Bleu Balls

by Tara Lain

  Mrs. Packington spread her arms. “With all this beauty, the only question to ask is, what am I going to leave for anyone else to buy?”

  Robin snorted. Mrs. P. winked at him, and Bobby led her to their pieces, glowing with ecstasy.

  Thank the gods for Bobby. Without him Robin would starve, and everything he painted would be hidden in an attic with sixteen black cats.

  Robin wandered down the aisle a few feet to peer at a display of elaborate dimensional collages—beautiful but too strict for his taste. Someone oohing over art in another booth backed into him, and Robin cringed. The crowds were getting bigger. This party might be great for business, as Bobby insisted, but for Robin it was the worst of the worst. More about being seen than seeing. A lot of the VIPs had plenty of taste for the cheap champagne, but not much for the expensive art. He hurried back to his stool in the corner.

  Bobby was saying, “I promise that after tonight I’ll take both pieces down so no one else even gets to look at them, okay? But we didn’t bring enough inventory to fill the spaces, so we’ll have to get some tomorrow. I’ll deliver the pieces to you next week and hang them myself.”

  “Promise you won’t let anyone else even touch them, much less buy them.”

  “I promise.”

  “Don’t let him forget, Robin.”

  He held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  “I think that’s the Brownies, but point taken.”

  Bobby started processing the sale, and Robin stared at his shoes.

  A voice from the aisle behind them said, “Thanks, I’ll have another glass of champagne.” Shit! Robin sat up straighter. I know that voice. He slid off the stool. Bobby was still deep in conversation with Mrs. Packington, using the mysterious tablet device to ring up her transaction. From the gleam in his eye, this had to be quite a few figures worth of sale. Damn. Can’t disturb him.

  He grabbed a piece of notepaper from the small desk pushed against the wall and scribbled Paolo Lind is coming. Shouldn’t see us both. Pretend to be me.

  He hurried over to Bobby and Mrs. Packington. “Excuse me. Take a quick look at this. I have to run off for a few minutes. It’s important.”

  “But—”

  He kissed a startled Mrs. P. on the cheek and took off at a jog in the opposite direction of Lind’s imminent arrival. As he turned the corner, he glanced back and caught the stunned look on Bobby’s face.

  Shit. I can be him, but can he be me?

  BOBBY’S GAZE zipped all over the aisle, then returned to Mrs. P. “So I’ll see you next week. I’ll call to set up a time. Since I’m also manning Sawdust, I’ll have to fit it in the cracks.”

  “What’s Robin doing? Is the antisocial one leaving you in the lurch?” She smiled.

  “Oh no, nothing like that. He’s just working on a commission.”

  “How exciting.”

  He scanned the aisle again. How the hell could he pretend to be Robin when Mrs. P. knew him so well?

  “Are you all right, dear?”

  “Oh yes, fine.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “There’s just someone here I’m a little nervous about seeing. Sorry if I seem antsy.”

  “Oooh, is it a boyfriend or an ex?”

  He giggled. “I wish. No, a client.” He looked around. “If he shows up, I have to be all straitlaced and professional, since he’s kind of a conservative guy.” There, that might explain his behavior in advance. But what if she called him Bobby? He glanced up and sucked air.

  “What?”

  “Don’t look. That’s him.”

  Of course, she stared right at Paolo as he approached with a medium-height older guy. “Oh, I know him. That’s Paolo Lind, the architect. He’s a real genius, and I’ve heard he can be an SOB, but I’ve always found him charming. I understand that’s his boyfriend. Very rich. Hard to imagine that’s Paolo’s type.”

  “Oh.” Well, that certainly punched his gut. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard acting like the melancholy brother.

  “I’ll take off and let you deal with him, dear. Just make sure he doesn’t buy my paintings.”

  “I promise.” But it was hard smiling and twinkling just then.

  “Don’t worry. He’s harmless.”

  “Right.” His smile died completely. Not so harmless when he held the key to their successful year and they were up to their eyes in twin lies. Of course, the mural was started, so it seemed unlikely Lind would fire them, but he could trash their reputation among those rich enough to afford their work.

