To My Senses The Nicci Beauvoir Series Book 1 (6 page)

“
There is one thing that
bothers me.” I motioned to the pictures, purposefully ignoring his
last statement. “You seem as if you are close to what you want to
achieve with your work, but not there yet. Your frustration comes
through in the painting. Does that make sense?”

“
Yes.” He sighed and threw
the rag on his stool. “I’ve always felt like I’ve not quite reached
my potential as an artist. I know it’s there, within me, but I
don’t know what I can do to bring it to fruition.”

“
Maybe you haven’t found
the right subject yet.”

“
Perhaps one day I’ll
create something wonderful.” He slammed his lips together. “Then I
can find myself a better sponsor.”

“
How is Sammy? Fully
recovered?”

He shot me an odd look.
“Quite recovered.” He glimpsed the ground. “Look, about the other
night I wanted to—”

I waved my hand at him. “It
doesn’t matter.”

“
I just didn’t want you to
leave thinking….” His voice trailed off then his eyes rose to meet
mine.

“
What I think is not
important, David.” I turned and focused on the paintings ahead of
me, avoiding him.

“
Perhaps I could buy you
breakfast.” He fidgeted next to me.

I wrinkled my brow. “It’s
eleven-thirty.”

“
Brunch?” he
pleaded.

I gestured to the
unfinished canvas sitting on his easel. “What about your
work?”

“
I can’t work when I’m
hungry. Besides I need a break. It will give us a chance to finish
our conversation.”

“
Which one?”

He moved closer to my side.
“The one where you were going to tell me about your dreams. I’m
still waiting.”

“
I never said I was going
to tell you anything of the kind!”

“
Well, today you are!” He
started packing up his brushes and paints.

I folded my arms defiantly
across my chest. “What makes you so sure you can get me to talk
today, of all days?”

He bobbed his eyebrows,
whimsically. “Because I know a waitress at the coffee shop down the
street who will slip some truth serum into your coffee, my
dear.”

David seemed so relaxed, so
at ease with me. The stiffness and the formality were abandoned. I
watched as he packed up his paintings.

“
How long have you been
drugging women into submission, or is this just a recent
development?” I helped him wrap one of the paintings.

“
Oh, I never resort to
drugs until absolutely necessary. I prefer the hammer over the head
routine. Much quicker.”

“
I’ll keep my eyes out for
the hammer then. So when do I get to see your nudes?” He stopped
cold in his tracks and turned to me. “I always thought most artists
had done nudes at some point in their career,” I
maintained.

“
Why? Would you like to
pose for me?” He leered at me, playfully.

“
Me? Are you
kidding?”

“
How will you know if you
never try? Besides, you know why painters paint?”

I shook my head.
“No.”

“
To see women naked, of
course.”

We moved to the street and
David began to pile the load of paintings into a nearby blue Jaguar
coupe.

I looked from David to the
car. “Somehow, I get the impression you don’t have a problem with
women.”

David took me to the Corner
Café on Royal and St. Ann Streets. The small shop was half empty
when we arrived. We took a table next to one of the large windows
on the sidewalk. A thick, round-faced brunette smiled pleasantly at
David as she approached the table.

“
Been a while.” She removed
her notepad from her red apron. “Glad to see you back.”

“
Yes, I’ve been away.”
David glanced to me. “They have the best coffee and chicory here
and some wonderful pastries.”

“
Just coffee please.
Black,” I said to the waitress.

“
Tea for you,” the waitress
declared to David. He opened his mouth to add something, but she
raised her hand. “I know, I know. Milk, no sugar, and a sweet
roll.” She shook her head and walked away.

“
You do come here often.” I
peered around the small café.

The floor was covered with
dirty yellow tile while several old fashioned metal ceiling fans
were spinning above our heads. There was a counter with stools at
one end of the room and a kitchen behind that. The tables were made
of a dark wood and looked about as old as the floor. Many tourists
had taken to carving their initials in the tabletops. It was what
is typically termed a hole in the wall, which meant it was probably
good, with a devoted clientele. I had learned long ago never to
judge a New Orleans restaurant by how it looked, only by the flavor
of the food.

“
I come here when I paint,”
David explained. “It’s close to the cathedral and the prices are
pretty reasonable.”

We sat for the next few minutes in silence.
David stared out the window at the people passing by and I fidgeted
in my seat, feeling the sweat rising on my palms. The waitress soon
returned with our drinks and two rolls on a plate.

“
He always eats two. Asks
for one, but always eats two.” She placed the plate and mugs on the
table and winked at David before she walked away.

“
A fan?” I inquired, taking
a sip from the mug. It was hot and strong, typical New Orleans
coffee. Just the way I liked it.

“
No, just a concerned
citizen. She always asks where my girlfriend is.” He sipped his
tea. “She probably thinks I finally took her advice.”

“
So you don’t bring your
women here?” I teased. “I bet you go in for lower lighting and a
place that serves large quantities of alcohol.”

He shook his head. “God,
you’re relentless.”

“
Is there any other way to
be?”

“
Not for you.” He took a
bite of his roll.

“
Someone once told me they
found being direct saves time.”

He grimaced slightly. “I
should watch what I say around you.”

“
It also depends on the
person. I’m selective about who I intimidate.”

“
Should I feel
honored?”

“
Of course. There aren’t
many people whose company I share that can understand, let alone
handle what I dish out.”

“
I can see your point.” He
continued gnawing on his roll. “Sammy and her crowd can leave me
yawning in record time with their senseless gossip. It’s absolutely
unbearable.”

