Exquisite Taste

by J. D. Hollyfield

  I get moving, fighting my umbrella. The wind in Chicago is fierce. If I make it to class without it flipping inside out under a billion times, it will be considered a success. The campus is quiet, students smarter than I, staying in their dorm rooms, instead of venturing out in the monsoon. But the weather out here is less gloomy than being in my room.

  Christine is still barely talking to me, and by barely, I mean not at all. After Damien dropped me off without a goodbye, I tried calling her to confess everything. That didn’t go as planned since she didn’t answer my calls or texts. I just wanted to lay all my cards on the table and be honest about what had been happening. I’m sick of hiding behind this blackmail and abiding by a contract that’s far from who I really am, with a man who’s becoming a headache. He dropped me off without a word and that was that. Three days, and nothing but silence. But I’m fine with it. I’m done playing games. He may see me as weak. But I know who I really am. And that’s why I’m done hiding behind the contract, the lies, and the blackmail.

  Now, I just need Christine to speak to me.

  Hurrying past the union, I make it to the communication building and take the steps two at a time. The building just opened, so there’s no way all cameras have been checked out this quick. Down two hallways, and I knock on the rental office door before twisting the knob.

  “Hello?” I call out to the student services staff.

  “Oh, hello there, Jensen.”

  “Hey, Will,” I greet him with a smile. “Here to check out a camera.” I beam. Today’s gonna be my day.

  His smile falls. “Yeah, about that…”

  He has to be kidding me. “It’s like exactly seven forty-five. How can all the cameras be checked out?”

  He shakes his head. “No idea, but they are. I came in this morning and not a single one is here. I’m sorry. I was even going to hide one for you. I know you’ve really been wanting one.”

  Wanting one? He means needing one. I can’t do any of my photography work without one. “Maybe use your camera on your phone. They have some cool apps nowadays. Mr. Harrison probably wouldn’t know the difference.”

  He’s trying to be kind, but it’s not helping. I try to mask the disappointment in my face. “Yeah, I’ll try that. Thanks anyway, Will. See you in class.” I wave him off and leave. Go figure the wind has picked up and the rain is coming down even harder than before. The moment I step outside, my umbrella flips inside out.

  “Goddammit!” I wrestle with it until it’s lipped back, just for it to get caught in another gust of wind and flip outward again. “Why didn’t we apply to somewhere like California?” I ask myself as I hold my umbrella down with one hand and start to book it across campus. When I finally make it to Haller Hall, I’m soaked. I debate on just blowing off class and going home—getting into warm clothes and sleeping the day away. But I skipped Pysch on Monday, for no reason other than to avoid Sylvia. I need to go today.

  I run up the stairs just as my umbrella takes one last pop and the lining breaks. I try to save it, but the wind wrestles it out of my hands. One bad move and it’s gone. “Seriously. California…” I mutter, turning and heading inside.

  I’m wiping the rain off my soaked face when I hear giggling. “Oh my God, you’re like a drowned mouse.” More obnoxious giggling. I bring my eyes to Sylvia and her entourage.

  “The phrase is actually a drowned rat, but…” I reply.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The saying. It’s a rat, not a mouse. If you’re going to make lame attempts to insult people, you should use the correct terminology.”

  “Seriously? What, did you get that out of your book of nerd facts?” Her posse starts laughing again as if she just said the world’s funniest thing. Ignoring her, I shake my head, trying to get rid of some of the excess water in my hair. I sidestep her and don’t have time to process what happens before she sticks her foot out and my backpack flies off my shoulder and slides across the hall as my hands go out to catch myself before my face meets the ground.

  “Wow, Jensen, you really need to be more careful,” Sylvia says, pulling her heel-clad foot back toward her before they all walk past me into class. I’m fighting not to cry as I reach over and grab for my bookbag. Two hands beat me to it.

  “Hey, let me help you.” I look up to see Jake holding my bag. Great. “Here, give me your hand. It’s slippery.” I want to tell him to just leave me alone—especially since the last time I saw him, I was deep in a fight with Damien on the dance floor of his sex club.

