Complementary Colors Read online

“Almost.”

  “But almost still means it can be done.”

  “Sure, but…” She chewed her lip. “What if I’m not any good?”

  “You won’t know until you try.”

  “Tom thinks it’s a waste of time.”

  “Like I said, Dick is a much better name.”

  She took her hand out of mine and sat beside me. “I have a few books already done.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “I hide them under the bed in a portfolio.”

  “You should submit them.”

  “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

  I looked around on the desk for a pen and paper. There was plenty to choose from. “Here.” I scribbled out a name and number. “Call this woman. Serena Haus.”

  “Who is she?”

  “She’s an agent.”

  “The article in Modern Art said your sister was your agent.”

  Unfortunately for me, she was. “True, but Serena has been trying for the last three years to get Julia to sign me up with her. And Serena has a lot of powerful contacts.”

  “Then why doesn’t your sister use her?”

  “Greed.”

  Christine’s dark brows came down over her large blue eyes.

  “It would mean giving up some of her money,” I said. “Julia isn’t about to give up her money unless it will make her more money. It would also have to get her more media attention. With Serena in the front seat, Julia would disappear from the spotlight.”

  “You don’t sound like you like your sister very much.”

  “Call Serena.”

  “What do I say?”

  “Tell her I sent you to her, and if she does this, I’ll owe her a favor.”

  “What kind of favor?”

  “I’m sure she’ll think of something.” I know she’d been to several of my showings. I was willing to bet there was a painting she was interested in. I could probably sweet-talk Julia into lowering the price on one. If not, I could always do something for Serena in private and smuggle it out of the apartment.

  Christine slipped the note inside her bra. “Sorry, no pockets.”

  “I want to hear more about stories. You said they were about people who are different and they all have happy endings.”

  “Yes.” She leaned against me. “My favorite one is about a boy and his stuffed rabbit.”

  I draped an arm over her shoulder. “I thought little boys had dogs?” We wound up with our fingers woven together and our hands resting where our legs touched.

  “Well, that’s what makes this boy different. Other children make fun of him. They tell him he’s too old for toys, but the rabbit is his friend. Of course, there are other things too.”

  “Like what?”

  “He sometimes wears pretty hats.”

  “Ah, a drag queen in the making.”

  “But he’s not. That’s the thing. He’s just an ordinary boy who does extraordinary things.”

  “What else?”

  “He builds incredible machines out of things people throw away, and he takes his rabbit on crazy adventures.”

  “Far off worlds?”

  “Sorta. He doesn’t go into outer space or anything. Although that might be fun to write about.”

  “You’ll have to give me credit for that one.”

  She laughed. Then we were quiet.

  “My favorite is the one about the bully.”

  “Doesn’t sound very happy.”

  “It’s not at first. The bully makes fun of the boy, but the boy doesn’t care because he has his rabbit. But the bully steals the rabbit and runs away with it. This makes the boy very unhappy, and he chases the bully.”

  “Does he catch him?”

  “Of course.”

  “How?”

  “Well, the bully is so busy running that he doesn’t watch where he’s going, and he falls into a hole.”

  “A well.” The words fell flat.

  Christine made a thinking sound. “I guess. That might make more sense than a random hole, wouldn’t it? Anyhow, he drops the rabbit, and the boy is able to get it back.”

  “A happy ending for the boy but not the bully.”

  “Oh, the bully has a happy ending too. The boy and the rabbit use one of the fantastical machines to rescue the bully. Then bully and the boy become friends.”

  “Hola. Cómo estás?” The rich smell of earth replaced her subtle scent.

  I licked my lips and tasted copper.

  “Paris?”

  “The boy, what’s his name?”

  “You’re shaking.”

  I tried to smile while my insides attempted to crawl up my throat. “He has to have a name, right?”

