by M. Leighton
When I hear the click of the voice mail picking up, I hang up and hit redial. I’m gonna bug the shit out of him until he answers.
“Hello?” a sultry feminine voice greets after the second ring.
“Uh, is Reese there?” I ask, wondering if I’ve been dialing the wrong number all along, but knowing I haven’t because I selected it from my list of contacts. No, this has to be Reese’s number.
“He’s in the shower. Can I take a message?”
“Just tell him—”
I stop, mid-sentence, when I hear my brother’s angry voice in the background. “What the hell are you doing?”
I hear the woman explain. “I got tired of listening to it ring.”
“Get your clothes and get out,” Reese demands coldly.
Ouch!
My brother has an unquenchable thirst for women, just like I do (just like all the Spencer men do, in fact), but he has no tolerance for any of them getting close to him, or dabbling in his business or his life. If I keep them at arm’s length, he keeps them at football-field length. He’s a cold bastard, but he’s my brother and I know what made him that way.
After a minute or two of listening to her apologize and beg, and then hearing her muffled crying (Reese put his hand over the mouthpiece), I finally hear his voice and only his voice. No more woman.
“What is it?”
“It’s me,” I say briefly. “It’s him. I found him. I know it’s him.”
“You did? How do you know?”
“I made the connection. His younger sister, Sloane, the girl I was telling you about, told me he used to live on Tumblin Street. That’s the missing piece. It’s him, Reese. We finally found him.”
“I’ll be damned,” he whispers. “I’ll put the word out. Start looking into him. It won’t be long now.”
“Let me know,” I say, feeling a sigh of relief build in my chest.
“I will,” Reese promises. “Good work, Hemi.”
“I told you I’d find him.”
“Yeah, you did. Thanks, man.”
“I didn’t do it for you.”
“I know. He’d thank you if he was here.”
“I know,” I admit, closing my eyes. “I know.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN- Sloane
“So you’re not going back?” Sarah asks.
I sigh as I look out the window, watching the landscape fly by in a blur of color. “I don’t really want to.”
“Then don’t. Eff him!”
“I probably should, though. I mean, it is part of my schedule now. Since I had him fill out those damn papers.” I could still kick myself for that. “Plus, I don’t want him to think he can run me off that easy.”
“You think he was trying to run you off?”
“No, I don’t think he was trying to. I just think he lost interest when his whore came back.”
“Whore? Ouch! Watch the claws, baby.”
I grin over at Sarah. “What the hell are you talking about? That was mild.”
“I’m loving this new you! I’ve never seen you jealous before.”
“Probably because no one like Hemi has ever dared to get close to me before. The Locke men don’t make it easy on a guy trying to date me, ya know?”
“And the one guy who isn’t afraid of them…”
I sigh again. “I know. It sucks balls.”
Sarah giggles. “Yes, it sucks balls. But so do I, so maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
I give Sarah a withering look. “I don’t need to know things like that, Sarah. Ever. Do you hear me?”
She gives me an exaggerated wink. “You should be taking notes, not criticizing my sharing decisions.”
“There’s no need. I’m not going to be in any position to use them any time soon. Not now.”
“Girl, you just need to put yourself out there more. Why don’t you volunteer for that art thing you were telling me about?”
I frown over at her, confused. “What ‘art thing’?”
“The nude thing. Didn’t you tell me your class was doing that as part of some kind of study on anatomy or whatever?”
“Yes, I did, but I’m not volunteering for that! Are you nuts?”
“No, I’m not nuts! I’m serious. This is just what you need to do. You talk about spreading your wings, well spread ‘em! This is something you would never have done before. But the new you…”
“The new me isn’t a synonym for the ‘stupid me’.”
“That’s not stupid. It’s brave. And it’s something outside your comfort zone, which is even more reason to do it. Maybe seeing others appreciate your body will give you a different perspective.”
“I don’t need a different perspective.”
