Draw Me A Picture

by Meredith Greene

  The convention center appeared as impressive as Michelle remembered; she laughed at William’s suggestion that they should stop and stare at the ceiling for a few minutes just to ‘get it out of their system’. The whole place looked like a building from some space-age futuristic movie, where all walls are clear and bent in fantastic ways.

  “I bet it takes a fortune to heat this place,” William remarked as they walk towards the first displays.

  “I wouldn’t want to see those electric bills,” Michelle agreed. “But, if it is to house the arts, then expenses are is most likely 100% tax deductible.” Chuckling, William nudged Michelle’s arm a little.

  “When we’re married, you’ll have to do the family taxes,” he teased. “Save me a fortune in accountant fees, most likely.” Michelle smiled up at him, pretending to bat her eyes.

  “Oh, you sure know what to say to a girl,” she said, the glint in her eye matching his.

  “Apparently, I do,” William replied, putting his arm around Michelle’s shoulders.

  Strolling so down the aisles of displays, they paused now and then to look at a more interesting, or hideous, piece; Michelle listened as her man described the subtle differences between one design and the next. With some pieces however, no explanation was necessary.

  “How can people want these things in their home?” Michelle asked aside to William as they passed what appeared to be an outline of a chair, made from a tank tread looped together. “If a guest sat on that they’d get a terrible surprise...” William chuckled at this; it sounded deeply in his throat.

  “Some aspects to contemporary, er… design seem to take on a more artistic approach to furniture,” he told her, smiling. “However, there is a point where the art rather of takes over and function is rendered invalid.”

  “But that’s the whole purpose of furniture,” Michelle commented, with a puzzled expression. “It has to be of use or else it isn’t really furniture. Why would I want to buy a chair just to have it sit there and torture tired people nearby with only the appearance of accommodation?”

  William looked down at her; warm affection colored his gaze.

  “We were more alike than you suppose, love,” he said. “I also despise unnecessary things cluttering up a room. Any real furniture craftsman doesn’t make just a piece of art; they make a useful, working part of the home or office, which is to be both enjoyed and utilized.”

  A few displays after, they passed a ‘modern’ style living room which boasted a large, metal ball hanging in its center with twinkling metallic streamers cascading down from it; according to a nearby placard, it was supposed to be a lamp. William and Michelle laughed between themselves at it for some time.

  “Can you imagine that at a dinner party?” Michelle said, giggling. “Honey, could you please go disentangle another guest from the lamp? He’s beginning to choke...” William laughed at the imagery.

  “Good heavens. I can just see it...” he said, chuckling. “That is the ugliest lamp I’ve ever seen. What a waste of metal.” Michelle held onto his arm and walked, feeling very happy.

  They made it through the more modern pieces quickly; William wanted to show Michelle a certain designer he’d come to admire and imitate slightly with his own pieces. The furniture was mostly burnished, warm wood and graceful in the simple lines. All of it was functional; Michelle saw why William liked this hobby. She admired the ability to take a few boards of wood and cut them into such a way... to fit the pieces together just so, with a knowledge passed down through centuries of craftsmen. The result seemed an oxymoron: simple-looking as a table or chair, but also complicated in the many, exacting steps required to achieve it.

  William on the other hand felt grateful that his Michelle took a real interest in all this; her artistic eye was able to appreciate the subtle differences he pointed out and she caught on quickly. To his delight, she managed to ask some intelligent questions; his fears of boring her to death evaporated. It felt good to walk around among people like they were an old couple; he left his arm draped across her shoulders and liked how her slender arm held onto his waist. Though William liked walking by Michelle anyway, his reasons for doing so were two-fold: besides just wanting to, he made very certain anyone appreciating Michelle’s beauty knew she was ‘taken’. His sweet fiancée was blissfully unaware of her charms, a fact William found very attractive; however, her naiveté made his job that much more difficult. Not that he found the task burdensome; not in the least.

