Overture (Rain Dance, Book 1) (Rain Dance Series) (7 page)

     
Suddenly, I was
torn. I wanted angels. I wanted wings. But I also wanted my underwater dream -
to be able to look up at the surface from beneath. Could I combine the two? I
struggled with imagining how I could bring heaven down into deep depths of the
sea. Exhaling, I closed my eyes and shut off everything until only my sense of
hearing remained. I let the music surround me, the voices singing angelically
in their own mystic language. I breathed steadily, letting my body relax even
further.

     
What if it
was the sky that was made of water, instead?
Somehow, this question made
better sense. And then...there it was. The idea was complete.

     
After putting
the song on repeat, I continued to lie there for another half-hour, trying to
envision exactly what I wanted. Of course, it was rare that anything turned out
exactly how I saw it in my head, much to my disappointment. But it always
helped when I
thought
I knew what I was going to get.

     
Oil paints
might have worked much better for image that I now wanted. But seeing as I
already bought the paint that I'd planned to use, I couldn't just ignore them.
Once they dried, I could use the oils as a final layer to help enhance and fine-tune
everything, creating a much more realistic feel, all while keeping the detail
and depth that acrylics were capable of.

     
Since I had
never done anything like that before, I was going to have to test it out first.
Once I managed to get down, I grabbed my iPod and purse and left the room,
making sure to close the door behind me. It took a bit of effort on my part not
to run to the elevator.

     
"Oh, are
you leaving?" Patricia asked as I passed her desk.

     
"Yes. I'll
be working from home tonight," I added, not wanting to seem like I was
slacking off already.

     
I ate as soon
as I got home, then jumped right into painting to see how capable I was of
bringing the image in my head to life. The only time I took a break was to go
to the bathroom, and then just after nine to eat again.

     
By the end of
the night, I knew that I was fully capable. Thoroughly satisfied with my
concept, I decided to reward myself with some cookies. It probably wouldn't be
worth fifty thousand dollars, but it was sure to require a lot of time and
attention to detail.

     
As I slid into
bed, I remembered that I still hadn't looked Mr. Desmond up. But at that
moment, I was so tired that I no longer cared to. I decided then that I didn't
want to know anything about him unless he offered it freely from his own mouth.

I
woke up the following morning feeling very well-rested. More than that, even.
The sun was shining through my open window and the birds were singing in
harmony for once. The smell of my vanilla-scented shampoo still lingered in my
hair from last night's shower, bringing a smile to my face. Sitting up, I
stretched my arms out, loving the way the softness of my hair caressed my skin.
I felt like a fucking Disney princess. Days like these, I tended to dress like
one, too.

     
I could feel
sparks begin to go off in my body as yesterday's inspiration began to make
itself known. The sudden need to dance and sing to animals was strong in me. I
twirled my way into the kitchen to make myself a strawberry smoothie.
It's a
fact that twirling is always acceptable when you're alone.
Afterwards, I
twirled my ass into the bathroom, and then again into my closet to get ready.

     
Despite the
messy tools I used, I was a surprisingly neat worker. It wasn't uncommon for
paint to end up all over my face, but I was careful to make sure it never got
on my clothes. It had become second nature ever since I had decided to boycott
baggy shirts and sweatpants while painting. That being said, I wasn't entirely
sure how easy it would be when I began working on an actual wall - something I
hadn't done yet. But if I wore something nice, it would give me a reason to be
extra careful.

     
Wait a
minute…

     
The mood I was in right now might not be fit for
professionalism. But I wasn't actually an official employee. Not really. I was
simply a hired artist who would spend the entire time locked up in a room, far
away from anyone else.
Right?

     
As I like to
say: fuck it. I'll wear what I damn well please.