  “He doesn’t have one.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I wanted to make it so any child reading the book could be the boy. Are you sure you’re all right? You look—”

  The door to the study flew open, and Julia stormed in. “There you are.” Tom and Paul followed. Julia’s gaze flicked to Christine. “What are you doing in here?”

  I composed my face into a mask of innocence. “Talking.”

  Tom walked around Julia. “I told you to stay with me.” He jerked Christine to her feet so hard that she almost fell.

  “I insisted she join me.” I nodded at the empty tumbler. “I don’t like to drink alone.”

  His grip loosened enough for Christine to pull free. She rubbed the red fingerprints left on her skin.

  “You have guests waiting,” Julia said.

  Paul tipped his head at me. “I’m sure he was just taking a breather.”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “The noise got to be a bit much. I didn’t feel well. Christine escorted me in here to make sure I was okay.”

  “I’m sorry she bothered you.” The look Tom cast her was cold.

  “And I already told you she wasn’t bothering me. I asked for her company. Thanks to her kindness and concern, I feel better. She is an incredible woman, Dick. You’re lucky to have her.”

  “My name is Tom. Tom Howard.”

  “Really? You look so much more like a Dick to me.”

  Christine hid her smile with a cough. Tom was too busy staring at me with a confused expression to notice.

  “Thank you, Ms. Kline, for the wonderful conversation and a happy ending to my day.” I kissed the back of Christine’s hand. “I hope you will take the chance to find yours.”She nodded at me so I knew she understood. “Now if you’ll excuse me I must mingle.” I ignored Julia and spoke to Paul. “Shall we?”

  “Can you give us a minute?” he said.

  Tom led Christine out the door, but Julia hesitated.

  “Just a minute,” Paul said. She narrowed her eyes at me before walking out.

  The weight of Paul’s gaze hit me full force. “That’s a two grand a bottle brandy you made yourself comfortable with.”

  “You can afford it.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  I leaned back on the desk and spread my legs just enough to tighten my slacks so the bulge of my cock showed. “I’ll make it up to you.”

  “I’m sure you will.” He stepped between my knees, forcing them wider.

  “I’d offer to do that right now, but Julia is waiting in the hall.” I fondled his tie. “And she’d be pissed if I wrinkle my suit.”

  “Your sister would get over it.”

  “Perhaps, but your guests might not appreciate you stealing me away.”

  “They’d get over it, too.” Paul squeezed my crotch. “Oh, the things I am going to do to you, Paris Duvoe.”

  A hard tug on his tie brought us cheek to cheek. “Are you going to put me on my knees, Mr. Bransford? Choke me with your cock? Fuck me? I’d like that.” And I would.

  “All of those things and so much more.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  He was about to say something else when Julia knocked on the door. “Everyone is in the dining room waiting.”

  Pa
ul grinned at me. “You’d better make sure you save room for dessert.”

  Chapter Three

  There isn’t a lot that can make a man more nervous than being responsible for transporting millions of dollars in artwork—even if it’s only from the van to the inside of the building—except maybe deactivating a bomb.

  At least a bomb would be a quick death. Julia, however, took great pleasure in the slow evisceration of her victims.

  And she would look for any reason to do it. Even when it came to acts of God.

  Another clap of thunder echoed through the back room. Two of the transport men carried in one of my larger works. Water beaded the plastic it was wrapped in and cut channels down the folds, leaving small lakes all over the concrete floor.

  There were towels in front of the door, but under the foot traffic, they’d turned into just another obstacle the frantic workers had to avoid.

  “You’d better not get any of that water on the main floor.”

  I’d lost count of how many times she’d said that, but the threat still made everyone jump. A couple of gallery employees rushed over with paper towels to mop up the mess before they even attempted to unwrap the painting.

  Julia walked over to me. “You’d think with what I paid these people, they’d do a better job.”

  “Maybe the problem is you don’t pay them enough.”

  She tossed her hair back. “I pay them what they’re worth.”

  “Then you underestimate the value of their contribution.”