  Across the wide room, a pair of dark blue eyes watched the happy pair. Lowering her eyelids a little, a well-dressed woman in her late twenties gripped her champagne flute tightly. She watched William and Michelle walk around a trendy designer’s display; the two pointed and smiled their heads close together. Flaring her nostrils, the woman tossed her blond hair and began to walk towards the couple, her expensive heels making hardly a sound on the polished floor.

  Inspecting a rather grotesque lamp, Michelle made a face; the base was shaped like a dying figure, contorted in agony. William chuckled at his fiancées wrinkled nose.

  “Don’t you like it, darling?” he teased. “I was going to buy it for the living room…” Michelle resisted putting her finger down her throat; she looked up at William with a pleading expression.

  “I would no more pollute your wonderful living room with that monstrosity of a lamp than I would put up pink, frilly curtains,” she said, earnestly.

  “That just means you have no taste,” came a voice from close behind her.

  Michelle immediately felt tense; the newcomer’s voice managed to sound both sultry and scathing at once. Michelle knew the voice well, even after two years. It belonged to a particularly nasty person named Cassandra Matheson, a corporate rich bitch if there ever was one, one whom had spearheaded the effort to fire Michelle from her position at Johnson & Black. The woman was a partner in a huge insurance company, and as Michelle found out later, the daughter of a New York justice of the peace.

  Turning, she was not surprised to see a tall, gorgeous woman behind her, looking down at her with a sneering expression. Michelle opened up her mouth to say something but William forestalled her.

  “Miss Matheson,” he said, his voice chilly all of the sudden. His greeting caught Michelle by surprise; she looked over at him with eyebrows raised. William knew this horrible person? Michelle found that hard to believe. The blond woman saw Michelle’s expression and summoned a smile from somewhere; she directed its beam at William.

  “William… how lovely to see you again,” she said, elegantly; she held up a hand to him as society woman are wont to do. Michelle wondered if the woman expected him to kiss her hand.

  “Fat chance,” she thought, darkly. William raised an eyebrow at the hand in front of him and did not take her hand, nor did he return her smile.

  “It has been a long time,” he said, in a banal tone. The blond woman appeared to be unfazed. She looked down at Michelle from her stiletto-enhanced height; Michelle felt the burning gaze of the woman and tightened her hold on William’s arm.

  “Far too long,” Cassandra said, looking back at William. “I have missed seeing you around my apartment. I see you finally found a replacement for me.”

  As the woman’s red lips formed the words, Michelle felt as if her stomach had dropped to her feet.

  “They dated? Oh, God... please no...” She felt sick. It had to be a fabrication of some kind. Her noble, wonderful William would never have dated such a horrible ice queen of destruction. William felt Michelle wince and glanced at her; the poor girl looked positively ill. He wondered what made her look so; the two women couldn’t possibly know each other.

  “Is the girl alright?” More honeyed words emitted from Cassandra. “She looks a little green...”

  William didn’t feel so great either; the presence of the flighty, high maintenance witch made him a bit nauseous as well. He’d dated the woman as a favor to a client and was at first mildly impressed with her intelligence and ambition;
that small regard soon turned to disgust at Cassandra’s penchant towards deception and manipulation. The fact that her father was a wealthy, respected judge gave the woman an unearned advantage in New York’s high society, and she milked it for all it was worth.

  They'd parted on bad terms, right after William took her to meet his mother; Margaret spared no feelings or words in vocalizing her dislike of the haughty young woman. Cassandra’s anger was tempered only by the lure of William’s family wealth and place in society, a fact he still despised her for. William’s instinct was to protect his sweet fiancé from the claws of this she-wolf; he could already see the plans forming in the blond woman’s head. He had broken things off, not her. William knew that Cassandra once harbored a desire to become Mrs. Montgomery. Hopefully, she’d given up on that ridiculous idea.

  “My fiancée is fine, thank you,” William said, answering Cassandra’s insincere inquiry. “What a surprise to see you in a furniture expo; who knew you could stand it for more than a few seconds.”

