Artful Attractions (9 page)

‘Ring, ring, hookah, ring, ring.’

Mother fucker—not again. I’m so not in the mood. I shouldn’t have ever turned my ringer back on. Stupid me!

“What the fuck do you want at nine in the morning Brian? I need my beauty rest,” I growl.

“Ummmm… I’m not Brian.” A deep bellowing voice coaxes me out of my sleepy daze and I pull my phone from my ear and check the caller ID. It’s not plugged into my contacts. “Hello? Is this Alexis?”

“Yes, this is she.” I rub the sleep from my eyes.

“This is Brad.”

I thought maybe but I wished it away ignoring the fact that he’s the only man I’ve ever spoken with that has a voice that deep and sensual. It’s like Vin Diesel meets The Rock meets George Clooney, all tied up into a sexy voice package.

“Good morning Brad, how many I help you? Anne is still sleeping but I can wake her,” I offer, trying to move past why he rang me.

“You live with Anne? And you still wouldn’t come to dinner last night? Am I that horrible?” His tone is weighted with jagged wounds.

I didn’t deny him a date because he’s horrible, it’s because I am. He’s not my chosen path. Joseph is. Period. Cut and dry. End of story. Move along. Sayonara. 

I drop my tone into a gentle lovingness. “No, no Brad. I’m sorry, I just thought it was a one night thing. I’m not interested in dating at all. I only went along because Anne asked. I’m sorry. I figured Mary would be better suited if you were looking for a girlfriend type of relationship.”

That’s the sweetest way I can put it. I can’t exactly come clean. And Mary is better suited for him. Anyone is better than me.

“Alexis, I didn’t say I wanted a girlfriend and I never asked you to date me. I thought we could have dinner as friends. I don’t know where the significant other part comes into play because I don’t have the time or want to have any woman in my life that way. I just enjoyed your company strictly as friends,” he explains uniformly. 

“Ok, sorry. I was under the impression from Anne that you were seeking a hookup or a girlfriend.”

No I wasn’t actually. I wouldn’t care if he was seeking a hookup, I would have slept with him. It’s my job. But shit, I can’t very well tell him the truth. Now can I?

He laughs. It thunders in my ears and I feel it vibrate through my body, pooling in my panties. I’m seriously attracted to this man so much, his voice awakens something feral inside. God help me.  “I don’t need sex from you, trust me. I’m not like Andrew in that way.”

“I still don’t think we should be friends, Brad. It’s not a good idea. Stick with Mary.”

“I don’t like Mary. I like you. You know things about my life that nobody else does. It’s cool to be able to talk about. When I met you the other night I didn’t want to be set up either. Then walks in an attractive blonde and her even prettier friend. That was enough to throw me off my game. Then the Amy and my mom stuff came up and… I dunno.” I can hear almost hear his shrug through the phone. Or that’s how I’m picturing him, anyhow. “It’s kind of cool. Don’t you think so too? I mean, you said so yourself, you don’t know anyone who’s heard of that place. Yet, we bump into each other and my sister happens to own it.”

I have to admit he’s right. It’s a small world, after all. 

“Ok, so how’d you get my number?” Time for subject change.

“I tried to get it from Andrew, then from Anne and then from Mary. They wouldn’t give up the goods. So I called my sister and told her I needed it.”

“You told your sister!”  She’s going to kill me.

A sinful chuckle erupts through the phone. “Simmer down. I told her I wanted to contact you to get some sketches for my new apartment in the city. That’s all. She was fine with handing it over. She even made me sit through a ten minute conversation about how great you are. She loves you more than she loves me and I’m her flesh and blood.”

I can’t help but smile at that. I love Amy.

“No she doesn’t. And Amy is great too. I’ve got to get up there to visit soon. I miss it. And after this long week at work I need the R and R., like yesterday.”

“You should go next weekend. I think I’m heading that way soon too. Maybe we’ll cross paths.” He sounds hopeful.