     
I chose a
buttercream-colored dress. It was soft, the outer layer made of my favorite
fabric. Fitted at the waist, the skirt flared out only a bit, stopping just
above my knees. The neckline was a wide V, with short flutter sleeves to finish
off the floaty look. After putting on stockings, I grabbed matching shoes. I
wouldn't be wearing them when I painted, so it didn't matter if I wore heels or
not. After fixing my bangs, I pulled my hair half-up again, leaving the rest to
flow down my back in a thick mass of waves.

     
When I looked
myself over in the mirror, I decided the look was perfectly acceptable. I could
pass for neutral, as there were no patterns or neon colors, so it was doubtful
I would draw any attention to myself.

     
I switched to a
matching purse and hung a white cardigan through it, hoping it wouldn't get too
chilly later on. Most days I wished for rain, but sometimes I couldn't help but
be happy to see the sun. There would be plenty of light when I painted today.

     
Stuffing my
headphones into my ears, I put my iPod on shuffle and walked to the Luxadigm. I
almost sung along with the birds - I was that excited to get to work. But
figuring it best not to disturb the peace, and to save myself the
embarrassment, I stuck to singing quietly to myself. Smiles were given all
around, both to and from strangers.

 
    
I planned on bringing my own lunch, but
just in case I happened to forget, I made sure to keep an eye out for places I
might be able to eat. When I reached the building about thirty minutes later, I
saw Douglas just as he was exiting.

     
"Hello, Douglas,"
I called, pulling one earphone out.

     
"Miss
Myers," he nodded. "You're looking very chipper this morning."

     
"I'm
feeling
very chipper this morning."

     
"Excited
about working?" he asked as we passed one another.

     
"Very
much!" I waved to him, walking backwards for a second to say goodbye,
"Hope your day goes well."

     
"How kind
of you. Yours, too, Miss." His wide-toothed grin was quite possibly one of
the most adorable sights I had ever seen.

     
I stopped,
having to take a moment to stare when I finally entered the building.
Yesterday, the clouds had been in the way. Today, there was nothing but direct
sunlight hitting all corners of the lobby, turning it into a light show of
sorts. The marble ground literally looked as though it were glowing. People
busily passed by me, and I wondered why no one else seemed to take notice of
the damn near magical phenomenon that was taking place. Maybe they were used to
it? A few of them must have recognized me from yesterday, as they offered me
very pleasant smiles. I certainly didn't remember any of them, but I returned
the gesture, genuinely pleased that there seemed to be good energy all around.

     
I had just
finished giving a polite nod to Samantha when I saw him watching me. He was standing
behind the turnstiles with three other people, one of which was yet another
blonde woman who couldn't seem to keep her eyes off of him.

     
The world
around me suddenly came to a quick halt before starting up again, only to move
in slow motion. A single moment passed within that time, but a moment was all I
needed. One single look at this woman and I knew that the two had fucked many
times before. It was embarrassing to admit, but I almost felt jealous despite
not knowing a thing about this man.

 
    
Yes, I almost felt my heart break even
though I had no hold - and therefore no right over him. Almost. But as it was,
I was an expert in the art of detachment. I no longer lived with those kinds of
useless emotions.

     
Alright, that
was a complete lie. For a single moment, my world was crushed. The sun had gone
black, the smiles had turned to silent screams, and my silly, idiotic twirling
had become the dance of shame. But it was true that I knew how to distance
myself from those kinds of feelings. I was strong now. And more importantly, my
mood had been too damn good this morning to be spoiled over something that had
absolutely nothing to do with me. Right now, I was queen. Aside from dead
puppies, there was nothing that would bring me down from this high.

     
Time sped up to
its normal pace and I continued walking, not faltering once. I smiled at the
man who now held a part of my heart as I made my way through the turnstiles. He
didn't smile back. Even so, I kept my face polite as I passed him and his group,
feeling his eyes on me as I made my way towards the back elevator. Judging from
what his blonde was wearing, I knew I couldn't have broken the dress code.
So
what was that look for?
My slightly soured mood dissolved when the familiar
guard greeted me with a grin. Man-in-charge aside, the people who worked here
were surprisingly nice.