  “I adore furniture,” Cassandra said ignoring the insult. “My father is here, you know he loves to peruse...” she stopped, as if William’s first words just then registered. “Your… what?”

  William smiled; it was not a friendly grin. His eyes were cold and glittered with something like revenge.

  “Fiancée. I’d like you to meet Miss Michelle Gregory.” He looked down at his companion lovingly. Swallowing, Michelle made herself put up her chin and meet Cassandra’s gaze. The woman regarded her with a stunned expression.

  “I have met Miss Matheson,” Michelle said, quietly. It was William’s turn to look surprised. “She works for one of Johnson & Black’s clients.” Quickly, William hid his shock and turned back to Cassandra. The well-dressed blond woman had recovered and set her chin in a repulsed fashion.

  “So, you’ve gone slumming,” she said, dully, regarding William with narrowed eyes. “What does your precious mother think of that?” Michelle’s eyes went wide.

  “Slumming?” she thought, appalled. “Who does she think she is?”

  “My mother quite adores her,” William said, smirking. “As I recall she hated you.” Something steely glinted in Cassandra’s eyes but her calm voice belied the murderous look.

  “And as I recall, you liked me just fine,” she said, in a sultry voice. “We were awfully good at some things.” Michelle thought she was going to throw up.

  “Excuse me,” she said, stepping away from William. “I need to find the ladies room.” She saw a familiar sign and headed towards it quickly.

  “Is she pregnant?” Cassandra said, smiling. “Ah. That must be why your engagement wasn’t announced in the paper...”

  William looked after Michelle, concerned; at Cassandra’s words he turned back quickly to the blond woman, surprising her with his wrathful expression.

  “Hold your tongue,” he said, clenching his teeth. “Don’t you say one more word about her, Miss Matheson. You’re not good enough to even speak to her.” He took a menacing step forward, causing Cassandra to back up a little; her face looked pale all of the sudden. “I pity the unlucky bloke that gets roped into marrying you… you disgusting snake.” With that, he went to find Michelle wondering which way she had gone. Cassandra stared open-mouthed after him. A couple of teenagers passed by as she stood there.

  “Burn…” one of them hissed. Flushing red, Cassandra turned on her heel and stomped off, flinging her glass angrily at a nearby trash bin.

  In the ladies room, Michelle leaned over the sink, putting cold water on her face.

  “What a bitch!” she thought, infuriated. She simply couldn’t believe Cassandra Matheson had made her cry. It wouldn’t have been too bad, just seeing her. Michelle thought she’d have liked to give the back-stabbing woman a piece of her mind, but when she heard William and Cassandra had dated….it was like being kicked in the gut. William didn’t deny that they'd slept together. Feeling her food rising in her throat, Michelle dashed into a stall and shut the door behind her. She hated throwing up, but the idea of that hideous woman touching her beloved man was just too much.

  A few minutes later, Michelle felt a little better. Patting her face dry with clean paper, Michelle put on a little lip gloss and smoothed her hair. Opening the stall door she stepped out, only to come face to face with one angry Cassandra Matheson.

  “Why you little slut!” the woman spat, her blue eyes snapping. “How dare you presume to even think of going after him? What did you think by getting knocked up gets you a place in society? You’re nothing! Absolutely nothing!”

  Michelle’s first instinct was to flee; the woman in front of her looked almost ravenous. Something snapped in the young woman, however, and she stayed where she was. Not many things rattled Michelle Gregory, but this woman had to be stopped.

  “I’m actually not pregnant, not that it’s any of your business,” Michelle countered; she used of William’s tricks and made her face and voice appear calm.

  “Oh, haven’t used that card yet?” Cassandra sneered. “You’ll use it no doubt when he starts getting bored with you.” Michelle snorted.

  “It’s a physical impossibility,” she said, coolly “I can’t be pregnant as I’ve never had sex.”

  For a moment, the woman in front of her looked actually taken aback. Michelle took the opportunity to continue. “As for keeping William interested, you can have no useful advice on that subject.” Cassandra turned a mottled shade of red.

