The photo was highly erotic. How many women had stood in the same spot looking at the photo? “I have to go,” she said, flustered. “I can’t stay here. I’ve obviously made an enormous mistake.”
“Please stay. Let me make you dinner and we’ll listen to old records…just stay.” Kevin’s eyes beseeched her, and Ashlyn couldn’t deny him. His eyes spoke volumes…he truly desired her presence.
Ashlyn sat on his couch and asked, “What are you cooking? I don’t eat meat.”
“Let me grab a shirt from upstairs before I throw a few steaks on the indoor grill,” Kevin teased her.
* * *
Ashlyn did something she very rarely did, and that was treat herself. For starters, she booked a suite at the Sofitel Philadelphia. With its contemporary French style, it screamed elegance, butter cream merging seamlessly with rich dark chocolate. Ashlyn used her toe to turn on more water in the spacious tub. She added vanilla and brown sugar body wash to the streaming water.
Earlier that day Ashlyn had scheduled an appointment with a chic salon, which plied her with champagne while the hairdresser tamed her wild-child curls. Her hair was now sleekly cut into a short bob, the edges hitting right at the tip of her high cheekbones, the bangs highlighting her eyes. When the stylist first told Ashlyn she wanted to add a rich sangria henna rinse to her hair, Ashlyn almost bolted, but she decided to put her hair woes into the hands of a professional. The darker, but vibrant color toned down her orangey-red hair, turning it into a deep, sultry red. The color was stunning.
After having her hair done and a manicure and pedicure, Ashlyn went shoe shopping. All those years of listening to and living with Makayla had finally paid off. She found a pair of gladiator-inspired platinum platform sandals. She wasn’t ready to spend over twelve hundred dollars for a pair of shoes like Makayla, but she would spend two hundred. As long as she was in the store, why not buy a pair of multi-colored wedges, and two pair of flats, just to be on the safe side.
After Ashlyn finished her relaxing bath, she stood in the tub and perused her body in the mirror opposite her. She studied her tattoo. When she first got it four years ago, her mother stopped talking to her for three weeks. What a sweet three weeks it was. When she finally did call, it was to tell her what the Bible said about women and adornment.
The Celtic knot tattoo weaved around her waist, ending in a peak above her pelvis. Her first and only rebellious act, the tattoo could be covered with clothing. She loved the artistic marking because it went against her norm. Ashlyn moisturized her skin with body butter, thinking of Kevin the entire time.
The night before he’d prepared dinner for them, and they’d made out on the couch like a couple of teenagers; above the shirt, of course. She asked to see his tattoo, reminding him he’d promised to show her when they first met. Kevin lifted his shirt and turned to show her his back. The image of a beautiful, ageless woman wearing a hijab over her head was on his left shoulder blade. Kevin had her beautiful, expressive eyes. He told her it was his mother, Adara. Her full name was Adara bin Musa bin Nasir Al-Hashim, which translated to Adara, daughter of Musa, son of Nasir, of the family Al-Hashim. Her family was originally from Libya, he’d said. She died when Kevin was fifteen and his brother Aaron thirteen. When he told her his mother’s background, he watched her, looking for apprehension, or maybe even hatred. Ashlyn simply leaned forward and slowly kissed him, rubbing his shoulder, touching the image of his mother. He said no more about his mother and she didn’t push him. When and if he were ever ready to speak of it, she would be there to listen.
Ashlyn pulled the long and colorful maxi-dress from the hotel closet. The bright colors went well with the undertones in her skin. Before putting on the dress, Ashlyn did her makeup, concentrating on smoky eyes, using black and sliver with a hint of green eye shadow. Ashlyn applied clear gloss to her lips and a little blush to her cheeks. Next she place petal tops on her breasts, nipple covers that molded to her shape. At times having petite breasts was convenient, especially when the dress was sleeveless and backless. The green braided piping tied at the base of her neck, in the back. Ashlyn buckled the platinum platform shoes, then stood to admire her image in the mirror. She finger-combed her hair, trying to shake off her nervous energy. She planned a campaign of shock and awe.
The phone in the room rang, startling her out of her daydream.
“Hello.”
