by Lulu Pratt
“Is it her?” Julie asks.
“It’s her all right.”
“Sounds like there’s no point in you pursuing her, given she hates the rich and all.”
I snap the lid shut and set the laptop on the ottoman.
“You know I like a challenge.” I take another pull of my beer.
Julie unmutes the TV and we sit staring at the screen. I don’t know what she’s thinking about, but I’m figuring out a way to speak to Skye.
When I get home that night, I bring up the Piek Gallery website again for a closer look at her paintings. I don’t care if they are anti-me, they’re beautiful. And I haven’t even seen them in person.
I pull out my phone and type a message to my assistant:
First thing Monday morning, go to the Piek Gallery and buy all the paintings by the artist Skye. I also need you to get her contact details.
Now all I have to do is sit back and wait for my assistant to come through.
***
On Monday morning at one minute past nine, my phone beeps with a text.
Sorry Lawson, the gallery is closed on Mondays.
Okay, first thing tomorrow morning.
I didn’t like having to wait two days, I don’t exactly want to wait another.
Spread Eagle
(Skye)
On Monday morning, I switch off the engine of my rust bucket in the driveway of Kelso’s mansion. Mansion, ha. It’s big enough to house all the homeless people in a twenty-mile radius.
This is my first look at it. When I’d met Kelso to hash out our deal, it had been in Gordon’s gallery. Ava had suggested it, so that Gordon could overhear the arrangements and make sure Kelso wasn’t taking advantage of me.
I count eight massive three-story columns lining the front of the house, as if it’s some kind of Greek temple. It’s ugly and riles me. He’d better not expect my paintings to be so tacky.
I make my way to the door, with nothing but my purse over my shoulders. Gordon runs an art supply store beside his gallery and arranged for every supply I’d ever need to be sent to the house. All I have to do is show up. And try not to puke at the ostentatious display of wealth when there is such suffering in the world.
The front door is already open. I take a deep breath and step into the entrance. Or I should say lobby. Kelso and a workman are talking near the bottom of one of the two sets of staircases. Yes, the lobby is so big, two staircases start at either side of the lobby and wind their way up the three floors. Disgusting.
“Skye, welcome.”
Kelso stops talking to the workman and waddles over to me. Sweat droplets follow the line of his receding hairline, even though it’s cool in here. As he waddles, he wipes the sweat away with his hand, then offers the same hand to me to shake.
Feeling nausea, I take his offered hand in mine.
“Good morning, how are you?” I ask in my waitress voice.
“Let me give you a tour of the rooms I want pieces done in. The first one will be for here, right by the door. And make it nice and big so people notice it.” The rich bastard couldn’t even be bothered with an ‘I’m fine.’ Smile and nod, I remind myself.
“Do you have a subject matter in mind?”
“I’ll leave that up to you, after all, you’re the artist.” I’m surprised he doesn’t demand something in the Rococo style. As least I can choose what I want to paint.
“Great, I’m full of ideas already.” Though I doubt he’d appreciate them.
“Let me show you the rest of the rooms. Just watch out for the workmen. The house should’ve been finished by now, but the work got behind. I’ve already moved in so have a few rooms I’m living in, but the rest is still a work in progress.”
Kelso leads me through room after room on his ground floor. Most of the rooms are empty, but a few are furnished and appear to be fully finished.
On the ground floor, he wants paintings in the entrance, family room, dining room and office. Plus three in the hallway and two in the living room.
“That’s nine, did you say you wanted ten?”
“Yeah, another upstairs, but I don’t have time to show you now. Start the one in the entrance now,” he says, his voice stern. Okay, guess I’m just another employee here. That’s okay: for fifty grand and a gallery show, I can deal with him.
I spend the morning in the entrance, examining the space and light and generating ideas in my notebook. My plan was to knock out these paintings as fast as possible and never have to come to this shrine of wealth again.