  “I’ve got it. Thanks, though.” I lift myself up, sliding a bit as I steady myself.

  “Don’t pay attention to Sylvia. She doesn’t know how to be anything but a bitch.” He hands me my backpack.

  “She doesn’t faze me,” I lie. “Thank you. I’ve gotta get to class.” I move to walk past Jake when he stops me with a gentle hand on my elbow.

  “Hey, I wanted to apologize for Friday night. I…uh…I should have never left you with that crazy guy. It was a dick move.”

  In all the drama with Damien, I never put thought to him feeling bad. I was more worried about how it looked watching us fight like two lovers in a quarrel. “Oh no, it’s cool. No problem. I don’t know what I was even thinking going there.”

  “So, you’re not mad at me?”

  I offer him a small smile. “Not at all.”

  He looks relieved. “Good. So, maybe I can make it up to you? Unless, that was, like, your boyfriend or something. I didn’t know what to think of you two.”

  At that, I laugh. Damien Cross, my boyfriend? He doesn’t have a single boyfriend material bone in his arrogant body. “No, Jake, he is most definitely not my boyfriend.”

  “Oh, okay, ‘cause it kinda looked like—”

  “It looked like we all got caught where we shouldn’t have been. I guess he just singled me out. Trust me, I got tossed out just like you did.”

  I fail to tell him I got tossed onto his bed and fucked until I couldn’t see straight. But that’s beside the point. It’s also history, so it doesn’t matter.

  “Well…cool. I’m glad. I was bummin’ out thinking I didn’t have another chance.”

  We stand there, silently offering one another a kind smile, until I look at my watch and realize class is starting. “Shit, we better get in. We both know Ms. Phillips is a stickler on tardiness.”

  He waves his hand out, offering for me to go first, and steadies my waist when I almost slip again on the wet floor.

  “…so be prepared to have a quiz on the scientific investigation of mental behavior and how it is analyzed by environmental causes.” Ms. Phillips writes the page numbers to read for our assignment. I’m still finishing the notes she put up on the board when a knock comes from the classroom door.

  Everyone turns their attention to the door, including me, and I wish I hadn’t. Through the window, I spot Fredrick. A ball of nerves forms in the pit of my belly. After the way things ended on Saturday, I didn’t know if I would hear from Damien again. Everything between us always seems to be a struggle. I spent the last three days at war with what I really wanted. If he thought I was this helpless girl who couldn’t fight my own battles, he had another thing coming. It was my silence if he ever attempted to call on me again. But then, at night, while I laid in bed thinking about him, I secretly hoped he would call me, demand I come to him. But he didn’t. And now, I don’t know what to feel. I don’t have to look at Ms. Phillips to know she’s most likely wearing a frown when she walks over to address Fredrick.

  I’m not sure how, but they seem to know each other. A question I don’t dare to ask right now. They make small talk once again, and he hands her a box, medium in size. She says her goodbyes, then her eyes are on me.

  Shit.

  She walks up to me and not so kindly drops the box on the desk. “Will you be expecting anything else today, Ms. Stone? Or should I keep the door open, just in case?”

  The classroom laughs, and a few low whistles sound out.

>   “No, sorry. I’m not sure who even gave that guy a job at the post office. But I’ll make sure to let a manager know as soon as possible.” Her unhappy glare says she clearly doesn’t believe me. Or she knows he doesn’t work at the post office. Another question I’m curious to get answered.

  The remainder of class is torture. I’m too afraid to open the box or even the card attached to it knowing it may send my professor over the edge. I’m certain Sylvia is just as curious. The second class ends, I pop out of my chair and stuff my things into my bag. I make the mistake of catching eyes with Jake, who smiles and looks to be heading my way. I wave, giving him the universal “see ya around” smile, and jet out the door. I head down the hallway, stopping in the bathroom on the other side of the building so Sylvia doesn’t find me. Once the stall is shut, I toss my bag to the ground and tear the card off the box.