  He busied himself with papers on the teeny desk, but his spine tingled.

  “Now this is good work, Joseph. Look at the power and composition.” Lind’s voice.

  “If you say so. Just looks like a big jumble of colors to me. I don’t get this abstract shit.”

  Lind’s sardonic tone crept into his voice. “True, it’s not dogs playing poker.”

  “Don’t be a wiseass.” The guy laughed, but no mistake. That was an order.

  Silence.

  “Bobby?”

  Ignore him.

  “Bobby, is that you?”

  Bobby looked around as if he’d been unaware of Lind. Desperately, he tried not to smile. “Uh, no.”

  “Oh, Robin.” He looked disappointed, a little confused, and something else—like conflicted.

  “We just had a brain fart and dyed our hair the same color. Haven’t done it since we were kids.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “See anything you like?” He could have been referring to the art.

  The guy next to Lind stuck out his hand. “I’m Joseph Osterlitz.”

  “McMillan. Robin McMillan.”

  “You’re the painter? Of this?” He pointed to the walls.

  “One of them. Me and my brother.”

  Lind said, “Bobby’s—” He waved his hand.

  “Painting.” He didn’t specifically say that he was doing the mural.

  Lind turned to Osterlitz. “These are the artists I told you about who are doing the mural in my building.”

  “Oh yeah. Well, I guess that’ll be about right for that building.” He laughed.

  Bobby raised an eyebrow like Robin would. “Oh? You don’t like Mr. Lind’s building?”

  “I go more for Mediterranean.”

  Bobby gritted his teeth. What an asshole. “How very Orange County of you.” Most of the ultraconservative county liked to pretend it was the Italian Riviera.

  Osterlitz missed the irony entirely. “Exactly. Hey, California tradition.”

  Bobby channeled his brother hard and had fun doing it. “Not really, Mr. Osterlitz. California modern is the only original architecture in the state. Mr. Lind is a true innovator in California design.”

  “If you say so.”

  Lind looked surprised and a little crinkly at the corner of his eyes. He looked at Osterlitz. “Shall we go get more champagne?”

  “Yes, that’s one thing guaranteed to be good.”

  “Good to see you, Robin.”

  Bobby inclined his head and stared after them as they walked away—slowly releasing his breath as they went. Sadly, watching that tall, lean figure in his perfectly tailored suit, his dick wanted to run along behind.

  Chapter Eleven

  ROBIN SIPPED champagne and hid inside the T-shirt and souvenir booth. Paolo would never come into that space. Wonder who that guy is with him? Hell, Paolo couldn’t have been much more flirtatious when he climbed the scaffold to visit “Bobby.” If this dude’s his boyfriend, what the hell is he doing making goo-goo eyes at another guy?

  “Uh, Mr. McMillan?”

  Robin whirled and came face to chocolate eyes with Dr. Micah Brown. “Oh, hi.” Jesus, was every handsome man in Orange County at the festival tonight? A really pretty young woman stood next to him, holding a T-shirt that read Art is Subversive. If Micah hadn’t said he was gay, Robin would have assumed a girlfriend.

  He stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Robin McMillan.”

  She dimpled. “Xaviera Brown. Mica
h’s big sister.”

  Micah laughed. “I’m glad you introduced yourself, because I had no idea which twin you were.”

  “You can’t tell us apart without our, uh, blood tests.” He would have said rectal exams, but there was a lady present.

  “I’ll learn. Although your black hair did make it a lot easier.”

  Robin shrugged. “I’m doing this hair for a job. Conservative client. I’ll revert, I’m sure.” He looked at Xaviera. “I agree with your T-shirt. Have you seen anything you like here?”

  “A few things. Do you have some of your work at the festival?”

  “Yes. My brother and I have a number of paintings in our booth.”

  “Oh wow, can I see them?”

  Robin glanced toward the gate. “Uh, sure.” He looked down the aisle that led toward their booth. No Lind. “Come on.”

  Xaviera hopped a little and stepped up beside him as he walked. “How long have you been painting?”

  “Since I was, like, three.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep. Finger paints in inappropriate places began my career.”

