No one could stick his foot in his mouth and extract it with more finesse than Luke. Kris was certain of it.
“That’s more like it,” she said, offering him a quick peck before whispering in his ear. “And, fyi, I have no idea how big Caleb is. It never got that far, or even close. Promise.”
He pulled away scowling. “Still, you kissed him. Sick!”
“Actually, it wasn’t that bad,” Kris said, stepping away.
“Excuse me?” Luke said, grabbing her arm to stop her.
She turned to face him without blinking. “You know, he kind of kissed like a professional. Technically perfect, but I never felt like it came from the heart.”
Luke’s eyes narrowed. “Okay. Point taken. For real this time. I’ll never mention kissing Rori again if you never bring up Caleb. Deal?”
“Absolutely,” Kris said, holding out her hand.
For a moment he just looked at her hand, nose wrinkling as if he smelled something bad. Then he looked up at her and said, “Why would I seal a deal with you with a handshake when I could do it with a kiss?”
Then Luke dipped her down and laid a kiss on her just in time for Kris’s mom to walk into the kitchen.
Chapter 29
Rori loved teaching. She loved the hunger, arrogance, drive, and ambition of artists who honestly believed they would hold the world by the balls once they had their first exhibit. That deep set belief that their art was so singular, so special, that anyone with half a brain would look upon it and unanimously declare it brilliant. So young and so already stuck in their artistic ways—starting every picture the same, pushing their creations into a styling that was “all their own.”
The hypocrisy of it all was that Rori wasn’t that much older than the students she was teaching, but she liked to think that her life had granted a breadth of exposure that was unusual. All thanks to her mom. All of Rori’s life she’d been carted from museums to cathedrals to temples to remote desert caves with prehistoric hieroglyphs. By age 18 Rori had visited 80 countries and been schooled in the religious symbology of dozens of ancient religions by scholars, priests, monks, and indigenous tribesmen alike.
She may have been young, but she’d been taught by Buddhist monks to never get attached to even the most stunning of works—that it was the process that was to be revered and not the final work that should be worshipped. She’d been taught by indigenous groups to see the same subject in its many forms. A rock was never simply a rock. Just as an adult looks at a cloud and sees a cloud while a child sees an elephant, the indigenous peoples taught her to see what her mind had been trained not to see.
From Egypt to Paris and Easter Island to Asia, Rori had spent time with masters of many styles, and because of that she knew she really knew nothing. Sure, she’d gone through phases of being a know-it-all, just like the kids she was teaching now. They’d learn, just like she had, that art was bigger than any one person. You were lucky if you mastered even one aspect of it in your entire life.
For the moment her class was sketching a model. The sketch time was a gift to Rori as well, because she could plan her exhibit. Or she could have, if she could focus in on her theme. Autumn. So vague. So lame. Her agent had thrown it out as a challenge and Rori had been distracted with the Luke situation when she agreed, but she was hating the theme. Yes, her show would take place in the beginning of autumn, but Rori couldn’t create autumn in the middle of summer, and certainly not in the middle of Manhattan.
But what then?
Glancing up to make sure her students were all focused, Rori popped open her laptop and logged into her email account.
Autumn’s not going to work for the theme. I’ll let you know when I have a replacement, she typed to her agent before pressing send. Then she clicked on her inbox and spotted an email from Sophia. Her matchmaker.
Dearest Aurora, it read in French. I am happy to see that you have renewed your application to be matched as I believe I have found a French man who matches all of your requirements. He is a titled gentleman in his forties. His family has been wealthy for generations, but he has amassed a substantial fortune on his own merits. He desires to have two children, and your values are parallel on how the children should be raised. Your marriage requirements and expectations are also very much aligned, as are your long-term goals.
I know you mentioned waiting until after you left the states to meet a gentleman, but as it turns out, my candidate will be in New York in August for business, and I could certainly arrange an evening of drinks between you so that you could meet in person and decide if your personalities are compatible enough to progress to next steps.
