by Nikki Wild
I continued strolling back towards my apartment. After twenty more minutes of walking, I was ascending the stairs up to my humble abode and clicking the key through the keyhole.
It was time to see if my little taste of England had worked for my creative side… For the rest of the day, I decided to try painting. I needed something special if I wanted any chance of earning the attention from the one woman in the world who’s opinion really mattered…
Gloria Van Lark.
Van Lark was a legend in the museum world. As the head curator for the Spinnoc museum in San Diego, she was known for her tall, hawkish appearance and her fiercely volatile temper.
This was a woman who was not to be trifled with, and who took her time very seriously. Just obtaining enough of her attention for an audience got you accepted into a number of distinguished museums around the country.
Then, there was the significant hurdle of actually impressing her.
Gloria Van Lark didn’t care for resumes and histories. The fact that I had been gifted with an artistic scholarship to Finland, allowing me to take a full year to pursue an isolated artist’s retreat, would mean precisely nothing to her.
Neither would the gamut of smaller museums that already carried some of my work, or the fact that I’d been fully supporting myself through my painting since I was a young teenager.
All that Van Lark cared about was the final product. After all, that was all that her clients and customers would see. It was probable that none of them would know these pieces of trivia about me, not unless I wound up with an exhibit, somehow…
But that was wishful thinking too high for even my lofty dreams. Exhibits were mostly reserved for dead artists… And I was still very much alive.
I found it hard to concentrate on the painting with my thoughts wrapped up in my irritation with Lex, and my fears that Gloria would never consider my work…
After blowing the entire day trying to focus on three different paintings — a beach at sunset, a forested mountain at night, and a small child crying – I eventually gave up on the prospect. Instead, I tossed my pallet down in frustration, washed my brushes, and kicked it back onto the couch.
It was starting to get late in the day. I realized that I hadn’t eaten anything, and I thought about seeing if Reiko or Connor wanted to grab a bite to eat.
I vetoed Connor immediately, on account of how standoffish and jealous he’d been about the Englishman at the bar. It had been clear from the start that he was passive-aggressively furious about the perceived competition.
I really didn’t like that.
As for Reiko… I remembered that she was closing the sandwich shop tonight and working late on some payroll issues. She’d had to fire her assistant manager for trying to steal money, and that meant going through the finances and double-checking everything, just to be sure.
Oh yeah… she’d be doing that all night.
I made myself a quick sandwich to tie myself over, flicked on the Netflix, and then watched a few episodes of one of the millions of shows I was way behind on. By the time I was about done with that, it was getting pretty late, and I needed to decide whether to cook, order delivery, or venture out and grab a bite.
I decided on the latter.
Halfway towards the local Lebanese place, I felt drawn back towards the bar. I tried to ignore the sensation, knowing what was probably waiting for me there, but as I sat down and unwrapped my chicken shawarma dinner, the compulsion stood its ground.
That’s why, after I finished my dinner, I decided to say fuck it to myself and mosey over a few blocks. With a little bit of luck, I’d just pop in and out, and then immediately move on with the rest of my life.
I wasn’t that lucky.
As I’d expected, Lex was sitting at the bar in his usual spot. Some woman in a fancy dress was sitting next to him, laughing away and putting her hand on his shoulder.
I almost turned and walked out…
But he shrugged his shoulder free, glancing away. I could tell that he wasn’t particularly enjoying her company, but she wasn’t taking the hint. It was only when he leaned in with a cruel smile on his face and muttered something that she understood, pulling away indignantly.
She slapped him across the cheek, rising up from her chair and storming off.
Well… now or never, I guess.
Before someone else could try their luck, I sat down next to him. He looked honestly surprised, doing a brief double take before finally settling back into facing forward, both hands around his tumbler of liquor.
“What will you have?” He asked.
“Bloody Mary.”
He gave a crisp nod to the bartender, who wandered over our way. A few minutes later, he was dropping off a glass at my fingertips, filled with a delicious concoction of vegetable juices and liquor.
“Thanks,” I nodded towards the bartender in appreciation. He offered a quick smile before stepping away to take another order.
“I’m glad you came,” Lex told me, still facing forward. I could see his fingertips slide further around the glass, constraining it within his grasp.
“Who was that woman from earlier today? The other one of you with the English accent?” I asked suddenly.
“That was Jess.”
“Jess…” I traced the syllable with my lips. “Is she your wife?”
He actually laughed, breaking his composure to cover his eyes with his hand. “Never in a million years,” Lex smiled softly.
“Girlfriend, then?”
“Jess enjoys a good power complex. She only dates the younger folk… expendable idiots who can keep her attention for a brief while, before she inevitably expels them,” he chuckled. “Jess is the best damn friend I’ll ever have, but that’s all that we will ever be.”
“Oh,” I murmured.
It hadn’t occurred to me that she might be anything less than his lover, and I suddenly felt rather silly in the head. It wasn’t a sensation that I enjoyed, although I knew that I deserved it this time.
