by P. J. Burgy
When the handsome stranger entered, he brought the same level of curious enthusiasm Lizzie had seen on his face in the previous room until he caught sight of one of her paintings. He stood in front of one in particular – a red and black painting of a screaming face wrapped in thorns – and tilted his head. With a subtle nod, he continued, walking the perimeter of the room with little regard for the two other guests who were forced to step out of his way. He gave each painting the same amount of time and attention, brows lowered.
Turning to scan the room, he spotted Lizzie and pointed at her. “You’re Lizzie Clay? These are yours?” He had a low, soothing voice, deep and cool.
“Ah…”
Margo all but burst. “She’s Lizzie Clay!”
“Ah, yes. That’s me.”
The man grinned, his teeth perfect and white but the expression ever so slightly crooked. “I love them.”
“Thank you.” Lizzie fought the urge to curtsy and instead nodded, hands behind her back.
He approached her, looking down with his eyes alone when he reached the table. His chin never dipped. “My name is Martin St. Andre. I saw a flyer for the art gallery on a telephone pole on Main Street. I just moved into a property here, you see. Thought I’d take a look.”
“Oh. So, you bought that big house on the hill?” Lizzie asked, smiling. She did her best to avoid staring; he was incredibly good looking up close. She could have fallen into those bright blue eyes. Her own eyes, a dull brown, blinked rapidly.
He nodded. “A few weeks ago, yes. I’ve been revamping it since then, and officially moved in on Monday.”
“Welcome to Puhtipstie,” Margo interjected. “Would you like a glass of wine? Red or white?”
“No thank you. I don’t drink.” Martin smiled patiently. “So, Lizzie, is that short for Elizabeth, or…?”
“It’s Elizabeth, yes,” she said. “Ah…”
“Are you from here, Lizzie?” He leaned toward her.
Margo swept in close beside her and answered before Lizzie could open her mouth. “Born here but ran away. Came back because she’s a masochist. Or, because she missed me so much. Maybe it’s a little bit of both! Even brought her boyfriend along, which makes her a sadist too.”
Lizzie flushed, smiling anxiously. “What… she said. Sort of. I was born here and left to go to school. But, ah, yeah, I came back a year ago. Where are you from, if I may ask?”
Martin dragged his eyes from her, eyed Margo, and shifted his attention back to Lizzie. “You may. California.”
“Ooh, fancy? Where in Cali?” Margo asked.
“A small coastal town. You wouldn’t have heard of it…”
“Long way from here.” Again, she had to avert her eyes to avoid staring. “Well, I hope you like it here.”
He nodded. “I already do.”
“You’ll change your tune soon enough,” Margo said, then laughed. “I’m kidding, of course. Is there a Mrs. St. Andre, Martin?”
He regarded her coolly. “No.”
“Oh, so you’re in the singles club, eh? Me too.” Margo flashed him her best, most flirtatious smile, lips pursed, and winked. “What do you do for a living?”
Lizzie wanted to hide under a rock. She felt the weight of Kate’s stare and sneaked a peak at her. Kate glared openly, a single brow raised.
He bared his teeth. “Day trading…”
“Oh. Sounds fascinating!” Margo tossed her hair away from her face with one fluid motion, hand on her hip. “Tell me more!”
“Oh, is this your book? You write too?” He turned his back on Margo, spinning on his heel to grab for one of Lizzie’s novels. He eyed the cover: an eye in the center of a black hole surrounded by the expanse of space. “Science fiction! Fun!”
“Ah, hah…” Lizzie licked her lips, her mouth dry. “Yes. It’s, ah, self-published. Not the real deal. I got some author’s copies when I finished, and-”
“Wonderful! I’ll buy one. Cash?” He raised his eyes from the cover, hand moving toward his pocket.
Margo sighed. “It’ll cost you more for a signed copy. She’s a local celebrity.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Lizzie said, catching Margo’s irritation. “Margo has some poetry published. I’d say more people know about her than they do about me.”
Her mood brightened. “That might be true.”
