Fearless (7 page)

The way that he was talking to me, right at that moment, was turning me off greatly. I was no longer having the buzz that I was feeling when he was savagely tearing my flesh with his belt, so all that I could think about, right at that moment, was escaping. Getting back to my safe haven. Seeing Luke.

Seeing Luke. That popped into my head right at that moment. Why, I didn’t really know. But there was something about Luke. Luke and his goofy grin, and the way that he shyly observed me while feverishly working his brush on his canvas. His cute little dimples and the cowlick that refused to behave. The gorgeous eyes that were so many different colors, and hid a fierce intelligence behind them. I could feel that emanating from him. He exuded sensuality, warmth and intelligence. Everything that this Nottingham was – cold, cruel, dominating, calculating and more than a little bit perverted – Luke appeared to be the opposite.

Nottingham continued to rub the balm into my apparent wounds on my back, and was trying to talk to me in a soothing voice. “There, there, Dalilah, this should make you feel better. Take the sting out it. My mother used to say that you should treat a burn with butter. Sounds silly, doesn’
t it? You have some burns on your back, and some nasty looking marks that might turn into welts. But I’m not going to use butter. I’m going to use this special salve that has aloe in it and some other ingredients which should cool everything down.”

I finally spoke. It occurred to me that I had been particularly quiet during this entire encounter. My silence no doubt amounted to acquiescence in his eyes, to everything that he was doing. Not that he would be particularly incorrect about that, as I really was enjoying myself up until the time when he actually stopped inflicting the pain – but I really didn’t consent to any of that. “Thank you, Mr. Nottingham, for putting this balm on me. And, if it’s all the same to you, I would really like to just put on my clothes after you’re finished with this aftercare and go on home.”

His eyes flashed a look of unmistakable rage. Then he coolly, in clipped tones said “My name is Blake. Mr. Nottingham is the name of my father. And you may have your clothes when I’m ready to let you leave, and not before.”

Oh, he doesn’t know to whom he is speaking.
Like I would ever be afraid to just go down to the lobby of his building and hail a cab, wearing nothing but a smile. Good lord, when I thought about exactly how many people, men and women, had seen me naked, mainly because I had been doing the posing thing for just under a year, even my eyes were about to cross.

“Okay,” I said, rising to my feet, and grabbing ahold of my purse. “Then I guess that you leave me no choice.” And, at that, I walked to his front door, completely naked, and went out into the hallway. I pushed the button for the elevator and the car was soon there to pick me up. I looked behind me, and Nottingham was running up to me, having taken the time to put his own pants on.

“Dalilah Gallagher, you get back here right now.”

I flipped him off,
and then pushed the button for the elevator and made my way down. I got off the elevator, and walked through the lobby. There weren’t any people down there, except for the doorman, and I saw him look at me appreciatively but furtively. I smiled at him, and pulled out my wallet and handed him a ten dollar bill. “Your tip,” I said, and I made my way onto the sidewalk. Within seconds, a cab pulled up and I got in. Nottingham, of course, was right behind me, having hoofed it down the stairs, apparently, as he was out of breath. He started beating on the windows of the cab, but I simply told the driver “ignore that rather rude man. Take me to my apartment at……”

The driver kinda smiled and shook his head. He had seen it all, I was quite sure, so I was also sure that my being naked in his cab didn’t really phase him too much. He pulled off the curb, and, with a screech, he started towards my destination.

I was quite sure that Nottingham would show up at my apartment in less than an hour. He first had to go back upstairs and make sure his hair looked presentable, and I was also positive that he would have to be fully dressed. Then, and only then, would he get in his car and show up at my apartment door. But, by then, it would be too late. I would already be in bed, under the covers, and I would have the deadbolt locked tight.

Of course, my prediction did come true. Because I did make my way into my apartment, and actually put on pajamas and got into bed. Within the hour, I heard
Nottingham pounding on my door, but I simply got up and got some ear plugs and put them in. I could still hear the pounding and the yelling, but it was muted.

I did feel sorry for my neighbors, though.

Before I got into bed, I looked at my texts, and found one from Luke, asking me if I would mind posing the next day. I texted him back that I would be there with bells on, and I could feel the nascent feeling of excitement bubble up once again.