“Yes, you do. That whore has shot your confidence all to shit. You were doing just fine until she came along. Now, all you need is a boost to get you back on top.”
“I can find other ways to get an ego boost. Ways that do not involve me stripping in front of an audience.”
“Well, it’s unfortunate that you feel that way, Sloane.”
“And why is that?” When Sarah doesn’t answer, I glance over at her. She’s visibly cringing. “Sarah? Why is that?”
“Because I had Triva sign you up for it.”
My jaw has become unhinged and now lies, unfettered, on the floorboard of Sarah’s truck. “You. Did. What?”
“Yep. I did. Sorry. I thought you’d be more agreeable to it.”
“If you thought that, you wouldn’t have gone behind my back to have Triva do it.”
“If it helps, you get five points toward your midterm for doing it. I didn’t even know that at the time, but that’s good, right?”
“Sarah…I…why in the world…”
I’m speechless. Just speechless.
“I’m doing you a favor, Sloane. Trust me.”
“I will never trust you again. Never.”
“Don’t say that. I love you! I only did this to help you.”
“Then please, for the love of God, don’t try to help me anymore.”
“Okay. This was it. No more help from me. I promise.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I mutter.
She says nothing and neither do I. Her promise will last all of about a week. Max. We both know she can’t help herself.
********
I can’t decide if victory is bittersweet, or if it’s defeat.
I talked to my instructor about the nude modeling. She wasn’t very sympathetic. I didn’t want to admit someone else had volunteered me, so all my excuses sounded lame. And she didn’t go for even one of them. So, it looks like I’m stuck taking off my clothes and sitting perfectly still in front of a hundred staring eyes on Friday night.
The victory slash defeat thing comes from the fact that it gets me out of going to The Ink Stain for at least one night. I was looking for an out. In a way. And now I have one. Even though it’s a humiliating one. But still…it’s an out.
I wait until it’s time for me to leave Thursday night before I even mention it to anyone at “work”. My purse is slung over my shoulder and I’m already at the doorway leading out into the lobby when I turn back and speak to Hemi. He’s on the other side of the room, cleaning up.
“Oh, I won’t be here tomorrow night, by the way. I’ve got a thing for school.”
Hemi’s forehead wrinkles into a frown. “A school thing? On a Friday night?”
“Yeah, it’s voluntary. Extra credit.”
It’s when Paul speaks up that things take a turn for the worse. “You’re not talking about the nude sketching for drawing anatomy, are you?”
“Uh, yeah. That’s the one.”
“I signed up for that,” he explains happily. “I take night classes and they gave ten seats to us. I signed up.” He looks back at Hemi and grins. “I mean, of course I signed up. We’ll be sketching a nude chick. Who wouldn’t want to spend their Friday evening like that?”
I laugh nervously, feeling the blood r
ush to my cheeks.
“You wanna ride over together?” he offers.
“Um, no, I, uh, I have to be there early.”
“Early? For what?”
I say nothing, my face flaming at where this conversation is going. Not only am I going to have to strip down in front of a co-worker, but now Hemi’s going to know about it.
Kill me now!
“Oh shit,” Paul whispers. “Are you…you’re not…are you modeling?”
Hemi steps out into the room, catching my eye. When I look at him, he’s watching me, waiting for an answer. It’s the look on his face that brings out the brazen side of me, the side that I’ve only gotten a few glimpses of.
“As a matter of fact I am. Is there a problem with that?” I direct my question to Paul.
“Are you kidding me? Hell no, there’s no problem with that.”
I flush at his comment and the appreciative light in his eyes. It couldn’t come at a better time. Maybe Sarah was right. Maybe I do need an ego boost.
“You can’t be serious,” Hemi says when he finally speaks up. Both his tone and his doubt irritate me.
“Of course I’m serious. Why would I not be?”
“You’re just gonna…strip down? In front of perfect strangers? And sit still while they draw you?”
“Yep. Pretty much,” I reply pluckily. “Maybe I can drum up some business for your work. I mean, I do have some new body art to display.”