“Dear God. I’m going to head out,” Kate stated. “But before I do…” She rolled her shoulder, adjusting her purse, and whipped out her wallet. “I’m buying this painting, Lizzie. How much do you want for it?”
Startled, Lizzie gaped for a moment. “Ah, Kate… For you? Free. Put your wallet away.”
“I want it for the store.” Kate opened her wallet, showing off the green within. “Give me a price, Lizzie. I asked you earlier and you deflected. Come on.”
“Yes, how much are they?” Martin asked, a brow cocked as he waited for a reply. He clutched her book and his wallet expectantly, seemingly at an impasse.
“Ah…”
“There’s little ones too! Grand!” He’d found the 4×4’s. “I want the big ones for the house though.”
Margo sniffed indignantly. “Mine are a hundred.”
“So, Lizzie’s would be two hundred?” He blinked at Lizzie, the movement almost reptilian in their effect. When she stared at him, he frowned. “More?”
She cleared her throat. “I don’t know…”
Margo rolled her eyes. “I’m getting another glass.” With that, she stalked out of the room.
“Which are you eyeing up, stranger?” Kate asked Martin. “Because I called dibs on that one here.” She indicated toward the painting behind the table. The piece was titled ‘Inside’. Sickly branches crossed over a hand, the fingers spread, and shadowy veins ran across the pale flesh like root structures. “I’m putting it over the horror section.”
“I shan’t steal it from you then,” Martin said. “There’s others to pick from, and I can tell that you’re friends.”
Kate smiled. “Maybe you can help her settle on a price then. She refuses thus far to provide one.”
Martin eyed Lizzie, expression cool and curious again. “All right. I’ll make an offer, and you can decide if you want to take it. How’s that?”
“Ah…”
“I’ll pick three and give you five hundred for each. So, fifteen-hundred total. Fair?”
Lizzie choked on air. “What? That’s a lot.”
Kate leaned back, wallet in her hand. “Makes my offer look paltry. Seems wrong of me to even try now.”
Lizzie shook her head, hands raised and palms out. “No, no, it’s just that, well, I mean, sir-”
“Martin,” he corrected her.
“Martin, that is a lot of money. I don’t feel comfortable taking that from you. You’re new here, I get it, but…” Lizzie searched blindly for the right words, her face warm as he studied her. “I can’t.”
His grin never faltered. “It’s okay. How about I buy one for five hundred, a copy of your book for ten, and take one of these cards for the near future?” Martin slipped a business card from the stand on the table into his pocket. “I’ll need someone to help me decorate the walls in my new house, if you do commissions.”
“I could do that,” Lizzie said.
“Do you currently work?” he asked.
“I do. Part-time. At the bookstore.”
“The one in town?”
“Yes. Kate owns it, actually.”
Kate pulled out and counted ten twenties. “If you need some books to line all the shelves in that nice, big house, you know where to go. It was nice meeting you, Martin.” She handed the cash to Lizzie, who reluctantly took it. Kate gestured toward the painting. “Bring it in Sunday. No arguments. That money is yours.”
With a nod, Kate left, leaving Lizzie alone with the tall, handsome stranger and his heavy gaze.
“You’re a very talented person, Lizzie,” Martin stated, blinking after what felt like too long a time without d
oing so. His grin turned into a thin smile. “I don’t meet people like you too often. I feel very lucky right now.”
“I’m sure you’ve seen amazing artists before if you’re from California. Better artists, I mean.” She grabbed for her purse and shoved the money into it, resisting the compulsion to check her phone. Biting her lip, she set her purse back under the table. It had to be six or so. She had time.
“I’ve seen a lot, I can tell you that. Traveling is my passion. It’s not often I run into someone with a spark like yours though. It’s there, in your eyes.” He pointed toward his own face. “Saw it when you were peeking around at me at the behest of your other… friend.”
“Margo didn’t mean any harm. She’s, ah, excitable. Probably stoked that someone like you showed up at something like this. Puhtipstie isn’t exactly a booming center for the arts, mister. You gave her a shock.”
Martin raised a brow. “Did I?”