At noon, I pull my sandwich from my purse and sit on the bottom step to eat my lunch. The workmen have all gone somewhere else for their lunch. The rich bastard probably doesn’t let them eat in his house.
“Skye, there you are,” Kelso says, coming down the stairs behind me.
Gathering my sandwich, water and purse in my hands, I jump up and stand to the side.
“I’m just grabbing a quick bite. I’ve already come up with several ideas for this space.”
“That’s great, really. How do you like the house? Does it make you wet?” My eyes flare. What did he just say? Did I hear him wrong?
“It’s a nice house.”
“It must make you horny. Money makes all women horny.” My chest heaves and my hands tense so much my sandwich becomes nothing but a ball of bread and ham. Fifty grand. Fifty grand. Ava’s remortgage. Smile and nod. Smile and nod.
“Uh, I’d better get back to work now. I have to grab some supplies from my car.”
“Not yet, I’m going to show you the upstairs painting location first.”
“Oh, okay.” In my trembling, my water bottle and purse slide off my arm and to the floor. I’m left with a ball of a former half-eaten sandwich in my fist. I relax my hand, and the food plops to the floor.
“Follow me.” Before I can say anything else, he’s halfway up the staircase.
My feet heavy, I trudge up the steps. We go through a set of double doors. I gulp when I see a huge, round bed.
“This is my bedroom, isn’t it hot?”
I take my eyes off the round bed long enough to glance around the room. It’s all red walls with accents of zebra and tiger. Leopard-print scarves are even draped over the bedside lamps. Gag.
“Is this where you want the last piece?” I need to keep this all about business.
“Yeah. I want a hot piece of ass right over the bed.”
“Excuse me?”
“Something to look at when I don’t have a chick over.” What the fucking fuck?
“You know, all the things I like to do to a pretty girl like you. Do you prefer doggy style or sucking cock?” His eyes bore into me as he speaks.
My feet shift to run, but I remember Ava’s voice on the phone. Why can’t you remortgage my property? I can’t leave. Smile and nod, smile and nod.
“Usually erotic art only depicts the female on her own.”
“Fine, you’re the expert. But I want her spread eagle, and lifelike. I’ve seen your art, your paintings are often like photographs. I want every fold front and center. Maybe have her fingering herself too. Yeah, that’s definitely what I want.”
“As you wish. I’m getting behind on the entrance piece now, I really have to get back to it.” My heart pounding, I turn and flee the room. Kelso bursts out laughing.
Asshole! He thinks money gives him the right to mess with me like that? I’m going to work anti-wealth and anti-Kelso themes into every piece in this house. Even the spread eagle one. Especially the spread eagle one.
As soon as the sun sets, I get the hell out of there. I’ll sketch out ideas for the other paintings at home. I don’t need the light for that. Right now, I plan to avoid Kelso as much as possible.
“Well, how was it?” Ava asks when I walk in the front door.
“The guy is a first-rate asshole.”
“That’s to be expected; he is rich, after all. Money makes people lose their humanity.”
I consider telling Ava about the comm
ents Kelso made in the bedroom, but decide against it in case she tries to stop me from going back. I have to go back; it’s a huge amount of money, and a gallery show.
“I’m going to do some more work so I can get this over with as quickly as possible.”
There’s no point going into my studio since I’m still at the sketching phase. Instead, I prop myself up on my bed and start to draw. There must be a way for me to work what an asshole Kelso is into my work, I just have to figure it out.
The way I generate ideas is to let my mind phase out of focus and allow my hand to do the work. Before too long, I realize I’m drawing the tattooed arms of the hot guy from the restaurant.
He was exactly everything Kelso is not: an honest, hardworking, regular guy instead of some rich asshole. My hand drops the pencil and slides between my legs while memories of that kiss form in my head.
Not-So-Chance Encounter
(Lawson)
I spent all Monday going over all the legal points with Julie and her team. I have to make Kelso see the light and settle. He’s only going to lose any case that goes to court, and that’s going to cost him.