Hemi looks furious and I have no idea why. But at the moment, I don’t care. This feels good. Really good.
“I’ll be sure to pay very close attention,” Paul says, his grin teasing.
“I’m sure you will,” Hemi bites. “It would be a shame if I needed you to fill in here tomorrow night, wouldn’t it?”
Paul’s smile fades. “What…are you serious?”
“No, he’s not serious,” I interrupt before Hemi can speak. “He’s got extra hands around here now. Sasha’s a pro. She can fill in, I’m sure.” I turn to look at Hemi, challenge in my eyes. “Right, Hemi?”
He says nothing. I hold his gaze, feeling bolder than ever. I will not play the lesser role to Sasha. For the first time since she showed up, I don’t feel lesser.
I can see Paul’s head moving back and forth between me and Hemi. I wonder if he senses the tension.
“I’ll be back in Saturday night,” I tell Hemi, dismissing him quickly as I turn to Paul. “And I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
With that, I turn and walk away, calling over my shoulder as I walk out the door, “’Night, guys.”
I smile all the way to the car.
********
My bravado lasts right up until Friday night when I’m dressed in nothing but a robe, sitting on a stool in a small room, being made-up by a student of the local cosmetology school. She has fixed my hair and makeup under the strict guidance of my teacher. As Ms. Shuler told the girl what she wanted me to look like, I could easily picture her vision. And the end result is very close to what I’d imagined. My instructor seemed happy as well.
My hair is a mass of shiny black curls, piled high on top of my head, anchored with tiny white flowers sprinkled throughout. Several strands were left to dangle artfully over my shoulder. My makeup is smoky around my eyes, but my skin was left pale to bring out the punch of my ruby red lips. The idea behind the scene is that I hold both an innocence—the dainty curls and child-like white flowers—as well as a sexiness—the red lips and smoky eyes—a dichotomy that the artists are to bring out in their sketches in their own way. I’ll be completely nude, leaning back on one elbow, one knee bent, holding a bright green apple against my throat, my head tilted back.
In a way, I’m excited about it. I’m anxious to see how the drawings turn out. I’ve always been fascinated by how differently people can interpret the same image, and how they bring it to life in their art. It makes me wish that I could be in the pool of burgeoning artists, drawing, rather than on the table, modeling. But this is my place tonight. Maybe the next one that’s presented to the class, I’ll have the good sense to sign up for rather than having my head so far up some guy’s ass that I wouldn’t even dream of foregoing a night in his shop to do something school-related.
I sigh. Those days are over. My head is no longer up Hemi’s ass. Things have changed. I see that now. But at least I managed to retrieve a little bit of my dignity, thanks to Sarah. I can never tell her that, of course. Otherwise, I’d never hear the end of it. No matter what harebrained scheme she comes up with, she’d always expect me to go along with it because of the one time she was right.
I smile and shake my head as I think of my friend. She’d be proud of me if she could see me now. Although I’m glad she can’t. It’s bad enough that I’ll have to look Paul in the eye at the studio after this.
“It’s time,” my professor, Anita Shuler, says when she pokes her head through the door.
I take a deep breath, gather every speck of bravery that I can find and I walk, head held high, out the door behind her. This will all be over in two hours. Just two hours. I can do anything for two hours.
Right?
Right.
Ms. Shuler stops just outside the doorway to the room filled with perfect strangers who will see me in the buff in a few minutes. “Wait here.”
The glass window in the center of the wooden door has been covered, blacked out. I guess so that people can’t casually walk by and see me naked. Thank God for that!
I hear her as she addresses the students inside. She’s reminding them what the purpose of tonight’s exercise is and how she expects everyone to behave. I’m glad she’s reiterating it and, therefore, sparing me from having to endure any degrading, juvenile reactions.
When she finishes, I wait, uncertain whether I’m supposed to make my entrance now, or…
But then the door opens again and Ms. Shuler appears. She holds it closed behind her just long enough to encourage me.