“So, what is she, then? Old friends? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She’s sort of my agent.”
“Your agent? What are you, a movie star?”
“I’m not a movie star,” he replied, sipping from his drink. “I play football.”
“Football? In England?”
“It’s not your football,” he mentioned offhandedly. “You’d call it soccer. But to the rest of the world, what I play is called football.”
“I see,” I replied.
“You sound disappointed,” Lex observed.
“You’re one of those meathead sports players,” I told him. “I could never stand athletes. They’re always just so full of themselves. Always thinking they need to dominate everything around themselves.”
Lex thought on that for a moment, but he didn’t respond, which I found rather telling.
“So, what are you doing in America, then?” I asked, surprised that I even really cared. “You’re a long way from England.”
“Just passing through.”
“I think you mentioned that before,” I recalled. “And you brought your agent? On a quick jaunt through New Orleans?”
“She can never turn down a good trip. Always loves to get out of England as often as she can. She has to stay close to me, especially when I’m playing internationally.”
He suddenly looked disappointed with himself, as if he’d fumbled and revealed some major detail to me.
“You play other countries?”
“Sometimes,” he responded coolly.
“Well, you must be a big deal, then.”
Lex smiled wistfully. “Nah… just a guy.”
We sat in silence for a moment, sipping from our drinks while we thought on things.
“I heard something about a contract this morning. What kind of contract?”
“Just some promotional thing,” Lex replied absentmindedly. “Jess swung by to tell me that there’s another player that’s in the runn
ing for it, so I might miss out on it.”
“Is it important?” I asked.
He chose his words carefully.
“It’s very important to me.”
I didn’t particularly understand, but I nodded anyway. It seemed like the appropriate thing to do, given the circumstances.
“So, what do you do?” He asked.
“I paint,” I answered noncommittally.
“You paint? Any good?”
“A little,” I told him modestly.
He nodded, and the silence resumed between the two of us. I was starting to regret coming back here and seeing him again…
“I was given an academic scholarship for painting when I was younger,” I eventually added. “Had the opportunity to go on an artist’s retreat… holed myself away in a cottage in Finland for a year to study myself and my craft.”
“That’s interesting,” he replied, turning his gaze to face me. “You must be plenty good to score something like that.”
“Maybe I am,” I confidently told him. “I’ve been selling my own paintings since I was fourteen. A couple of years later, I was supporting myself entirely through my artwork.”
“Have anything up in the galleries?” he asked.
“Lots of my older stuff. My work is hanging in a dozen galleries here in town, including some of the more respected museums. I’m a little harder to find outside of Louisiana, but some places carry my work. Some state museums in New England, a few places out west… last count? Upwards of a hundred galleries carry at least something of mine.”
Lex considered this. “That’s impressive, Riley. Now that you mention it, I can see you sitting in front of an easel… You’re good with your hands…”
“Thanks,” I answered noncommittally, giving him a sideways glance and a bit of a smirk.
“So, what do your parents think of that?” He asked, casting me a studying glance as he sipped his glass of beer.
“My parents… aren’t exactly part of the equation,” I shrugged, holding back the emotions.
“Oh,” he commented. “I’m sorry to hear it. I don’t want to drudge up any painful memories…”
“My mother left when I was very young,” I told him, surprising myself. “As for my father, he died in a motorcycle accident a couple of years later.
“I can’t possibly imagine,” he sympathized.
I continued on. “I passed through foster care for a while until a family took me in. They supported my art, and were proud of me… but they were Ivy League material, and I wasn’t. When I decided to not follow in their footsteps, things got a bit… messy. So, when I came back from Finland, I was able to scrounge myself up a decent place to live, worked on my art, and here I am.”
He nodded, reflecting on these words. “You’re not in contact with them?”
“I have a phone number for my mother that may or may not work,” I offered. “My biological mother, I mean. The last time we chatted, it turned into a massive argument. I haven’t bothered with her in years.
“As for my foster parents, no. I burned the bridge. I’m on my own… just how I like it. Not having to rely on anybody but myself.”
“You enjoy your solitude.”
“I enjoy being in control of my life,” I clarified. “It’s a rewarding feeling to not need to depend on the kindness of others. I get what I need from people, offering them a little of myself in return, and then that’s that. Besides my couple of friends, of course.”
“The two from the other night. The Japanese girl and the thin, skittish guy.”
“Yeah, Reiko and Connor. I’ve known them since we were kids… since before I began supporting myself. The two of them have been there from the beginning.”
“They sound like strong friends.”
“The only people I can rely on.”
I ordered another drink on his tab, and we drank together in silence for a few minutes.
“What about your parents?” I asked him.
Lex stiffened in his barstool. “House fire. Took ‘em both when I was fifteen. I wound up on the streets, just a year shy of being a legal adult in England. I learned some street smarts, how to fight, things like that. Learned how to survive. If I hadn’t been mindlessly dedicating myself to football, I’d probably still be there…”
“You were homeless?”
