by Parker, Ali
I hung in the silence between me and the painting.
A man stepped up beside me who was so quiet I didn’t realize he was there until he cleared his throat. “Are you waiting for her to answer you?”
I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of his deep voice. Champagne sloshed over the side of my glass and spilled over my boots as I pressed a hand to my chest as my heart raced wildly in my chest.
“Sorry,” the man offered, wincing in a genuine apology. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
I not so gracefully licked champagne from my thumb as I turned to face him. I stopped, thumb between my puckered lips, when I laid eyes on him.
He was dangerously handsome.
He cracked a smile. “Can I get you a fresh champagne and a napkin perhaps?”
My cheeks burned and I hated them for betraying me. I pulled my thumb out of my mouth. “That’s all right. I can—”
It was too late. He’d already swept a fresh flute and a napkin off the passing tray. He plucked mine from my hands and offered me the napkin so I could clean up before accepting the fresh glass. Another server passed us by and he discarded the sticky glass on his tray.
“Thank you,” I said.
His green eyes landed on me and I took a moment to check him out. His stare was sharp and inquisitive, his smile bright white and a little edgy, like he had a secret. If I had to guess, I’d say he was about six foot two, give or take, and he had a lean but solid build that filled out his navy blue suit nicely.
Quite nicely.
His dark brown hair was almost black and he had it slicked back casually, like he’d been running his fingers through it all day. He had the kind of jawline that made a girl weak in the knees and a hooded brow that made him seem a little mysterious.
The tall, dark, and handsome stranger tipped his head toward the painting in front of me of yet another naked woman. This one was in fiery shades of red, orange, and yellow. “What do you think of the collection?”
I sipped my champagne to calm my nerves as I looked him in those bright green eyes. “Actually, I preferred her silence. She’s better company than the clowns I came with.”
He arched a dark eyebrow. “Oh?”
“My roommate got free passes to this thing and dragged me here. She and my other roommate—yes, I’m a grown-ass woman who lives with two other grown-ass women—have been walking around all night pretending to know what they’re talking about. I needed to find a quiet corner.”
“And I have rudely interrupted,” he said.
“No, not at all,” I assured him. “So long as you don’t start talking to me about themes, symbolism, and motifs, we’re good.”
“That’s what your roommates are talking about?”
“Yes,” I said with a curt nod in Grace and Julie’s direction. He followed my gaze before turning back to me with a small smile. I rolled my shoulders. “It could be worse. They’re not nearly as pretentious as the actual artist.”
He slid his hands into the pockets of his pants. “A hot take. I’m intrigued. Please, tell me more.”
Chapter 8
Walker
She had no clue who I was.
I hid my smile as the pretty young woman with a cutting tongue unwittingly roasted me.
“Well, for starters,” she began with a sweeping gesture of my gallery, “look at this place! It’s so glamorous when all it’s doing is showing off canvases slapped with paint. Marble floors, waitstaff with champagne, crystal chandeliers? I mean come on. We know the artist is rich. Look at the price tags on these things!” She stepped forward and pressed a finger to the price tag beside the red lady in front of us. “Who in their right mind would pay nine grand for this?”
“Suckers,” I said.
“Suckers. Exactly.” She tipped her head back and sipped her wine. “I’ve never understood it. I didn’t even want to come. But my damn roommates just had to get out and see all this for themselves. And they’re considering buying something. At least they’re talking like they are. It seems entirely unachievable to me for them to walk home with one of these things. I mean, they could buy a decent used car for this price. Can you imagine spending that on oil paint and canvas?” She scoffed and shook her head before shooting me a critical look. “Although you’re here too, so I can surmise you are also looking to buy one of these things?”
“Oh no,” I said, shaking my head. “I have no interest in buying one.”
“Finally, someone with some sense.”
“People don’t usually say that about me.”
“Me neither.” She smiled.
It had been a long time since I was this amused. Never in my life had I had someone as cute and tiny have so many negative things to say about my career—and never in my life had I enjoyed being criticized so ruthlessly. She delivered her lines with an edge that contrasted her petite stature and soft features.
“Do you think the artist has a good chuckle over his pricing structure?” the young woman asked. “I mean, how does he come up with these prices?”
“I imagine it has something to do with the cost of hiring the models, the cost of supplies, and his time.”
She stared up at me. “This is not the place for logical conversation. I’m bitching and moaning. You’re supposed to nod and agree with me, unlike my roommates.”
“Ah,” I said, chuckling as I nodded. “Forgive me. You’re right. These prices are bogus. The deviant who painted these is trying to rip off honest and hardworking New Yorkers. What a swine.”
“Precisely. Well said.”
More people were beginning to file into the gallery as we closed in on nine o’clock. I wondered how long I’d be able to stand here and indulge the pretty stranger before she caught wind that I was in fact the awful swine we were both taking digs at.
