There's no message back before bedtime. I'm disappointed, but I take comfort in the fact that he probably isn't checking his messages on a Sunday.
It's after lunch on Monday, and I'm busy working on the sand in the beach scene. I've tried to make the evening dress as unnatural a color as possible, and am now working on making the sand as natural as possible.
The cellphone balanced on the easel rings. I'm so excited about the commission that I drop the paintbrush on the floor, getting brown paint everywhere.
"Hello?"
"Skye? It's Kevin." A huge pit opens in my stomach. He never calls.
"Hi, is everything okay?"
"It's really hard for me to do this, but we don't need you to come in this week."
"What about next week?"
"We'll see how we manage without you. But that little stunt on Saturday was a serious misconduct."
"I'm sorry, he kissed me."
"It looked pretty mutual from where I was standing."
Fuck. Depressed, the only thing I can do once we hang up is check my messages on the art website. Nothing. I grab a rag and scrub the floor, and continue long after all trace of the spilled brown paint is gone.
Still on my hands and knees, my phone rings again. What bad news is it this time?
"Hello," I say, my voice flat.
"This is Kelso Wilson. You replied to my message about the commissioned pieces."
"Yes, hi, thanks for calling," I say, suddenly much more cheery.
"I'm building a fifteen thousand square foot home and want original artwork for it. Right now I anticipate ten paintings, though it might change depending on the size you feel the space needs. The pay would be five grand a painting." His voice is stern, and more like a command then a request.
"That sounds like something I would be interested in, yes. Who covers the cost of the supplies?" My heart is pounding. Five grand? Holy shit. I'm saved!
"I'd cover all costs. But I'd need you to paint on-site. I want each work created in the room it's going to hang in."
"As long as you're local."
"And one more thing: I'd need you to start right away. The last person I had bailed on me, and now the work is behind."
"I could start tomorrow, if you want."
We exchange details and I hang up. My hand trembles as I put the phone back on the easel tray. Fuck you Kevin. I won't tell him that yet, though, just in case this falls through.
Now, how pissed is Ava going to be when I tell her about the commission? I walk through the house looking for her, and find her sitting on the couch in the living room, busy with her needlework. It's a huge image of a local tent city and is a project she's been working on for eight years. She expects it to take at least that many more to finish.
"How's the new project coming?" she asks. A pang of guilt hits my chest.
"I have some exciting news." I try not to sound quite as excited as I am.
"What are you waiting for? Tell me!"
"I've just been commissioned to paint ten pieces for a new mansion that's being built." Her eyes widen, and I worry it's for disappointment in selling out.
"That's fantastic, I'm so proud of you." She hops up and hugs me.
"It doesn't make me a sellout?"
"No silly, artists throughout time have painted pieces for their big houses. It's our way of sucking as much money out of the rich bastards as we can. But I tell you what you should do: make him fund a gallery exhibit for you as part of the deal." My shoulders relax at her words of approval.
A gallery exhibit, that would be the real break I need. It would get my name out there, not like locking me away in some mansion.
Excitement bubbles over and I can't help myself, I start jumping up and down. Soon Ava is as well, and we jump up and down in a little circle.
Chapter Six
Lost and Found (Lawson)
It's been a nightmare this week dealing with the launch of my latest luxury hotel. Not only did that fuckface Kelso not finish the washrooms, I'm sure he didn't finish them out of spite.
Instead I had to go ahead and open with only half of the rooms available.
Meanwhile it's local. It's going to be something of a flagship hotel for me. My first hotel without Kelso.
Julie and his lawyer have been banging heads all week, but I'd had enough. Kelso didn't meet his end of the agreement, and as far as I'm concerned that's all any judge is going to need to hear.
No longer willing to mess around, I went out and hired a whole new construction company to finish the job. After dangling the carrot of working with me regularly, I've got them to promise me to work day and night to meet the launch party.
When I stepped into the shower on Saturday morning, I realized I hadn't even had a chance to think about Skye all week. Sweet Skye. Just thinking about her makes my dick hard, and that's all the encouragement I need to grab it.
I remember her soft lips and the way my arms completely enveloped her. The bumps of her breasts as they pushed into my chest. Most of all that laugh. Fuck, that laugh. It was orgasmic. The thought of drawing a sound like that out of her as I pound her makes my dick explode.
Tonight, I'm going to go in there and leave with her on my arm. I shudder as I think of all the things I'll do to her when I get her home. More than anything, I want her legs wrapped around my neck as I feast on her pussy.
Spent, I prop a hand against the wall of the shower as I catch my breath.
Around nine, I pull my car into the parking lot of Johnny's. I take the last spot available, my Maserati sandwiched between a Ford and a Kia.
I stroll into Johnny's by myself. I still get a kick out of walking into a restaurant that doesn't take reservations. The smell of barbecue sauce makes my stomach rumble. I think I'll go for the ribs tonight. I figure I'll hang around until closing and take Skye home.
"What do you want?" the idiot manager that broke up our kiss last weekend snaps.
"A table. In Skye's section." I don't put up with any attitude from anyone.
"She doesn't work here any more." His words are a blow.
"Why not?"
"She got fired for inappropriate behavior at work." Fuck, I didn't mean to get the poor girl fired. That's okay, I'll buy her her own restaurant.
"What's her number?" I demand.
"Can't tell you that, it's personal information."
"I need to know her number," I say, rising to my full height with my shoulders rolled back.
"You can ask all you want, I legally can't tell you." Pissant. Figures he'd be all by the book. I exhale through my nose.
"Will you be talking to her again?"
"Dunno."
"Tell her I'm looking for her." I say pulling my card out of my wallet and shoving it at him.
He picks it up and examines it. His eyes half pop out of his head when he sees my name. That's right, asshole, I'm Lawson Heywood. I turn on my heels and stride out.
I flop back into my Maserati and slam the door. After revving the engine a few times, I tear out of the parking lot, knowing damn well that asswipe manager is watching.
What the fuck am I going to do now? All my plans for the evening are ruined. Not just the evening: I'd envisioned having Skye in my bed for months. I slam the heel of my hand on the top of the steering wheel.
Now what? I head towards Julie's house. I'll get her people to track down Skye.
Without knocking, I use my key and walk into her house. Straight through the grand entrance with its sweeping staircase and into the kitchen. I grab a beer from the kitchen and head down the hall and into the family room.
Julie's sitting on the sofa with her feet propped up on the ottoman. She looks at me and rolls her eyes as I flop onto the couch beside her.
"What the fuck are you doing here? I thought you were chasing that waitress tonight." She mutes the movie she's been watching.
"She doesn't work there any more. I need you to track her down for me."
"Did you get her fired?"
I don't want to think about that. "Fuck off and find her for me."
"You've got that backwards, you mean find her for me so I can fuck her."
"That too."
"How about a please?" She gives me a wide grin. The same one she always gave me when we were kids and she wanted to annoy me.
"I'll give you a thank you when you find her."
"Have you tried the internet?"
"Haven't had time yet."
Julie sits forward and grabs her laptop from the far corner of the ottoman. She opens it and leans back on the couch.
"What's her name?"
"Skye." Just saying her name makes me ache.
"Skye what?"
"Beats the fuck out of me."
"How on earth do you expect me to find her?"
"I don't know. Her name's Skye and she was a waitress. She draws well, maybe she's an artist too."
Julie's fingers fly over the keyboard. My eyes fix on them, willing an answer.
She looks at me and says, "You're a moron. All I did was type in Skye artist Santa Barbara and this gallery came up."