Please let me know if you are interested in this candidate, as I believe you would be an excellent match.
Best,
Sophia
Rori’s eyes flicked up to the part mentioning the man’s age. Forties. A good age. She would have doubted if any younger man were really serious about getting married. Not every man was Luke Foster.
It took her only a few moments to compose a response to Sophia, agreeing to a meet-up in August and thanking the woman for her quick work. Having that taken care of was one less thing to worry about.
Rori kept her eyes on her class as she moved through the rest of her emails. No students seemed to be looking to her for assistance, so she continued through her inbox until she only had one unread email in her inbox—the one that read, Mike Cannon wants to be friends on Facebook. Ignoring it, Rori shut her laptop and took a turn about the room.
Her students were all in the zone, which meant they weren’t trying anything new. That meant she hadn’t appropriately inspired them to think outside of their usual box. As the Americans would say, her bad. But the lesson would come when she presented the final work in the framework of the assignment. Only then would her artists see—or not see—how much comfort they took in routine.
When no one asked her a question, Rori returned to her desk and pulled out her own sketch pad. She meant to do her own version of the still life, but found her mind straying to the one email she hadn’t responded to.
Mike Cannon wants to be friends on Facebook.
Such a benign-sounding request. It shouldn’t be a stumper. It wasn’t like she would ever really see Mike Cannon again in her life, so there was really no harm in adding him. Then again, if she wasn’t going to see him again for the rest of her life, why should she add him other than to cyber stalk him?
She should just decline the request. It was the smart thing to do.
Opening her computer again, Rori logged into Facebook and clicked on the friend request. She was just about to decline when she saw that he’d attached a message.
Hi Rori. I was wondering if you have a videographer for your exhibit this Fall. I would happy to do the event for free. I have no doubt that it would be a great addition to my resume. Let me know if you’re interested.
It was quite an offer—one Rori should definitely refuse. The museum would no doubt have something arranged. Maybe not a videographer, but something adequate for the occasion. A newspaper reporter, maybe, or maybe a student from the school… Actually, it was probably best not to think about that too hard. Just as it was best not to imagine what it would take from Mike to stay a few extra days and model for her. Now that the whole dynamic with Luke was a non-issue he might agree to some well-paid modeling time.
It was worth a try.
Clicking Accept, Rori sent back a brief message stating that she was sure she could find him accommodations if he would like to come to the event.
Business language. Nothing personal to it. And the fact that she stayed on his home page and browsed through his photos? Well, she told herself that was for professional reasons as well. Even though he posted his professional work on a separate page and she was currently looking at pictures taken on a lake with a group of his friends.
The guy was photogenic. She’d give him that. Luke wasn’t nearly as blessed in that department—at least not in comparison. It was
amazing how many pictures the two guys were in together, and more often than not Kris was right in there with them. Why that made Rori’s heart ache a bit, she wasn’t sure. So much naked happiness. The smiles in the pictures were never coaxed. Never posed. They were truly, authentically happy.
Pulling out her sketch pad, Rori focused on drawing the eyes that stared back at her from her computer screen until a second pair of Mike’s eyes gazed back at her in black and white from her sketch pad.
Well, at least she could draw what she was seeing. The eyes on her paper were as bright and alive as the ones on the screen. Rori should have been pleased, but instead she felt slightly uncomfortable. When it came to art, uncomfortable was good. Wasn’t that what she told her students? That an artist couldn’t run from the things that made them squirm if they wanted to grow.
She clicked through a few more photos until her finger paused on one in particular.
The photo had been taken at a wedding. The little flower girl dress made that clear, just as it was clear that Mike had not been aware that anyone was taking a picture of the moment. The caption below read, Our videographer saves the day when Abigail suddenly decides she doesn’t want to take part in the wedding. Whatever he said, it worked. The picture itself was shot of Mike sitting on the floor in a dark suit next to a six year-old girl in a pink satin dress. The girl had clearly been crying, but had the hint of a shy smile as she looked at a single white rose in Mike’s hand.
