Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set

by Lashell Collins

  Walking around to my trunk, I pull out the empty garment bag and suitcase that I’ve brought with me from Josh’s place and head inside. I smile demurely at the doorman on my way to the elevator and as I’m waiting for it, I glance anxiously around the lobby. I assumed Mr. Martin would meet me down here but, I don’t see him. Well you’re a big girl, Sam. You can manage a few minutes on your own. I roll my eyes at myself once more as I step into the elevator and the doors close in front of me.

  I can do this. I can do this. I chant to myself as I am whisked up to the top floor, taking several deep breaths and trying to steel myself for what’s about to come. And I’m slightly startled when I step off the lift and Martin is standing at my apartment door, waiting for me expectantly. I feel a small wave of relief. He smiles and nods his head at me as I approach.

  “Good morning, Mr. Martin. Thank you for meeting me,” I say quietly.

  “Miss Colby.”

  I feel a little foolish as I take out my key and unlock the door. He probably thinks this is a ridiculous assignment. “Um, I’m sorry. I know you probably have a million other things you could be doing right now instead of babysitting me. I’m sure this will be a very boring few hours for you. I’ll try to speed things up if I can.”

  “My job is to go wherever your brother and your uncle need me to, Miss Colby. I don’t mind being here; you take as long as you need, ma’am.”

  I smile at his response and open the door slowly, and step inside. The living room area has been cleaned and there is hardly a trace that anything bad ever took place here. Only the out of place knickknack here or there. And I can smell the scent of cleaning products. I stand for a second or two and take a deep cleansing breath. I can do this, I chant once more as I close my eyes and try not to picture Timothy Echols looming over me with his hands grabbing at my body. The scent of cigarette smoke suddenly fills my nostrils and I jump, gasping loudly, glancing around with wide, startled eyes.

  “Miss Colby?”

  “I’m fine,” I whisper, slightly embarrassed. “Thank you.” Glancing at my watch, I see that I have close to an hour before Lola is due to arrive. I have a few things to take care of before she gets here so, I set my bags down and begin.

  First, I head into the kitchen, trying to think of Mr. Martin as a piece of furniture or something. He’s standing near the doorway just looking around the apartment. I set about making a large pot of coffee and then I take three cups from the cupboard and make up the serving tray.

  That task finished, I pick up my purse and my discarded luggage and turn to Martin. “Please feel free to help yourself to coffee when it’s ready. I need to take care of something in the other room.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  I take my bags into the bedroom then and set them on the bed and open them up. And then for the next half hour, I fill them both with more clothes and shoes from my closet and drawers. As I’m zipping up my suitcase, my phone buzzes.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, baby. You at the apartment yet?” His deep soft voice is full of concern, and I smile to myself.

  “Yeah, I just got here a short while ago. Are you checking up on me, Detective?”

  “I just want to make sure my girl’s all right,” he answers, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Martin’s there with you?”

  “Yes, he is. I’m just waiting for Lola to get here.”

  “You sure you’re okay,” he asks softly, and I know that I’m not fooling him. He really does know me so well already. But I don’t want to tell him about my run-in with Mom over the phone.

  I hesitate for a moment and sigh. “I’m okay,” I say softly. “Just between you and me though … I can’t wait to get out of here and go back home.”

  He is quiet for a moment and I can hear him breathing. “Home?” The word is softly spoken and full of mystery and wonder. Possibilities.

  “Home,” I repeat softly, suddenly feeling a little anxious. Am I making him nervous by calling his place home?

  “I can’t wait to get home myself,” he says softly.

  “Are you having a bad day, Detective?”

  “No. I just like being with you.” His words make me melt. He has a way of saying the sweetest, most romantic things sometimes.

  “Oh, Josh,” I sigh.

  “Listen, baby, I have to go. Time to question a suspect.” His voice has taken on that all-business tone he gets when he’s working, and I smile. “You remember what I said … if you need me, don’t hesitate to call, all right?”

