by J. D. Mason
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About the Author
Copyright Page
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CHAPTER 1
Larry Forrester hadn’t called him in nearly two years. The last time Ellis had heard from him, Cole had just gotten out of prison. Larry had been one of the prison guards and the two of them had become friends while Ellis was locked up.
“How you been, man?” Larry asked over the phone. “Been a while.”
“Yeah. Been a good while,” Ellis said, happy to hear from the man.
“Was wondering if you could do me a favor,” Larry said.
“You know I will.” Ellis was in Larry’s debt. When Ellis was first put in lockup, Larry had saved his ass, literally, on several occasions until Ellis manned up and learned how to look after it himself.
“I got a baby cousin who’s a reporter. Told her I knew you before you got famous.” He laughed.
Ellis shook his head. “I’m not famous, man.”
“Well, according to her you are. She wants to interview you. Would you mind letting my baby cousin interview you for her magazine?”
As it turned out, “Baby Cousin” didn’t write for just any magazine. She worked for some big-time magazine based in New York City called Vutura that offered to pay Ellis a quarter of a million dollars for this interview, and “Baby Cousin” was far from being anybody’s baby.
Cristina Cole was a dark beauty with soft-doe eyes. Longs locks twisted into a bun, and a silver nose ring complemented her bohemian look. She dressed like she worked on Wall Street, though: tight gray pencil skirt; fitted white button-down shirt, tucked; and black stilettos. He wasn’t complaining. The woman was built like every man’s dream. A perfect silhouette of full boobs and ass, with a waist so small that if he put both hands on it, his fingers could wrap around it and touch each other. She’d shown up at his door, friendly enough, but she had an air about her that sent a message. A strong message, not to get too close or too comfortable around her.
“You are brilliant,” she muttered as she walked through his studio (the barn in the back of the house), seeming to admire his latest works. She kept her arms folded across that beautiful chest of hers, bit down on her full bottom lip from time to time, sighed, and shook her head. “Brilliant and gifted.”
Finally, she remembered that he was in the room and turned, staring at him like she could not believe that the paintings had come from this slow-talking, slow-moving country boy.
“There was an estate sale not long ago in Los Angeles,” she started to explain, locking her eyes with his. “The very first painting you sold, two years ago, for what? Ten thousand?”
He sort of nodded. “About that. Yeah.”
“It just sold in a bidding war for a hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars.”
He cocked a brow in surprise. “Damn,” he muttered.
She nodded. “Damn is right, Ellis. I’m the most enviable woman in the art world right now because of this opportunity to interview you,” she admitted.
He must’ve sat there looking dumb.
“You really don’t understand. Do you?”
He shook his head. “Naw. I don’t get it.”
Ellis had come out of prison with no money to his name and no means of getting any. His grandfather had left him this farmhouse in his will, so at least Ellis had a place to stay, but that was all. Ellis had scraped up enough money doing odd jobs like yard work and cleaning up after horses and pigs to buy paint, a couple canvasses, and a smart phone. Painting made him feel good. It helped him to release frustrations pent up inside him, and it helped him to forget for a time. He’d uploaded a picture of one onto a Web site, and the next thing he knew, someone offered to pay him ten grand for it. That’s how all this started. That’s how he ended up being interviewed by Baby Cousin and paid big money from some magazine he’d never even heard of to tell them where he got his inspiration.
“It doesn’t happen often, Ellis,” she said, sitting down on the sofa.
Ellis sat on the black leather seat at his bench-pressing station.
“But every now and then, some unknown and unexpected artist emerges onto the art scene and explodes. No one can explain why or how it happens. You can’t predict when it will happen, but when it does, that person becomes this icon, this ‘next big thing’ and everyone in the art world wants a piece of him or her. You’re that next big thing.”
Ellis quietly processed what she’d just said to him. “And I should be impressed by that?”
She smiled. Merciful God! Why did she do that?
“You’re supposed to be. Yes. But I guess you’re not.”
“You’re impressed by it,” he said, smirking.
“Yes. I am.”
“Why?”
“Like I said. You’re a brilliant and talented artist.”
“A brilliant and talented artist who happens to be an ex-con. A hick. Nobody in particular.” He sighed. “I didn’t graduate from art school. I never studied in Europe. I’ve only ever heard about van Gogh and Monet, but couldn’t point to one picture that either one of them ever did. So, are those the things that make me impressive?”
She shrugged. “Yes. Those things are what make you impressive.” She studied him. “Does that offend you?”
“Do I look offended?”
“Do you have to answer all my questions with questions?” she asked, coolly. “I mean, I’m supposed to be interviewing you here. Not the other way around.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s a defense tactic.”
“I get that,” she said smugly. “Did you paint before you went to prison? How long were you in for? Seven years?”
“It was supposed to be for three, turned into five, turned into seven.”
“Why?”
