by Lulu Pratt
The plan is to finish is as fast as I can. Even if it means the quality suffers. I can always claim any rushed brush strokes are artistic license. Really, I hope that the painting will be ruined in a fire. No one can ever see it, or know that I painted it.
The sketch is transferred to the canvas in record time. If I hurry, I should be able to finish in a couple of days.
My easel is alongside Kelso’s round bed. The canvas is only a few feet from where it will hang. In amongst all the animal print.
What will women he brings back here think? Though, having met the creepy man with the glandular problem, I’ve got to think any woman getting to this point is only interested in his money anyhow.
I bet even Lawson’s first date, Freya or whatever her name was, would come this far. So long as he gets her a quinoa salad beforehand.
The alarm on my phone goes off at six. I set it to make sure I don’t get caught up in my painting and lose track of time. I’ve got to get to Gordon’s before he leaves for the night.
Not that I needed to worry about losing track of time. Each stroke of this painted woman’s folds is a painful reminder of what I’m doing.
And how no one has ever stroked mine.
I’ve got to go on the date with Lawson tomorrow. I need to feel his touch. My body craves it.
Having made the decision, I feel much more settled. Much more at ease with everything. I’ll deal with anything else later.
I get in my car and head for Gordon’s. Traffic is light, and I make it in no time. As usual, there’s no parking in front of his store. A spot opens up a reasonable distance away and I take it.
The Examination
(Lawson)
I hang my car back, not wanting to be seen. Yet. Skye parks her car and gets something out of her trunk. It looks like a painting, which makes sense, I assume she’s dropping it off at the gallery.
While I wait for her to go inside, I send a note to my assistant telling her to check with the gallery to see if they have any more pieces available to buy yet.
When Skye vanishes inside the gallery, I pull my car past hers and find a spot a little ways down.
From here I have a clear view of the gallery. I wait in the car, watching for Skye to come out. The plan is to intercept her on her way back to her car and convince her not to return to Kelso’s.
She’s been inside for what seems like too long. For all I know, the gallery owner lives upstairs and she’s having dinner with him.
Relaxing back in my seat, I occupy myself by sending work emails while at the same time keeping an eye out for her to return.
I worked from my home office today, which I do as often as I can, so I’m just wearing jeans and a black T-shirt instead of the suit she thinks changes me.
Twenty minutes later, she comes out of the gallery, balancing a pile of items and struggling even more than when she went in.
I hop out of my car into the noise of the passing cars and rush her.
“Skye, let me help you.” Her arms are overloaded with supplies and I start taking them off her.
“Hey, fancy seeing you here,” she says.
“I was just picking something up and saw you come out of the store.”
“Sure you weren’t stalking me?” My eyes widen briefly but when I look at her, she’s smiling. I breathe a sigh of relief to see she’s only joking around.
“Maybe I should, then I’d be here to help whenever you get into trouble.”
“Oh? Do I get into trouble often?” The packages redistributed, we walk toward her car.
“I don’t know, do you?”
“Not until I met you.”
“Oh, it’s all my fault, is it?”
“Guess it is.”
“Must be because of all my money.” Skye stops walking but I keep going.
“I… about earlier… I didn’t…”
“Didn’t know who I was and would’ve kept your beliefs secret from me if you’d known?”
“No,” she says, hurrying to catch up to me.
We reach her car and she opens her trunk. She loads her items into it, lining them up neatly.
“Is this car roadworthy?”
Skye stops what she’s doing and looks at me. “Excuse me. It’s the best car I can afford.”
“I know, I know. Some people can’t afford a Maserati.”
“You drive a Maserati?”
“Primarily. Out of all my cars, I think it sounds the best.”
“You pick your car based on how it sounds? You’re a real piece of work, you know?”
“I can’t help it, my money makes me a prick. What am I to do?”
She sighs as she takes the last package from me. “Your money doesn’t make you a prick. I’m sorry I said that before.”
“Does that mean we’re still on for dinner tomorrow?” Skye stands aside and I close her trunk.
“If you still want to have dinner with an anti-poverty artist like me.”
“Skye, I like that about you. You’re a million times better than someone like Freya.”
“You mean someone who’s only after your money?” She spins around and leans on her trunk, her arms folded across her chest.
“It’s more than that. You tell me what you think instead of what you think I want to hear.”
A smile spreads across her face and she tilts her head. “Really?”
I shrug. “Sure, it’s refreshing.”
“Let me see your arms. I’ve been dying to look at the art.”
“It’s kind of dark out, you probably can’t see much,” I say, but I offer her my arms anyway.
Skye reaches out and takes my left hand, touching me delicately, as if I’m hot from the oven. My fingertips rest in her left palm. Her eyes squint in the dim streetlight and her fingers trace the various designs on my arms. Her light touch tickles, but I don’t let on.
By the time she reaches my bicep, her chest is rising and falling rapidly with her breath. She reaches the edge of my T-shirt, glances up at me, and runs the fingers of both hands over my pecs.
I sense some trembling, but I remain motionless, watching her as she examines me.