First thing Tuesday, I’m straight back at Julie’s fancy pants legal offices. An hour after the gallery opens, I get a text from my assistant.
He only has six of her paintings.
Did you buy them?
Of course.
Perfect. Find out her contact details.
He’s being difficult, and won’t give them to me for ‘security reasons’.
Tell him I want to commission six more.
The gallery owner claims he won’t give out Skye’s contact for the security of his artists, but I’m sure he just wants to make sure he isn’t cut out of any future commission.
Surely if a client is buying every damn painting an artist produces, that artist would want to meet the client. I figure I’ll go down there the minute I get a chance to talk some sense into the guy.
Part of me is surprised Skye hasn’t phoned me. I can only assume she hasn’t been back in contact with her dick of a manager at Johnny’s. That’s okay, I’ll track her down through the gallery, but it’d better be sooner rather than later. I’ll tell him if he wants to sell me any more of her paintings, he’d better arrange a meet and greet pretty damn fast.
Julie and I spent the rest of the day in meetings. Hours of legalese isn’t my idea of a good time, and I find my mind wandering to Skye and all the things I’m going to do to her when I find her.
“Lawson. Lawson,” Julie says, snapping me from my daydream and back into the meeting. This isn’t like me and I don’t like it one bit. No woman has distracted me from my work before. I’ve got to track her down.
It’s almost seven by the time I get out of Julie’s offices. I head home and hop in the shower, sloughing the day from my skin. Refreshed, I pull on a pair of jeans and the first T-shirt I see in my dressing room.
My mind is working the whole time on finding Skye. My assistant is good, but I have a feeling I’ll get further with the gallery owner than she did.
According to their website, the Piek Gallery closes at eight. It’ll be tight to get there in time, but it’s worth a shot. I fold into my Maserati and plug in the GPS coordinates.
The gallery is in an old-fashioned street-front store. There’s no parking lot, and all the street parking is taken. Fuck. It closes in five minutes and I’ve gotta hurry.
A car is leaving a couple hundred yards away. I push my foot on the gas to claim it before anyone else can steal it on me. Not even bothering to straighten it out, I climb out and hurry down the sidewalk, and instantly something catches my eye.
Skye? Fuck me. I blink to make sure I’m not seeing things. Sure enough, my beautiful Skye is walking down the sidewalk, straight toward me. She’s wearing a cute little sundress that wakes up my dick. I thought she’d looked hot in the tight skirt and T-shirt at the restaurant but this is a whole new level.
“Skye, fancy seeing you here.”
She snaps out of her trance and her eyes widen when she looks at me.
“Oh my God! Hi, how are you? What are you doing here?”
She is in danger of rambling, so I cut her off. “Just picking something up. What are you doing here?”
“I just got the most exciting news, and I was celebrating. You’ll never guess what happened!”
I wait for her to carry on before realizing she wants me to say something. Do I tell her I have a pretty good idea what it is?”
“What happened?” I ask, not wanting to spoil her moment.
“Some rich lady came in and bought all my paintings at the gallery! She specifically asked for me! My name is getting out!” Tears of excitement prick the corners of her eyes. Her face is beaming with happiness. All because of me.
“That’s wonderful. You’re so talented, it’s no surprise.”
In her excitement, she flings her arms around me. With no need for further encouragement, I hold her tight. She’s practically bouncing on her toes.
She looks up at me and says, “Thank God for rich people, huh?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, laughing with her.
“Who else would have the money to buy so many of my paintings? They probably didn’t even notice the anti-poverty messages in them.” Of course, her youthful ideas. Still, considering her artist profile, maybe I shouldn’t let her know about my wealth just yet.
“It’s a good thing I’ve run into you. I went back to the restaurant and missed you when I found out you were fired.”
“I was fired?” She says, her voice rising at the end of her sentence.
“That’s what your idiot manager told me. I feel responsible, given what happened in the restaurant last time.”