“Survival.” He forced a smile. “But no. I did not paint before I was locked up. I doodled. I … sketched, naked women, mostly.” He stared at her, expecting to get some kind of ruffle out of her, but she gave him nothing.
“So, why painting? Why didn’t you continue to sketch?”
“You probably wouldn’t be sitting here now if I did.” He smiled. She didn’t. “I had a lot of pent-up aggression, I guess when they set me loose. Big feelings. Big thoughts. I needed a big place to put them. So, I built a frame as big as me, covered it with canvas, and just went for it.”
“Did it help you to deal with those big feelings and thoughts?”
He hesitated before answering. “I didn’t think so at the time, but yeah, I guess it did. Still does.”
“You’re not married? No girlfriend?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“Why not? You’re a good-looking guy and I’m sure there are plenty of women who are interested.”
Her expression suddenly changed, and Ellis realized that something must’ve registered on his face to make her uncomfortable, but he couldn’t pin down what that could’ve been.
“Women come and go,” he said casually. “No one serious.”
“That’s too bad,” she said softly. “But is that how y
ou want it?”
“That’s how it is.”
When he was in prison, Ellis fantasized about having someone waiting for him when he got out. Daneen, the woman he’d been seeing before he went to prison, had long since moved on. She was married now, had a couple kids, and had moved over to the next county. Since Daneen, there hadn’t been anyone serious. It was his call. Not anyone else’s.
“I think that this is a good stopping place,” she said, sounding more like a shrink than a reporter.
Cristina Cole gathered up her things to leave. “I’m staying at the Harper Hotel for a few days.” She stood up.
Ellis stood up too, and started following her to the door. She stopped short, and turned to him. Baby Cousin was breathtaking, but guarded. She was careful with herself, and careful not to let him get too close. He wondered why.
“We can talk some more tomorrow?” she asked sweetly.
He nodded slightly. “Tomorrow.”
She smiled, turned, and left. Ellis watched her walk to her car.
CHAPTER 2
Cristina called Jules Tyson, editor-in-chief of Vutura magazine after she climbed out of the shower, dried off, and slipped into her New York Nicks jersey.
“Tell me about the golden boy,” Jules said in an exaggerated fashion. When she’d found out that Cristina had landed an interview with Ellis Brewer, she’d damn near turned a flip on Fifth Avenue. “Is he everything we feared he’d be?”
“Everything and more,” Cristina said, laughing. “He is country, and scruffy, and talks real slow, and paints in a barn. He has no furniture except for a tasteless, black leather sofa, coffee table, free weights, and a treadmill. Oh, and a small refrigerator next to his bench press filled with beer and I think some summer sausage.”
Jules bellowed. “Fabulous!”
Cristina smiled, knowing that she’d not only made this woman’s day, but her entire year. It was no secret that Ellis Brewer was the most unlikely star to ever hit the snooty world of art, but if she hadn’t seen him with her own eyes, Cristina would not have believed that he was absolutely an anomaly to surpass all anomalies. He was fucking precious in how low budget he came across considering that everything he touched, literally, was worth a mint. The elite clamored to get their hands on one of his paintings; everyone from CEOs to Saudi royalty salivated over Ellis’ work.
“Does he look like a cowboy? A felon?” Jules asked anxiously.
“He looks like…” Cristina had to stop and pause for a moment and think about it. “He’s handsome,” she finally admitted, catching herself off guard.
But it was true. As backwoods as he was, Ellis was a very handsome man.
“Really?” Jules asked, surprised. “Tell me.”
She thought back to her first impression of him when he answered the door. “The first thing you notice are his eyes.”
“What color?”
“Green, the deepest, most vivid green I’ve ever seen on a pair of eyes.”
“Hmm,” Jules said. “And what else?”
“Chestnut-brown hair, thick and wavy, kinda long—touching the tops of his shoulders, and a close, cropped beard.”
“Unkempt?”
“No. Surprisingly very well-kempt. Nice lips.”
“Did you get a photograph?”
“Not yet. But I will.”
“He works out, though. You said he had gym equipment.”
“I couldn’t tell. I mean, his shirt and jeans were baggy, but his shoulders were nice.”
Had she really paid that much attention to the guy? Cristina was starting to feel a little flushed. “Anyway, he’s got a deep voice.”
“Barry White deep?”
“Close, but he’s definitely got a drawl, exaggerated even, and slow, like molasses in the winter slow.”
“Sounds sexy as hell,” Jules exclaimed.
Actually, he was.
“I think his picture will speak for itself,” Cristina continued, coolly. “Clean him up a bit and he’ll make great eye candy.”
“Indeed.” Jules sighed, satisfied.
* * *
After hanging up with Jules, Cristina sat down at her laptop and began typing in her notes from her interview with Ellis. She’d done her homework before coming here, of course. Cristina, like most in the industry, knew Ellis’ background well enough. He’d been out of prison for two years. He went in when he was twenty-nine, accepting a plea deal instead of going to trial. Ellis had brutally attacked a man and beaten him so badly that the man ended up in a wheelchair where he’d stay for the rest of his life.