“Big fish don’t usually swim into small ponds on purpose.” Lizzie smirked. “Sorry, that was weird to say.”
“I like weird.” He leaned down at the waist, taking out a stack of twenties. “Let me pay you. I’ll refer to your card for your contact information then. Please, let me hire you. I’m new, and I’m a big, nervous fish. Having a friend would do me some good, I think.”
Lizzie couldn’t help but laugh at his choice of words and swallowed back her anxiety over his proximity to her. “Okay. Yeah. I’m for hire. Just shoot me an email and we’ll hash out the deets, okay?”
“The deets.” He nodded.
“Pick any which one you want then, I guess. They’re all for sale, if you want them.” She gestured around the room.
“I really like this ‘Storm Crow’ one. Very evocative. Reminiscent of old dreams and past lives. I’ll take it with me.” He handed her five hundred and ten dollars, their fingers brushing.
She was surprised at the coolness of his flesh. “Sure. Yeah. The frame comes with it.”
Martin bent low without warning, his lips close to her shoulder. “Someone must be desperate to reach you, Lizzie. You’re very courteous to ignore your phone in the presence of a new friend and client. I’ll take my purchase and leave. I look forward to working with you.”
She stood frozen as he took his painting from the wall, carefully unhooking the back, and carried it under his arm. With his other hand, he plucked a copy of her book from the table and waved it at her, pleased as punch. She smiled softly at him as he turned to leave, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Margo announced a fervent goodbye to him in the first room and Lizzie heard no reply.
As she checked on her phone, her hands began to shake. It wasn’t from the ten messages Tommy had sent asking about her ETA. Martin’s hearing must have been very keen. In fact, their entire encounter had been disarming and left her feeling blanched. There had been a gravity around Martin; inescapable like the black hole on the cover of her book. Before she’d started to text a reply to Tommy, Margo stormed in and stood before her, bottom lip jutting out.
“That was unfair!” she exclaimed. “First single hottie in this damn Podunk town and he’s humping your leg the entire time he’s here. Seriously! Great job, wing-bitch! You were supposed to push him my way.”
“I didn’t mean to…”
“And you have a boyfriend. It’s a shitty boyfriend, but it’s still a boyfriend. I noticed how you never brought that up again after I mentioned it! Girl, you’re bad!” Margo threw a hand into the air. “Gah, he was so hot.”
“I wasn’t trying to flirt. And he wasn’t flirting. Maybe he just wasn’t interested in you, Margo.” She shrugged, staring at her half-started message back. She’d managed to type out ‘sorry’ and stopped there.
“Not interested? Not interested?!” She did a hip wiggle and ran her palm up her smooth, flat stomach to her large breasts, cupping one then the other. “Look at me! I’m drop dead gorgeous, lady. Not that you aren’t… but… I was throwing it out there and you were in that shell of yours. Maybe he likes a challenge…”
“Or maybe he was only here for the art gallery.”
“He was eyeing you up like fresh meat. I saw it. Eyes like a wolf. Grin like one too.” Margo pointed at both of her own eyes, narrowing them at the same time. “Like a predatory animal, hunting in the deep woods for a small, defenseless little bunny rabbit. That’s how he looked at you, Lizzie. He’s hunting for bunnies in the sticks.”
“You’re so weird,” Lizzie muttered.
“He’s a resident now, so I’ll probably see him here and there. If he wants a challenge, I can present one. He likes nerdy girls, huh? I can be nerdy. I have some reading glasses at home.”
“Oh please…”
“Oof. What did Tommy want any way? I can see his name there on your phone, and you’re all nervous looking. What’s he doing? Being a puss?” Margo sniffed, hands on her hips.
“Just asking when I’ll be home.”
“Tell him never. Tell him you’re leaving him for me.”
Lizzie snorted. “Honestly, I would… if I could.”
“And I’d take you in,” Margo said, “as long as you pledged to stop vag-blocking me.”
“What?”
“It’s like cock-blocked, but for ladies.”
“Margo.”
“Girlllll!” Her head tilted back, and she laughed.