“Ms. Farrell, your car is waiting,” the concierge informed her. Ashlyn had hired a car because there was no way she was walking to the gallery in five-inch heels. She grabbed one of the voluminous scarves Makayla was always giving her. No wonder her best friend indulged her whims so readily, she thought. The sensation was luxurious. Ashlyn attempted to achieve the move Makayla had perfected of walking like a super model while throwing the scarf over her shoulder, but she ended up damn near tripping over the bottom hem of her long dress. She scolded herself about trying too much at once. It was a miracle she was still upright in her heels.
Ashlyn slid across the leather seat of the limo, her hands instantly going to the champagne on her right. She was in need of liquid courage. She barely poured it into the flute without spilling it, her hands were shaking so badly. She downed it relatively quickly, denying herself a second glass. She didn’t want to pass out in the middle of the gallery floor.
She opened her metallic clutch to retrieve a breath strip. How would Kevin react if she walked up to him and kissed him in greeting instead of a verbal hello? She would soon find out. Ashlyn never even considered that other women might be attending until she was at the entrance. She gazed at her reflection in the door, loving what she saw. Why didn’t she do this more often? What was the harm in putting forth a stunning outer appearance? She wanted Kevin’s jaw to drop, for him to follow her with his eyes.
She walked through the open door and into the crowded room. Servers walked around with trays laden with wine, champagne, and hors d’oeuvres. Ashlyn slowly walked around the room, her eyes jumping to the various canvases on the walls. His work drew her, making her turn her head from side to side. The images leapt off the walls. Her fingers tingled to touch the lively strokes. There was nothing flat about his paintings; they seemed multidimensional.
All around her people gazed at the work before them, openly debating the meaning, what his mindset was at the time of that particular creation. The patrons discussed color choice, size of canvas, and even the placement of the paintings. They argued brush technique, and whether modern art would ever supersede the classics. There was a certain buzz in the air, a palpable excitement, and in hushed tones the guests acknowledged standing in the presence of a rising star to the mainstream art world. On one hand she felt a sense of pride, but on the other, fear. She wondered if it were too much too soon. She knew whatever Kevin produced beyond this moment would have to surpass this, and she questioned whether that was possible. The pressure would be on.
Ashlyn circled the room, searching random faces, looking for one. Where was Kevin, she wondered, sipping from her flute. Ashlyn stood before the painting she’d chosen for herself, the one she planned on purchasing. It was tiny compared to the others beside it, but it wasn’t outshone. The painting was entitled In Retrospect. It seemed as if Kevin had painted the scene with her in mind, even before he knew her, but of course that was impossible. She guessed a person knew a painting was perfect for them when it spoke to them.
She would offer the purchase price plus more to obtain it. She’d picked out the spot, above her desk in her office; it would be perfect for those days when her mind was full of daydreams. Would her daydreams be of an urban love affair?
A voice whispered into her ear, “Do you like it?”
* * *
Kevin spotted Ashlyn the second she walked through the door, but he wanted to give her time to acclimate. He did indeed follow her with his eyes, as she’d hoped. He mingled, but at any given moment he knew where she was. Kevin watched her glistening lips drink from a flute, her tongue darting out to ca
tch a wayward drop. He’d expected Ashlyn to show up in all her rock star, hippie chick glamour, but tonight there was a softness about her. He wondered if the new look was for his benefit. Whether her hair was curly or straight, makeup or none, heels or flats, Kevin couldn’t get enough of Ashlyn. Right now he wished they were in the gallery alone, that the world would vanish.
Ashlyn never turned around. His hands at her waist held her motionless. “I plan on purchasing this painting. When I return home I’ll have a piece of you, a remembrance.”
“You have the real thing with you right now. Why are you talking about returning home when you just got here?” Kevin turned her in his arms, linking his fingers with hers.
Ashlyn met Kevin’s eyes for the first time that night. He was handsomely attired in a double-vented navy blue suit. Ashlyn ran the tip of her finger down the center of his purple tie, loving the way he looked, and loving even more being in his presence. Ashlyn felt as if she had no other choice but to place a time limit on their encounter or she would quickly be in over her head.
