Brushstrokes Read Free

that night, or the next day for that matter. She was devastated on
some level, but did not expect someone as busy as Leon to take her seriously.
It was mid-morning a few days later when she finally stopped waiting for a
message from him and indulged in a long bath, sans cell phone. Leaving it well
out of reach on her kitchen counter, she promised herself that she would relax
and stop thinking about their meeting. She had never told herself such a
bold-faced lie before.
    Allowing her muscles to
relax in the warm, pooling water, she settled against the shape of the
porcelain tub. She cleared her thoughts of everything except the sound of her
breath, but that did not last very long. Her mind went back to her idol, the
man she had fantasied about meeting for so very long. He was so much more than
she had imagined.
    Reality felt so
different in his presence. She felt the power that he commanded all around him,
the ability in his hands that no one else could replicate. She wished more than
anything that she could create as he did, but she was no match for those
masterful brushstrokes and raw talent. She had been told that some things you
just have to be born with. That made him all the more irresistible.
    Sighing and sinking
deeper into the soothing water, she regretted having given him the runaround. 
He had an effect on her body that she just could not explain. If I could do
it again, I’d have brought him home. Running her hand gently over her
teardrop breasts and slowly downward, she focused on the sound of her name on
his lips, afraid of losing the memory.
    Bzzzt!
    Her imaginary world
stopped and she shot up, water splashing on the floor.
    Bzzzt!
    Leaping out of the tub
and skidding with wet feet to the kitchen, she reached her phone just in time
for the call to go to voicemail. Too excited by the possibility of it having
been Leon to notice she was shaking from the cold, she checked the call log
with slick, slippery fingers.
    “Oh, just work.”
Dejected, her heart sank to the bottom of her stomach and her sensual desires
lingered like the scent of a feast in the nostrils of a starving man who would
never eat.
    Deciding to call back
instead of dial into voicemail, she was simply told to pack the standard set of
contracts and get ready to board a plane in three hours. It was not uncommon
for her to be asked to get an artist’s signature for major contracts in person
to avoid future conflicts, but this was very short notice for an international
flight. Fortunately for her, she never unpacked her overnight bag from her last
trip.
    Less than two hours
later she had passed through security and was well on her way to making it to Paris. There was one thing she wondered, though. Who is going to pick me up in the
middle of the night?
    ***
    Disembarking from the
plane, she stepped out into the receiving area. Rubbing her own shoulders, she
stretched every muscle in her body and vowed to lie in bed for as long as
possible when she got back home.  Looking around the huge space, she thought
about how this was Leon’s city and hoped to bump into him. Don’t be
ridiculous. She chided herself. Paris is as busy as New York. I won’t see him…
    Her thoughts were
interrupted by the hulking man with flat, blue eyes motioning to her near the
main exit. Dumbfounded, she walked over as confidently as she could. Is this
a trick? Is this a coincidence? Maybe I’m still asleep on the flight and this
is a dream?
    ”Leon,” She managed a flat, professional tone that belied her thought process. “Are you whom I’ve
come to collect a signature from?”
    He chuckled, his voice
deep and booming. It came over her from above, his tall frame dwarfing her.
“Certainly. But come, it is late and there is much to be done.” He put an arm
around her and walked her to his car, looking to all observers as if they were
as familiar as lovers.
    The trip was much more
difficult for her than the long plane ride. He was imposing in the seat next to
her, his