He wasn’t done handing me my ass. “And dessert. Then at the end of the night, I’m still not going to put out.”
If it smoothed things over between us, I’d get him drunk while we were at it. “Seven?”
“Yeah, see you then.” But he didn’t hang up. “Bastian?”
“Yeah?”
“I got an enormous deposit in my bank account from The West End Gallery yesterday. You know anything about it?”
I hesitated, unsure of how to answer. I could still honestly say I didn’t know how much the deposit was, and frankly, I didn’t care; however, my silence answered the question before I could.
“Why?” That one word meant so much more than the actual question he asked. Or maybe it was the answer that was profound.
“Because you didn’t have to buy The Seraphim.” I licked my lips and swallowed past the thickness in my throat. “You did it to try to salvage what was left of my pathetic life. I have no idea how much you paid for it, but I’m certain it was a lot. Tara told me Sera priced it not to sell. If my life is that significant to you, I want you to know I’ll give back when I can.”
“Priceless piece of art.”
“The Seraphim?” I asked, confused.
“No, dip shit. Your life.”
That was the reason Nate was like a brother to me. He saw value when I saw nothing in myself. He had dropped thousands of dollars without question or expectation to brighten a tiny ray of light he saw shining in me one night while I stared at a piece of fired clay.
“See you at seven, Bastian.”
Downtown at one of my favorite restaurants, I plied Nate with alcohol. I was more likely to get a yes if he’d had a few drinks.
After his third cocktail, he caught on to my gig. “What are you trying to get out of me?”
Unable to keep a straight face, I grinned.“Why do you assume I want something?”
He screwed his face into some contorted mess that silently said, “because I know you, motherfucker.”
It was likely the stupid expression on my face that gave me away and not the offer of alcohol or my picking up the tab. “Okay, I have a proposal for you. Well, a favor because you get nothing out of it...other than time with me.” If I were texting, I would insert a huge-ass smiley here, although I was fairly certain I looked like a stupid emoji sitting across from him.
He let out a bark of laughter. “Okay, what is it?”
“You’re agreeing before I even tell you what I’m proposing?”
Nate shook his head and took a sip of his drink. “No, I’m acquiescing to your idiocy. So what do you want?”
“I want to go to a club, and I need you to go with me.” Straight to the point was the best way through everything.
The waitress buzzed by to see if we wanted another drink, and then Nate picked right back up where I’d left off. “Aren’t we a little old for clubbing?”
This was where things would get sticky. “Not that kind of club, jackass. A BDSM club.”
“No fucking way, Bastian. People already think we’re gay.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the seat. “Showing up at that type of place together is confirming shit we aren’t into. Why do you want to go, anyhow?”
“I want to find a mentor.”
“For what?” He would ask a hundred questions if he asked one. “If you need someone to teach you the sexual ropes at your age, I think it’s a hopeless cause.”
“No, asshat. I want to learn how to be a Dom.”
His brows shot up like Whack-A-Mole, but unlike the game, they did not go back down in the blink of an eye. “Like a Christian Grey kind of thing?”
“No, like the legit kind of thing.”
His brow slowly returned to normal, and the questions began. “I’ve seen all those books around your house. What are you doing with them?” That was one. “When did you get interested in that crap, and why?” Two and three. He interrupted to ask number four before I answered one through three. “Let me guess…Sera?” Nate didn’t bother to hide his irritation, not in his tone or his posture.
I chose to ignore it; he didn’t have to understand it to help me. “Yeah. She’s heavy into it, and I have no shot in hell with her if I don’t learn something about it. I’ve read everything I can get my hands on, but without a practical application, it’s just useless knowledge.”
“So you want to go find some rank stranger to teach you how to be something you’re not naturally?”
I pretended the snarky comment about my natural demeanor hadn’t just come out of his mouth, and instead, focused on the plan. “I do. But not here in town. I don’t want to run into people we might know, or who might know Sera.”
He stared at me with zero emotion. Then he blinked. Twice. “So where are we going?” It was flat and emotionless, but it sounded as though Nate had just conceded to my whim.
“You’ll go?”
“I’m afraid if I don’t, you’ll get your ass kicked by some alpha male who thinks you’re an eccentric dumbass.”
“Charlotte or Atlanta, but I’ll have to do some research on clubs and make some calls. I’d like to find out if there’s anyone who might be available to talk to us the night we come.”
“Hold up. I’ll go with you, but by no means will I be involved in the conversation. I’ll be there solely to keep you from getting your ass beaten by some dude in black leather yielding a whip.” He drank the last of his drink and looked around for the waitress. “Jesus, do you have any clue what you’re getting yourself into?”
“Not really… I mean theoretically, yes, but realistically, no. I know you don’t understand, Nate, but she won’t ever consider me the way I am.”
He flagged down the waitress and ordered a beer. “That should tell you something then.”
“You don’t get it. There’s something about her. She’s the key to my regaining my life, finding happiness again.”
Nate’s eyes softened, and the tension in his brow eased. “Bastian, no one will ever make you happy if you’re pretending to be something you’re not in an effort to make that person love you.” He’d even let his tone slip into one of sympathy. “I won’t go into how many things are wrong with this scenario. The only thing about her that makes you think she’s the key to your happiness is she’s a visual replica of Sylvie.”
