Enticing An Angel

by Leo Charles Taylor

  "I just can't get that upper quadrant right," she said.

  "Do you know what you want it to look like? Or, are you suffering from artist block?"

  "Maybe both," she replied.

  "Well, the architect in me screams for symmetry, but that's not what you're about. However, you have a great color scheme. Perhaps a gradation from light to dark."

  "A gradient won't work. It'll be too subtle."

  "And you're not at all about being subtle," he said with a smile.

  Melanie turned her head to his leg and bit him.

  "Ow," he said playfully. It had hurt, but not that much. However, he was not about to let her know that fact. Melanie laughed as she turned her head back to the canvas.

  "Well, if not subtle, then perhaps bold. How about a radical color change? I would never do it, but then again this is art not architecture," he said.

  Melanie sat up quickly and looked at him. He could see that she was thinking. If he looked carefully, he believed he might see the wheels turning in her mind. The smile left her face and her head turned back to her canvas. For a moment, she resembled a bird whose head moves in odd jerking motions. Michael just watched her as she thought about her next moves.

  She stood quickly, returned to her canvas, and began to paint. Michael was pleased to be of some assistance, although he doubted he had been much help. However, he also hated himself for it. Melanie's head on his lap, with her knees curled up on the couch, had been something he enjoyed. Now that she was gone, he missed it.

  Luckily for him, Melanie painted for only twenty minutes and then took the time to clean her equipment. When she returned to him, it was just past five in the morning, and he was pleased to have her head in his lap again. He stroked her hair for a moment as she breathed deeply, apparently intent on staring at her painting. He looked at it as well and enjoyed the colors.

  She had swirled the upper corner with a mixture of green and purple. The design was interesting and flowed well, and Michael believed he liked it. That was often the case with him and art. Part of him liked it and part of him did not. His job called for straight lines and things such as door hardware—not exactly the most glamorous notions in design.

  "How long have you been up?" he asked her without taking his eyes of the artwork. The wet oils reflected well in the light and kept his focus. It was a few seconds before he realized that Melanie had not responded. He looked down and saw that she was asleep.

  The image presented to him at that moment enraptured him. Continuing to stroke her hair, he watched her sleep with her head on his lap. He didn't consider moving; that might disturb her. Besides, he didn't know how long she had been awake and she probably needed her sleep. The fact that she felt comfortable enough to curl up with him warmed his heart, and as he stared at her, he came to realize one important truth.

  "Michael Angel," he whispered to himself as he stroked her hair, "This woman is going to be trouble for you."

  Chapter 4

  "Don't you have to get to work?" Michael asked Melanie as she emerged from her poor excuse of a bathroom.

  "I'll get there," she replied as she dried her hair. "And don't you have to get to work as well?" she asked in return.

  "Yep, but I'm one of the bosses, so I get a break."

  "Oh, you're one of them," she said as she rolled her eyes. "Well, you might want to think of a good excuse for being late. Us underlings like to know you're not just slacking off," she said as she threw her towel at him.

  Michael dodged it easily.

  "I'll just tell them I was getting laid last night, and the woman couldn’t get enough of me," he chuckled.

  "Oh great, a work of fiction," she replied with an eye roll as she bounced up to him and gave him a peck on the cheek.

  Michael allowed her the quick show of affection by bending down to grant her easy access to his face. He then took a sip of his coffee, and made certain he had all of his belongings. It wasn't much, just his clothes, his wallet, his keys and a phone.

  "Melanie, can I see you again?" he asked as they exited her apartment.

  "Sure, you still have my number right?"

  "Yep, I put it in my phone," he replied.

  "Good boy," she said as she began to head down the stairs. Much like the day before, she seemed to dance as she walked. Michael found it an odd contrast to the serious nature displayed when she painted. Like two sides of a very odd coin. One side light-hearted and flaky, the other focused and intense. He could understand it to some degree; she was an artist and demonstrated two extremes—almost simultaneously.