  “I’ll remember,” I promise, still smiling to myself. “Love you.” The words roll freely and easily off my tongue and, the moment they do, I get an anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach. What is that about? He already knows that I’m in love with him; I tell him all the time. Maybe you’re just anxious that he won’t say it back over the phone. Saying it at all is still very new to him, after all.

  There is a brief pause from him, and I can imagine his startled look – eyes wide, blinking rapidly, one or both hands running through his hair. Then he’ll swallow nervously and frown. Yes, perhaps I already know him just as well as he already knows me.

  “I love you.”

  His words are spoken softly and timidly, almost as if he truly is afraid of them. But they make me smile just the same. He clears his throat then and says, “Call me later. Let me know when you finish up there, okay?”

  Part of his strategy, I know, is to change the subject because he feels uncomfortable. But part of this is because he wants to check up on me and make sure I’m okay after spending time in my apartment. I like the fact that he worries about me; it makes me feel like I’m precious to him.

  I promise to let him know when I’m finished, and we hang up then. And after I have both bags of luggage stuffed with as many clothes and shoes as I can fit in them, I take them out to the living room, along with both my gray ostrich and brown crocodile Birkins. As I enter, Martin sets his coffee mug down and hurries over from the kitchen.

  “Let me get those for you, ma’am,” he says, taking them from me. “Where would you like them?”

  “They can just sit by the door until we’re ready to leave. Thank you, Martin.” He nods curtly at me and sets the bags by the door.

  “I’m expecting a friend any minute, Miss Lola Thorne. I’ll be upstairs in the studio, if you could show her up, please?”

  “Yes, of course, ma’am.” I smile and nod at him and then head for the stairs. He makes me nervous, always hovering. I couldn’t live with security all the time, like this. It would drive me crazy.

  I make my way upstairs and begin to pick up where I left off several days ago, going through all of my completed canvases and separating out the nudes. As I work, I realize that I have a few more than I originally thought. Almost two dozen of them in total, and about a third of them are in oil. When Lola arrives, I am standing back, appraising each one and feeling totally inadequate. They all look so amateurish to me. Why on earth anyone would be interested in looking at them is beyond me, but Lola seems to feel otherwise.

  “Oh my Gosh, Sam. They are just exquisite,” she whispers in awe. “I wish I had one tenth of your talent!”

  “Lola, you can’t be serious,” I say, feeling dismayed. “They look like a five year old painted them.”

  “Are you out of your mind? Samantha … they’re beautiful! No five year old could ever come close! Your color palette is vibrant and bold and your subjects always appear so alive and animated. I almost expect them to move at any moment. I keep trying to place your style but it’s too complex. Your subjects are always gorgeous so, naturally I want to say Pre-Raphaelite but … I think that’s too simplistic. Your work is a combination, as if no one category is strong enough to hold you. You refused to be caged in!”

  Her words stun me. I am speechless listening to her.

  “Your sketches are truly remarkable but … you should paint more. These are magnificent,” she says definitively. Then she sighs heavily and says
, “Well, I think I should take them all. We’ll get them back to the gallery and then you and I can go through them and decide which ones we want to include in the show, okay?”

  “Okay,” I nod, deferring to her expertise. I head downstairs to get us coffee, and then stand aside and watch as Lola supervises two gallery workers as they carefully cover my canvases and carry them out of the studio, loading them into a waiting van. As they work, I pull out my iPad and show Lola a photograph of the reworked sketch of Josh sleeping that I’ve completed. It’s only slightly less beautiful than the original which shows his handsome face, but Lola flips over it.

  “Oh, it’s perfect! And was he okay with it?” she asks, looking at me pointedly. “He’s okay with this version being shown?”

  “Yes. As long as he’s not identifiable, it’s good to go,” I assure her.

  “Wonderful!”

