All the tension, all the worries about money and my parents and my career vanished that night, and I had the best sleep I've had since leaving Michigan.
In the morning, feeling fresh, both physically and mentally, I head straight to my studio and start on a brand new canvas. I try to explore the themes I thought I saw on the arm I had a better look at.
"Oooh, are you moving in a new direction?" Ava asks, bringing me a cup of tea.
"I thought I'd explore basic, linear shapes today."
"It's fascinating. I can't wait to see where you go with it."
"Thanks," I say and take a sip of the tea, inhaling the peppermint smell.
"I'll leave you, I don't want to disturb creative genius at work. I just wanted to bring you something to drink."
I stand back from the canvas, sipping my tea and examining it. I can't go down this little self-indulgent path any further; it'd never sell. Not that my other stuff is flying off the shelves, but at least it has potential.
I whitewash over the canvas and put it aside. In my sketchbook, I draw out a few ideas about the dragon lady, and all the places she would be out of place in. I run with the idea, jotting and sketching everything that comes into my mind.
Soon I've come up with a concept for a series of paintings on out of place wealth, and how money detaches a person from the rest of the world. An evening gown on the beach. Dangly diamond earrings on a tree in the woods. A tiara on top of a scarecrow's head.
I immerse myself in the project for four days, spending every waking hour on the paintings. Ava brings me food and drinks, and I break to eat, but otherwise spend every second of my time on them.
Thursday meets me with dread. I have to work at Johnny's tonight.
The three canvases are lined up in a row in my studio, and I fiddle with the green of the trees in the forest, trying to make the leaves appear as natural as possible.
Noticing my hunger for the first time in days, I put down my brush and make my way to the kitchen. As I approach it, I overhear Ava speaking on the phone in the living room.
"I don't understand why you won't remortgage my property," she is saying.
My heart sinks. I pause to listen to her conversation, I can't help myself.
"Yes, I know I'm over retirement age, but I have a pension that covers the payments."
My heart is now pounding in my chest, and I'm on the verge of hyperventilating.
Not wanting to hear anymore, I rush into the kitchen. I try to unwrap the bread bag, but my hands are shaking so much I give up and grab a banana instead.
It doesn't matter what Ava says, I'm going to have to take on extra shifts at Johnny's. And I'm going to start painting more mainstream projects. Enough of the self-indulgent museum pieces, I'm not having a kind woman fritter away her house and pension because of me.
While I finish my banana, I scan the commissions available on a local artists' website. I send my details off to a handful, then decide fuck it, I need anything I can get, and send my details to all of the current postings.
Most are for things like portrait paintings. A few are for things like ‘paint my house' or ‘paint my dog'. Some people have way too much money on their hands.
With Ava's comment about remortgaging echoing in my head, I put up a profile of myself with photos of both myself and some of my pieces, as someone looking for work.
Until now, I'd always viewed the artist profiles as people who weren't being true to their art. Now I'm one of them.
Throwing myself back into my paintings, I decide I need to finish this project as quickly as possible, even if the quality suffers.
By the late afternoon I'm absorbed in making the diamond earring shimmer. I lose total track of time and only realize I'm late for work when Ava comes in and tells me.
That night, I make sure to set my alarm to make sure I'm not late for Friday and Saturday's shifts. I'm skating on thin ice after last Saturday, and then being late today. Now, knowing Ava's situation, I can't risk the income.
On Saturday, I hide in my waitress station wiping down the menus. Kevin lets me know a party of two has just arrived at table six. I grab two menus and head to it, ready to give my standard welcome spiel.
When I reach the table, the hot guy from last week is sitting in the same spot he was last Saturday. A different woman sits across from him. A thousand butterflies fill my insides.
"Hey, Skye," he says and winks at me.
"Welcome back to Johnny's Roadhouse." My smile is not the fake plastered-on one I normally greet guests with.
My cheeks burn red when I think about how he's become the star of my nightly fantasies. Embarrassed, I drop the menus on the table and hightail it back to my wait station.
Leaning against the wall, I try to calm my breathing. I pat my cheeks, willing the red to go away. This is nuts, I have to calm myself down, or how will I be able to go out there and take his order? Let alone carry a plate of food to him without dropping it...
"Hey," he says, poking his head around the partition. It startles me and I jump, which seems to delight him.
"Is everything okay?" Instinctively, I revert to my robot waitress mode.
"You forgot to take our drinks orders."
Okay, I tell myself, he's just here for normal, everyday restaurant stuff. It's nothing to do with me. He hasn't read my mind about what I do with him in my fantasies at night.
"Oh, oops, what can I get you?" I smile, but am painfully aware of the slight tremble in my bottom lip.
"A couple of Buds would be great."
"Coming right up."
"Cheers, Skye." He winks and leaves me leaning against the wall for support.
I take a few deep breaths, forcing myself to calm down. What is the matter with me? Just because the hottest guy who's ever walked in this place is back, I fall apart and start acting like a star-struck twelve year old.
Chapter Four
First Taste (Lawson)
I sit back down in the booth with Julie, my thoughts still on Skye and what I'd like to do to her.
"You haven't stopped grinning since we got here," my sister says.
"I'm happy, what can I say?"
"I say I haven't seen you this happy in ages. And by happy I mean excited. What's going on?"
"What do you mean? Can't your big brother be happy?"
"Something's up. I should've known when you said you wanted to take me out for a burger."
"You'll see."
"Oh God, is it the waitress?" She rolls her eyes as she says it.
"Obviously, have you seen her?"
Skye appears with our beers and says, "Here you are, two beers. I'll be right back to take your order." She runs away before I can even thank her. Too bad, I like to talk to her. At least she looks as good going as she does coming.
"Her? You're at least ten years older than her. Are you having a midlife crisis already? You're too young for that."
"It's not just her looks, she cracks me up. And she's incredibly talented, you saw the picture she drew of Freya."
"Poor Freya, I can't believe you ditched the yacht party to bring her here. She still hasn't spoken to me - you probably cost me a friend."
"Who cares? You have too many friends as it is. Besides, you don't need ones who are only interested in money."
Julie rolls her eyes and says, "Aside from the fact I love a good plate of ribs, why am I here?"
"Isn't it obvious? I wanted to see Skye again."
"And?"
"And I needed your opinion. Is she going to turn out to be a gold digger too? If you say yes, then I know I'm okay. It's when you say no that I know I need to start guarding my wallet."
Skye talked all that shit about the rich, but people change their tunes pretty fast when money is within their grasp.
"You're a real piece of work, you know that?"
Skye arrives back at the side of the booth and asks, "Have you decided what you want?" When she puts it that way, I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling her exactly what I want.
"I'll have the ribs, with fries," Julie says. Skye looks at me with raised eyebrows; apparently she approves of my date for the night.
"And you, sir, what would you like?" Fuck, the way she called me sir again overloads me with the desire to answer that question truthfully.
"The burger."
"The works again?"
"Absolutely."
"Awesome." She turns and goes and I can't take my eyes off her. Even after she's out of sight, I keep my eyes on where she turned the corner, hoping she'll reappear.
"Enough of this, we're supposed to be talking about Kelso," Julie says.
Kelso Wilson is my ex-business partner. We made billions together, before I decided I couldn't take any more of the asshole.
It was a great business, he built the hotels and resorts all over the world, and I ran them. Except I realized I could get anyone to build them, and didn't have to put up with his shit in the process.
We've been locked in a legal battle to divide up the business for the past fourteen months. It's pretty easy to carve off the construction division, but for some reason the asshole thinks he deserves more.