  Before they separated for the day, they made plans to see each other again. Conflicting schedules required it to be a few days later, but Michael wouldn't leave her presence until she consented to some future activity. In the end, she agreed that he could call her on Friday at three PM, and she would answer the phone so they could make plans for the evening. That was all Michael could get her to agree to, but he took it happily.

  Friday arrived, and as fate would have it, the S.A.M. was having its Rave. Melanie had forgotten about it until the last minute, and she convinced Michael to attend the event with her. It didn't take much convincing. He called her, and she explained the situation clearly to him over the phone.

  "Well, Michael, you either go to the Rave with me or spend the night alone," she had said.

  "I don't like ultimatums," he responded dryly.

  "Well, then consider it a choice," she said back to him, and Michael could almost feel her smile.

  "I'll do that thing you really like," she added with emphasis.

  Michael honestly had no idea to what she was referring, but decided he had to find out. He quickly agreed to the event and even set a time to pick her up.

  "That's a good Angel," she said and hung up the phone.

  Right on time, Michael arrived at her building, and after buzzing the bell, she joined him on the street.

  "Wow," he said to her. "A woman that's ready when she's supposed to be. I think you're a keeper."

  "Oh, really," she responded. "And how do I look?"

  Michael didn't need to say anything. His eyes had already popped out of his head when she exited the building, and they repeated the performance as she turned around for him.

  "Not to worry, little Angel," she said coyly. "That look says it all."

  Michael could certainly understand her comment. While he had chosen business casual, Melanie had chosen an elegant fall dress with cleavage down to her navel. The skirt portion flared out with ruffles, while the upper portion was tight enough to keep her breasts in check. How that occurred was something that he could only guess at, but honestly he didn’t care. He just took one of her hands, which were wearing elbow length gloves, and began to lead her away.

  "Two sides of a coin," he said to her as he twirled her.

  "What?" she asked, after she had turned fully.

  Michael took the opportunity to explain his comment, and Melanie nodded her understanding.

  "Ah, well, when I'm at the office I spend much of my time thinking about art or culture. But, when I paint, it's all about the work."

  "Ever think about painting full-time?" he asked as they headed down the sidewalk. The Seattle Art Museum was not too far away, and they had decided to make the journey on foot. Actually, Melanie had decided they would walk and Michael complied.

  "I do, but the money isn't there yet. I barely make enough to live on, even with a full time job."

  "I'm surprised you can afford the loft you have. It isn't big, but I would think it's still expensive," he commented.

  Melanie's face became odd and then she shrugged at the idea.

  "Well," she said. "I don't have a car; I use public transportation when I need to. Plus, my dad pays a big portion of the rent. That way I can spend money on supplies and important things like food."

  "That's nice of him," Michael said. "He must love you a lot."

  Melanie acted as if she had been shot. Her smile faded rapidly,
and she stared at Michael; if he had slapped her across the face she wouldn't have appeared any different. Michael immediately knew something was wrong, and he considered the comment he had just made. However, for the life of him, he couldn't remember exactly what he had said. Melanie's odd reaction took his entire focus, and his mind wouldn't work properly.

  A smile suddenly returned to her face, and she pulled his hand into the air and twirled herself.

  "Come on, my little Angel, I don't want to miss the Rave."

  Like a storm passing suddenly, Melanie was back to her normal self. Michael wanted to address the issue, but felt awkward. He didn't know her well enough to delve deeply into her personality, and if she had taken offense at something he had said, then she had obviously forgiven him. Playing it safe, he smiled and agreed to pick up the pace; he also decided to take the opportunity to correct his carefree partner.

  "And don't call me little Angel," he said. "That's what my niece and nephew are. I haven't been a little angel in over twenty years, although my mother still calls me one from time to time."

  "Oh, well then I'll just call you my personal Angel," she said as she danced away from him.