  I chew my bottom lip for a second as I try to decide whether or not to show her something else. Oh, what the heck! Taking a deep breath, I scroll to another picture on my iPad. “Lola, I wanted to show you these,” I say somewhat bashfully, wondering what she’ll think. “Um … I know for this show, you’re only interested in my nudes but, I just wondered what you thought of them.”

  I show her pictures of the series of sketches I’ve drawn of Josh working out. It’s become one of my favorite things to do, and I now have sketch after sketch to prove it. He’s always such a willing model, I just can’t help myself. Whenever he’s in his exercise room and I wander in, sketchbook in hand, he doesn’t say a word. He’ll just get this small smile on his face and then try to ignore me as I capture every angle of his perfect form. There are sketches of him performing various exercises, like lifting weights, doing push ups, and sit ups, and pull ups. There are even sketches of him running on his treadmill and sparring with a boxing bag.

  “Sam … these are amazing,” she whispers, scrolling through the pics and then back again. “They are so fluid. Again, it’s like your subject is actually moving on the page!”

  “It’s him,” I reply shyly. “My muse. He inspires me, I suppose.”

  “Oh, honey, there is only so much a muse can do,” Lola says matter-of-factly. “You are truly gifted, Samantha.”

  I blush slightly at her words and take a big, surprised breath. “Thank you.”

  “No. Thank you … for saying yes to this show. You are about to set my gallery, and the art world, on fire, Sam Colby!” I don’t know what to say. So I just blink at her in stunned silence, and she continues. “The focus of your show just changed. I know they’re not nudes but, they’re too exquisite to pass up. We’ll call your show something like … oh, I don’t know … ‘The Body Electric,’ and we’ll showcase not only your nudes but, also this series of your model and his beautiful body in motion! What do you think?”

  She looks at me expectantly, her eyes shining with excitement, and her enthusiasm is so contagious. There’s no way I can burst her bubble. “I think it sounds amazing!”

  “Wonderful! I’m so excited, Sam!” She grabs my hands in hers and squeezes and I can’t help but laugh at her. Over coffee, we talk more then about the show, hammering out all of the little details that need to be taken care of. And I am more than nervous when she points out that the show is only a mere two weeks away. Yikes! But we talk through everything and, by the time she leaves, I am feeling a lot more confident.

  After she’s gone, I venture downstairs to where Martin stands waiting by the door. Does he ever sit? I quickly clean the coffee pot and cups, leaving them in the dish drainer to dry, and then I’m ready to go. I grab my purse, along with the two empty ones that I’m taking with me, and Martin carries my luggage down and loads them into my car for me. After I thank him profusely for staying with me, I am on my way.

  *****

  The rest of my week passes by in a blur of activity. Between my job at the museum and meeting Lola after work each day to decide on a final line up of which paintings to include in the show, not to mention spending quality time with Josh, my head is spinning. This show is going to be the death of me! Every day it seems as though there is something new to consider – things I never imagined went into putting together an exhibit like this. Things like advertising and catering. I don’t know how Lola keeps it all together! But apparently you have to find a way to get the word out so that the right people show up to actually look at, and possibly purchase, my artwork. And then, once you get them there, it’s nice to give them some complimentary hors d’oeuvres and wine, to keep them happy while they stroll around and pick apart that artwork. I am so nervous I’m in a constant state of nausea each day but, I can’t back out; I have to do this. I can do this! It’s become my new mantra; I chant it to myself all the time these days.

  But Josh is being so incredibly supportive. Each day he does something wonderful to lift my spirits or to boost my self-confidence. Like yesterday, he came home with a single Esperance rose for me. It was so sweet and thoughtful. Just like him. And the day before that, he came home and immediately made me change into something comfortable, and then we jumped into his truck and drove just north of downtown, to Magnolia Bluff and went hiking in Discovery Park. It was so much fun! We held hands as we trailed around the natural woodlands and spotted lots of birds and wildlife. It was just what I needed to relax and unwind. In fact, I enjoyed it so much, I asked him if we could do it again later this week and he agreed.

