Carnal: Pierced and Inked

by Simone Sowood

  Her eyes widen, and I worry it’s for disappointment in me selling out.

  “That’s fantastic, I’m so proud of you.” She hops up and hugs me.

  “It doesn’t make me a sellout?”

  “No, silly, artists throughout time have painted pieces for their big houses. It’s our way of sucking as much money out of the rich bastards as we can. But I tell you what you should do, make him fund a gallery exhibit for you as part of the deal.”

  My shoulders relax at her words of approval.

  A gallery exhibit — that would be the real break I need. It would get my name out there, not like locking me away in some mansion.

  Excitement bubbles over and I can’t help myself, I start jumping up and down. Soon Ava is as well, and we jump up and down in a little circle.

  Lost and Found

  (Lawson)

  It’s been a nightmare this week dealing with the launch of my latest luxury hotel. Not only did that fuckface Kelso not finish the bathrooms, I’m sure he didn’t finish them out of spite.

  Instead I had to go ahead and open with only half of the rooms available.

  Meanwhile it’s local. It’s going to be something of a flagship hotel for me. My first hotel without Kelso.

  Julie and his lawyer have been banging heads all week, but I’d had enough. Kelso didn’t meet his end of the agreement, and as far as I’m concerned that’s all any judge is going to need to hear.

  No longer willing to mess around, I went out and hired a whole new construction company to finish the job. After dangling the carrot of working with me regularly, I’ve got them to promise me to work day and night to meet the launch party.

  When I stepped into the shower on Saturday morning, I realized I hadn’t even had a chance to think about Skye all week. Sweet Skye. Just thinking about her makes my dick hard, and that’s all the encouragement I need to grab it.

  I remember her soft lips and the way my arms completely enveloped her. The bumps of her breasts as they pushed into my chest. Most of all that laugh. Fuck, that laugh. It was orgasmic. The thought of drawing a sound like that out of her as I pound her makes my dick explode.

  Tonight, I’m going to go in there and leave with her on my arm. I shudder as I think of all the things I’ll do to her when I get her home. More than anything, I want her legs wrapped around my neck as I feast on her pussy.

  Spent, I prop a hand against the wall of the shower as I catch my breath.

  Around nine that nine, I pull my car into the parking lot of Johnny’s. I take the last spot available, my Maserati sandwiched between a Ford and a Kia.

  I stroll into Johnny’s by myself. I still get a kick out of walking into a restaurant that doesn’t take reservations. The smell of barbecue sauce makes my stomach rumble. I think I’ll go for the ribs tonight. I figure I’ll hang around until closing and take Skye home.

  “What do you want?” The idiot manager who broke up our kiss last weekend snaps.

  “A table. In Skye’s section.” I don’t put up with any attitude from anyone.

  “She doesn’t work here anymore.” His words are a blow.

  “Why not?”

  “She got fired for inappropriate behavior at work.” Fuck, I didn’t mean to get the poor girl fired. That’s okay, I’ll buy her her own restaurant.

  “What’s her number?” I demand.

  “Can’t tell you that, it’s personal information.”

  “I need to know her number,” I say, rising to my full height with my shoulders rolled back.

  “You can ask all you want, I legally can’t tell you.” Pissant. Figures he’d be all by the book. I exhale through my nose.

  “Will you be talking to her again?”

  “Dunno.”

  “Tell her I’m looking for her.” I say pulling my card out of my wallet and shoving it at him.

  He picks it up and examines it. His eyes half pop out of his head when he sees my name. That’s right, asshole, I’m Lawson Heywood. I turn on my heels and stride out.

  I flop back into my Maserati and slam the door. After revving the engine a few times, I tear out of the parking lot, knowing damn well that asswipe manager is watching.

  What the fuck am I going to do now? All my plans for the evening are ruined. Not just the evening: I’d envisioned having Skye in my bed for months. I slam the heel of my hand on the top of the steering wheel.

  Now what? I head toward Julie’s house. I’ll get her people to track down Skye.

  Without knocking, I walk into her house, through the grand entrance with its sweeping staircase and into the kitchen, I grab a beer from the kitchen and head down the hall and into the family room.

  Julie’s sitting on the sofa with her feet propped up on the ottoman. She looks at me and rolls her eyes as I flop onto the couch beside her.

  “What the fuck are you doing here? I thought you were chasing that waitress tonight.” She mutes the movie she’s been watching.

  “She doesn’t work there anymore. I need you to track her down for me.”

  “Did you get her fired?”

  I don’t want to think about that. “Fuck off and find her for me.”

  “You’ve got that backwards, you mean ‘find her for me so I can fuck her’.”

  “That too.”

  “How about a please?” She gives me a wide grin. The same one she always gave me when we were kids and she wanted to annoy me.

  “I’ll give you a thank you when you find her.”

  “Have you tried the internet?”

  “Haven’t had time yet.”

  Julie sits forward and grabs her laptop from the far corner of the ottoman. She opens it and leans back on the couch.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Skye.” Just saying her name makes me ache.

  “Skye what?”

  “Beats the fuck out of me.”

  “How on earth do you expect me to find her?”

  “I don’t know. Her name’s Skye and she’s an artist. There can’t be that many of them.”

  Julie’s fingers fly over the keyboard. My eyes fix on them, willing an answer.

  She looks at me after a moment and says, “You’re a moron. All I did was type in ‘Skye artist Santa Barbara’ and this gallery came up.”

  I grab the computer out of her hands and look at the screen. It’s says Piek Gallery and has a photo of Skye along with photos of some of her paintings and a bio. The bio reads:

  An exciting new artist, Skye is inspired by the increasing wealth divide and the plight of the ninety-nine percent. At first glance, her work often seems to be intriguing landscapes, but a deeper look usually reveals her hard stance against the one percent.

  I can’t help but laugh. So my sweet Skye is against the one percent. It certainly lines up with all the anti-rich comments she made to me when we first met. At least I know I’ve found the right Skye.

  “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 clo
sed 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 comments 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 co-ordinates.