Twist of Fate

by Faver, JD

  Mel swallowed hard. “I don’t know...”

  Alain emitted a nasal sound that only the French know how to make. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s perfect.”

  If only you knew. “He’s not a model. And he’s big.”

  Janissa poked her in the ribs.

  Alain gave her a cool look. “Ah, that’s always handy, isn’t it?”

  She blushed again. “I mean tall. He’s probably six-foot five or six.”

  He met her gaze steadily. “I want him. Get him for me.”

  Mel swallowed. “I’ll try.”

  He gave a slight shake of his head. “Don’t let me down, Mel.”

  Alain left and Mel sank onto the stool she used for editing. She leaned against the countertop and dropped her face onto her arms.

  “Cheer up, boss,” Janissa said. “At least you get to see Mister Hotness again.”

  Mel groaned. “This will never work. He’ll never, ever agree to be the face of St. Croix designs.”

  #

  That night, Mel stared at her ceiling. The glow of the city outside her windows was like daylight when compared to the blackness of country nights.

  Her queen-sized bed felt huge after having her body cradled in Helmut’s arms two nights in a row. She closed her eyes, trying to regain the feeling of having him spooned around her. Couldn’t.

  Mel turned over. She must not think of him, because then she would want him and since she couldn’t have him it was pointless to even keep him in her mind. A fling, pure and simple. A momentary madness and nothing more.

  She tried to think of the work she had scheduled for the next day. First, there was a series of studio shots for a cosmetics firm, using seventeen-year old models to sell moisture lotion to fifty-year old women. After that, she would be in Central Park doing a fashion shoot. Nothing unique about it. Just a layout for a magazine. And finally, she would meet friends at a trendy restaurant to grab a bite of food masquerading as art on a plate.

  She turned over on her stomach. She recalled the feel of him when he’d ridden with her on the big white horse. His groin pressed against her backside. His arm around her. His fingers teasing her breasts.

  She turned over again, staring up at the patterns of light moving across her ceiling. It’s going to be a long night.

  In the morning, she called the Porsche dealership where she’d had the Boxter delivered. The Service.

  Department Manager confirmed that the mechanical issues would be repaired within a few days and that the damaged body was being healed but would take more time.

  When Mel walked into her studio, she felt like she’d been sucker-punched. Just inside the door, she was greeted by a poster-size enlargement of Helmut’s face. Janissa had converted it to black and white. It had a lot of grain and the tone-on-tone effect was spectacular.

  Janissa used a pole to adjust the track lighting so that it spilled onto the poster. “What do you think, Boss? Is he not the most gorgeous man you’ve ever laid eyes on?”

  Mel managed to get enough air into her lungs to answer. “Yes.” She jumped aside as the door was flung open and Zondra Zaccaretti entered with her entourage.

  Zizi was the Director of Marketing for Elan cosmetics. She swept off the cape she’d worn draped around her shoulders. “My god!” She stood transfixed in front of Helmut’s face. “What is this, Mel? You want Zizi to have a heart attack first thing in the morning?” She stood with her hands clasped dramatically over her surgically-enhanced bosom.

  “What do you mean, Zizi?” Mel gave Janissa a subtle wink. “Are you feeling ill?”

  Zizi turned on her. “Of course not! Zizi never feels ill. Zizi is in the pink. But just look at this man! He is exactly what Zizi needs.”

  Get in line. Mel breathed out a sigh. “I can’t give him to you.”

  Zizi howled in outrage. “No? Then why do you tantalize ZiZi with an appetizer if ZiZi can’t have the entrée?’

  Mel gazed up at Helmut’s image with as much longing as Zizi. “He’s not a model. He’s a farmer. And if I could deliver him, Alain has dibs on him.”

  Zizi succinctly conveyed her feelings about Alain St. Croix and his ancestry and her feelings about French people in general. “Not to worry. Whatever that French bastard’s offering, ZiZi will double it.” She gestured toward the poster with one manicured blood red talon. “That is the cover boy for Hombre, our new men’s fragrance. ZiZi is seeing this face everywhere.”

