Perfectly Too Far
Copyright 2013 Regina Button
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, or events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to persons, alive or dead, is completely coincidental. All characters are age 18 or older.
Perfectly Too Far was formerly published under the title Always Tied Up.
It's been revamped, updated, and expanded upon to create the story it is today.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1.
Chapter 2.
Chapter 3.
Chapter 4.
Chapter 5.
Chapter 6.
Chapter 7.
Chapter 8.
Chapter 9.
Chapter 10.
Chapter 11.
Chapter 12.
Chapter 13.
Epilogue
Chapter 1.
Judith placed her hand gingerly on her mailbox, closing her eyes as if to pray. Her forehead wrinkled with hard grooves, thoughts running with one simple phrase:
Acceptance letter, acceptance letter.
Inhaling slowly, bracing herself as if preparing to be punched, she turned her key in the slot. As soon as she cracked the door, envelopes spilled out and across the damp ground. Groaning, she slumped her shoulders, hurrying to gather up the wet paper. It had been one of the few rainy days the young woman had ever experienced in the supposedly sunny realm of Los Angeles.
Locking the mailbox, she turned on her heel. Slipping eagerly into the dryness of her studio apartment, she ignored how the screen door hung limp on its hinges. The thing had been broken since she'd moved in. Every time I call the landlord, they assure me they'll fix it soon. Yup. Soon. Maybe if I paid him on time, he'd be quicker to care.
It was a harsh thing to admit to herself.
Huffing, she opened her arms and let the mail drift onto her coffee table. Dropping down in front of it, she dug through the mushy paper until she finally found what she'd been waiting for. With trembling hands, Judith held the envelope before her eyes.
This is it, this has to be my acceptance into Sun Arts College!
Swallowing the lump that wouldn't go away, she tore the paper open. There, still soggy from the rain, she found the letter. Peeling it apart, she scanned the printed text rapidly. Finally, at the bottom, she found her answer.
It wasn't the one she'd been hoping for.
Not admitted. They denied me. Why?
Scowling, Judith crumbled up the rejection letter. In one great swing, it bounced off of a wall, landing in the corner. Jumping to her feet with a defeated groan, she began pacing the room. It wasn't hard, due to the small size. Eventually, she slumped onto the one other piece of furniture she owned.
The mattress sat on the bare floor, covered in blankets and used quite often as a couch. Her fingers worked into her long strands of red hair, absently tying them into knots.
I need a plan. I need something, anything, to finally go my way.
The sharp ring of her phone cut through the air, startling her so much she yanked her hair too hard. Flinching, Judith dug into the pocket of her jacket, her heart fluttering a moment as she imagined that this was, perhaps, a sign. Had the cruel world finally called to give her a break?
The number on the screen was one she recognized, and it made her pout. Clicking the button, she brushed the phone to her ear. “Hey, Mom.”
“You sound so cheerful,” the sarcastic voice on the other end said.
Judith had to crack a smile. It was true, she knew she sounded flat, defeated. Shifting on the bed, she stretched out on her stomach and stared blankly at her coffee table. “Sorry, it's just the rain. I hate it, you know?” It wasn't entirely a lie.
“Well, if you say so. How's everything, have you picked applied to college yet? Gotten into one? Sold any art?”
“Hah, so many questions.”
Her mom laughed, Judith imagined her rolling her eyes. “Sweetie, it's all really the same question.”
“I know,” she sighed, her attention shifting from the table, to the envelopes that had drifted to the floor near her. “I know. And you probably know the answer already.” Blinking, she noticed a single square of tan among the sea of opal. Reaching out, her fingers tugged the package closer, balancing her cell between ear and shoulder.
On the phone, she was distantly aware of her mother talking at her, but she had stopped listening. There, in her hands, was the most unassuming letter. Carefully, she tore it, tugging the card free, opening it in a hurry.
“Judith,” her mom snapped. “Hello? Are you there? I asked you a question.”
Sitting up in a hurry, the young red-head placed the card in her lap, grabbing the phone in a trembling hand. “Sorry, what was the question?”
“I said, if things don't get better, you know you can always come home. If you don't get into a college soon, you'll have to, really. I can't afford to keep you out there in LA if there's no reason for you to be there.”
With a smile that was slow, yet unending once it started, Judith lifted the letter before her eyes. The script was soft, curled. It proclaimed exactly what the young artist needed just then.
We'd like to extend you an offer to display your work in our gallery.
“Actually, Mom, I think things may finally be looking up.”
****
Staring at the wide glass front window, Judith tried to make herself stop smiling. Her face was starting to hurt, but she was simply too excited. Here it was, her first real gallery, and it was fantastic.
Well, if I'm honest, the location isn't great and I'm pretty sure the building next to this is full of junkies.
Still, she didn't care, nothing could smother her joy. Tugging the small wagon behind her, she pushed through the door. Inside, it was wide; a single large room with rafters above. It reminded her of a warehouse, smelled like sawdust and paint thinner.
Judith inhaled slowly, enjoying the scent. It reminded her of work. Staring around, noticing the dark red walls and the lights hanging down, she didn't spot the can of brushes until she tripped over it.