  “You... you...” she sputtered, looking near the point of violence. Michelle rolled her eyes.

  “I don’t know what your problem is,” she said, her voice rising. “But, you can’t get me fired this time. I’m marrying William Montgomery. Whatever fling you two had in the past must have been very trifling, seeing as I’m the one with the engagement ring...”

  Michelle suddenly found herself on the tile floor, one side of her face stinging. Cassandra stood over her, her hands balled in fists; anger boiled up in Michelle.

  “I should kick her in the knee...” she thought, her eyes narrowing.

  The bathroom door opened.

  “Right there,” came William’s voice. “The blond one. She’s attacked my fiancée.” At these words, Cassandra’s face grew quite pale. Two security guards entered the woman’s restroom and each grabbed one of Cassandra’s arms.

  “Get away from me!” she screeched, struggling. “I’m Judge Matheson’s daughter! I’ll have you arrested! Let go of me!” Her screams did not stop as they half-dragged, half-carried the woman out. Her designer clothes did not look so nice now, Michelle noted.

  William appeared over her, pulling her up into his warm embrace.

  “Are you alright, love?” he said, tenderly into her hair. Michelle could feel he was tense and angered; she relaxed against him.

  “She slapped me,” Michelle told William. “She said...”

  “I heard,” he said, interrupting. “The acoustics in this restroom are remarkable… I think the whole floor heard.” he drew back to look at Michelle. A bright red mark stood out upon her fair cheek; his jaw clenched in anger at the sight of it. If Cassandra was a man he’d have gladly decked her. Perhaps it was good the security guards were attracted by the woman’s loud yelling in the restroom. He was about to go in himself when the guards came up to him, asking what was going on.

  “Maybe I should learn karate,” Michelle said, gently rubbing one side of her face with her hand. William smiled.

  “Perhaps you should,” he said, affectionately. He led Michelle around a fallen trash bin and out the bathroom door. A floor manager was outside, talking with the guards. He saw Michelle and the red, hand-shaped mark on her face.

  “Excuse me, but... do you wish to press assault charges on Miss Matheson?” the man asked; William thought he sounded nervous.

  “Has she been detained?” William asked, looking at Michelle. His fiancée appeared to be calm and quiet once more.

  “Yes, though we haven’t called the police ye
t,” the man paused. “I admit we don’t want to. Judge Matheson is a heavy patron.” About to object, William was surprises to hear Michelle speak up.

  “I won’t press charges,” Michelle said, quietly. “… As long as she’s banned from the building.” The manager considered this option for a moment.

  “Done,” he said. “We've actually had a problem with her before, so it won’t be hard to get approval for that. Thank you.” He gave a little bow and walked away, speaking to the guards.

  William glanced down at Michelle. She looked thoughtful, and a little too calm, considering the circumstances.

  “You could have had her arrested, you know,” he said, searching Michelle’s face. Michelle smiled, just a little; her face still hurt.

  “It’s a better punishment to get banned from the center,” she said. “The convention hall then sends a letter to the media about the whole incident, if I’m not mistaken.” At this William laughed.

  “You little minx,” he said, smiling. “I’m very proud of you, you know.” Michelle looked over at him.

  “For what... getting bitch-slapped?” she asked, a little merriment returning to her eyes. Chuckling, William shook his head. It was just like her to make light of all this.

  “No… for sticking up for yourself in there,” he said; William put his arms around her waist. “You have a wonderfully genial personality, Michelle. You’re really very docile, in the most attractive way possible, but sometimes... well, you’ll run in women like that. I’ve seen you be frosty and clever when men try to flirt with you, but I was a little worried about you getting trampled on by the rather nasty women that seem to dominate my social circles.” Michelle smiled.

  “How about now?” she asked, smiling. William returned it.

  “I’m encouraged,” he admitted. “Some of my relatives are that way and they’ll most likely be at the wedding. If you’re able to hold your own, however, they’ll back off.”