“For a while, yeah. Streets of London are a cold place…”
I thought on this carefully. “I couldn’t possibly imagine what that’s like, either.”
“It’s bloody tough, is what it is,” Lex grumbled. “But I made it out, and with an appreciation for earning things. I’ve earned where I am in the world now. You might think that I’m just off globe trotting, but I’m here for a particular reason… and just enjoying my time while I can.”
“And what reason would that be?” I asked.
Lex’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. “Keeping myself out of trouble, little lady.”
I couldn’t ignore the fact that he was intriguing… or that the sex had been amazing. What I was doing here, I wasn’t exactly sure… but I felt drawn to him.
Lex had a special kind of magnetism to him, and whatever it was, it cast a spell on me, tugging me closer and closer… Is this a mistake? Should I just get the fuck out of here right now?
I felt as if the decision was a conscious one, a fork in the road laid out ahead of me. I couldn’t see what lay down either direction, but something kept pulling my attention down one in particular…
Lex seemed to sense this.
“Listen,” he murmured, turning to face me quietly. “Last night was a lot of fun, and I’m glad to see you back again. I want you to come home with me again.”
“That’s rather forward,” I observed over the lip of my drink, taking a small swig.
“I thought you preferred to cut to the chase after last night,” he reminded me. It was true, and I couldn’t help but recognize how he was taking charge, sensing my apprehension.
“I can’t offer you stability right now. I don’t represent consistency or firm, solid ground. But what I can offer you is this: if you accompany me back tonight… if you choose to spend more time with me… you’ll never have a dull moment. Whatever boredom is in your life, I can make that all disappear.”
I eyed him silently.
His lip curled up into a smile again. “Well?”
I downed the rest of my drink and sat it down in front of myself, sliding my thumb and index fingertip along the glass, rotating it lightly beneath my touch.
“…Alright. Let’s get out of here.”
His smile turned practically devilish, and he clicked his fingers for the bartender. A few minutes later, and we were wandering down the streets of the French Quarter again, sauntering arm in arm towards his hotel room.
Until…
“Bloody hell,” Lex muttered to himself, patting his pockets. “Dammit. I think I left my card in the bar…” He glanced over at me sheepishly. “Would you mind coming back with me for a moment?”
“I can wait here,” I answered.
He sized up the surroundings for a moment. “Are you certain? This doesn’t seem a fantastic part of town…”
I threw him a sideways glance.
“Okay, okay then,” Lex grinned, his palms held up. “You live here, you can take care of yourself. I get it. Just wait here… I’ll be right back.”
The English gentleman grinned, shaking his head lightly before wandering back towards the pub.
I leaned against the wall of a nearby stoop, crossing my arms and tapping my foot. My mind wandered, wondering how I might paint my surroundings.
Effortlessly, I took in the details of the French Quarter. Not a whole lot of people were out; the few stragglers along the pavement were isolated into pairs or small groups from one another, with the odd speck of a person wandering around between them. None of them had any major defining features, which pleased me.
That would make for broad strokes, I considered to myself
. Put the emphasis on the buildings, and paint some ghosts to meander alongside them…
The overall lighting was dim but poetic, casting bright bursts of light in front of bar fronts and under the occasional streetlight. I enjoyed the darkness that stretched between these parts, hoping to encroach across the area… but it was never enough to blacken the French Quarter.
There was such history here, and so many drunken escapades that no book could ever hope to properly catalogue them. New Orleans was such a wistful place, so full of life and light, even in the dark…
Lex still wasn’t back. I was starting to grow somewhat impatient. He said that he’d only be gone a couple of minutes… what’s taking him?
That’s when I felt the firm hand, clasping over my mouth. Before I could even scream, I was being dragged backwards into an alley, away from the light, and a cocked gun pressed into my temple.
“Scream, and you die,” a gruff voice told me. “Do you understand? Not even a fucking peep.”
I nodded, and the hand slipped off of my lips… only for someone else to shove a gag into my mouth, tying it around my head.
Purely out of fear, I started trying to smack or punch whoever my aggressors were. I saw a quick glance – there were two of them, both dressed like thugs. My hands were restrained, and a blindfold was tied around my eyes.
“Mmmf!” I exclaimed, but it was useless.
I was being dragged backwards through the alley, stumbling blindly along with them. They were leading me away from the street, forcing me to follow them into the dark…
Oh god, no, not like this, I sobbed in my head.
Suddenly, my palms were slapped against the brick wall, and my legs spread. A pair of vicious, hungry hands tugged at the bottom of my dress, whipping it up over my hips…
“Mmm, such an uptight little bitch,” one of the thugs chuckled. “Wonder if that pussy is this tight, too…”
“One way to find out,” the other commented directly into my ear. He was the one assaulting my dress, and I just waited for the sound of ripping fabric as I struggled to fight my way out of this.
This can’t be happening, I pleaded into my head. I should have just fucking gone back with him to the bar. Oh god, they dragged me back here, he won’t find me…