“
Then why do you
stay?”

He turned and looked out
the window, then combed his seductive hands through his dark wavy
hair.

“
To be a painter,” he began
very slowly, “sometimes you have to do things for the sake of your
art. I stay with Sammy because she believes in my work and can help
me find an audience for what I do.”

“
Then why come to the
Quarter and set up shop like the other artists?” I took a sip from
my coffee.

“
I like to get away from….”
He frowned. “From the pressures of my life. I come to meet the
people and talk and paint. I find the atmosphere
relaxing.”

“
How long have you been a
painter?”

“
Good Lord, probably since
I was born. I began painting when I was about fifteen.” He smiled,
recalling his memories. “I lived with my aunt most of my life. My
mother died when I was very small and my father was always gone. He
was a merchant seaman. My Aunt Flo raised me in New York.” He took
another sip from his tea. “She was a wealthy widow who had many
socially prominent friends interested in the arts. Her neighbor,
Mrs. Jane Callaway, put the idea into my aunt’s head that I needed
art lessons at some fancy school she sponsored. Well, it wasn’t
long until I realized that Mrs. Callaway really had other plans for
me.” He smiled, half laughing at me.

It took me a minute to
understand why he was so amused. “A fifteen-year-old boy?” I
clamored.

He shrugged. “It wasn’t as
bad as you think.”

“
I’m sure you didn’t think
it was bad, at all.”

“
Actually, you’re right. My
aunt eventually found out and had a private meeting with Mrs.
Callaway. I was told never to return to her home, or the art
school. I discovered that I really enjoyed the art classes. I
bugged poor old Flo until she relented and sent me to another art
school. I’ve been at it ever since.”

“
Art?” I sarcastically
posed.

Yes, art.” He gave me a
second look. “The rest…that came later. It comes with the
territory. I get what I need and I give them what they
need.”

“
Oh,” was all I could think
to say. I took another swig of coffee.

“
Nicci, you’re not a child.
I won’t sit here and pretend I don’t live a different kind of
lifestyle than I do.” His gray eyes seemed colder and the muscles
tensed along his jawline.

“
I just think you could do
better. You are wasting yourself, waiting for someone else to give
you something that you have to achieve on your own. Sammy and her
cronies don’t give a damn about you. You’re just a prize to be
flaunted and then discarded.”

“
I don’t want to get into a
moral discussion with you.”

I could see the topic was closed by the
stern look on his face.

I sat staring into the
black pool of coffee swirling in my mug. My heart felt about as
black as the coffee, and was probably just as bitter. David tore
into the second roll and didn’t speak until he had finished every
bite.

Then he sighed, breaking
the tension between us. “I don’t want you to be angry with me. I
feel like you’re the only person I can talk to in this town.” He
reached across the table and patted my hand. “Enough about my droll
life. I thought we came to talk about you.” His demeanor cheered
and the heavy atmosphere around the table lifted.

I shook my head. “Compared
to you, I’m a complete bore.”

“
I don’t believe that.
You’re smart, funny, easy to talk to, and damned attractive. I
can’t believe there aren’t men lining up from all parts of town to
date you.”

“
Please, dating is
comparable to torture in my book. The same boring conversations
about what his parents do and what my father does. What he is
majoring in and what I am majoring in…blah, blah, blah.”

David leaned his elbows on
the table. “It’s called getting to know one another.”

“
Well, I gave it up for
Lent.” I sat back in my chair with a thud.

“
Then I presume we can’t
talk about your boyfriend or someone you’re seeing. I guess we’ll
have to move onto the next topic. What do you do for
fun?”

“
What are you talking
about?”

“
What do you do for fun?”
He shifted excitedly in his chair. “It is a very simple question,
Nicci. Most people have some way they like to spend their time.
What do you do?”

I had no idea what to say.
I didn’t participate in any of the usual hobbies that most people
found relaxing. My father had subjected me to a few outdoor
activities, insisting I needed an opportunity to commune with
nature. I had broken my ankle skiing, capsized the boat sailing,
and was attacked by a herd of man-eating ants camping. The only
hobby that I had ever enjoyed with my father was reading. I had
gone fishing with my Uncle Lance when I was little and had loved
it.

“
Fishing,” came out before
I could stop it. “I like to fish,” I added.

David laughed. “I don’t see
you as the type of girl who would string a worm on a
hook.”

I smirked. “What would you
suggest I string on a hook?”

“
I won’t even begin to
comment on that.” He rolled his eyes. “You honestly like to
fish…hmm.” He gazed around the room.

“
I don’t like that
look.”

He checked the clock on the
far wall. “I think we can just make it.”

“
Make what?”

Raising his hand, he
summoned our waitress. “I’ll get the check and we can
go.”

“
Go where?” I lowered my
voice, as the waitress approached.

“
Do ya’ll want a second
round?” she inquired.

“
No, just the check.
Thanks.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his
wallet.

The waitress nodded and
then tore a slip of paper from her notepad and placed it on the
table. “See you soon,” she added, smiling at David. She turned and
walked away.

“
I’ll get it.” I grabbed
for the slip of paper, but David was too fast for me.

“
Allow me,” he said. “I owe
you for saving me from Eddie at the lawn party.”

I made another vain attempt
for the tab. “David, I will pay the bill. I don’t want you to pay
for me.”

“
You can bully your other
men around, Nicci, but you’ll find I can be just as stubborn as
you.” He stood up, placed the money on the table, and looked over
at me. “Are you coming?” he demanded.