“Augh!” she shouted, stumbling onto her rear, the wagon of canvases tipping over.
“Are you alright?” The voice was female, high pitched like a bird. Judith flinched, her cheeks burning pink. The only real damage had been to her pride. Glancing up at the speaker, she saw a woman who reminded her of a willow tree, in both height and hair.
“I'm fine, yeah,” she forced a laugh. Standing, Judith dusted off her pants, flashed an embarrassed smile. “Sorry about that, I didn't notice the can there.”
Brown eyes, friendly and warm, looked Judith up and down. “It's fine, that was quite an entrance!” She extended a long arm, spindly fingers stretching. “I'm Lorraine, you must be...?”
“Judith, Judith Flight,” she replied, shaking Lorraine's hand. She noticed how cold it was.
“Oh, yes!” Laughing, Lorraine suddenly wrapped her in a hug, a gesture much too friendly for a first meeting. Before Judith could even ask what was going on, the woman gripped her shoulders. Holding her at a distance, she studied the red-head's confused face. “You're so young, I was sure you'd be ancient. Your paintings have such an old soul in them! What are you, a college kid?”
“Uh, well, attempting college kid,” Judith said with chagrin. “Haven't gotten in where I want yet—wait, you've seen my work?”
“Of course! I saw it at the craft festival on Vine. You weren't there, so I just grabbed one of your cards.”
Judith flushed, recalling how she had gotten lost and been late that day. One of the event agents had to guard her booth for several hours. It hit her, then, who Lorraine had to
be. “Wait. You're the one running this place?”
“Running is a strong word,” the woman winked, bending down to right the wagon, loading the canvases back inside. Judith crouched to help as Lorraine went on. “I do my best, don't get me wrong, but it's, you know,” she waved her arm around her head. “LA, this place makes running anything difficult.”
“Oh,” Judith said, feeling dejected and a bit confused. I guess I shouldn't have assumed this was going to be some high end experience, my stuff isn't exactly well known. Dropping the last canvas into the wagon, she straightened up.
Lorraine emulated her, raising an eyebrow. Her peach lips crinkled up at one side. “I'm bad at this, that wasn't meant to make you feel depressed or anything. We run the gallery with different artists once a month, so there's plenty of time for you to make some sales. Don't worry about that part.”
Nodding, Judith tugged at the end of her red braid, once more studying the space. “Who else will be setting up their art here?”
“What do you mean?” Lorraine grabbed her hips, cocking them to the side dramatically. “Didn't you realize by now?”
Judith shook her head slowly, anticipation crawling up her spine.
Laughing long, loud, but without any hint of rudeness, the taller woman grabbed Judith by the hands and gave a squeeze. “Honey, you've got this whole space to yourself. It's yours to fill!”
“All of it?” Judith heard her heart more than she felt it.
Her teeth sparkled in the lights, and Lorraine let go so she could spread her arms, turning in place. “All of it!”
This... this is...
Unsure what else to do, Judith looked down at her small wagon, then back to the blank walls in a daze.
“I think I'll need more canvases,” she whispered.
Chapter 2.
By the end of the third day, Judith had managed several things.
To cover one wall of the space with art she had completed before being invited to the gallery.
Shown Lorraine that she could knock over more than just paint brushes.
Fallen asleep in the middle of painting.
Actually run out of canvases.
Gotten a loan from Lorraine for more.
More than that, she'd been given a few larger pieces to work on at her heart's content, huge stretches of canvas that had been left behind from a former showing.
“Do what you want with them,” Lorraine had shrugged, sipping what was certainly her fifth cup of coffee. It made Judith think it was all she ever drank.
Blown away by the opportunity, Judith had propped the large squares on the wall, set up her paints, and begun experimenting. The gallery was starting to look like an actual, well, gallery. With her art almost everywhere, she wanted to finish one of the bigger pieces to cover the section that could be seen from the front window.
Dipping her brush, she let the colors guide her, becoming so wrapped up in watching the art come to life. Covered in sweat, splashes of paint, and smelling like turpentine, Judith was a true mess.
But she didn't care.
This was what she loved, and she embraced it. It was why she wanted to attend an art college in the first place. She was willing to scrape by on what tiny money her mom could send her, endure the snide remarks about it, all for just a chance at her dreams.
Staring at the mixture of black as it bled into green, she didn't hear the door open behind her. She certainly wasn't aware of the crisp, perfectly shined shoes as they crossed the room. If he hadn't spoken, Judith might have painted for another hour, unaware she had a visitor at all.
That voice was smooth and thick, rolling like cream and syrup all at once. “You move beautifully, like a ballerina.”
Judith jumped, kicking over her color pallet, erasing any chance she had to claim such a compliment. She brushed her hair away, staring at the man who was talking, apparently, to her.
His outfit was darker than the paint on her canvas, a crisp vest over dove-grey sleeves. With skin paler than her own, hair ebony in even the bright lights, she couldn't help but feel this stranger was a perfect combination of colorless tones.