Oh boy, that sounds nice. In reality, I’d love to be hugged and loved by Brad. He’s the kind of man you marry—not just sleep with. But that’s a total no-no. Not that he wants me that way anyhow.

“Can’t, I’m busy all night Friday and into Saturday.” I make it crystal clear. Maybe this will throw him off the disastrous friend path. He needs to find a new female to be friends with because this one likes him too much. And it’s his mind more than his body. Although that appears to be rather nice too.

“Why? Do you have a boyfriend?” He drops his tone, the deepness just sunk into even sexier territory. Didn’t think that was possible. Some men have attractive voices. But Brad’s is like an eight gold medalist in the Olympics kind of sexy.

Unfortunately, it’s time to take this opportunity and squash any dreams he has. For his sake as well as my own.

“Yes, I sort of do. It’s complicated but we see each other a few times a week. Keeping it casual.”

See, I didn’t lie. Joseph is my work boyfriend and we do keep it casual. How we keep it casual I’m not divulging. But that’s all he needs to know. Simply justified.

“How long?”

“How long what?” I tuck my hand under my head and sprawl out across the bed in a giant X. Stretching my body. The phone held securely to my ear. 

“Have you been dating?” he inquires treading into unwanted territory.

“Nine months last week.” I blurt out. Which is also true.

A pregnant silence takes up space. He hasn’t hung up but I think a cat caught his tongue. I can hear his breath in the receiver and he’s somewhere quiet because there’s no background noise. It’s just him and his deep breaths. There’s something very raw about this moment.

“Well… I don’t see how that affects a future friendship. Unless your boyfriend has a problem with you having male friends. Is Brian the boyfriend of yours? Is that who you thought was calling this morning?” He asks evenly, breaking the silence. Appearing to have tightened up his stance.

“No, Brian is a friend of mine, Mary’s and Anne’s. He likes to bug me in the mornings and I hate it…Okay Brad, listen, I don’t know if I can be friends with you or not. If it doesn’t work out I’ll have to give up Lolita’s and that’s the only place in the entire world I can’t sacrifice. I’ll think about the proposal. But if you want sketches like you said to Amy I would be happy to make a few. Any idea of how big you’d want?”

Truth be known, I can’t paint; I can’t do watercolors, chalk or pastels. I suck at sculpture and other material arts. But me, a piece of charcoal, and a canvas, I can make magic happen. I sketch bodies, mainly from memory, not models. That’s why I took up art history rather than art itself in college. If I could paint or some other form of artistic expression, I would. God, knows I’ve dabbled in it all. But I’ve been blessed with only the talent of black and grays. The strokes of a brush and color composition never sunk in. Plus life is so black and white with gray areas and I express that in most sketches I illustrate. They are raw and explicit, to convey a deep seeded emotion that you could spend hours contemplating, yet you’d still be left in a tornado of wonderment. It’s personal to me and I’ve only ever embraced it as a hobby of sorts.

“You don’t want to be my friend, but you’ll draw for me?” He sounds more surprised than hurt.

“If you have a new apartment, you have to fill it with something. Why not? It’s only art and I know I might not be Kate Sammons or some other famous artist but I can draw nudes,” I state confidently.

I don’t want to go into how I get all my subjects to draw with him. I pull bits and pieces from memories, and when I draw women, which I actually prefer, I use escorts that I’ve known or met as muses for my art. Men have firm beautiful bodies with cut muscles. But the curves and gentleness of a woman’s body is beyond a words measure; with their dazzling rawness it’s impossible to perfect but I crave the need to depict such a fathomless beauty. 

“If you want to, I’d love to have two and large would be nice. The ones at the B&B are smaller. I don’t know what you’re capable of. But I will pay you handsomely for your generosity.”

“Do you want male or female and do you want actual sexual organ comprehensiveness or blurry?”

He chuckles. “Wow, you really know your stuff.”

“I was an art history major in college. It’s my job to know my stuff. So what’ll it be?”

This conversation has trotted along long enough. Fifteen minutes and I need to let him go. I can’t stay on the phone any longer. I have a life and he’s dangerous.