Rori wanted to sculpt it. True, the piece would be nothing new under the sun, but as an artist, she needed to know that she was capable of capturing such an intimate and authentic moment of connection.
Connection.
Wasn’t that what brought life to anything? To everything? Few things were so fundamentally simple while simultaneously remaining elusive.
Connection. She could definitely build an exhibit around that.
Without hesitation Rori sent the update to her agent.
Chapter 30
“Knock, knock,” Fredrik’s coy voice called out as he poked his head in Rori’s front door. “I heard an anti-social artist lives here?”
Rori sent him a smile and motioned him in. “You’ll thank me when it comes time for the exhibit and I have actual pieces to show.”
He stepped into her flat, his professional clothes exchanged for the rockabilly fashion he preferred. “There is that. But, my dear, it is the weekend. Time to unwind. To let loose. To imbibe with the natives. Surely your worldly travels have taught you at least that much.”
Rori taped another photo to the wall. “As fun as that sounds, I need to work on my theme.”
“Nuh-huh,” he drawled, coming closer. “Is that why the wall looks like I sublet this apartment to a teenage girl going through a hormonal phase?”
Rori narrowed her eyes playfully. “You’d be wise to think twice before poking fun at a hormonal girl.”
“Preaching to the choir, girl,” Fredrik said, taking a closer look at the wall and honing in on the picture of Mike, Luke, and Kris that Rori had printed off. He pulled it from the wall. “Yummy. Anyone you know?”
“Yes. The guys are all straight, though, sorry to say.”
Fredrik wiggled his eyebrows. “Everyone says that… until they don’t.”
“Uh-uh,” Rori said, snatching the picture away and putting it back on the wall. “We straight girls have to keep a few of the hotties for ourselves. Besides,” she pointed to Luke and Kris. “These two are getting married.”
“And the other?” He pantomimed a gasp. “No, don’t tell me this is the boy who has you twitchy!”
The question caught her off guard, and Rori’s hesitation to answer became her answer.
“Mmmm. It is. Sexy!”
“He is that,” she conceded. It would be beyond futile for her not to acknowledge Mike’s looks to a gay man. “And he’s coming to the exhibit. I was going to talk to you about that, actually. He’s a videographer and he wants to film the event so he can turn it into a working vacation of sorts.”
Fredrik looked back at the photo. “And if I say ‘no’ he won’t come?”
“No. He only comes to work—and I want him to come because I want to sculpt him.”
He let out a little hmmph. “Well, tie my hands why, don’t you? Normally I would quash that idea real quick, but,” his bottom lip puckered out. “He’s so cute.”
“Your call,” Rori said. “It hadn’t occurred to me that it might be an issue, but if it is, I’ll let him know the offer is off the table.”
Fredrik arched an eyebrow at her, his look coy. “Not going to fight for him, hmm? Well, that’s interesting. But don’t worry. No fight required. I already decided to green light him. He and his fine ass are in. And you’re going out tonight. I won tonight’s wager in the gallery by betting that the artist and his mother-in-law had a thing on the side. I’ve got money to burn, and I want to burn it on you, my little minx.”
“Don’t you mean you want me to be your wingwoman and help you find a man to burn the money on?”
“Potato, potatoe,” he said dismissively.
Rori couldn’t help but smile. “I’m on a roll here, Fredrik. Perhaps tomorrow?”
He clucked his tongue at her. “And tomorrow you’ll say you’ll go out next week? I don’t think so, honey. We’re leaving in an hour, so get ready.”
Rori opened her mouth to retort when Fredrik cut her off.
“Don’t even try it, sweetie. You can’t create an exhibit about ‘connecting’ by staying in every night. You do it by going out and connecting.”