When the sun rose the next day, I looked down below, and saw that Nottingham’s car was still parked out front. So, I shimmied down the fire escape, knowing that Nottingham had no doubt kept a vigil in my hallway, waiting for me to go out the front door.

Having made my way down the street level, I got on the bus, and headed down to Willets Point. To the area that resembled a war zone, and couldn’t be further removed from Nottingham’s gleaming penthouse with the gorgeous view of the Empire State Building.

Yet I knew that I would have much rather
be in Luke’s abandoned warehouse than ever step foot into Nottingham’s lap of luxury, ever again.

Because Nottingham might have awaken
ed something in me, but it wasn’t authentic and it wasn’t long-lasting. The feeling of being awake and somewhat alive only lasted as long as the pain of what he was doing seared my brain. I knew that I was looking for something that was much more permanent than that.

And, somehow, something told me that Luke might be just the person to supply this.

Chapter Eleven

I got to the abandoned warehouse where I was to sit for another session with Luke. It was something that I actually was quite looking forward to, really, even though I had no idea exactly why that would be. I hardly knew this Luke. There was no reason why I thought that he might be different from any other guy who I’ve encountered, most of whom had, thus far, looked at me as if I was a piece of rare sirloin steak. Like the cartoons I used to watch when I was very small, and actually could appreciate them. The ones where the men were in a lifeboat or something, and they looked at each other and saw a chicken leg or a filet mignon, and started to salivate. That was what I felt like, most of my life, with men. That they would be talking to me, but really imagining what I looked like naked.

Perhaps that was the underlying reason why I decided to pose nude. Cut to the chase, really. If they were so curious about what I looked like without my clothes off, then they could go right ahead and see, without all the formalities.

But, somehow, Luke seemed different. He didn’t seem like he wanted to get me into bed first thing. He was casual, insouciant. My curiosity was piqued. I was actually looking forward to getting to know him a little bit better.

I smiled to myself, as I realized that it had actually been a long time since I had looked forward to getting to know anybody better. How jaded I had become in my relatively short life. It was sad, really.

I got to where Luke’s studio was, and knocked gently on the enormous wooden door. He lifted it up, and looked at me, and smiled. A genuine smile, l
ike he was happy to see me. I found myself feeling the same about him.

He was wearing a
blue button down and ratty jeans that fit his body quite nicely, really. Other than that, it did appear as if he had just gotten out of bed, as his hair was sticking up in the air with abandon, and he had a bit of a five o’clock shadow. The light was hitting his eyes in just such a way that they appeared bright green, with hints of hazel dancing around merrily. And one thing that was always nice about him was his shoes. They were brown leather and appeared new. I noticed that first about men. Their shoes. My father always said that you can tell a lot about a person by examining their footwear. You can tell if they give a damn, and Luke apparently did.

“Dalilah,” he said, his grin half-cocked. “I’m delighted to see you.” And then he suddenly blushed bright scarlet, and he shook his head and looked down at the floor.

I smiled back at him. “Luke, what is it? You’re turning bright red.”

“Oh, just embarrassed. Dalilah, delighted. Sounds like I’m trying too hard to be a stupid poet. A really lousy one at that.”

Something about his reaction just then made me laugh. He seemed so silly for getting embarrassed about something like that, but, at the same time, it was…adorable.

“Are you a poet, Luke?” I asked him.

“Nah,” he said. “A songwriter, maybe, but that really is a distant second to my art. Anyhow, I’m exactly not the second coming of McCartney/Lennon in that department.”

“Who is?”

“True that.”

I looked around a little bit, and suddenly, for some odd reason, felt a little bit self-conscious. It was almost as if I felt like I was stripping down prematurely for him. It was a weird feeling, because I had no problem doing just that the previous day.

“Well,” I finally said. “I guess I better get down to it, huh?”

He nodded, and I noticed that he now had a camera in his hand. He looked down at it, like he was adjusting the lens, and I could see that he was still blushing profusely.

I went behind the divider that he had erected for me. It did seem like a silly thing, taking off my clothes behind the divider. I mean, I was getting naked for him. Who really cared if I took off my clothes behind a divider, or if I took them off right there in full view?

