heal him of his obvious pain. She normally shied away from tortured souls, but this felt different. He wasn’t tortured permanently; he had a temporary pain that didn’t need to last forever.
His apology pulled her head out of the clouds. “Elizabeth, please forgive me. I’ve been talking for over an hour about myself and my work, and I’ve just realized that I have learned nothing about you. Please. Tell me … what do you do for a living? Are you married?” He smiled and added, “I hope not.”
Elizabeth smiled back. “No, I’m single. And for a living I used to be an accountant, but right now, I’m getting ready to start a new business with some friends. One of them is Kiki, who you met earlier.”
“What kind of business?”
“A bakery cafe. Kiki’s in charge of styling it, and I sure wish we could afford to put your work in there. But we’re on a budget.”
“For you, I would do whatever you want. Seriously.”
“No, I couldn’t ask that of you, but thank you so much for saying that.”
Sebastian took her by the hands and stepped sideways so he was in front of her. “Please. Let me do this. I don’t mean to put pressure on you, but I am feeling something in my heart that hasn’t been there in a long time. To be honest, I want to leave here now and paint something.” He squeezed her hand. “I want to paint you.”
Elizabeth looked at him like he was nuts. “Whatever for?”
He tilted his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, why me? Why now?” Here she was at a gallery showing for the purpose of rescuing her friend, and now she’d somehow hooked up with the artist who was saying he wanted to paint her. Impressions flitted across her mind. He’s crazy. He likes me. He’s an artist with one of those wild temperaments and needs to paint when he feels the fever. Why me? Why not someone like Kiki, voluptuous and gorgeous, not … conservative and boring?
“I don’t question the feelings when they come over me. Please tell me you’ll come. My studio is not far from here.”
“If this is some elaborate ruse to get me to take my clothes off … I’m not interested.” Not really. Okay, maybe a little.
“No, please, not at all. I just need to paint something. I will be right back.” She watched him walk over to the gallery owner whose face went from happy to irritated in two seconds. The woman shook her head several times ‘no’ but Sebastian’s gestures and facial expressions clearly said he didn’t give a hoot what she wanted. He turned and made his way back to Elizabeth.
“Come. Let’s go. We can take my car.”
“How about if I just follow you? I’m parked over there,” motioned Elizabeth, now standing with him just outside the gallery.
“Okay, I will pull up here, to the front of the building, and you come behind me. We will drive about ten blocks. It’s in a commercial warehouse space, near several other artists’ studios.”
They parted ways, Sebastian jogging off in the opposite direction. Elizabeth smiled at his distracted air. As she made her way to her car, she wondered what it would be like to be so carried away by your passion for your work that you ceased to care about other things, like what gallery owners would say or what women might think. She figured plenty of women would have said, ‘No thanks,’ and walked away from this craziness. But she couldn’t help but think, What would Kiki or Aimee do? She decided that their lives being the way they were now, both of them would go for it - Kiki because she was a big risk-taker anyway, and Aimee because she needed some excitement and something different in her life right now. And that went for Elizabeth, too. I’ll just text them and let them know where I am, just in case he turns out to be a sociopath.
She drove her car over to the entrance and within seconds a sports car pulled up on her passenger side. The window rolled down to reveal Sebastian’s excited face. He was beaming at her.
“Follow me!”
He zoomed off and she followed nervously, not exactly comfortable with the speed he was going but not wanting to lose him. They arrived at a small warehouse building five minutes later. He pulled into the dark parking lot and slid into a space, jumping out of his car to come meet her at her door. He held out his hand to help her, and led her to a gray, metal door. He jingled a bunch of keys around until he found the right one, opening the door and gesturing for her to precede him inside.
The smell of paints and turpentine hit her first. It wasn’t unpleasant at all. It made her feel like she was really in the lair of a true artist. He turned on the light, and she was immediately taken aback by what she saw. There were canvases everywhere - leaning against the walls, up on easels, stacked on tables. There were several palettes with dried blobs of paint left carelessly on surfaces - some even balanced on paintings themselves. She continued to look around while he busied himself with setting up an easel and some paints and brushes.
Elizabeth wandered over to the nearest group of paintings, moving them aside one by one so she could look at them. They were covered in dark splashes of emotion, moody and turbulent. Over in the far corner were some with lighter colors, but they seemed to lack inspiration. She didn’t know why she felt this way; she was no art expert. It was just the sense she got.
“Okay, I am ready. Please come and sit. Just make yourself comfortable.”
He gestured to a raised sort of stage. It was small, just big enough for a person to sit or lie down on. There was a cushion on it, covered in a black drape.
“How do you want me to sit?” she asked walking over to it.
“However you want. Just be sure to face me, so I can see you. You may even lie down if you like. Maybe that would be better.”
She looked at him through narrowed eyes, trying to figure out if he was making some kind of move, but he was too busy mixing paint colors feverishly to even look at her. She shrugged, deciding that he was so wrapped up in what he was doing that he probably wouldn’t even notice her much. She felt as though she’d gone from being a living, breathing person, to an art object. She didn’t mind at all. It actually made her feel free and beautiful, in a weird way. She was flattered that a man so talented saw something in her that made him want to express himself.
She went over to the stage and sat down, testing the cushion a few times with her butt, bouncing up and down on it lightly. It was very soft, one of those memory-foam things that molded to the body. She suddenly felt very tired, remembering her workout and lack of sleep from doing the financials into the wee hours of the morning. “Were you serious? Can I lie down?”
He waved a paintbrush at her, looking only at the blank canvas in front of him. “As you like,” he said distractedly, turning it so it was no longer in portrait position, but landscape instead.
She sighed. So much for stimulating conversation. She laid down on the stage and reclined on her side, kicking her heels off and letting them drop to the floor. The warmth of the room and the tiny buzz from the champagne, mixed with the sounds of brush strokes and his occasional humming, quickly send her into la-la land. Her head dropped from her han
d to rest on her outstretched arm, and the last thing she remembered thinking before falling asleep was how amazingly beautiful he looked standing there - consumed by his passion, in front of his canvas. Dressed in all black with his hair in disarray and framing his angular and strong-featured face, he looked like a sexy character out of a fantasy novel.
Chapter 31
AIMEE WALKED INTO THE TOWNHOUSE and called out, “Hello! Kiki? Are you home?”
“In the kitchen!”
Aimee found her eating another cookie. “Your butt’s gonna get big if you keep eating those cookies like that.”
“I’m stressing, okay? Cookies are good for stress.”
“They’re good for celebrating, too,” said Aimee, grabbing one herself and winking at Kiki. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face for even two seconds to worry about whatever was stressing her roommate out.
“Tell me your good news,” said Kiki. “That goofy smile can only mean good things.”
“Oh, it does. But it can wait until tomorrow, if you’re too tired.”
“Oh, hell no. You’re not going anywhere. It’s only one-thirty. Tell me about your date.”
Aimee related the story of her first date with Joe, leaving out the details of what occurred at his house, but giving Kiki the basic idea.
Kiki hugged her spontaneously. “Oh, I’m so happy for you! Didn’t I tell you? He’s a keeper. And you just got right back up on that horse and everything was fine.”
“Better than fine, actually.”
“We were right about the veiny hands, weren’t we?”
Aimee blushed. “I’ll never tell.”
“You don’t have to. Your freshly-fucked afterglow is giving you away.”
Aimee slapped Kiki on the arm. “Watch your mouth, girl.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I offend your puritanical sensibilities? How about this: your post-coital glow is giving you away … is that better?”
Aimee screwed up her face. “Not really. I think I prefer the other.”