When she reaches my right arm, she edges her body closer. Even outside, I smell the mix of flowery shampoo and paint on her. I close my eyes and inhale.
Skye holds my arm with one hand and resumes her exploration of my tattoos with the other.
“Is this the Laughing Cavalier?” she asks, pointing to the top of my forearm, “I can’t tell in this dim light.”
I laugh. “You’re good.”
She looks up at me with a coy smile, “You don’t dedicate your life to art and miss that sort of thing.”
There’s no way I can resist her any longer. I hook my arm around her and pull her tight against me. With my other hand, I smooth back her long hair from her face. She’s shivering.
“Are you cold?” I ask.
Her eyes wide, she sucks her lips between her teeth and shakes her head.
“You’re shaking,” I say. I rub my free hand up and down her back, trying to warm her. Or relax her.
Skye leans her weight into me and rests her cheek on my chest. I tilt my head down, nuzzling into her hair.
It doesn’t matter that we’re standing at the side of the road. I kiss her hair and then trail kisses over her head. With my free hand, I mesh my fingers through her hair and tip her face up to me.
Her lips are slightly parted, which is all the encouragement I need. I lean and crush my mouth against hers. Our tongues explore each other’s mouths the way her fingers had examined my arms: gently, slowly and thoroughly.
I could stay here all night, at the side of the road with Skye in my arms.
A car honks its horn as it passes us.
She pushes back from me at the noise. Skye glances at her watch and says, “I have to get going.”
“What’s the rush?”
“I have to get in a few hours of painting tonight.”
“Do it tomorrow.”
/>
“I can’t. I have to work at Kelso’s all day.”
“You’re still going back there? You need to quit that job.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“I thought I told you about him. Trust me, he’s bad news, just wait and you’ll see, but it’ll be too late for you.”
She shifts her weight and says, “I know Kelso’s a creep, but it’s fine. Besides, he’s going to be in Florida tomorrow anyway.”
“As long as you’re sure. I can hire you an assistant so you’re never alone with him.”
“Now you’re just overreacting.”
“Trust me, I’m not.”
“Did you just put your suit back on?”
“Are you calling me a prick again?” I can’t help but laugh.
“Yes, but I’ll still let you take me out tomorrow night.”
“I’m paying now, am I?”
“Unless you want to eat frozen pizzas at home.”
“And here I thought you weren’t interested in my money.” I have to admit I like the idea of eating at home, since it would just be the two of us, with clothing optional.
“See you tomorrow,” she says, getting in her car.
I close her door and say, “Tomorrow.”
Skye starts her car and pulls out into the road.
Date With the Prick
(Skye)
In the morning, I beeline for Kelso’s creepy bedroom and continue on with his spread eagle. I’m concentrating on getting the subtle tones of her inner folds right when my phone chimes. It’s a text from Lawson.
I’ll pick you up at seven.
My eyes shift between the phone in my hand and the painting on my canvas. Seven can’t come fast enough.
Awesome!
The second I hit send, I worry my response sounds too childish. Is it obvious I’m not an experienced dater? Can Lawson tell? He might think I’m pathetic. Especially since he’s mister billionaire — he’s probably got tons of experience.
I keep the phone in my hand, waiting for a response from him, but none comes. Sighing, I toss the phone onto the bed and pick up my brush.
Why does he have this effect on me? Is this what I’ve been missing all these years? Maybe it was a mistake to concentrate on my art at the expense of all else. It’s not like it’s got me anywhere. Anywhere other than painting a pussy in some slimy rich guy’s creepy bedroom, anyway.
Ava and I still haven’t had any discussion about Lawson. She hasn’t brought him up, and neither have I. I guess I’m too afraid she’ll tell me what I don’t want to hear.
What will happen during the date? I went out on a couple of dates in college with other guys in my art program. But they were both artsy people with a similar world view to mine.
Not freaking billionaires. My favorite college professor, Dr Lakeland, would not approve of this one little bit.
Stop it. Dr Lakeland is my past — I have to consider my present. And right now, my body is sending a very strong message.
It might be shameful, but I’ve got to admit, spending all day thinking about Lawson has definitely had a positive effect on my painting. Yesterday it seemed kind of flat. Now it’s glistening so much, it’s even turning me on.
***
At home, showered and hair done, I stand in front of my closet, wondering what, if anything, I have to wear.
My clothes mostly consist of comfortable things to paint in. Tops that allow me to move my arms freely and bottoms that don’t annoy me. The one thing they all have in common is that they were all bought at Wal-Mart, and all before I moved to California.
I have a few summer dresses, at least. I pick out the newest one: one my mother gave me for my birthday last year, and put it on. It’s a navy halter neck with small white flowers all over it. It’s not exactly fancy, but it’ll have to do.
Why is it I can paint a realistic face on a canvas but can’t apply make-up to my own face with any skill? Maybe it’s something to do with my shaking hands. I wipe it off my eyes and start again. In the end, I’ve gone with a subtle amount of eyeshadow and some mascara.
The doorbell rings, and an explosion of butterflies goes off in my chest. I grab my lipstick and apply it as I move to the front door, hoping it looks half decent and that most of it ended up on my lips.