It was hard to argue with that logic.
“And speaking of connecting, girl, when was the last time you—” His hands made a suggestive gesture. “Connected?”
Rori rolled her eyes. “None of your business.”
“That long, hmm?”
Yes, that long, but she didn’t need to give him specifics. “I’ve been busy.”
“Girl, there’s no such thing as being too busy to share a bed at bed time.”
That got a laugh out of her. “Oh, Freddy. If only it were that uncomplicated.”
“It can be if you let it,” he flirted back before giving her arm a light tap. “How long? Seriously. I need to know what I’m working with here.”
“How about I just let you assume whatever you like, and we drop the subject?”
“It’s not that easy, my pretty.”
Rori was about to reply that it was as easier than sharing a bed when her phone rang. Sweet escape. “I need to get this,” she announced before picking up the phone and seeing she’d just gone from bad to worse.
“Yeah?” Fredrik teased. “Who is it?”
Rori hesitated, wanting to reject the call. But no, she should answer. “It’s your boy crush,” she said. “Can you give me a minute?”
His face lit up. “Oh, by all means! But I’ll be back in an hour. Don’t think I won’t.”
“Understood,” she said before hitting answer and bringing the phone to her ear. “Hello, Mike.”
“Rori. Hi. Did I catch you at a good time?”
“As good as any,” Rori replied, watching Fredrik slip out her front door, somehow taking her bravado with him. Why was her heart pounding like she was in a race? “I have a few minutes.”
“Oh, good. I’ll try not to take much of your time then. I just had a few logistical questions about September that you may or may not have the answer to. I’m already booked through those dates, so I need to figure what days I need to arrange backups for.”
There was something oddly clinical about his voice. Something… professional. And while appropriate for the conversation at hand, it also irked a bit, considering Rori’s palms were sweating.
“By all means, don’t cancel any of your appointments on my behalf—”
“Oh, I’m happy to,” he said over her. “Trust me. A guy can only do so many weddings before he goes into a coma. New York will be a welcome change of pace. I just need to know how many da
ys I should be there.”
Again, no hint of anything personal in his voice. Nothing that said, Do you remember the heat you and I shared without even touching? I do. How many nights do you want me in your bed when I come? “The day of the event should be fine, I think.”
“Actually, I thought it would be fun to capture the take down of the existing exhibit and film yours going up. It would make some nice B-roll.”
B-roll? Rori didn’t even know what that was, and she wasn’t really in the mood to ask either. “Well, I would need to ask Fredrik about that, but I believe that have the hall closed for the three days before the exhibit. So sometime in that time frame, I would assume.”
“Okay, so I should fly in Tuesday night and out on Sunday?”
“I’m sure that would be more than adequate.”
“Perfect. I’ll pencil that in then, and let you go. I’m sure I interrupted something.”
Rori looked at her wall, and more specifically, the picture of Mike sitting on the floor with the little flower girl. “Just trying to plan out my show. Figuring out what existing pieces I can bring in and what I need to create.”
“Say no more,” he chuckled. “I totally understand and I’ll let you get to it. Thanks for sparing a minute.”
A minute, indeed. Almost to the second. “Not at all,” she said and seconds later he was gone.
What the hell was that? Not even a How are you? No questions about what her show would be about or even a passing mention of, well, anything? True, she dreaded making small talk with him, but the fact that he hadn’t even tried was even more annoying than any awkward conversation might have been where he actually acted like he cared about her as person.
In all her days she’d never had a more sterile, impersonal conversation, and for some reason that infuriated her. Here she’d been fantasizing about the guy—even going so far as to imagine how he would be as a father—and he doesn’t even try to talk to her for more than a minute?
Suddenly Rori had absolutely no desire to work. Fredrik was right. She needed to get out. To connect with men who would fight for her number and who weren’t afraid to lean in and kiss when the moment was right.
Mr Imperfect Page 14