     
After receiving
a few embarrassing compliments from Patricia, I made my way towards what would
soon become my third home. Once inside, I glanced around once, checking to see
if everything was where I had left it the day before. When I found that it was,
I shut the door and, releasing a heavy breath, turned to lean my back against
it.
Where to start?

     
I kicked off my
shoes, dropped my bag, and put some music on. Normally, I required
moody-tunes
- songs that fit the theme of whatever project I was working on. But since this
was the beginning and I only needed to prime the walls and paint the base
colors, I settled for a playlist containing upbeat jams from the fifties-and-before
with some dreamy piano pieces thrown in between. It was enough to get my hand
twitching for some action again.

     
Taking out the
apron I had purchased the day before, I pulled it over my head and knotted the
waist ties into a bow.

     
Working while
standing had some advantages. For one, it made it much easier to dance. I took
advantage of this. Once I got started on the nitty-gritty details, dancing
would probably be out of the question.

     
When it came to
working for others, there was always a minute of worry before I started
painting. The fear of messing up clouded my senses, creating a miasma of
failure that filled all corners of the room.
What if it wasn't good enough
for him? Should I do something different? What if it's ugly? What if I can't
finish it? What if I'm not good enough?

     
But after the
first few brushstrokes, those discordant feelings began to dissolve, leaving me
entirely in my element.
This is what I do. I create things.
It was as
simple as that.

     
Within a few
minutes, time became nonexistent, as did the world outside of the room. There
was only me and the images in my head, trying to make their way into the
physical realm with the help of my hand and a few colors. It wasn't until I
heard a knock at the door that I was reminded of the life that existed beyond
the small enclosure.

     
"May I
come in?"

     
I turned my
head towards Mr. Desmond. He had asked, but walked in anyway.

     
"Of
course." I went back to painting, ignoring the tingling just beneath my
skin that seemed to only happen whenever he was near. I was in no mood to ogle
at his beauty right now. That being said, it was extremely difficult not sneak
a peek at his face. The man had sheer magnetism, and it wasn't without major
effort on my part that I was able to continue ignoring the pull he had on me.
It's
better this way.

     
He came up
beside me and looked at the wall. Almost three-fourths of it was now covered in
various shades of blue.

     
"Do you
have the time?" I asked, remembering that I hadn't checked since I'd left
the apartment.

     
"A quarter
to two."

     
"Oh."
I continued working in silence.

     
"Liszt?" he questioned after a moment, referring to the piano
in the background.

     
"Mm,"
I confirmed. "I can't work without music."

     
He began to
slowly pace through the room. As he moved away from me, I let out all the air I
didn't know I was holding in. I had to tell my heart to steady itself every
time I felt his gaze on me.

     
"Are you a
dancer?" he asked suddenly.

 
    
…
What?
"Um...No."

     
"There's
something about your movements," he spoke easily. "The way you walk.
Even the way you're holding the brush. You're very graceful."

     
I stopped
mid-stroke and looked at him blankly.
Me? Graceful?
But coming from the man
who was the epitome of elegance, I didn't think I had the right to argue.
"Thank you."

     
I focused my
attention back onto the wall before I could get a chance to lose myself in his
eyes. As I painted, I felt my body loosen up on its own. There was no longer a
need to force it.
All because he complimented me…
I bit my lip, trying to
hide the goofy grin that was desperate to make itself known. I had to distract
myself quickly. "I like to prance around my living room as though I
were
a dancer, but I would hardly call those moments graceful. By the way, how are
you today?"

     
"Very
well, thank you. And you?" His voice was warm now, and I just had to
smile.

     
"Very
well, thank you," I repeated, pulling away from my work to look at him.

     
For some
reason, he quickly averted his eyes after a second and cleared his throat.
"So you know what you're doing then? I figured you would have needed some
more time."

     
"Are you
going to be keeping an eye on the progress?"

     
"Am I in
your way?"