  They eventually made it to the museum, and Michael had to admit that he was impressed. The first thing he noticed was that the entry line was a block long and very wide. In addition, the outside building soffits had colored lights, and laser effects were being cast against the white walls. Through the two story windows that graced most of the first floor, they could see people dancing, strobe effects, a live band, and another laser show being performed for those inside the lobby.

  "Nice," he said as he and Melanie walked to the back of the line. "Any idea how long it takes to get inside?"

  "Oh, about fifteen to thirty minutes with a line this long," she commented.

  Michael watched the entryway for a second and his brow furrowed. Melanie continued to pull him along but his curiosity got the better of him.

  "Why don't those people have to wait?" he asked as he tilted his head in the direction of the doors. Melanie stopped her advance and looked to the museum. The building had several front doors and the far left ones were currently being used for special admittance.

  "Oh, that’s for members of the museum," she said as she pulled him along. "Apparently they get special treatment and don't have to wait in line."

  Michael jerked her hand and pulled her to a stop. Melanie turned to him and gave him a look that simply said, "What?"

  "Come on, Dancy Girl," he said as he turned about and led her to the far left front doors. She followed willingly, and for once, she was wide-eyed.

  "Michael Angel," he said to the attendant just inside the door. The man took a moment to look at a computer tablet and then nodded his head.

  "Welcome, Mr. Angel," he said, and handed Michael a couple of tickets. "These are for complementary glasses of wine for you and your guest. Enjoy the evening."

  "Absolutely," Michael replied.

  Michael had to admit he felt good. Sure, he was a member of the museum, but all that usually got him was admittance without standing in line to buy tickets and a reminder each year to renew his membership. What he had just experienced was like being a VIP to a swanky party. He chuckled as he thought about it; apparently, he was a VIP to a swanky party.

  Melanie was pleased and quickly took the tickets.

  "That was neat," she said. "Let's go get our wine. Oh, you have to get a wristband first. That's so people over twenty-one can be identified easily; no wrist band and a glass of wine in your hand is a bad thing."

  Michael understood and let Melanie drag him over to the makeshift bar. They got their wristbands, and she then set her mind to getting some wine.

  "Michael Angel," a voice called out to him, and the two of them had to stop.

  Michael looked at the middle-aged man that was approaching. The gentleman was beyond middle age, was going grey, had a well-trimmed beard, and dressed for the evening in a suit; he stood out in this crowd more than Michael did, and it took a minute for the Angel to place the man.

  "Allen," he said as he finally made the connection and extended his hand.

  Allen took it warmly. "I didn't expect you here tonight. I wouldn't think the Rave was really your style."

  "It's not," Melanie piped up. "It's mine."

  "Ah," Michael said as he turned to introduce his date. "Allen this is Melanie Price. Melanie this is Allen Perkins. He's one of the curators."

  "Pleased to meet you," Allen said as he shook her hand. "Any friend of an Angel is a friend of mine," he joked.

  "Ooh, I'll have to remember that one," she replied. Michael just rolled his eyes at the comment.

  "Are your brothers going to be here tonight?" Allen asked.

  Michael laughed. "What do you think?" he asked in return, and then after a moment's thought. "Although, I can almost see Brian here."

  Allen looked around and thought about the comment. He shrugged his shoulders and seemed to accept the premise.

  "Is Brian an art lover?" Melanie asked.

  She was then affronted by two men laughing so hard that nearby people had to turn and see what was so funny. Allen eventually calmed down enough to answer Melanie's question.

  "Oh, Brian Angel has many likes, but art is not one of them," he said while still chuckling. "What I think Michael was alluding to was the alcohol and the women in skimpy clothes."

  "And the loud music," Michael added.

  "Hmm, maybe I would like him," Melanie stated innocently.

  "In that dress, he would certainly like you," Michael responded with a wink.

  "Not exactly his taste though," Allen said as he eyed Melanie.