Still, it was a somehow a nod to old-fashioned values, in a weird way. Ladies aren’t supposed to disrobe before gentlemen, until they get to know said gentleman. So, in that way, it seemed entirely appropriate to be taking off my clothes behind the divider. After all, at heart, I was a lady.

I came back out and looked at Luke. He was sitting on his stool, his long legs dangling over the side. One of his legs was swinging back and forth nervously. But, when he saw me emerge, his big smile, dimples and all, reappeared.

I wondered if I would deliberately show him my back. I had been still feeling the pain from where I beaten by Nottingham’s belt. I wondered if I had welts, or at least red marks.

Truth be told, that would be what I would be interested in, if I were in Luke’s shoes right now. The symbols of pain. The marks on a person’s back would be what I would be drawn to highlight, if I were to do a portrait of somebody. Because everybody carried around a great deal of pain, I was finding. Sometimes that pain was right there on the skin, ready to be portrayed on an easel. Sometimes it was more hidden and masked. But I could somehow bring that out, even when the person was attempting to hide it. I could draw it out in the person’s eyes, or their body language, or their demeanor. Even if the person was smiling when I painted them, there would always be something there. Something that might not be detected by the naked eye, but would be an instant connection to somebody who was experiencing sadness or hurt.

Portraits were really a small part of what I did, but I was good at them. My subjects were always quite amazed at how well I could capture their essence. Perhaps they really didn’t know why I could portray them so realistically. If they didn’t recognize their own damage to their psyche, which was so clearly brought into the light, then they probably couldn’t quite put a finger on why it was the
visage that was on the canvas spoke to them so vividly. They only knew that it did somehow.

My ability to recognize pain in others, and portray it well, was really my secret weapon. It was also the reason why I was so in demand for awhile. Well, that,
coupled with the sheer novelty of seeing a small child paint them with accuracy, precision and a certain degree of abandon.

My intuition had always served me well in that regard.

I took a deep breath, wondering if I should reveal that part of myself to Luke so soon. That damaged part that was now shown so clearly on my skin.

But then I thought better of it. There was no need to let this kind,
talented and extraordinarily handsome man know the depths of my freakitude on the second day of knowing him.

So, I just laid down on the fainting couch, being very careful to only show my front side to him.

He smiled and sat down at his easel. “Are you comfortable enough?” he asked me.

“Very,” I said.

So, for the next hour or so, Luke sat behind his easel. He studied me for about twenty minutes or so, his hand on his chin. And then he would start his hand working furiously for another twenty minutes or so, then it would start all over again. I knew why he was working with so much more abandon the first time, and why, this time, it all seemed so painstaking. I appreciated that he was pondering the details, and how to portray them properly. When it came down to the minutiae, it was always difficult and took a lot of thinking.

Finally, he stretched a little bit. “I need a break,” he said. “And you probably do, too. Why don’t you put your clothes on for a little bit, if you don’t mind, and we can have some lunch or something? I mean, if you don’t have pressing plans.”

“Actually, that sounds lovely,” I said, trying to tamp down my rising sense of excitement over seeing Luke somewhat socially. To my own dismay, I felt the blood rushing to my own cheeks. Luke looked at me a little bit quizzically, as if he was wondering why it was that I would feel the need to blush.

I was wondering that one myself.

I stood up, and Luke turned around modestly. As if he were saying that he wanted to give me my privacy as I made my way behind the divider. That relieved me, because I was realizing, more and more, that I had no desire for Luke to see my backside. There was something about what had happened last night, between Nottingham and me, which had made me feel ashamed. Almost dirty. And it wasn’t even that I participated in off-color sex games. It was that I was having sex at all with somebody that I hardly knew.

And that feeling, that sleeping with a stranger was somehow wrong, was alien to me. I had never be
fore seen it in that light. I didn’t know why it never had occurred to me that sex should be something that is between two people who actually have feelings for one another. It just never did.

Until right at that moment, that is.

I threw on my clothes and boots, and walked back in front of the divider. “I’m ready,” I said. “Where would you like to go?”