  Mel let out a heavy sigh. “Me too.”

  #

  Helmut stared for the thousandth time at the place the little red car had sat. An oil stain had seeped into the ground under it.

  She has gone.

  He’d somehow held onto the scrap of hope that she’d stay. No reason to think that, but he’d hoped.

  He heaved a sigh, lifting his broad shoulders with the effort. Gazing down the road, he could still envision the little wave she’d given him as she drove out of sight in her rental car.

  She has gone.

  Other than the oil stain in the dirt, there was no evidence that she’d ever been there; that he hadn’t imagined her.

  He glanced down at the dog sitting at his feet. It was a stray that had been abandoned on the highway and had wandered up to the house, lost, frightened and alone. Helmut recognized the need to be accepted, to belong to someone. He reached down to stroke the dog’s head.

  “She has gone.”

  He straightened and stared down the road again. He had no idea how to find her. He had to hope that she would return to him. That she would bring back the part of him she’d taken with her. The part that left him feeling weak and hollow inside...empty without her.

  #

  The week was a train wreck. Mel’s schedule was trashed.

  The phone rang incessantly.

  People rescheduled at the last moment. People were late. People stood her up entirely. The feature model for a fashion rag wound up in the hospital after dehydrating herself by sticking her finger down her throat too many times.

  Clive Orrington called to tell her he wanted to move the opening of her show forward two weeks to tie in with the fact that her coffee-table book had hit the New York Time’s best seller list at the number ten slot for non-fiction books. The Third Eye was enjoying great success and helping Mel to retain her grip on the idea that she was an artist with a camera instead of some android who clicked snapshots for a living.

  Alain called several times to ask if she had contracted with Helmut yet and no matter how many times she tried to convince him that there wasn’t a chance in hell of that happening, he kept calling.

  Zizi called to make sure that Mel hadn’t allowed the low-life French bastard to steal her spokes-model for Hombre. “He does speak, doesn’t he?” she’d asked.

  Mel munched a hand full of Wheat Thins for breakfast. She sighed, recalling the hearty farm hand breakfasts that Helmut had prepared for her. The smell of strong black coffee and wood smoke in the morning would always be an aphrodisiac to Mel.

  “Morning, Boss!” Janissa pushed through the door. “Jeez Louise! You look like shit!”

  “Thank you ever so much.” Mel shoved another Wheat Thin into her mouth.

  “I mean, you look...” Janissa shrugged. “Like shit.”

  Mel turned to glare at her. “Have I given you a raise lately?”

  Janissa brightened. “No you haven’t.”

  “Good!” Mel snarled.

  “Cold, Boss.” Janissa stowed her things in her cubby. “What’s first on our agenda today?”

  “The shoot is cancelled. The Barf Babe is in the hospital and the magazine is scrambling to replace her with someone spectacular and still get the issue out on time. I said we would give them until four this afternoon to find a replacement, but after that they can call me on Monday.”

  Janissa grinned. “Going back for another infusion of Hot Man?”

  Mel made a guttural sound in the back of her throat. “No. That was just a fling...A two night stand.”r />
  Janissa raised her brows. “If you say so.”

  Mel stared out the window at the gray, overcast skies shrouding Manhattan. “Clive moved up the show two weeks so I have to spend the weekend printing and making sure everything big gets printed, framed and ready to hang.”

  “Sorry.” Janissa leaned back against the counter of the editing table. “So, where do you want me to start?”

  “Help me make the final selection. I think I’ve got it, but I want your feedback.”

  Mel spread proofs of the prints she planned to hang in the Orrington Gallery on the big work table under a daylight bulb. “What do you think?”

  She had planned on showing her versatility by having something representative of all aspects of her work. She had to be careful not to offend any of her high profile clientele by omitting them from the show. Of course, she would have something she’d done for Alain and for Zizi and all of the major mover-shakers on her client list. While Mel’s images had helped make them famous, they had also been instrumental in building her own celebrity. And her show would showcase all of them.