She lingeringly touched her lips to his. “Congratulations,” she said as she pulled away, “you seem to be a raging success.” She gazed around. “I should have asked if there are any other special guests here tonight before I gave you a congratulatory kiss.” She tried to make light of his suddenly serious stance.
“There’s only you.”
“Are your father and brother here tonight?” Ashlyn asked him, secretly thrilled by his statement.
“Aaron is here, but my dad hates events like this. He thinks the art world is full of elitists and pompous fools. Just between the two us, the thought is partially true. I brought him here this morning, let him have his own private showing.” His father was a quiet man, never quick to show any emotion. He’d pounded Kevin on the back and said, “Boy, you done good.” For Kevin, nothing else could compare.
Kevin steered her through the crowd, her slender hand encased in his much larger one, speaking to her over his shoulder. “I want you to meet Aaron, and also a friend I’ve had since college.”
Ashlyn hesitated, not knowing if she were ready to meet a member of his family. Kevin felt her stop and he read the doubt in her eyes and he answered that doubt. “You’re the first.”
“Wait…what about my painting? I have to find someone and let them know I’d like to purchase it.” Ashlyn began looking around.
“Don’t worry about it, it’s yours. I’ll have it boxed up for you at the end of the night.” He pulled her further along.
“Kevin, I can’t let you do that,” she said, astonishment in her voice.
“Why not? I don’t need the money, and I want you to have it. I saw the way you gazed at it. It called to you. Art always calls to its owner. So enjoy it with my blessing.” Kevin placed his hand around her waist. He couldn’t seem to stop himself. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”
“Your eyes did.”
They shared a moment of intense longing and peace.
“There’s Vlad. If he says anything inappropriate, ignore him, because he has an idiot gene,” Kevin said with friendly playfulness.
Ashlyn gazed at the man Kevin spoke of. Never had there been two more vastly different men. Kevin and Vlad were the male equivalent of Ashlyn and Makayla. She smiled before the introductions were complete.
Ashlyn wondered why Kevin looked so superior, as if he’d won some bet with Vlad. “Vladimir Chekhov, I’d like you to meet Ashlyn Farrell.” Ashlyn shook the hand Vlad extended to her.
Vlad looked at her as if she were an apparition.
“Why are you staring at me so strangely?” Ashlyn asked him.
He was about the same height as she was in her heels. His hair was a sable brown, but the sun had lightened the tips. His eyes were a piercing gray, the eyes of a wolf. He could sell the moon with those eyes. They were daydreaming eyes. Makayla would devour him. He wore a pair of tattered jeans, a black fitted T-shirt with a gray blazer. Ashlyn looked down at his feet, knowing she would like what she saw. He wore brown battered boots, the type that get better with time.
Vlad finally found his voice, but before he began, he took two flutes from a passing server, offering her another, which she politely declined. “I never thought you would show up,” Vlad said, drinking between the statements. “That’s why Kevin’s grinning like the Cheshire cat.” Vlad gave Kevin a look of disgust.
“Why did you doubt my showing up?” She was intrigued by his honesty.
“From everything I’ve read about you, Kevin seemed hardly your type,” Vlad had the gall to say.
“Since you know so much about me, why not tell me my type?” she said, instantly defensive. She was afraid of his answer, but Ashlyn didn’t want to back down. She detested individuals assuming they knew her from simply reading a paragraph in a newspaper. No one was summed up that easily.
“I thought your type was the guy serving the drinks. You know, the ‘I’m studying to be an actor, but right now I’m waiting tables’ type. Or better yet, the ‘in between swimming with the dolphins and charting their mating rituals, I spray the shoes at the bowling alley’ type.”
Vlad sipped from the second glass in his hands, watching as Ashlyn held her side and bent over laughing. Any woman who laughed at his sick sense of humor was a woman worth keeping.
“I plan on spending some time in Philly. Give me your number and we can hang out.” Anyone who made her laugh that hard she had to get to know better. Ashlyn typed in the number he gave her and ignored Kevin inching closer.
Looking at her generous hips, Vlad asked Ashlyn, “Do you cook?”
