Complementary Colors (4 page)

“I’m not the least bit embarrassed.”

“Go get dressed.”

“Why? Last time I checked this was still my apartment. It’s late. I plan on going to bed. The only way I sleep is nude.”

She hissed. “Don’t you have a shred of decency?”

“Nope. Now if you don’t mind, I think you should go. Roy’s going to throw me over the table and stick his cock in my ass.” I grinned at her. “Or maybe you’d like to watch?”

The rage in her blue eyes glowed. Only one thing could happen now, and I didn’t want Roy to see it. To him, I said, “You should probably get dressed.” He flicked a look at Julia. “It’s okay. She’s like this all the time. I keep telling her she should get laid.”

I walked Roy into the studio. He dressed so fast he didn’t have time to button his shirt. A streak of dried cum stained the thigh of his slacks.

“Send me the cleaning bill,” I said.

“A friend who owns a rental store gave it to me.”

“Tell the store to send me the replacement cost. I’ll get them something nicer.”

Julia’s stare beat against my back from across the room. Roy went to the elevator, jacket in hand. I stopped him as he stepped inside and claimed his mouth. A surprised sound bubbled from his chest. He pushed his tongue against mine and fought me for dominance.

How did he learn to kiss me so well in a short amount of time?

I let him go, and he stopped the doors from closing. “I want to see you again.” Roy felt his pockets and came up with a business card made from cheap paper. “That’s my cell. If I don’t answer, leave a message and I’ll call you back.” People said things like that all the time but never meant it. “If you don’t feel comfortable being alone with me, I’ll take you to dinner.”

I fingered the collar of his shirt. “I think we’re way past being uncomfortable together.”

He dropped his gaze and ran a hand over his head. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

“Go home, Roy.” I pecked him on the cheek. “Back to your world where you’ll be safe from me.”

A V appeared on his forehead. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s a limo downstairs. The driver’s name is Jerry. Tell him I said to drive you home.”

“Thank you.” Roy kissed my palm, then the elevator doors closed between us.

Over the years, a few men wanted to see me again for another quicky, but not because they wanted to take me to dinner. And I’m pretty sure “thank you” never crossed their minds.

I picked up my wallet from the floor and slid his card inside. I don’t know why because I’d never see him again.

I left it on the workbench while I gathered up my clothes. As I stood, I caught Julia in my periphery. The section canvas frame she wielded struck me across the shoulder and a blast of pain numbed my arm. She aimed the second swing at my head, but I turned and my shoulder took the brunt of the impact. Sharp colored agony ripped across my chest. A crack echoed through the studio, and I fell on my side. She tossed aside the broken stretcher bar.

“Get up.” Julia grabbed a jar off my workbench and threw it. I shielded my face from the explosion of glass and mineral spirits. “I said get up, Paris.”

I knew better. It only took once for me to learn the consequences of any action Julia could interpret as aggression. And thanks to a stack of papers and my medical history, no one would ever believe I’d acted in self-defense.

A trickle of mineral spirits burned a line down my cheek. I wipe it away. Splinters of glass stuck to my skin, but there wasn’t much blood.

“Fine. Stay there. Being on your knees is about all you’re good for anyhow.” She picked up her purse from the couch. “You have a dinner party tomorrow evening so get your shit together. Here.” She tossed a bottle of pills at me. They bounced off the floor and rolled to a stop near my head. “Make sure to take them. I need you presentable. Your next showing will be in two weeks at the Avalon. Andrew Davis is going to be there. He’s interested in the Blue Madonna, and you will do whatever it takes to make him happy. I swear to you, Paris, if you bail and cost me this sale, I will break your leg.” Bits of glass crunched to dust under Julia’s high heels. The elevator doors closed, and I was alone.

The light from the neighboring buildings drew outlines around the curtains and left highlights across my body, creating a ghostly image in the mirror above my bed.

“I want to see you again.”
The echo of Roy’s voice created ripples of color across the static of black. Normally nightmares kept me awake, not the memory of man’s touch, the scent of his flesh, or how he looked at me.