Then she noticed his eyes; intense, thoughtful, and bluer than they had any right to be.
“Uh,” she said, feeling very out of her element.
“Forgive me, I saw you working through the window,” he indicated with his sharp jaw, a smile cutting across his face. “I didn't know there was an art gallery here.”
“We're not open till tomorrow,” she said, her own voice distant. Shaking her head, clearing the haze and her throat all at once, Judith dug her toe into the floor. Did he say I moved beautifully, before?
“I see,” he frowned, strolling to the side to get a better look at her work in progress. “Will this be ready by tomorrow, do you suppose?”
Blinking, she twisted around to follow him with her eyes, finally turning to face her own canvas. Peering at it, she wondered what had made him so interested in it. It was more abstract than her usual stuff, and while she was enjoying creating it, she didn't think it looked particularly special. “I'm going to try to complete it, yes, why do you ask?”
“Well, I'd like to buy it, of course,” he said.
“What? But it's not done and... and you don't even know how much I'm going to charge for it!”
“It doesn't matter,” he shrugged, brushing his gaze her way, looking her up and down languidly. It made Judith shiver, a cold ball twisting in her belly. There was something about this man that was setting her on edge. It had to be far more than just his shocking good looks. “Whatever it is, I'll pay it.”
Lost, she heard herself speak before she could control it. “Why?”
Wrinkling his forehead, the man linked his hands behind his back and eyed her as if she had made a joke. “Why? Because I like it, but more than that, I enjoyed the glimpse I had of watching you create it.”
Blushing furiously, she pulled her eyes away and stared around the room. She was trying to avoid gawking at him without being so obvious. “Uh, haha, I see. Um, well, I'm afraid I can't help you right now. Like I said, we're not open till tomorrow, so if you want to come back then...”
“You won't let me watch you paint?”
Judith jerked around to meet his level gaze, her mouth open, but no sound escaping. It was such a strange question. His eyes were so serious, she knew he wasn't joking. “Who are you?”
His smile was sideways, like he thought she had said something funny. “You're not from around here, I take it?” Before she could respond, her neck heating in a moment of insulted anger, he lifted a palm to halt her. “I'm Benedict, and you are?”
“Judith Flight,” she said warily.
“Flight, like a bird,” he mused. “I like that. Well, Ms. Flight, let me just clarify this. You don't want me here, because you are not open yet. However, you'll be done with your work tomorrow, when I am allowed to come by and purchase your art?”
“...Yes.”
He ran his fingers through his short hair. “Perhaps I can make that work. Then, have a good evening, Ms. Flight.” For a moment, Judith thought he might bow. She was relieved when he only turned on a polished heel, exiting out the door.
Staring after him, she rubbed at her dirty cheek in wonderment. Who the hell was that? He didn't even give me his full name. Was he trying to be mysterious or something?
She'd encountered some 'characters' in Los Angeles during her two month stay, so it didn't really surprise her to meet eccentric people. But there was something especially odd about such a handsome, well dressed man complimenting her out of the blue. And on top of that, offering to buy her art without asking the price?
Cracking her back, Judith sighed deeply, surveying her canvas. I wonder, if I do finish this, if he'll actually come back and buy it. Smiling at the idea, but secretly doubtful, she reached down and grabbed a paper tag. It was where she would write the price for the show.
Taping it to the red wall, she scribbled with a pen in her messy way, mar
king the unfinished canvas as 'five thousand dollars.'
Laughing at her own little game, she leaned back to eye her work in progress. Worst case, he doesn't buy it, no one buys it, and I drop the price the next day to something realistic.
With her mood lighter, Judith reached down, grabbed her paintbrush, and went back to work.
****
The morning of the gallery opening came far too fast.
Groggy after her late night of painting, Judith had stumbled through her shower, change of clothes, and cup of coffee before the reality finally hit her.
Tonight is actually my gallery show. My gallery show, mine! Oh my lord.
Dressing in the nicest gown she had, a long thing of perfectly smooth black that dipped low and showed off her shoulders and back, Judith did her makeup as best she could with her shaking hands. She was ready in a flash, spending the next few hours fidgeting around her apartment.
Finally, with a deep inhale of air, she gathered her things and hurried to the gallery space.
The evening was warm, though Judith couldn't tell how much of that was from her nervous sweating. Her flats clicking along the sidewalk like a clock's hands. As she approached the gallery, she saw something about the large front window was... different. Within a few feet, she was able to tell what it was.
There, in scrolling, curly letters, someone had painted the words, 'Gallery of Flight' and then below, 'the art of Judith Flight.'
Seeing this, the young woman felt her cheeks burning, her grin spreading wide. Through the glass, the place was lit up like an orange sky, the red walls especially adding to the effect.
Pushing her way in, she saw Lorraine bending over a table. The tall woman's hands were busily setting up stacks of cards. She turned at the sound of Judith entering, the girls flashing each other excited looks.
“Do you like it?” Lorraine gushed, standing straight with her hands clasped together. Judith didn't need to ask what she was referring to, she just stepped forward and wrapped the woman in a tight hug.
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