Ellis’ girlfriend at the time, Daneen Conner, had accused Vince Henderson of raping her. Henderson denied it, but Ellis confronted him and began beating him until the police arrived and arrested Ellis. Henderson ended up in the hospital and Ellis ended up, eventually, in prison.
She’d expected to meet an angry man today, but Ellis Brewer didn’t appear to be holding onto any residue from prison on the surface, not like she’d expected. He was careful with what he said, though, and even how he said it. Some things about him did make her uneasy, like the way he would look at her, almost as if he could see more than what was on the surface. He’d probably picked up a habit like that from being in prison. Cristina imagined that under those conditions, perfecting the art of reading people or anticipating their actions could probably save your life.
Ellis was estranged from pretty much everyone he’d known before being sent away. He’d never been close with his family, but it appeared now that the gap between them had widened. His father was mayor of Blink. His brother and sister were successful in their own right, and his mother was deceased. Ellis, the oldest of the three children, had plain and simply always been the fuck-up. These were things she’d learned before coming here. So, what was she planning on learning about him now that she actually had the opportunity to talk to him face-to-face?
She’d learned some of those things today. Ellis had been inspired to paint to release pent-up aggression. Aggression from spending seven years in prison or from losing the love of his life? Aggression from knowing that he was too late to save her? Or was it aggression from not living up to the standards of a demanding father?
What was he like at the core? Was he as beautiful inside as his work was to the outside world? What did he do with all the money he’d made? Why did he live so humbly? Why did he decide to stay in Blink, Texas, when he could live anywhere in the world? Yes. He was an anomaly. And yes, she’d laughed about him over the phone with Jules, but no, in real life, he was something special indeed. He wasn’t just some dumb hick or felon. There was more to him than anyone might expect and today she’d only just scratched the surface.
He’d certainly piqued her interest, though. That, in and of itself was a miracle. Cristina hadn’t been this tuned in to another person in a very long time. Oh, she’d been good at faking it. She’d learned to laugh on cue at the right jokes, or to express sympathy or empathy when expected. She’d been going through the motions for so long that she was caught off guard now that her curiosity had been tapped.
So, what was it about him that had sparked a genuine fascination? Ellis showed you what he wanted you to see, but there was more of him that he kept hidden. And he had looked at her as if he understood that she did the same thing. It was almost as if he knew that she was a fraud, but was too polite to call her out. Or maybe he understood, because he was one too, that calling her out would’ve embarrassed the hell out of her.
Going forward, she was going to have to be more diligent in her attempt to interview him. He had a knack for turning her questions back on her, and of taking control of the situation if she wasn’t careful. He was smarter than he sounded. Ellis was cunning and perceptive. He looked for weaknesses in people. Again, another thing he’d probably learned in prison in order to survive. Or maybe he’d survived prison because he already knew it.
It was going on six and she hadn’t eaten. The man at the gas station had told her about a place that
served the best steaks in the state of Texas called Belle’s. Cristina closed her laptop, and decided to get dressed, eat a steak, and put Ellis Brewer on the back burner until tomorrow.
CHAPTER 3
It was Blues Night Special at Belle’s, which meant that the place was packed. Ellis liked blues as much as the next person, but he’d come to Belle’s tonight like he had for the last eight months, to get his supper.
“Hey, Ellis,” Tanya, the server, said, coming over to the table unofficially reserved for him. “Beer tonight or sweet tea?”
“Sweet tea,” he said.
She didn’t bother with the menu. Ellis ordered the same thing every night, rib eye, Belle’s way. You never ordered it well-done, or rare, or medium. Everyone’s steak was cooked the same way, and they were all perfect. A potato, loaded with sour cream, bacon bits, and butter, a side of collards, and a dinner roll.
He ate alone while the crowd buzzed around him and music wafted through the room. No one bothered or even acknowledge Ellis, which is how he liked it. Years ago, he’d have been the center of attention in a room like this. Ellis would’ve been the loudest, the one buying rounds for everybody, and dancing in the middle of the room with the prettiest girl. He’d been a fucking idiot back then. Putting his faith in all the wrong things.
Ellis Brewer had ridden the wave of his name, a name that carried him through this minute little town like a surfer on a wave. He’d embarrassed the hell out of his family, but the name Brewer was like a medal everyone wanted, and he wore it boldly on his chest like Superman’s S, thinking that it was enough to make him invincible.
“I’m sick of your shit, boy!” his father spat in his face when he came to the jailhouse and found Ellis locked in one of the cells.
Ellis had expected to be berated by the man. They had a song and dance that had played out like that for years and never in a million years did he ever think that it would change. But that night it did. Ellis had expected to be bailed out, again, but his father had left him locked up for weeks.