  Julia flagged down a young woman carrying an armful of drapes. “I want the red in the front and the white dividing each section.”

  “You said you wanted just the white.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “But we only brought the white.”

  “Then I suggest you drive back to the storehouse and get the red ones.”

  The young woman gave me a worried expression, and I gave back an apologetic smile.

  “Well?” Julia said.

  “Yes, ma’am.” The woman hugged the fabric to her chest. “I’ll go as soon as the rain lets up.”

  “You’ll go in the next ten minutes, or you won’t have a job.”

  “But the weather.”

  “Ten minutes.”

  The woman hurried off.

  “It’s raining buckets,” I said.

  “It’s water. She’s not going to melt.” Julia scrolled through her records on her smart phone. “Do you think ten will be enough?”

  “I’m sure it will be fine.”

  “I don’t know. You sold three at the last showing.”

  “Three?”

  “Yes.” The men cast a wary eye in Julia’s direction. She didn’t look up so they proceeded to unwrap the canvas.

  “Then ten is all we have.”

  “I know.”

  “Then you’ll have to make do.”

  “But we won’t have one for the interview.”

  “What interview?”

  “I told you that you have a Q and A on the Allen Rock Show.”

  “Why would I need a painting for an interview?”

  “As a backdrop. This is huge, Paris. Millions of people watch that show.”

  Millions. I pinched the bridge of my nose.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Headache.”

  “Take some aspirin.”

  “I think I should go eat.”

  Julia glared at me.

  “I haven’t eaten all day.” I wasn’t hungry, but I needed to get away.

  “Fine.” She gave me her back. “Just don’t eat junk, or you’ll get fat.”

  Rain soaked my clothes in droplets of ice blues and frigid whites. I could have taken the limo. That’s what Julia would have wanted. Which is why I didn’t.

  I followed the sidewalk to a stretch of buildings. Neon signs advertising beer and wine glowed in the windows above paper menus of upscale restaurants. The wind shifted, and the scent of grilling meats and sweet pastries was replaced by burned petrol and rot from the dumpsters up the street. People passed me huddled under umbrellas. Fragments of their conversation left vibrant confetti in the air while the passing cars dragged out streaks of gray.

  I stopped under an awning. The pounding in my skull eased, and the ringing sound left behind mixed with wet soles sticking to the pavement.

  It rained the same way that terrible, terrible day in the woods when the mud caked my clothes, packed under my nails, clung to my cheeks.

  My hands trembled.

  My heart skipped.

  The space around me expanded until I was lost in years past.

  Wet earth. Fresh leaves. The tap, tap, tap of rain passing through the canopy of leaves overhead. I flexed my hands, and my knuckles ached like I’d been carrying something heavy.

  “Paris?” I knew that voice. Roy stepped out a café.

  I hoped my smile didn’t look as fake as it felt. “Are you following me, Mr. Callahan?”

  “Uh, no, I just stopped to—” He frowned at me. “You okay?”

  I ran a look over him, from his flannel shirt to his dirt-stained jeans. He had a tool belt around his waist. “I am now.”

  He nodded in the direction of the café. “Do you want to go in and get some coffee?”

  I stepped closer. “What I want is for you to take me home with you.”

  Roy glanced over his shoulder.

  “Yes, I’m talking to you. Do you have a car?”

  “No. I walked.” He held up the raincoat draped over his arm.

  “Then what are you waiting for?” He didn’t move so I brushed my lips against his ear. “I thought you wanted me?”

  His exhale shuddered. “I do.”

  “Then take me home with you, Roy, and fuck me.”

  He swallowed several times and then nodded. “Okay. Yeah, yeah, okay.”

  I grinned.

  “Wait.” He wrapped his raincoat around my shoulders.

  “I’m already soaked.”

  “I know, but you’re chilled.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “How about we take a cab?” He dropped his gaze for a moment. I added, “I’ll pay.”