“How long do you think he spends on these?” the woman asked as she shifted her weight to her left foot and regarded the painting coolly. “Twenty-four hours?”
I wished I could finish something like this in that short amount of time. “Who knows? Maybe only ten.”
“Ten hours for ten grand. Must be nice.”
“What would you do with ten thousand dollars?”
“Leave this place,” she said.
“The gallery?”
She shook her head. “No, New York. America in general. Ten grand will go a hell of a lot farther than you think if you know how to book your airfare and lodging properly. I could spend a whole year abroad.”
“Where would you go first?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d like to explore all of Africa. Egypt especially. I wanted to get there on my last trip but ran out of time and money. From there, I wanted to go to Australia and—” She broke off and shook her head. “I’m sure you don’t care about any of this.”
“On the contrary.”
She smiled politely but craned her neck to peer past me. “I should catch up with my roommates before they spend half their annual salary here. Someone has to protect them, right?”
“From the swine trying to plunder their pockets?” I asked.
“You know it.”
“You do good work,” I told her as she slipped around me.
She glanced over her shoulder and winked at me. Actually winked at me.
I frowned.
When was the last time a woman winked at me? Had that ever happened? Did I like it?
Yes. Yes I did.
She rejoined her friends while I wandered over to the marble desk behind which Briar stood with a cocky little smile on her lips.
“Did you hear all that?” I asked.
“Every word,” Briar confirmed. “Why didn’t you tell her who you were?”
“And stop her while she was on such a roll? Why would I do that?”
“To save her some embarrassment,” Briar said. “She’s one of the ticket holders for the studio tour.”
I grinned like the devil.
Briar shook her head at me. “You’re j
ust plain evil.”
“I just stood there for ten minutes while she lit me up and called me pretentious. Do you really think I’m not going to savor the moment when she realizes I’m the artist?”
Briar sighed and cast a glance in the young woman’s direction. “She has no idea what’s about to hit her.”
“She can take it.”
“How do you know?”
“Just a gut feeling, I guess.”
Briar flagged down a server with a tray of champagne and pointed him in the direction of my target and her two roommates. He made a beeline in their direction and they all took more champagne.
I frowned.
“She’s going to need all the liquid encouragement she can get,” Briar said plainly. “I feel second-hand embarrassment for her and you haven’t even done anything yet.”
Chuckling, I rested one elbow on the desk and watched the young woman peruse the rest of the gallery with her roommates who, as she’d said, had something to say about each and every painting. More than once, I caught the brown-haired globetrotter staring morosely at her friends as they spoke out of their asses. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, so maybe there was some merit to their words, but based on the blank expression on the face of the anti-art girl, I doubted it.
“She’s intriguing, isn’t she?” I asked aloud.
Briar watched me watch the girl. “She seems a little mean.”
“Nah, I don’t think so. She just has opinions and she’s not afraid to voice them. I like that.”
“You sure know how to pick them. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Didn’t you arrange to have a date with Aayla next week?”
“I did.”
“So maybe you should pull focus and give her your attention instead? You know she’s a girl who inspired you to paint. She appreciates what you do. She doesn’t demean or belittle it.”
I nudged Briar in the ribs with my elbow and pumped my eyebrows. “I’m going to get the studio ready. You’ll be in with them in what, fifteen minutes?”
She sighed. “Give or take.”
I moved from the desk and slipped into my studio without anyone paying much attention. I flicked on the lights and removed sheets from canvases that were part of my new collection. In a few week’s time, they’d be hitting the walls of the gallery as I cleared out the pieces currently on display. With any luck, most of those would sell tonight.
I wondered what the opinionated young woman would think of the life-sized portrait of Aayla. I stood back to admire it, still proud of the piece, and considered what sort of price tag I’d be putting on this one.
It was one of the largest pieces I’d done and therefore would inevitably cost more.
Chances were high it would be placed in the sixteen thousand dollar range. Maybe more.
Feeling restricted and unlike myself wearing a full suit in my studio, I shrugged out of my jacket and draped it over an empty easel. I rolled up the cuffs of my white shirt, loosened the tie around my throat, and eagerly awaited the reaction of the pretty brunette with blue eyes when she found out she’d been trash-talking me to my face.
I grinned. “It’s the little things.”
Chapter 9
Nora
A pretty young woman who called herself Briar came and introduced herself to me and my roommates. She’d heard from the doorman that we had special raffle tickets which bought us into the half hour of bonus studio time with the artist at the end of the evening, which was fast approaching. Two more sets of people, a couple and a pair of friends, also had the same tickets as us, and we’d been corralled to one corner of the gallery while the other guests collected their jackets and personal items and left—some of them with paintings or special orders.
Julie clasped her hands together and bounced on the balls of her feet. “I want to ask him so many questions, like how he gets his inspiration. Do you think they come out of thin air? I mean I know the pictures are of real models, but still, where does the creative and fantastical element come from?”
I don’t care, I groaned internally.