Kevin stepped in before things got out of hand. When Vlad started asking if a woman cooked, Kevin knew the encounter was going downhill quickly. Before he could redirect Ashlyn’s attention, she answered, “Yes, I do cook. I make a fabulous sautéed bok choy and broccoli, with sesame covered tofu and soba noodles.” Ashlyn beamed proudly, but Vlad looked as if he smelled something terrible.
“No meat?”
“No, of course not. If you realized what those poor animals suffered, you would refuse to eat meat.”
Kevin rubbed his face because he knew the conversation was going to end badly. “Ashlyn, let’s go see about your painting.”
She refused to budge, of course. She appeared every inch the affronted black woman.
“If there’s not meat in it, I’m not going to eat it!” Vlad sounded like a pre-schooler refusing to eat his veggies.
Kevin intervened. “Vlad, she doesn’t eat meat, you do, let it go. We’re all adults here, and this is an art gallery…not Bankhead.”
Both Ashlyn and Vlad looked at Kevin before looking at each other and erupting with laughter. Vlad stepped forward and kissed Ashlyn on both cheeks. “It was immensely gratifying to meet you.”
Ashlyn hugged Vlad, thinking she had made a friend for life. Kevin watched the pair hug and kiss, trying to figure out what had just happened. One moment they were laughing, next arguing over types of men she favored, or meat versus no meat, then back to laughing, hugging, and kissing.
Vlad turned to Kevin. “I’ll see you later tonight when I stop by after the show. I have a few slides of pieces I’ve been working on.”
Kevin looked at Ashlyn out of the corner of his eye, trying to get Vlad to take the hint. He wanted Ashlyn to spend the night, so there was no way in hell Vlad should plan on coming over.
Of course Ashlyn received the message Kevin was trying to convey to Vlad and she stopped him dead in his tracks. “Kevin, I’m not spending the night with you. So Vlad, feel free to stop by Kevin’s loft.”
Kevin asked Ashlyn, “Damn, what does a brother have to do to get you to spend the night?”
“Anticipation makes the heart grow fonder.” She kissed his lips, lingering for a few seconds.
No, anticipation made his balls blue, but Kevin would never say that aloud. He heard someone call his name, and turned to the voice while saying goodbye to Vlad. Kevin’s broth
er Aaron approached, looking at Ashlyn with great interest. Aaron was like Kevin in every way, especially in the company of a stunning woman.
Kevin stepped in front of Ashlyn, blocking Aaron’s seductive glance. “Aaron Alae, slow your roll. You’re in the presence of a lady; act accordingly.”
Aaron rolled his eyes. He hated when Kevin acted the much older brother, using first and middle names like their mother. He was twenty-three years old, a grown-ass man. He was not the one who still needed a wake-up call.
“Step aside, man, and introduce me to this gorgeous woman,” Aaron said.
“Ashlyn, this is my baby brother Aaron,” Kevin huffed. “Aaron, this is Ashlyn.”
Aaron whispered under his breath, “I’m far from a baby,” adding louder, “Ashlyn, it is so, so good to finally meet you.” He kissed the knuckles of her hand.
Ashlyn gently retrieved her hand, comprehending the game Aaron played with his brother. Sibling rivalry at its highest. Ashlyn decided to play along. “Your brother speaks very fondly of you. I would have taken you for the much older of the two.”
“Really? Why is that?” Aaron leaned slightly closer, smirking with his eyes, his mother’s eyes. Aaron was the exact image of his brother. Golden in coloring and lean of frame, they possessed a swimmer’s physique. But his hair was longer than Kevin’s, baby soft curls rioting across his scalp.
He wore a pair of cigar slacks, with black lace-less shoes. His shirt was white and collarless. A wheat-colored blazer graced his shoulders. A five o’clock shadow darkened his chin. Aaron was a definite cutie.
“Well…it could be…the cadence in your voice…or possibly the confidence simply exuding from your person…but no, I know what it is. The general staunch forbearance in your carriage, the way the room parts for you, and all the eyes that follow you.” Ashlyn gazed into his eyes with utter devotion, not knowing how much longer she could keep up the ploy. Kevin was steaming at her side. It served him right for assuming so much.
Painted Passion Page 5