Lizzie left a little before eight despite Margo’s fussing. The paintings could be loaded into her car and taken home on a different day. It wasn’t worth the fight if she got home late. She drove in silence, the streetlights flickering in the dark of night. She drove down Main Street, sending a passing glance to the Hildemann property. No lights on tonight, and yet she felt someone had to be home.
Chapter 4
Saturday morning, she checked her laptop and blinked at the three emails from Martin St. Andre waiting for her. She opened them one at a time before even attempting to reply to one. She’d expected long-winded, flowery paragraphs but instead found terse inquiries.
‘Lizzie, I want ten 24×36 paintings, framed – black frames – of your own design. Similar to what I bought at your gallery - Martin.’
‘Lizzie, make that fifteen. There’s some wall space I want to fill in my office. – Martin’
“Lizzie, send your phone number and a good time to call after 6 PM. How late is too late? – Martin’
Phone number? She blinked.
She imagined him calling while she was home and the look on Tommy’s face when he heard a man’s voice on the line. For an instant, it made her warm with dark amusement. Of course, she’d take a call from a client!
However, she hesitated when replying with her number. After a few, long seconds, she began to type a reply – putting her phone number first and foremost after a friendly greeting and her availability – and estimated that it would take her three months to do the work. She gave a price for the paint, canvas, and frames. After a long breath escaped her, she put a price for her time. He’d offered five hundred each, hadn’t he? Well, perhaps he’d be comfortable with spending a little bit more as her client. She sent her message and leaned back in her chair, pulse racing.
“A client?” Tommy canted his head. “For real? Like a paying customer?”
“Yes.” Lizzie nodded. “His name is Martin. Martin St. Andre. He bought the old Hildemann place.”
“No way… So, he’s rich?”
“I suppose, yeah.”
They sat on the bed upstairs, Tommy tying his shoes as he got ready for work. He seemed incredulous, pausing for effect, and shook his head.
“I know. Crazy, right?” She bit her bottom lip.
“How much are you charging him?”
“A little over five hundred each.”
“Should have gone higher. Damn!” He stood up. “Maybe he can hook you up with other clients, huh? People like him. Neither of us might need jobs after that.”
Slumping slightly, she pushed her hair away from her face. “I don’t think he’s
going to make us millionaires, Tommy. It’s extra, but that’s it.”
“Worth my meager little paycheck?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, do I even need to keep this job at the hardware store if you’re going to be making side cash doing art?”
“I could make a dent in the mortgage, that’s it. Don’t quit your job,” she said. “Besides, when the job’s over, the job’s over.”
He grumbled, turning away. “Well, at least try to milk him, okay? That’s a big house. A lot of rooms, I bet. You could push to decorate all of them.”
She shrugged. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Is he old?”
“No, he’s our age.”
A coldness entered his voice. “Did he seem into you?”
“No.”
“It’s okay if he did. Might be an angle to play, right? Smile and bat your eyelashes at him. Raise your prices if he asks for more work. You’re a woman; should come naturally to you.” Tommy coughed.
“No, Tommy. No.” She stood up as well, smoothing out the front of her loose tee-shirt. Her pajama pants flowed around her legs as she walked to the dresser. Pausing at the mirror, she studied her own pretty – albeit tired – face. “Let’s just see what happens, okay? I sent him an estimate with all of the costs. When he calls, we’ll negotiate.”
Tommy pinned his little blue nametag to his shirt, chin lowered. “Calls? You gave him your number?”
“Seemed safe to do so.”
“Are you into him?”
“No.”
“What’s he look like?”
Lizzie shrugged, hands on the dresser top. “I don’t know. He’s just a guy.”
“Is he good looking?”
“I suppose.”
“Did he hit on you?”
“No.”
“Think he’s gay?”
“I don’t know, Tommy! Jeez.”
He bristled, coming to stand behind her. “Calm down. I’m just trying to assess a potential threat. I love you, Lizzie. It’s not lost on me that I’m sort of a loser. You could do better. Easily. Let me be a little worried, okay?”