  She also wanted to include the portraits she’d taken of famous people, actors and politicians mostly. And the landscapes and seascapes she managed to grab when she’d gone on location or had the time to escape the stress of the city.

  Janissa made a humming noise, kind of a droning while she gnawed her lip.

  “Okay, what’s wrong?”

  “Where’s Mister Hotness? The major babe from the two night stand? Your weekend fling, remember?”

  “Of course, I remember.” Mel experienced a stab of longing.

  “Those shots are awesome. You have to sneak in a couple.”

  Mel shook her head. “I didn’t get a release.”

  “Boss!”

  “And if I were to have this man’s beautiful image spread all over the gallery walls, I’m sure that Alain and Zizi would throw down right there.”

  Janissa looked at her doubtfully. “If you’re sure.”

  They spent the rest of the day making the final selections and preparing to send them, along with specific cropping instructions, to the big commercial print shop that would blow up the final images.

  “You should have this one blown up, just because.” Janissa pointed to the shot of Helmut leading the white horse and grinning back over his shoulder, dimples flashing, blond hair blowing in the breeze.

  Mel experienced a clutch of emotion as she recalled what had happened on that horse. “Yeah, go ahead and send it...and this one.” She pointed to the full-body shot of Helmut in the milking barn, half crouched to pet one of the cats lapping milk, his face in profile showing his strong jaw line, his fine forehead and his straight nose. A thing of beauty.

  “Well, hell. If you’re going to print that one you might as well do this one. I can’t even breathe when I look at it.” Janissa handed Mel the proof of Helmut asleep with his arm flung over his head, his manhood barely covered by the rumpled sheet. “This one just screams sex and yet it’s got class, like a Greek statue.”

  Mel let out a long, wistful sigh. “Sure, why not. I can mount it on the ceiling over my bed.”

  Janissa snorted indelicately. “You would never again get laid. No man could get it up with that image looking over his shoulder.”

  Mel shrugged and walked back to stare out the window, taking her box of Wheat Thins with her. She couldn’t imagine another man touching her. She couldn’t imagine another man’s hungry mouth devouring her. She let out a long sigh. She couldn’t imagine another man.

  #

  On Saturday, Helmut finished his chores early. He got cleaned up and sat on the porch expectantly, knowing it would take Mel several hours to get there from the city. He tried to be patient.

  Surely she couldn’t just drive off and forget him.

  He scratched the dog absently, thinking about every second he had spent with the woman who had thrust herself into his life so unceremoniously.

  Mel was different from anyone he’d ever known. Different from the local girls who had chased after him in high school, admiring him for his athletic abilities and offering their bodies so willingly in hopes of becoming the bride of a local hero, the only heir to many acres of rich farmland. And the girls he’d dated in college who were seriously seeking husbands along with their education.

  It was ironic that he’d lost his heart to a woman who couldn’t care less about his assets; who had no love of the land and who would be totally helpless outside her precious city with all her fancy gadgets.

  He drew a deep breath when he realized he was holding it. She cannot just drive away and forget about me.

  He’d always known he would get married and have children someday, but he hadn’t met anyone he’d wanted to make a family with until now.

  Helmut shook his head. Crazy. He didn’t know anything about her. He only knew about her slim body clinging to him and the sound she made when she climaxed, and her thighs locked around his hips as he was thrusting into her. And he knew the way she looked at him. It was the forever look in her eyes.

  It was the same way his grandmother had looked at his grandfather, as though he was the best man in the world, and she’d looked at him that way until her dying day.

  If only Mel would hurry up and get here so he could tell her how he’d missed her. How empty the house had been without her teasing laughter; how empty his bed had been without her smooth flesh pressed against his.

  He needed to see her pale skin and the huge luminous green eyes that flashed with passion. He needed to touch the soft curve of her cheek and feel her arms around his neck. He needed to know that she was safe.