  So after work, I hurry home in order to throw our dinner together. I put all the ingredients for a batch of delicious beef and barley soup into the crockpot and set it to low. It will cook away and be ready for us by the time we get back home.

  That task accomplished, I scurry into the bedroom and set about changing my clothes. I change into a pair of comfy black yoga pants and a black tank top. Then I pull on a long-sleeved Victoria Secret NFL t-shirt that says ‘Seahawks fans are great kissers.’ I put on my gray and blue Nikes and I’m ready to go by the time Josh walks in the door.

  “Don’t you look cute,” he smiles at me, and I wrap my arms around him and kiss him eagerly. “Mmm, Seahawks fans are good kissers,” he mutters as he kisses me again, more deeply this time. Then he pats my bottom affectionately and heads off to the bedroom. I wait patiently while he changes into a pair of gray athletic pants, a t-shirt, jacket and running shoes, and we head out the door.

  We talk during the ride over to the park and he asks me all about my day and what’s going on with the show preparations. And he laughs at me when I tell him that I think the stress of it all may drive me insane. Then I bite my bottom lip nervously, wanting to talk to him about an idea and wondering what he’ll think.

  “Josh, what would you say if I told you I was thinking about donating all the proceeds from my show? I mean, assuming that anyone will actually want to buy any of my artwork in the first place.”

  He glances over at me with a thoughtful look. “Donate it how?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. I was thinking I’d maybe use it to help fund art and music programs in the public school system here in Seattle. Do you think that’s a silly idea?”

  He smiles slowly and looks over at me, taking my hand. “I think it’s an incredible idea, baby.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, I absolutely do.”

  His words make me smile and they encourage me to tell him more. As he drives, his thumb moves rhythmically over the knuckles of my hand, helping to calm my nerves. “Do you remember me telling you that I wanted to use my trust fund to make a difference in someone’s life somehow?”

  “I do,” he answers quietly.

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about it. I think I’d like to set up an art scholarship endowment at the University of Washington, in my dad’s name. That way, each year I’d be able to help some talented young person get an education and maybe reach their artistic goals someday.”

  He says nothing for several seconds, and I wonder what he’s thinking. His eyebrows lift, reaching for the sky. I
think I’ve surprised him. “Samantha, I think that’s a wonderful idea. And I know that I never had the pleasure of meeting your father but … I imagine that he’d be unbelievably proud of you, baby.”

  I am grinning like a loon at his words, he makes me feel so confident and good about myself. “You really think it’s a good idea?”

  “You know it’s an excellent idea, Sam.” He smiles at me and I bite my lower lip once again. I’ll have to contact the financial adviser Lucas set me up with and get the ball rolling on both of these ideas. And I can’t help wondering what Lucas will think. Or what Mom would think.

  Pushing that thought from my mind, I focus on the present, and Josh and I ride in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. When I ask about his day he tells me about the cases he and Conner are working on right now. I like hearing about his work and I’m always fascinated by his mind, the way approaches his cases like a mystery to be solved or a puzzle to figure out, examining all the different elements individually and then focusing on how they all fit together. He really is very smart and insightful.

  When we get to the park and get out of the truck, he takes my hand and we pick a different trail than the one we took earlier this week. We walk in silence for a little while, just enjoying the pretty scenery and each other’s presence and it feels nice. Finally, I break the comfortable silence.

  “I really like this. We should take walks more often,” I say, looking up at him, and he smiles at me.

  “Well, we can. We can walk as often as you like, baby.” He gives me his mega-watt, heartthrob smile and I melt. Then he lets go of my hand and wraps his arm around me, pulling me close as we walk. “I’m glad you enjoy this. I like being outside.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. Fresh air … nature … what’s not to like? Have you ever been camping?”

  “Um, no.” My voice is decidedly unreceptive to the idea. “Hiking is one thing but, I draw the line at sleeping on the ground with bugs.”