“I want to see if he can give me a deal on one,” Grace said hopefully. “I know it might be a little bit tacky to ask but I really want that painting. Can’t you just picture it on the wall behind my desk?”
“It would look so good,” Julie agreed.
“I wonder when he started painting,” Grace said.
“I wonder what he started out painting,” Julie added.
“Oh my gosh, you guys,” I barked. “Just save your questions for when we’re actually in the studio, will you?”
Julie looked at her feet. “Sorry.”
Grace shook her head at me, unimpressed.
I sighed and wished I didn’t feel bad for snapping. “Why don’t you spend this time trying to think of questions you could ask him that he hasn’t been asked a thousand times over? Do you seriously care how long he’s been painting for? Why not ask him something—I don’t know—deeper?”
“Like what?” Julie asked curiously.
“I don’t know because I don’t care.”
Grace huffed. “Well then what help are you?”
“Ask him why his prices are so ludicrous,” I said. “Or why he only paints society’s standard of beautiful women. Why isn’t there more of a variety of body types in his work? Why are all these women seen from a man’s perspective?”
Grace blinked at me. “I don’t want to put him on the spot.”
“That’s the whole point,” I insisted. “If art is meant to create discussions, then why not make them discussions worth having?”
Briar opened the studio door and invited us in, cutting our conversation short. Grace and Julie went in ahead of me and I followed, disenchanted by the entire evening as a whole. Yes, I could stand back and objectively say the artwork was beautiful and visually appealing, but in my mind, they weren’t pushing at any boundaries. They were beautiful pieces of beautiful women.
What was special about that?
The studio smelled like chemicals, paint, and drywall for some reason. The lights were much brighter than out in the gallery and I found myself squinting around at the half-finished pictures propped up on easels or against the walls. They were similar to the ones in the gallery but most of these were much larger.
There was one in particular that seemed to draw everyone’s eye.
It was propped up on its side and facing us in all its glory. It had to be close to ten feet long and five feet tall, and it was an image of a beautiful black woman draped over a chaise lounge like a goddess. The rich shades leapt off the canvas and were highlighted by flakes of gold dusted across her cheeks where freckles might have been. More gold dripped from the tips of her dangling fingers off the side of the chaise, creating a pool of gold beneath the chair that cast her reflection back up at her. In the reflection, her face was still incomplete and left in shadow.
“Wow,” Grace breathed beside me.
I had to admit, this one was impressive.
“That looks like the woman who was wearing the silk dress in the gallery,” Julie said.
The man I’d spoken to out in the gallery emerged from where he’d been sitting behind a canvas on a wooden stool. He’d removed his suit jacket and loosened his tie, and his sleeves were rolled up, exposing forearms I wished I didn’t find so distracting.
“That’s because this is the woman in the silk dress,” the man said as a smile landed on his lips. He stopped in front of us and crossed his arms. The position made his forearms even more tantalizing. Veins and tendons stood at attention. “My name is Walker Vice. Thank you for coming this evening to see my work and help with a good cause. You’re all special ticket holders and welcome to explore the unfinished pieces here in the studio.”
“Oh God,” I breathed as I shrank back behind Julie and Grace.
My roommates watched me try to make myself as small as possible over their shoulders.
Grace frowned. “What are you doing, Nora?”
&
nbsp; “Oh God,” was all I managed to say as I buried my face in my hands and peeked out between my fingers at Walker, who was smirking and looking right at me.
How could I have been such an idiot and said all those things to him about the artwork without thinking to ask his name?
My cheeks burned and my stomach rolled with anxiety. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!
A man standing slightly ahead of us in a tweed jacket nodded pointedly at the unfinished painting of the black woman. “Will that one be for sale?”
Walker glanced back at the painting before facing forward once more. He nodded once. “It will.”
The man’s wife, a petite woman with her silver hair pulled up and secured with a headscarf, took her husband’s hand. “Where on earth would we hang something like that, Melvin?”
“The lounge,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “She’s beautiful, I agree, but she’s naked. I don’t want a picture of a naked woman in the lounge.”
The couple bickered back and forth under their breath while I willed myself to disintegrate into nothing as Walker’s gaze lingered on me. He wore a cocky smirk that did nothing to ease my humiliation.
I couldn’t recall a time I’d ever felt so horrified. Not since high school at least.
Walker invited everyone to have a look around his studio. I clung to Grace as we made a lap and I cast worried glances in Walker’s direction as he watched everyone wander.
“What has gotten into you?” Grace asked.
“Well,” I swallowed, “you know how I was kind of trash-talking a bit back there?”
“A bit?” she asked dryly.
“Well, when I started walking around by myself, this guy approached me and he was really funny and kind of charming in a disarming sort of way, so I said some of the same things to him I’d been saying to you.”
Grace stopped walking and stared blankly at me. “Did you tell Walker to his face that he was a pretentious ass?”