Ava doesn’t know about my date tonight. I never worked up the courage to tell her.
“Yes, she’s here. Come in, I’ll let her know,” Ava says as I round the corner to the entrance.
She turns and sees me, she’s smiling but her brow is furrowed.
“Ava, have you met…” My voice gets stuck in my throat when I see him, and I’m unable to finish my sentence.
Lawson’s wearing a dark suit again, and one glance is enough to send all the butterflies in my chest straight between my legs. Why did I ever think suits were evil again?
“Skye, you look beautiful,” he says and smiles.
He steps through the door and his clean scent fills our little hallway. He rests his hands under my elbows, and kisses me on the cheek. I know it’s only hello, but I turn every shade of red at the fact that he’s done it in front of Ava.
“I’ll leave you two. Have a nice time tonight,” Ava says, returning to the living room.
“I see I’m going out with the prick tonight,” I say, playing with his lapels.
“You lucked out, I got stuck at work and didn’t have time to go home and change.”
“That’s okay, as long as he stays in line.”
Lawson’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead and he laughs.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m not old enough to be called ma’am, sir.”
His leans over and speaks into my ear, “I happen to like it when you call me sir.”
“Yes, I think you mentioned that. Let me show you my studio,” I pause to gaze into his eyes, “sir.”
Before he can respond, I turn and walk down the hall to my studio, trying to collect myself on the way. It seems like every time I see him, his pull on me becomes stronger.
Lawson’s long legs means my head start vanishes in three steps. He rests his hand in the small of my back, as if he is the one leading the way.
I open the door and the familiar smell of paint and solvents hits me. I flick the light switch. Ava installed a circle of sodium lamps around the room for painting at night, and after a few flickers, my studio is bathed in bright light.
“Wow, impressive,” Lawson says, walking around the empty space with his hands in his pockets.
“Thanks,” I say sheepishly. I’m suddenly unsure why I brought him in here.
He comes to stand in front of the two easels that still hold the last two ‘rich things out of place’ paintings.
“These are breathtaking,” he says looking at me.
“These, actually, were inspired by Freya.”
“By Freya?”
“Yep. Her being a rich thing out of place inspired me to think of other rich things in places they don’t fit.”
“I get it. The tiara on the scarecrow. Very clever.”
“And the diamonds earring on the tree.” I point to it. “There was a third, but I finished it and it’s now for sale at the gallery I sell through.”
“Was it about me? Being a rich person where I don’t belong?” His eyes bore into mine as he says it.
The butterflies inside me swirl like a tornado, but I try to hold his stare. “I thought the prick was staying in line tonight. Sir.”
Still holding my eyes, he closes the distance between us, his hands still in his pockets. “If you keep calling me sir, I’m not going to be responsible for what the prick does to you.”
“Is that so? Sir.”
“Now you’re just playing with the poor prick.” His hands whip out of his pocket and land firmly on my shoulders. Lawson pulls me close and kisses me. Our first kiss in private, and there’s most definitely a difference.
He backs me up against the bare wall, grinding his mouth into mine
. A whimper escapes my voice and my knees are on the verge of buckling. But he holds me up by pressing his body into mine.
I’ve never known any feeling like this. The butterflies have multiplied again; it seems each one has turned into a thousand, and they’ve spread from my chest to my fingertips and toes.
Lawson could rip my dress from me right here, and I’d do nothing to stop him. The acknowledgement of my feelings creates a loud moan that starts from deep within me and carries on up to the ceiling.
He pulls away and says, “We need to get out of here, now.”
I lean back on the wall, panting for air. He’s right, we need to go before I melt into a puddle right here in my studio.
The Discovery
(Lawson)
I had planned to swing by my house to change on our way to the restaurant. But now I realize there’s no way in hell we’d ever get to the restaurant. Which isn’t something I’d object to. But there’s something about Skye.
It’s not just that her smile lights me on fire. Or that her laugh fills me up with feeling. She says what she thinks, not caring if it’s against what I think. I could never get tired of talking to her.
Every time I see her, my need for her grows. And not just in my pants. Skye needs to understand that, and that’s not going to happen if I take her home and fuck her. At least, not without dinner first.
I hold the door of my Range Rover open for her.
“This isn’t a Maserati.”
“I thought you might approve more of this.” I close her door and get in the driver’s seat. I didn’t have much of a plan for the evening. Skye would be outraged if I took her somewhere nice.
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know, what do you feel like eating?”
Skye doesn’t say anything, I assume she’s thinking about where she wants to go. We drive in silence for a couple of blocks and I ask her again.
“A burger? Mexican? Something fancy?”
“How about someplace fast?” I glance over at her, but she’s staring out the windshield. Did I hear her right?
“There’s a grilled chicken place just up ahead.”
“Sounds ideal.”
We pull into the parking lot and I start to feel guilty for bringing her here on our first actual date. But, like she said, it’s the fastest option.
The place smells like chargrill and barbecue sauce. It’s not very busy, and we’re led to a small booth off on our own.