The weight those thoughts created in my chest wasn’t unfamiliar only forgotten. Then in that moment, there in the solitude, a sliver of happiness rose through years of darkness and neared the surface. A precious memory from a time before the screaming inside my head spilled out into the world. Sometimes it was like that, and those rare pieces of my past were treasures that gave me a reason to live.

I had to have it.

Every thump of my foot on the stairs fed the tide of yellows, reds, and oranges. Green followed me across the studio while ribbons of gold connected everything. The need for the brush in my hand burned hotter than carnal desires.

There were a half dozen canvases lined up on a shelf, most of them as wide as I was tall. Nothing I pulled from my thoughts could be contained on a smaller field.

I grabbed a clean palette and filled it with the rainbow droppings of brutalized tubes of paint. A clump of orange went directly on the canvas.

The fight to capture the moment began with blocks of color and lines of movement stitched together by negative space. Dark pushed the light. Colors hummed at the edges. Gradient shades took blistering hues into the background and shoved the rest to the edge.

I carved through the layers of oils until I gasped for air, dimples formed in the calluses on my fingers, my shoulders burned, and cramps twisted the muscles in my back. My sweat fell like tears, mixing with the paint.

The image emerged from the mass of color. A boy. A smile. Kind eyes. I searched for more of him, but there was only the sunlight through broken leaves. It covered him in glorious fragments of golden light.

I’d held his hand. I’d cherished his laugh. His lips had been so soft against mine.

What was his name?

I didn’t deserve him after what I’d done, but maybe on some deep level, I hoped by honoring the moment before the darkness he’d forgiven me and I’d be granted peace.

It wasn’t unusual for me to pass out after completing a work. Tearing off pieces of my soul was not only painful but exhausting. At least when I fell asleep, I didn’t dream.

“Paris? Paris, wake up.”

Grit concreted my eyelids, and I shivered from the bone-deep chill courtesy of the tile floor.

Alice wrapped a robe around my shoulders. “You need to get up before Julia gets here.”

Because she wouldn’t show me the same kindness Alice did.

“At least she wouldn’t have to exert the effort to knock me down.” I tied the robe closed.

“You shouldn’t provoke her.” Alice picked up the bottle of pills from the bench. “Did you take your medicine?”

No. “Of course I did.” I staggered to my feet. Pain went from my hand to my arm. I rubbed the bruise near my elbow.

Alice cocked her mouth to the side. Even when she scowled, her smile seeped through. “Are you sure?”

“Cross my heart, hope to die.” I made an X over the left side of my chest.

She put the bottle back on the bench and turned her attention to the canvas. “It’s very pretty.”

Alice never gave empty compliments. She also didn’t pretend to understand what I created. To her, my works were just pretty colors on canvas.

“Thank you.”

“What are you going to name it?”

The Kiss.
“Why don’t you name it?”

Her eyes widened. “Me?”

The scent of wet earth was followed by the whisper of a tarp over dead leaves. Dread rose up in my throat with a burn. “I need a drink.”

Alice followed me into the kitchen. “I don’t know anything about naming a painting.”

I leaned against the counter and pressed my palm against my eye in a sad attempt to hold back the pounding in my skull. “Where’s the vodka?” I got a glass out of the cabinet.

Alice brought me the bottle from the freezer and a carton of orange juice from the fridge.

I splashed enough juice in the glass to give the vodka some color.

“I think you’re supposed to use more juice than that.”

“I’m being efficient.” I drank too much too fast, and the alcohol threatened to ride up my nasal passages. “Well?” The word came out on a squeak.

“Well what?” She put the juice and vodka away.

“What are you going to name the painting?”

Alice worried the hem of her blouse. “You know I don’t know anything about art.”

I waved the glass around. “Just name it something biblical or sexual.”

She rolled her eyes. “Now you’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not. I swear.” I saluted her confused expression with my drink. “The only rule you need to know about art is that religion and sex sells.” I shrugged. “When all else fails, people get kinky or find God.”

“Paris…”

I pecked her on the cheek. “Have I told you how much I love you?”