“You mean that kiss?” Having her in my arms and hearing her say that word gives me an instant hard-on. Not wanting to freak her out, I move my hips away from her.
“Yes, I mean that kiss.” I brush my lips against her forehead and continue, “Are you going to give me your number this time? I wouldn’t mind taking you out for a burger, to celebrate.”
She laughs and says, “I’d love to. Do I get to know your name first?”
I kiss her cheek, put my lips to her ear and say, “I kind of liked it when you called me sir.”
“Oh did you now, sir?” The sound sends a shudder to my core.
“That’s exactly it.”
“Sir, do I get to know your real name now?”
“Only if you promise to call me sir once in a while.”
She looks at me, biting her bottom lip in mock deliberation. “Deal.”
“It’s Lawson.”
“Lawson, huh? I like the sound of that.”
“Great, I’m glad my name meets with your approval.”
Skye breaks down into a fit of laughter, she’s certainly high on the news of selling her paintings. I swear being held in my arms is the only thing stopping her from crumpling to the ground.
“Okay, Lawson, when do I get my burger?”
I open my mouth to say now. To say that I’d take her back to my house for a full celebration. But I stop. For the first time in my life, I’m worried she’ll reject me. No woman has ever rejected me before. But knowing her crazy anti-rich schtick, there’s a possibility she’ll reject me when she finds out about my money.
I have to make sure I’ve won her over before she learns the truth.
“How about Friday?”
“Sounds perfect, it’s a date.”
Skye stretches up on her toes and pecks my lips. It’s all the encouragement I need. I squeeze her tight and plant my mouth on hers. She responds with vigor and I make no effort to keep my raging hard dick a secret from her. I want her to know what she does to me.
The feel of her in my arms, the taste of her in my mouth, is almost too much. I want to throw her in my car and take her home and play with her for the rest of the week.
“Skye, are you coming?” a woman shouts.
“I’ve got to go
. That’s Ava, my ride,” Skye says.
Reluctantly, I release her. Not wanting her to see my expensive car, I walk in the opposite direction until she’s gone.
Rich Bastard
(Skye)
“Who was that?” Ava asks as soon as I’m in her car.
“Someone I met at the restaurant.”
“Have you been seeing him long?” Ava’s making me feel like I’ve been transported back to my parents’ house during high school. Or at least how I imaging my parents would’ve been, had I dated.
“We’re going on our first date on Friday,” I say, shifting in my seat.
“Oh, you looked pretty comfortable with him for someone you haven’t even been on a date with yet.”
There’s no way I’m entering into this type of parent-child discussion with Ava. We ride in silence for the remainder of the way home.
The whole time, I’m buzzing. I’ve been commissioned for a huge job with Kelso, I’ve sold out of my paintings at Gordon’s gallery, and I’m going on a date with Lawson. I don’t know which of those three things excites me the most.
“I have to get some ideas down on paper while they’re fresh in my head,” I say when we arrive, leaving Ava in the living room.
On my way to my bedroom, I stop in my studio and grab my laptop. The lingering feel of Lawson’s arms around me has inspired me to come up with the plan for Kelso’s hideous bedroom erotica painting. While I’m in the right frame of mind, so to speak.
Friday. That’s three sleeps. Three sleeps until the day I might finally give away my virginity. For him, for Lawson, I’ll do it. Assuming, of course, that he wants to. And judging by the bulge digging into my side tonight, he wants to.
Stop it, I scold myself. I feel like such a child right now. Not the proper honest-to-goodness adult I’m finally about to be.
I grab my sketchbook and pencil set and open my laptop. After a deep breath, I hop off my bed and barricade my door with a laundry hamper. It won’t stop Ava, but it will slow her enough for me to hide what I’m about to do.
If Kelso wants a realistic spread eagle, I have to find out what one looks like. It’s not an image I think I can stomach under normal circumstances. But right now I feel like I’m drunk on Lawson and selling my art. Put those two things together, Lawson and art, and you get one frisky Skye who can handle a bit of full frontal.