  “You don’t…”

  I put a finger over his mouth, pushed it between his lips, slid it along the edge of his teeth and brushed the tip of his tongue. “The quicker we get to your apartment, the sooner I can get out of these wet clothes.” I pulled him to the line of cabs.

  “It’s not far,” Roy said as he sat down beside me. He gave the address to the cabby, and the car jostled for a spot in traffic. A horn honked, and someone yelled. Through the sheets of rain, two little boys holding hands ran down the sidewalk. They both wore shorts and t-shirts.

  Neither one of them could have been more than ten.

  They looked so happy. Smiling, laughing, so full of joy they glowed against the world around them.

  “Me llamo…” They darted behind a small crowd of people huddling under their umbrellas and didn’t reappear. “I can’t remember his name.”

  “Did you say something?”

  “I think it’s getting colder.” I curled under the raincoat as the last bit of warmth seeped out of my bones.

  “We’re almost there,” Roy said.

  The cab turned onto a street crowded with old apartments that hadn’t seen a face-lift since the seventies. Water from trash clogged gutters flooded the sidewalks. The cars parked on the side of the road came in two varieties, rusted and pimped out.

  “Tough neighborhood for a Southern boy, don’t you think?” I said.

  The cabby stopped. “Twelve fifty.”

  I dug out my wallet and handed him a twenty. Roy took me with him out of the cab.

  We jogged up the sidewalk to an ugly brick building. A crack of thunder was followed by a wash of rain so heavy it erased the outside world.

  “Jesus,” Roy said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen weather like this.” We dripped water up a
flight of steps. “Sorry, there’s no elevator.”

  “I’m surprised there’s electricity.” I ran a hand along the pitted railing. Missing rungs left gaping holes and very little support.

  A blaring TV from inside one of the units was drowned out by the angry yell of a woman. She didn’t speak English so I had no idea what she said, but going by her tone, it couldn’t have been good.

  “I’m down here.”

  We made our way through discarded toys, forgotten drink cups, and the occasional article of clothing to a door close to the end of the hall.

  Roy fumbled for his keys. A man wearing a pair of boxers stumbled out of another apartment. He held up his beer can like he could shield himself from the items hurled at him.

  The woman who didn’t speak English finished her assault by pegging him in the head with a Bible.

  She slammed the door, and the man screamed, “Bitch.”

  “C’mon.” Roy pulled me inside. More yelling was followed by a crying infant. “Sorry about that.” He flipped on a light.

  Roy’s apartment consisted of a cramped kitchen in one corner separated from the rest of the space by a length of countertop. There was less than two yards between the sofa and the bed. A table and set of chairs ate up the blank spot on the other side of the room, and a bookshelf crowded the wall.

  Everything was old, worn out, and rumpled.

  Roy stared at his feet while he rubbed the back of his neck. “I know it’s not what you’re used to.”

  Which was exactly why I loved it. “It’s perfect.”

  He gave me a questioning look. I dropped the raincoat on the floor and wandered over to the bed. A patchwork quilt covered thin cotton sheets. Everything had been carefully folded down. I touched the head-shaped dimple in the pillow.

  “Let me make you some coffee.” Roy squeezed by me. There was a clink and scrape from the kitchen. “Do you drink coffee? Or would you rather have tea? It’s nothing fancy, just those little store packets.”

  “Coffee is fine.” I kicked off my shoes and unbuttoned my shirt. There was no place to put it so I left it on the floor at the foot of the bed.

  “Are you hungry? I can throw on a can of soup.” A cabinet door opened and shut.

  My pants wound up with the shirt.

  It was warmer inside Roy’s apartment, but not much. Definitely not enough to convince my testicles to quit burrowing into my stomach.

  I stretched out on Roy’s lumpy mattress. His pillow smelled just like him: rich, earthy, with a slight spice. It wasn’t strong enough to be cologne, and it mixed too well with the smell of clean sheets. I knew then that wonderful scent was all him.