“Go in there with your head held high. Don’t look around. Pretend you’re the only one in the room. If you have to, replay your favorite song over and over and over in your head until this is over.”
“Thank you, Ms. Shuler. Is it that obvious that I’m nervous?”
“No, but I did this once in college, too. I remember what it felt like. Trust me,” she says with a kind smile, “when it’s over, you’ll be glad you did it.”
“And until then?”
She winks at me. “Just keep thinking of that song.”
Nervously, I return her smile. I let it fall from my face as she opens the door. I follow her through, keeping my eyes locked on the space between her shoulder blades. She leads me right to the table and stands in front of me while I untie the robe and let it fall down my arms to pool in the floor.
As gracefully as I can, I slide onto the table, aware of the chills that pop up on my arms when my skin meets the cold surface. I try not to think of how hard my nipples must be. The last thing I need is to carry a blush the entire time.
I shift until I’m comfortable on my backside then I grab the apple and ease down into position. I let my head fall back and release the breath I was holding.
I feel Mrs. Shuler’s cool hands as she adjusts my limbs. She maneuvers my bent leg, pulling it a little farther forward, then she moves the apple lower on my throat, almost onto my chest. Lastly, she raises my head a little, which I can already tell will be much more comfortable for the duration. Now, if I do happen to open my eyes, which I’m instructed not to do very often, all I see is the door across from me. The one with the black felt over the window. If I can just focus on that…
I sense her backing away and then I hear her voice somewhere over my left shoulder. “Begin.”
It’s with that word, with that one small word, that I feel true relief. The hard part is over. I did it. I took off my clothes and climbed onto a table to pose naked for a room full of artists. Now I just have to wait.
Just wait.
The minutes drag on like the
y’re hours and I start to think about how I must look sitting up here. With thoughts like that, my nerves return. Then I remember what Ms. Shuler said.
The song.
Although there are at least a dozen songs that I can think of right off the top of my head that I not only love, but are relevant in today’s culture, only one comes to mind. Still Remains, the song I heard at the studio. The one that will likely forever remind me of Hemi. Sexy, beautiful, elusive Hemi.
I don’t know how much time has passed. I don’t know how many times I’ve played the song over in my head. I don’t know how long I’ve been thinking about Hemi, letting my thoughts drift in oceans of dreams and fantasies, all revolving around what I had hoped we’d share, what I had hoped we could be, but it seems like forever.
I have to admit to myself that I had hoped for more than just sex. I had hoped I could experience love at least once in my life. But with every passing day, I wonder if that’s possible. Time passes so fast, so unexpectedly. My mother thought she had forever. But she didn’t.
My eyelids flutter open and I realize my head has fallen back on my shoulders too far, farther than where Ms. Shuler had positioned me. I raise it, my eyes searching for the covered glass square that served as my landmark. But rather than seeing the blank wooden panel with black felt over the window, I see Hemi. Standing at the door across from me. Watching me.
My pulse flutters and my stomach flips over with some mixture of embarrassment, curiosity and excitement. I feel my breathing pick up, but I slow it on purpose, determined not to react in any perceptible manner. I don’t look away and I don’t close my eyes. I keep my head steady and my gaze trained on his.
His eyes are intense. They aren’t happy or angry, just intense. I can tell by the color that he’s not in a light, teasing mood. They…shine almost when he’s feeling playful. They’re a brighter blue. But not tonight. Tonight, they’re the color of deep, deep water, water that’s still on the surface and churning underneath.
Purposely, as though he’s daring me to try and stop him, he lets his eyes fall over my nude form. I feel warm as they rake their way down my throat, over the apple, to my breasts. They linger there. I don’t think I’d have to see them stop to know that’s where he’s looking. If he were breathing, exhaling on my nipples, I don’t think it would feel any more real than what I feel right now. His gaze is a touch. Not a physical touch, but a touch just the same.