She pulled the glass out of my hand and herded me to the stairs. “You need to go get cleaned up. It’s already after three o’clock, and Julia will be here soon to take you to the Bransfords.”

“Who are they?”

“They’re the people hosting the party for you this evening.”

“Why?”

“Because they bought three of your paintings and want to meet you.”

Great. Three paintings. No telling what extras Julia promised them. “Do you know how long this dinner party will last?” That was usually a clue.

“Not really, but Julia told me not to wait up.”

That meant she’d promised them more than I’d want to give. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Would be a shame to puke all over their fancy floors.”

“Stop it, Paris. You’re not sick, and this is important. These people love you. They want to meet you.”

If only that was all they expected. Granted, it was just sex, but I hated that Julia decided who that sex would be with.

“Go, Paris.” She pushed me toward the stairs. “I’ll make some coffee, then come up there and help you with the makeup.”

“We’ve talked about this, Alice. Just because I like to bottom doesn’t mean I’m a girl.”

She aimed a finger at me. “Your cheek.”

I touched my face. Several cuts patterned a trail to my temple.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Okay. Makeup. Bring me another drink, but make sure it’s in a plastic cup in case Julia decides to hit me with it.”

Just my luck, the subject of our conversation came through the elevator door. She took one look at me and said, “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“Why don’t you stay out of my apartment? Or are you hoping to catch me fucking the doorman?”

She drew back her lips. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t have enough dick to make it worth the effort.”

“I’m not in the mood for your shit.” Julia jerked away. “Go upstairs and get ready. We have to leave soon.”

I leaned against the railing. “Who says I’m going?”

Her hands became fists.

I often wondered why I felt the need to poke a stick in the hornets’ nest, but there was no answer except maybe I enjoyed getting stung.

Alice stepped between us. I didn’t bother to tell her nothing short of a brick wall could stop our sister.

“He’s on his way.” Alice turned her pleading gaze on me.

“Fine, I’ll get dressed.”

“And shower,” Julia said.

“What, and miss the chance to look like a palette of paint shit all over me?"

Alice flicked a look to me, then the top of the stairs.

Julia’s voice chased me to my bedroom. “You better wash.”

I threw a bird over my shoulder and slammed my door closed. The thunder in my chest echoed with a sharp stab in my skull. When Julia didn’t come crashing in, I figured it was safe for me to bathe.

The oil paint didn’t want to come off so I was forced to scrub my hands and arms raw. When I finished skinning myself, I began the other menial tasks that were required to make myself presentable.

“Paris?” Alice’s voice was nothing like Julia’s, but she still startled me. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” I tapped the razor on the side of the sink to clear the blade.

Alice ran a look over me. “Don’t you ever cover yourself?” She picked up a towel and handed it to me.

“Only when I have to.” I wrapped the towel around my waist because it made her happy.

Alice put a small carry bag on the counter, then led me to the toilet. I closed the lid and sat. She took a straight razor out of the bag.

“I thought you were going to make me up, not slit my throat.”

“Don’t be silly. I’d never hurt you.” No, she wouldn’t. “You missed some spots.”

Alice angled my head and cleared away the stray hairs with measured strokes. When she finished, she wiped my face with a warm cloth.

“Now what?” I said.

She took out a jar of cream. “Turn your head.” Alice caught my chin. “The other way.”

“How long will this take?”

“Be quiet.” She dabbed my cheek with a wet finger. The cream made the cuts sting.

“Why do you do this?” Alice said.

“What?”

“Torment her.”

I petted the towel.

Alice smoothed out the dabs of foundation. “With the stress of organizing these shows, Julia’s temper is short enough without you aggravating her.”

“That’s easy for you to say. She never hits you.”

“She only hits you because you purposely make her angry. I know things get mixed up in your head and sometimes you get confused and think things have happened that didn’t, but you still have to take responsibility for what you do.” She applied another drop. “You know, if you’d just apologize, she might forgive you.”

An apology was no cure for rabies.

Alice examined her work. “It’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing.”