  “If that’s the criteria, Micah’s Leonardo. Hell, that kid decorated every available surface with some indelible marker or other. Our parents had to paint the dining room six times.”

  Robin looked back at Micah as he walked behind them and got the warm smile that poured liquid heat into his balls. He flashed back to sitting on the top of the scaffold with Paolo. Funny how he was attracted to both men, and both of them were attracted to Bobby. Couldn’t blame them, but damn, it made his chest hurt.

  They approached the booth, and Robin glanced around to be sure he wasn’t barging straight into Paolo Lind. Bobby was gesturing wildly in that Bobby way as he spoke with a posh-looking young couple. The man and woman were laughing. No one could resist Bobby. Robin sighed just a little.

  Robin called, “Hey, look who I found.”

  Bobby glanced up, and his face lit. “Oh my gosh. I always said my doctor was an artist.” He squealed a little, bounded over, and kissed Micah on the cheek. Micah laughed around wide eyes, but that was Bobby. Bobby turned. “And who’s this?” He extended his graceful hand to Xaviera. “I’m Bobby. Don’t tell me you’re this gorgeous man’s girlfriend, or I’ll die of heartbreak.”

  She laughed and took his hand. “I’m his sister, Xaviera. So glad to meet the other half of the famous twinset.”

  “Darling, I feel like I should be wearing cashmere and pearls.” He pressed a hand on his chest.

  She giggled. “You’re amazing.”

  “Moi? But of course. But forgive me. These lovely people are Orlando and Marquette. I’ve been explaining that the painting they most want is already sold, but we have several of a similar theme and style in the studio and can deliver them to wherever they want whenever they want for their consideration.”

  Marquette, a pretty blond with a Middle European accent, said, “But we will only be here a short time longer, and we want to buy the work and arrange for shipping.”

  For a second Bobby looked exasperated. Not a common sight.

  Robin glanced at Bobby. “What if I go to the studio now and get the other canvases?”

  “Oh, would you, darling?” He looked at Marquette. “Can you stay around for a bit?”

  “Oh yes, so much to see. We’ll be right back here in an hour, yes?”

  Robin nodded. “Yes.”

  They walked away, and Bobby turned to Robin with a hand on his forehead. “Thank you so much. Get over there fast.”

  “Which piece did they like?”

  Bobby walked to a cluster of three canvases, two of which Mrs. Packington had bought. “They like this one.” A symphony of blue in every shade and tone, the painting captured a mood somewhere between melancholy and transcendence. Robin had painted it in just such a mood—though he added most of the melancholy, while Bobby layered in the joy.

  Robin nodded. “So shall I go for the blue or the mood?”

  “Grab a couple of each. I want them to have some good choices.”

  “Can I come?” Xaviera grinned. “I’d love to see a real artist’s studio.”

  “Not much to see, but sure.”

  She looked over her shoulder. “You want to come, Micah? Then we can see all the paintings.”

  Micah glanced at Bobby—which kind of made Robin’s belly clench—then nodded. “Sure. That sounds great.”

  “Okay, come on. We’ll go quick, and you can help me carry stuff back.”

  They powered across the festival grounds. As they walked through the entrance, Micah said, “We can take my car.”

  “Thank you. More room than my Prius. I have a pass to get you back in if we can’t find a space.” He looked at the ground. Funny, he felt a little shy. Not usually his style. Maybe because he knew Micah really wanted to stay there with Bobby.

  Micah led the way to a shiny black Lexus. Robin walked to the back door.

  “Oh no, get in front, Robin, so you can point the way. Xaviera can get in back.”

  The inside of the car felt all cushy and comfortable. Robin ran a hand over the leather seats. “Nice.”

  “Glad you like it.” Micah gave him the full blast of that glistening smile. The guy should have been a dentist.

  Robin pointed, and Micah pulled out on the Canyon Road and turned left.

  Okay, small-talk time. He gritted his teeth. “So, Xaviera, what do you do?”

  She leaned forward between the seats. “You mean besides take care of my baby brother?”

  “Unless that’s a full-time job.” She was cute.

  “I’m the assistant to the president of a big nonprofit that seeks STEM training for girls, particularly those from the inner cities.”