“That’s what it started out as, but really, the more I get to know her, the more I fall for her, who she is. The way she moves, the way she talks, her gestures, the way she fidgets when she’s nervous, her love of art. There’s so much about her that’s just her and has nothing to do with Sylvie.”
“Her looking exactly like Sylvie has nothing to do with it?”
I couldn’t lie to him, and the fact was, it did play a part. Maybe I was lying to myself, but the hope she offered me was more than I’d had since my wife died.
“Figure out what club you want to go to and when someone can meet with you. Let me know when and where, and I’ll take you, but I’m going on record—this is a bad idea. If Sera’s who you think she is, she should love you as is…otherwise, you’re chasing something that doesn’t exist. You’ll never be able to keep up this charade.”
“Duly noted.”
Nate’s warnings ate at me for the next couple of days. I couldn’t help but heed his caution, and in the end, my brain told me he was right; however, my heart wanted to chase Sera with fervor. Ignoring my rational mind, I followed my bleeding heart.
It took a lot of phone calls to find a club even open to a discussion, and even more to find one that I felt comfortable considering. The owner of a spot in Charlotte was amazingly receptive when I spoke to him and personally invited me to come the following Friday night. He’d been open about his journey into the lifestyle and said he’d wished he had another man to coach and advise him early on.
The guy encouraged all new members to pair up with someone having more knowledge and experience, if for no other reason than to have a friendly ear because it was such an unde
rground road. That one conversation solidified my desire to pursue this path.
I texted Nate the good news as Sera waltzed through my door.
She beamed and kissed me on the cheek. “Hey, Sunshine.”
I returned the friendly air peck. “Hey. What are you doing here?”
“It’s a beautiful day, and I want to go for a walk downtown. I figured I could park my car here, grab you, and we could stroll the streets and people watch.”
“Sounds good. Wanna grab lunch while we’re out?”
“Can we go to Rulatta’s?” The girl would move into that café if they’d let her. She must spend every penny she made on coffee, scones, and sandwiches.
I’d give her the moon if I could; letting her have her choice of restaurant was a no brainer. “Whatever makes you happy. Is it cold outside?” Late fall in this area of the country was tricky; it could be unseasonably warm or freezing-ass cold. I hadn’t been outside, but since she had on a cardigan, I assumed it was the latter of the two.
“It’s a little breezy, but you’ll probably be fine in what you’re wearing.”
With a sweatshirt in hand, I escorted Sera out my front door. It was warmer than she’d indicated, but hell, women seemed to always be cold. It hadn’t taken us long to walk down the block, and when we got there, the waiter seated us in the same place we always landed...on the patio. Only Sera would have a table at a cafe.
The staff greeted her as we passed through the building. It made me smile to see her in her element and with the people who adored her. Sylvie had been that way. Everywhere she went, she made friends. People remembered her, not because she was a well-known vocal artist, but because she was genuinely nice. Her smile radiated warmth; it was infectious. Glancing at Sera, I saw that same smile, one that called to people, beckoned them to get to know her.
As with Sylvie, I was Sera’s lucky sidekick, the man people envied. I was much more unassuming, reserved, laid back—a wallflower of sorts. Equally as well known in my industry as my wife was in hers, and as Sera was, I didn’t garner the same type of attention. People had always known or simply assumed I was a private person, and rightly so, but in return, they kept their distance.
The conversation was light. I loved hearing about her latest projects—currently a series of tiny elephants. I was in awe of the detail in the little bit of clay. The pictures she showed me contained little animals no bigger than a lime. And it would be the largest of the collection. Completely enraptured, I listened as she poured elephant knowledge on me. She was fascinated by their village mentality. Elephants travel in herds, the mothers parenting all of the herd's children as though they belonged to them while never leaving one behind.
“It’s the way all species should be,” she shared. “Think about it. If everyone loved their friends’ children the way they love their own, never leaving them or allowing them to fall behind, imagine how different our society would be. Violence, poverty, it would all fade away.”
It was a nice sentiment but unrealistic and a bit naïve. Nevertheless, Sera shined talking about the little creatures she molded out of clay. They were exactly the type of thing people loved to invest in, something with meaning, a conversation piece in their home. Sera was doing hundreds of them to symbolize how insignificant and small we were as individuals, but what a powerful force we could be if we united as a group, one entity.
Her arms moved with her expressions, and her hands punctuated her sentences, both always moving to illustrate her point. Amidst a particularly vast arm motion, her sweater slid up her arm, exposing a bruise that must have gone from her wrist to her elbow. Without a thought, I caught her hand in mine, careful not to touch the yellowing mark. Everything stopped—time, noise, Sera. Her gaze fell to my hand as I moved her sleeve, revealing the ugly truth. The lingering color indicated its age, but it had to have been vicious to still be that large.
With all the gentle ease I could muster, I turned over her wrist, displaying the discoloration. “How long ago did this happen?”
She squeezed my hand in reassurance and then tugged down her sleeve. “I fell on the stairs at the university. Honestly, Bastian.”