  I don’t realize my hands are shaking until I pull the small notecard from its casing and read the handwritten note.

  Meet me at this address tonight at 9 p.m. Do not open the box until then.

  124 Michigan Ave.

  -D

  I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until sudden waves of dizziness strike me. I let out a gust of air and refill my lungs. The anticipation of what’s in the box kills me. It can’t be clothes. It’s too heavy. Unless he has a ball gag and chains inside. Probably is, since it may be the only way he’ll ever get me to comply. A spark of defiance sets fire to me. I press my fingernails into the crease of the wrapping but stop.

  “Oh, come on. Just open it.”

  But my hand doesn’t move.

  “Dammit!” I stomp my foot and bend down, grabbing my bag. Opening it, I stuff the damn box inside, barely leaving room to close it, and leave the bathroom, keeping an eye out for my enemy as I race to my second class.

  “You have got to be kidding me!’ I growl, feeling duped. I stare up at the place where the Uber driver dropped me off with anger seeping out of my pores. The Museum of Art.

  “Nice joke,” I grumble, feeling like a fool for actually obeying him. I should have sent him a text, telling him to piss off. I was not going to take his orders any longer. I didn’t care about the contract or what was going to happen to Christine’s life of sisterhood. The more time that passed, the more I realized it wasn’t worth it. Here I am, doing God knows what to help her, when she can’t even pick up the phone and talk to me. Clearly, I was wrong about how strong our friendship was to begin with.

  I toss the card with the address on it and turn to hail a cab home when Fredrick pops up out of nowhere.

  “Ms. Stone.”

  “What, you here to snap a pic to take back to your leader? Show him I fell for this shit? Well, have at it, pal.” I lift both my hands and give him two middle fingers.

  “If you can follow me, please,” he says, then walks back to where he came from.

  “What? Why? Where are you going?” I yell to his back. In typical Fredrick fashion, he doesn’t wait for me, or respond. He gives me no choice but to leave or follow. Of course, I follow. It takes me a few steps to catch up to him. By the time I do, he’s opening a door at the side entrance and waiting for me to walk through.

  “Where are we going? Isn’t this place, like, closed? Or is this a setup? A way to get rid of me? Set me up for trespassing?” He looks like he’s debating it. I stop. Yeah, I’m not going in there.

  “If I wanted to get rid of you, I wouldn’t put this much effort into it. Now, please. He’s waiting.” That answer does not settle the uncertainty swirling in my stomach. “Will you be coming in or not, Ms. Stone?”

  Run or take my chances… Run or take my chances… “Oh hell, I’m coming,” I say, surprising myself. I step inside and listen as the door falls shut. Fredrick is once again on the move, and I’m struggling to keep up with him.

  “If this is your idea of wearing me out so it’s harder for me to struggle later, it’s not working. I have the stamina of a bull,” I say, semi out of breath. Where in heavens is he taking me? We walk through a bunch of back hallways, and I try to memorize the way just in case. Finally, he opens a door, and we pop out into a large open room. Dozens of lit candles illuminate the room, a warm flickering glow hitting the artwork displayed against the walls.

  “Where are—?”

  “Thank you, Fredrick. I won’t be needing you the rest of the night.”

  I whip my head to the left, spotting Damien. He’s standing just a few feet away, in his typical suit attire, his hands hidden within his pants pockets. Goosebumps splay over my skin at how damn delicious he looks.

  “Jensen.” My name falls from his perfect lips, his deep voice causing my traitorous nipples to perk. I want to deny the way he makes me feel, stick to the fact that he’s an arrogant jerk, but my body doesn’t seem to want to stick to the plan at all.

  “Why am I here? What are you up to now, besides illegal entry of a famous art museum?”

  He takes a step toward me. “I have a friend who owes me a favor. Did you bring the box?” Another step closer, and my cheeks start to feel hot.