  “STEM?” Robin pointed toward a gravel lot coming up in a block. “Turn there.”

  “Science, technology, engineering, and math.”

  “Terrifying.”

  “Sadly that’s what girls are taught to believe, and it keeps them out of many fields. Well, that and a heap of prejudice.”

  “I know about prejudice.” He pointed. “Park there.”

  Micah nodded. “So do we all.” He pulled the car into a clear spot on the gravel and stopped.

  Xaviera gripped her hand on Micah’s shoulder, and he put his own hand over it momentarily. Seemed like more of a story there than the obvious issues facing a black, gay doctor. Robin glanced at Micah and got a little smile.

  They walked across the lot, and he keyed open the single-story building he and Bobby used as a studio. The door squeaked as he pushed inside and turned on the lights they’d installed to simulate daylight. Of course, when the sun shone, the skylights provided all the illumination they needed. The concrete floor that at one time qualified as polished looked speckled with a hundred shades of paint, and aside from a big worktable, the rest of the room was furnished mostly with painting supplies and canvases standing on the shelves and display rails that lined the walls.

  Xaviera wrinkled her nose. “That’s quite a smell. Doesn’t it bother you?”

  Robin shook his head. “Oil paint, turpentine, and linseed oil—the scent of our existence. We don’t even smell it.”

  She walked around the big room, staring at the paintings. “Wow, did you do all these?”

  “Me, Bobby, and most often, both of us.”

  “I don’t know much about art, but these look really good to me.”

  The voice came from behind Robin like a long sigh. “They are.”

  Robin glanced back at Micah, who gazed at the walls like he was in church. Robin raised an eyebrow. “Thanks.”

  Micah laughed. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I said that out loud. It’s just that the wall decorating Xaviera told you about morphed into a real amateur love of art. Even while I was up to my ears in science and biology, I always managed to slip in a little art appreciation and art history. That’s why I came to the festival tonight.”

  Xaviera nodded. “Truth. He’s a real
aficionado. When he’s a rich, famous doctor, I bet he spends all his money buying art.”

  Robin didn’t want to admit what a warm glow that gave him.

  Micah shook his head. “I’ll never be a rich, famous doctor. I’m a GP, for crap’s sake.” He shrugged. “But I could easily turn out art-poor.”

  Xaviera swept her hand in a circle. “So which ones shall we take?”

  Robin pulled two medium-sized canvases down, both of which had blur motifs. He held them up. “You saw the paintings that couple liked. What do you think? Will they appreciate these as much?”

  “Oooh yeah, I think so.”

  Micah shook his head. “Possibly not since the one in the booth has that yin-yang quality. Sadness and joy. These have a lighter mood.” He smiled. “I’d guess Bobby painted them.”

  Robin stared at Micah. Damn. Who really got that—except him and Bobby? “Yes, that’s true.”

  Micah smiled at the painting like he wanted to pet it. “So light and full of joy.” He blinked and glanced up. “The buyers may not know that’s what they like about that other painting, but—” He turned in a circle, then pointed at a canvas all deep gray and golden yellow. “There. That has a lot of the same feeling.”

  Son of a bitch, if he wasn’t right on. “Yes.” Robin pulled down the canvas, set it on the floor and then grabbed another. “This one too.”

  Micah looked at it seriously. “I agree.”

  Robin almost laughed. Their own art critic. So cute.

  They hauled the canvases out to the Lexus, laid them carefully in the trunk, and returned to the festival. By the time they got approval to go through the gate with their treasures and trotted back to the booth, Bobby was looking a bit frantic. “Took you a while.” Robin gave him a look, and Bobby backed down. Bobby flashed his best dimpled grin at Micah. “Thank you so much for helping.”

  Micah’s honey gaze rested gently on Bobby. “My pleasure.” He seemed to wake from a trance, flashed a look at Xaviera, and amended it to, “Our pleasure.”

  Yep, the guy is clearly gone on Bobby. And how does that make you feel, Mr. Robin McMillan? Answer? Happy for his brother, but otherwise like crap. Of course, feeling like dog doo didn’t qualify as unusual for Robin. It’s a dog doo world.