“Uh, there’s a little diner that’s down the street a little bit. It’s actually within walking distance. I know, this area doesn’t seem like there is any kind of real civilization around, but the workers have to eat somewhere. And it’s pretty damned good food too. If you don’t mind a greasy spoon.”

“I love greasy spoons,” I told him. Which was true. Growing up with wealthy parents didn’t mean that I wasn’t exposed to the more mundane things in life, such as greasy spoons. That was because my parents were surprisingly down to earth, considering how much money they had. Especially my mother. She always struck me as the working-class-girl-made-good that she actually was. Nothing in the intervening years, between her meeting my father and today, had changed that about her. Something about taking a girl out of a working class neighborhood, but never taking the working class neighborhood out of the girl.

I
was startled as I realized that I actually had an endearing thought about my mother, which was a rarity, in and of itself. I suddenly could see that I was always too hard on her, because I always was thinking that she couldn’t understand or relate to me. Perhaps I could accept her more, and her limitations, and try to find common ground.

As I walked along with Luke, through the sidewalks that were littered with beer bottles and various other sundry items, I marveled about how my attitudes towards people in my life, and life in general, was starting to shift. The shift was still imperceptible, and threatening to recede, much like my newfound
joie de vivre
from the previous night had receded as soon as my little games with Nottingham were through. But, at the same time, the shift was there. Perhaps if I nurtured it a little it could come into full bloom.

After a few blocks of walking, we came upon a small restaurant that looked like it was housed in a converted trailer. On the roof was a neon sign that blared the words “Joey’s Diner.”
We walked into the rather small place, where there was a cook behind the counter with a white hat on. The guy looked like a typical diner owner from the movies and television – around 50 years old, slightly pudgy, short and craggy. He was joking around with two or three people who sat around the counter, eating typical greasy spoon type food – eggs and hash, some kind of meat smothered in gravy with a side of mashed potatoes, and hamburgers.

The guy lit up when he saw us coming through the door. “Lu
ke, my boy! How you been?” The guy had a thick “New Yawk” type accent and a very jolly demeanor.

Luke put his arm around my shoulder, which gave me a strange sensation of shivers coursing throughout my body. I looked at Luke, wondering where those shivers and little butterflies, which were forming in my stomach, were coming from. “Just great, Joey. Hey, Joey, this is Dalilah Gallagher. Dalilah, this is Joey Facinelli.”

I put out my hand for Joey to shake, but he came around and gave Luke and me a big bear hug instead. “Any friend of Luke is a friend of mine,” he said with a hearty laugh. Then he turned to Luke. “What’s a guy look you doing with a classy girl like this?”

“Just lucky I guess,” Luke said, not bothering to correct Joey’s apparent perception that I was Luke’s date.

Not that I minded being thought of as Luke’s date. I didn’t mind at all.

Luke and I sat at the counter, and Joey got back behind it and said “okay
, then, what can I do you for? The usual?”

Luke nodded. “Yep, the usual. Hamburger with everything and large fries. And Dalilah would like…” At that, he turned and looked at me. “So sorry, Dalilah, I didn’t think to find out what you like to eat.”

I nodded at Joey. “A hamburger and fries sounds good to me too.” I then looked over to Luke, who was staring back at me in appreciation. “What?” I said to Luke teasingly. “I would have ordered the caviar, but I just had that for breakfast.” Then I smiled, as I took a sip of the water that was just brought out.

He smiled back, his dimples making me feel a little bit weak in the knees. “Ah, too bad. Joey’s caviar is the best in town. The lobster, too.”

At that, I surreptitiously looked at the menu, just to check and make sure that there actually wasn’t lobster or caviar on the menu. I knew that Luke was joking, but I always liked to check anyhow. Then I looked up, and Luke was staring at me, his eyes dancing. He grinned crookedly, and said “aw, come on, you didn’t really believe that a greasy joint like this would have lobster and caviar, did ya?”

I laughed, feeling a bit foolish for falling for the joke for even a second. “Of course not,” I said. “Silly.”

Then he nudged my leg with his under the counter. It was a flirtatious move, and I felt the shivers course through my body again.
What the hell was wrong with me?