  Maybe her car hadn’t been fixed yet. Maybe she’d broken down by the side of the road. Maybe she wasn’t coming back.

  He walked back into the house trying to see it as she might have looked at it. Primitive. Not what a city girl would expect.

  Helmut hadn’t wanted to change things after his grandparents deaths within a few months of each other. It would have been disloyal to their memory. Instead he had thrown himself into making the farm more productive and proving to himself that the expensive education they’d provided him had been a good investment.

  With every year that passed, the farm increased in productivity. Helmut became more immersed in his work and forgot about everything else. Until this small, dark haired woman had appeared and turned his life upside down.

  Maybe he would talk to Klaus Blaufeld, the plumber, to see about adding a bathroom. It would be good, especially in winter. And...what else had she said? A make up mirror.

  #

  It rained on Sunday. Mel ordered Chinese and ate from the cartons as she stared out the windows of her apartment at the rain falling in sheets against the glass.

  It was getting ridiculous. All she wanted to do was get in her rental car and drive several hours north to throw herself on a great big horse of a man and beg him to...to what? To care about a perfect stranger? To make love to her until she fainted? To live happily ever after?

  “Hah!” Mel poked at the carton of lemon chicken with her chopsticks, picked out a morsel and ate it. She wasn’t sure she believed in happily ever after. Certainly not in the company of a stranger with whom she had absolutely zilch in common.

  She tried to imagine how Helmut would react if she told him she wanted to go to the Met and take in an opera. Or stroll through the museum gazing at paintings for hours.

  She visualized him shirtless in his overalls and boots strolling through the art museum. She put another bite in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Clothes do not make the man. They disguise the man.

  She couldn’t see herself living out in the sticks and she didn’t think Helmut would embrace her way of life. She gazed around her apartment. Two bedrooms and a bath and a half. Not exactly the lap of luxury, but it was heaven compared to the house Helmut was satisfied with. And yet, look at the barn. She shook her head. Maybe he likes his cows better than he likes himself.

/>   Mel had taken her work to the commercial printer and had overseen the production of her enlargements. When she’d gazed at the super-sized image of Helmut spread across his bed, she couldn’t catch her breath. He had affected the photo technician the same way.

  “Oh, he is beautiful,” Ronald fisted his hands on his hips. “Please tell me he’s gay.”

  “Sorry. Un-gay.”

  “Bad news.” Ronald sighed and promised to dry mount her enlargements to a stiff backing and have them packaged and ready for transport to the Orrington Gallery.

  Mel made sure the photographs were printed to a standard size. She had already purchased metal frame sections with a brushed nickel finished that would enhance both the black and white as well as the color images.

  The next week would be crammed with work. The shoot with Barf Babe had been rescheduled for Monday morning. Mel had to move another client to later in the day so she hoped the ensemble showed up on time and cooperated without going off on any temperamental little snits.

  And by midweek, she and Janissa would spend the day at the Orrington Gallery putting together the frames and inserting the prints within them; making sure they were hung and lighted correctly. She’d just found out that her coffee table book The Third Eye would be available for sale at the gallery. Clive was attempting to capture more interest in her work.

  And she absolutely had to find something to wear to the opening.

  And maybe have her hair styled.

  And a date.

  She could ask Alain to be her escort, but he would expect to escort her home and share her bed afterwards, which would have been okay a week ago, but not after Helmut.

  Mel fished the last of the lemon chicken out of the carton, wondering if the rest of her life would be defined by Helmut Engle. Before Helmut and after Helmut.

  Maybe she would include his images in her show, even without the release.

  #

  CHAPTER FOUR

  She did not come back.

  Helmut tried to reconcile himself to the reality of the situation. A beautiful and desirable woman had come into his world and had given him something he would treasure for the rest of his life. He’d spent less than two full days in her company and yet he’d never be able to forget her the way she had apparently forgotten him.