  I pull the box out of my bag. “This one? What is it? Something to help me comply? Be a better pet?”

  Another step. “Depends. Do you want to be my pet?”

  Goddammit. My thighs begin to tremble. I will be no one’s pet, but…to be his, all his… “Not a chance,” I reply, an unfamiliar hoarseness in my tone.

  My false words don’t go unnoticed as he smiles, taking one last step, leaving barely a hairsbreadth between us. “Open the box.”

  I want to rebel. Tell him no just to spite him. But my body wants to do anything to please him. His smile widens. He knows he’ll win. He waits while I give in and begin to unwrap the box. When I get a peek at what’s underneath, my breath seizes in my lungs.

  “What…what is this?” I barely get the words out as I tear the final piece of wrapping away from the box. I look up. “Damien, this is a—”

  “Do you like it?”

  I look back down at the box, and the Leica M10 Digital Rangefinder Camera stares back at me. Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve been in love with photography. I would make my dad take me all over town to the electronic shops to play with all the models. My dad would smile as I pretended I was famous, taking my still shots. He would fill my heart with promise, telling me my own work would hang in a famous gallery one day. Back then, we couldn’t afford an expensive camera, but when luck struck, my dad would bring home an old camera someone was selling at a garage sale. It wasn’t the new flashy model I had just played with at the store. It was better. It had history. When the time came when I could afford one on my own, I wasn’t going to put my money on the newest models. The fancy ones with the fastest shutter speed and memory. I would go in search for the old fashion models. The ones that took photos just like in the olden days, capturing life’s moments in its purity.

  I raise my head back to meet his. “Damien, these are, like, ten-thousand-dollar cameras. I can’t accept this.”

  “I didn’t ask if you could. I asked if you liked it.”

  “Of course I do. This is…I’ve dreamt about one day owning one of these.”

  “Well, now you do.” He takes the box out of my hands and sets it down on a table holding a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

  “I can’t accept this.”

  He brings his open palm to my face, caressing my warm cheek. “You can. Because it’s my way of saying I was wrong for the things I said the other day.”

  “You don’t need to buy me anything to say you’re sorry.”

  “I didn’t say I was sorry. I said I was wrong for the things I said.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?”

  His hand lowers past my chin to my neck, his fingers gently teasing my skin. There is never a time where he doesn’t radiate dominance, even now. His fingers halt at the baseline of my neck, and his eyes locked onto that spot. I want to ask him what he’s doing, thinking about…if he wants me as badly as I
want him.

  “Take a walk with me.” He finally speaks, breaking the spell. His fingers release me and fall to his side. Disappointment strikes me, but I do my best to hide it. I follow in step with him as he walks us through the low-lit gallery. A few minutes pass before he stops in front of a painting. “Do you know who this is?”

  I observe the artwork. “No,” I reply, not familiar.

  “His name is Caio Fonseca. Formally from New York, but now spends most of his time in Tuscany where he has his current studio.”

  I continue to stare at the abstract design, confused where he’s going with this. “His father was a painter. And his father before that. It was his legacy to follow in their footsteps. He studied in Paris and Italy. Quite talented. Made a name for himself before returning back to the States. There was an article published about him. He spoke about his life and his career. He called himself the painter with two lives.”

  He pauses for a moment. “He explained not everything is as it seems. We may all look perfect on the outside, but on the inside, we may be living a different life. Everyone has two of them. The life they allow people to see, and the one hidden deep inside we as humans all crave. He considered his paintings the same way. Like a two-sided mirror. What one sees might not be what another one does.” He ends on that and turns to walk away.

  “Wait. I don’t get it. What does all that mean?”

  He stops to address me. “It means not everything, or everyone, is as it seems, Jensen.” Then continues to walk, forcing me to follow.

  Only a few more steps, then he stops at another painting. “Do you know this one?”

  I look at the artwork. “No.”

  “I thought you were a lover of art?” He smirks, then dodges my slap to his shoulder.