  Melanie frowned. She didn't like being dismissed so easily by someone and had to ask Allen for clarification about why she was not Brian's type.

  "Simple," he replied. "You've strung together more than three sentences without swearing."

  "Oh," Melanie replied. "Then maybe I won't like him."

  "Not too worry, Ms. Price. All the Angels behave in public. If they didn't, their mother would punish them severely," Allen laughed. "Well, I'll let you get to it. If you get a chance, head upstairs; we have a nice Renoir on display."

  Melanie cringed and Allen noted it. His eyes cocked oddly and he gestured to Michael.

  "Oh, it's nothing," he said. "Melanie is an artist and doesn't like the sterile feel of the museum."

  "You're preaching to the choir on that one. If I had my choice, we would add some warmth to that sterility," Allen said with a wave of his hand before asking Melanie if she really was an artist.

  Melanie nodded her head, and when Allen asked about her medium, she began to describe her supplies. Allen quickly became engrossed; he appeared to be impressed by the names of the equipment and paints she used. Michael had seen the names on the tubes of paint, and had believed Melanie when she told him how much they had cost, but that apparently was only half the tale. Allen understood the quality of each item she described, and for several minutes, Melanie held a conversation with a museum curator as if she were a contemporary. All the while, the man was honestly impressed.

  Allen asked about brushes and Melanie responded with words like "filberts" and "fan size." To Michael it was all confusing, but he made a mental decision to learn about Melanie's work. Not just so that he could be part of conversations like this, but so he could converse with her personally.

  As he listened to the dialogue, he didn't say a word, but he smiled and couldn’t take his eyes off Melanie. In the last few minutes of his life, he had been given special entry into a fine event, been offered complimentary wine, and was now witnessing one of the museum's curators being impressed by the intelligence and wit of his escort and lover. It all seemed surreal, and Michael found that he enjoyed it immensely.

  "He seems nice," she said as they made their way to the bar.

  "Oh, Allen is a good friend, and he seemed to like you."

  "What's not to like?" she asked him
as she grabbed his hand and made him twirl her.

  The line at the bar was short, and the two were soon drinking wine and walking the floor. People were dancing off to one side, and Melanie informed Michael that he would be required to dance with her sometime in the evening. Michal rolled his eyes and shook his head. When he returned his gaze to Melanie, she had her arms crossed, the wine glass held safely, and one foot tapping. She glared at him with evil intent, and Michael obediently apologized and mentioned that dancing would be the most wonderful activity of the night.

  "That's a good Angel," she said as she turned and walked him through the event.

  It was just a moment later when the tables were turned on the couple. It was now Michael's chance to meet an acquaintance of Melanie's. This was precipitated by Melanie spying someone from across the room and waving an arm excitedly while shouting a name. The tactic failed to achieve the desired result, and Melanie quickly handed Michael her wine glass and proceeded to jump up and down, waving both hands back and forth.

  As he watched Melanie jumping, Michael knew he should be embarrassed, but all he could do was nod knowingly to the people that passed by.

  Yep, she's with me, he thought and smiled to the onlookers to make sure that fact was made clear to them.

  "Come on," Melanie said, as she grabbed his arm and pulled him through the crowd.

  Michael did his best to keep the wine stable and follow at her quick pace. When he realized he was running through a museum, being pulled along by a woman half his weight, all while trying to keep wine from spilling, he had to smile yet again.

  "Melanie!" came an answering cry as they approached two women standing on the wide granite stairs that led down to the lower levels.

  Michael couldn't help but judge the women immediately; he didn't condemn them, but he did place them socially. They both appeared to be younger than Melanie but not by much. The one that had cried out looked like a girl from an Anime movie. She was Caucasian, as was the other girl, and sported pink and blue hair while wearing a dress that reminded Michael of Sailor Moon; he had to shake his head when he realized that he understood that reference well enough to make the connection.