“Female please. Elegance more than sexual and sex organs are fine.”

“Ok, sounds great. I’ll save your number and get back to you when they are complete. Also, they are on the house. If it wasn’t for Amy I wouldn’t have a sanctuary. So have a nice day Brad. I’ll speak with you soon.”

I hang up without so much of a goodbye. My stomach is starting the butterfly arrangement. It’s the tone of his voice that feels like he’s fucking me without even trying or wanting to. I can’t have anything to do with those feelings. This needs to stop now.

I guess I’m off work today. So today would be as good as any to hit up the art stores in the area and select the right canvases. If I hadn’t been drawing like this for the past ten years doing charcoal work I would probably do sketches first. But I like the freedom and the urgency of only having a single canvas to create the perfect art.

I hop out of bed. It’s too early for Becka to be awake so I have to make sure to be quiet. I pull on some jeans, a white tee and my jean jacket. I tie my long hair into a high pony and slap on some eye shadow and gloss. I can pull off casual quite nicely. I grab my purse and a wad of cash out of my giant safe in the back of my closet. Some people use banks to store money. I use the bank to store only bill money and the rest is all held up in my large bulletproof heavy as hell safe. It weighs 783 pounds and has a keypad on the front that only I know the password to. There is thousands upon thousands of dollars stored meticulously inside.

It’s a balmy sixty-five degrees out today. It’s the end of September so the weather from the summer is calming down. Some days it’s warmer as others it’s chillier. I’ve grown up in this climate my entire life and New Yorkers are used to the change. Even though I’m not a native New Yorker I’ve been here the past seven years. And I am not moving away any time in my near or distant future. I love this city.

Five blocks down; after passing store after store I’ve finally arrived to the art shop. It’s a little off the beaten path and unique. But it’s one of the hidden wonders in Queens. A door dings as I enter.

“How may I help you, ma’am?” the Hispanic shop owner greets.

“Yes, I need two thirty by forty-eight stretched canvases, some matte spray and a box of charcoal sticks.”

“Do you need pencils too?”  he asks.

I shake my head. “No thank you I have a huge set at home. I just run out of sticks rather quickly.”

He collects my order in a timely manner and I wait by the register to pay. It comes to a little over a hundred. I stuff the sticks and spray into my pockets and carry the canvases. They are rather large and awkward so I carry them over my head the five blocks home.

Lying them next to the front door I unlock it and push it open.

“Where’d you go?” Becka asks, standing in the small kitchen buck ass naked, making some coffee.

“I got a call from Brad this morning. He finally procured my number and I’m doing some art for him.” I carry in the canvases and lean them against the wall. I kick off my tennis shoes and drape my jacket over the back of a chair.

“Oh, he just wants art?” She asks plucking her nipple with her finger.

I roll my eyes. “No, he wants to be my ‘friend.’” I make animated finger quotes. “And stop that, will you? I know you have nice tits but it’s distracting,” I tease, watching her play with herself. She’s a pervert big time. Becka is one of those women who if she doesn’t come every day she becomes cranky and ends up masturbating frantically like her life depends on it. I hear it in her bedroom on our days off. I can go a few days in between but not her.

“My clit’s pounding this morning. So sue me. And he just wants to be friends, huh? What did you tell him?” She quirks up a brow and sips from her white mug. Her legs squeezing together to stimulate her arousal. 

“I told him no. But I did offer to do the art work.” I pull out the charcoal and show her.

She nods. “I see. So the man you like more than you should...you’re going to draw him some beautiful artwork that he will get to look at every day and expect him not to want to be friends with you? Sounds like torture. Not that I’m opposed to delayed male gratification; there is something wonderful about that. But this goes beyond. I can tell you aren’t going to give him what he wants. Not that I blame you. If you like him like I think you do, it’s smart to cut him loose. I’d do the same,” she explains and leans up against the counter, opening her stance and placing a finger between her folds.

“Do you have to play with yourself in the kitchen?” I giggle, observing her.