“You fell, or you were pushed?” I didn’t try to hide my disappointment or my pain for her situation. I heard it in my voice, and I was almost certain it was written all over my face.
“It’s not like that. I’ve told you those were accidents when we were in a scene.”
I raised an eyebrow. “But this wasn’t one of those?”
“No.” Sera didn’t offer any further explanation, although I was certain there was more to know.
Without causing a scene, I was limited in what I could say or do. I certainly didn’t want to draw attention to her or her situation, but holding back my temper was difficult. “Was he there?”
Sera answered by staring off into the distance, and I nodded my understanding. She refused to implicate the man, but I wasn’t blind or stupid. If he hadn’t been, Sera would have readily admitted the details and confirmed his absence.
“Please don’t spoil the day.” Her eyes pooled, and I nearly lost it.
I couldn’t stand to see a woman upset, especially not Sera. “Okay.” I reached across the table and put my hand on top of hers until her eyes met mine. “Why don’t we finish up here and go wander up and down Main Street?” I wanted nothing more than to enjoy the afternoon, even if that meant pretending like the last three minutes hadn’t happened.
She nodded, and I lifted my hand from under hers to wipe away the tears trickling down her rosy cheeks. I cupped her jaw for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, and she leaned into it and closed her eyes. When her lids parted again, not a single hint of sorrow remained. Her eyes were alight with wonder and excitement.
That was a gift—one I didn’t possess—the ability to wipe away the cares of yesterday with the awe of today. If Sera could find a way to sculpt that, she’d make millions.
12
Chapter Twelve
Going from a hermit of five years to a packed schedule was overwhelming and often exhausting. Ferry had come back yesterday, so we were meeting today about the prints I’d finished while he was out of town. Tomorrow night, Nate and I were going to Charlotte to The Warehouse to meet with the owner, so I could pick his brain about a mentor. And Sera and I were having lunch after a private exhibit of her little herd of elephants, or those she’d completed. It was hard to believe, six months ago, I wouldn’t get out of bed unless Nate forced my hand, and now, I had a busy social and work life that didn’t involve endless thoughts of suicide and perpetual darkness.
The stint at Ferry’s studio was uneventful. For the first time since we’d started working together, he talked about things other than art, admitting he was a real person who existed beyond photography and cameras. He’d been in New York for several days and couldn’t stop talking about the girl I’d heard on the other end of the call. To hear him tell it, they’d had quite the rendezvous. There was no part of his story I didn’t believe—it went right along with his reputation for loving, leaving, and never repeating.
“You think you’ll see her again when you go back to Manhattan?”
He had another trip in a couple of weeks. “Nah, but she sure made for a fun few days. I’m not the relationship type.” He tossed his pen onto the desk and leaned back in his chair. It was as close to carefree as I’d ever seen the man. “It doesn’t work with my lifestyle. I travel too much and have no desire to stop or take a significant other with me. Women always say they’re okay with the arrangement, but none ever are when they see what it’s really like.” He shrugged. “So I stick to enjoyable weekends and move on. I’m always upfront. I never lead a woman to believe she’ll see me past the current trip. I’m well aware that my reputation precedes me, and I don’t care. The press used to have a field day with it, but over the years, they seem to have lost interest in my sex life.”
“Funny how people are so different. I couldn’t imagine being intimate wit
h someone I wasn’t in a committed relationship with.” Nice guys always finished last.
“And that’s why you’re wired to be married and have a white picket fence with two point three kids.” Ferry grinned, but I didn’t think his comment was flattering.
“Hey!”
“It’s not an insult, Bastian, just a statement. The world needs all types of people. Revel in who you are, accept it, own it.” He sounded like Nate, preaching acceptance of self, neither of whom had ever doubted who they were.
I replied to him in honesty, brutal honesty. “I’m not sure I like that persona. I’m working on remaking myself. I died when Sylvie left. I’m of the opinion if I’m going to come back, it can be as whoever I deem I want to be.”
“At the heart of it, you are who you are. People can always improve upon that, but your heart, your core, that will always be the same.”
“What if the person I’ve been wasn’t who I was at the core? Isn’t it possible the person I want to shape myself into is who I was meant to be?”
“Unlikely. As a child, you don’t know to pretend to be anyone other than yourself. Most people, although I’m sure not all, don’t have the wherewithal to hide who they are. There are very few able to masquerade as who they want to be versus whom they are as a teen. Usually, those who can do it are doing so out of necessity, hiding abuse, that kind of thing.”
I was adamant I could be whom I chose. Life would not define me. Circumstances had made me the person I had been the last few years. That was not who I was at the core. I wondered if I could even identify that person, the true being of me, if that person even existed anymore. I didn’t remember much about him. He was a memory just like Sylvie—lost in turmoil, grief, and depression. So if I had misplaced him, I would find someone new to become. Tomorrow night, I’d take the next step in that journey.
But before I took that step, I first had a date with Sera. And I still got butterflies in my stomach every time I saw her. She was Christmas morning and a birthday wrapped into one—that was the level of anticipation I met at each of our outings. And, I watched the clock and counted the minutes every time.
Reality's Illusion Page 12