Picture Me Naked (Stoddard Art School Series) (3 page)

“Like that’s
ever
gonna happen.”

Zee whirled around.
ED!

Ed Zeigler stood with his hands on his hips. “Just who the hell did you think you were talking to?” Sharp green eyes lanced her.

Zee stammered. Her brain stalled. “I-I…” She pushed her brush into the rinse cup and ran her hand over her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. Y-you shouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe you’ll be nicer once you hear what I have to tell you.”

“What?” Her mind prayed.
You’re leaving town?

“I found you a job.” He fussed with his sandy hair, without ever touching it. Wouldn’t want to mess up the moussed perfection.

Zee narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“Try to concentrate. I. Found.
You.
A. Job.” Smugness rolled off him like fog.

“I heard what you said. I should have said, ‘Why? I’m not looking for a job. I have one.’” Zee pointed to the painting. “This, remember? This is my job.”

“No, I got you a
real
job. Todd from work, you met him, right? Well, his old lady is knocked up, and her doctor just stuck her in bed for the next four months. So she’s got this great job working over at the insurance office on Summer Street. Pay’s good. Forty hours. Decent bennies. You can type, right? Of course you can, any chimp can type. So, I told Todd to tell his preggo not to worry. You can fill in for her, and who knows, if she decides to play the pampered little housewife after she shoots out the kid, then you’re set.” Ed plucked a bit of lint off his pants. “Now who’s happy to see me?”

He pulled a business card out of the breast pocket of his navy satin jacket with the Speedy Quick logo and ED stitched in white on the sleeve. When she refused to take it, he tossed it on a nearby stool.

“I-I have no words.” Zee shook her head.

“You’re welcome.” Ed fussed with the pleat of his pants. Not that it needed fussing. It was ruler straight. Zee used to tease him that his pants always looked like he sat standing up. Even his jeans had perfect creases.

Zee picked up the business card and tried to hand it back to him. “I’m not working at an insurance office.”

“Why not? You’d be one of those administrative assistant things. Beats the hell out of being a nothing artist.”

“I’m not a nothing artist.” Heat burned up the back of her neck. Here it was again. How many times did she have to defend herself? “I’m a full-time student. I get commission work. I’m under consideration for a fellowship, and I’m earning my Master’s.”

“This gig pays thirteen bucks an hour.” He waved a hand at her painting. “You can still have your little hobby.”

Hobby?
“I don’t want the job.”

He shook his head. “One of these days you’re gonna get it through your head that this art shit isn’t gonna earn you squat. I’m sure as hell not supporting you. I’m not busting my ass just so I can watch yours get bigger. You women need to earn your keep like the rest of us.”

You women?
He just kept talking. His lips kept moving. Sanctimonious poison oozed out of his mouth like green slime. Zee stood stunned. It was a familiar rant, but one she didn’t have to listen to anymore. “Stop. Dear God, stop!”

“Make damn good sense, don’t I?”

Zee took a deep breath and put her hands on her hips. “No, Ed, you don’t. Why are you doing this? We’re broken up. Did you think I’d take you back if you found me a job?”

“Well, I figured you’d be appreciative, yeah.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I have a job.” Zee put up her hand to stop him as he opened his mouth. “I love my work, and I’m good at it. If you knew anything about me, if you really cared about having a future with me, you’d understand that. But you don’t. You couldn’t if you believed for one second I’d be interested in this.” She tried again to give him back his card.

“That job is a golden opportunity. I can’t believe you’re not jumping at it.” His eyes narrowed. “I called in a lot of favors for you. And you’re gonna stand there and turn it down? You’re stupider than I thought.”

Zee’s hands fell to her sides. Inside she flinched. The stupid word hit its mark. “I’m not stupid, Ed. I’m an artist.” Her voice seemed small compared to his.

His face turned an unhealthy red. “Fine! Be an
artist
!” He air quoted the word. “You’ll end up living in a cardboard box eating out of a dumpster!”

Ed stormed off but not before his yelling had aroused the curiosity of half a dozen people. Jagger Jones included.

Zee’s face burned. Everyone was staring.
Think of something, quick
. She looked down the hall at Ed’s retreating back and then to the six faces looking at her and shrugged. “Everybody’s a critic. Bet he’s got
Dogs Playing Poker
over his mantel.”

They all laughed. All except Jagger.

Chapter Three

What a flaming arse!

Jagger watched Zee close the door to the studio. The others went their separate ways
. Was the bludger blind?
Zee Lambert was an amazing artist. Even Jagger could see that.

Good for her for sticking up for herself. She might be small, but she was scrappy. He liked scrappy. Kinda cute when she was all riled up. Never seen eyes shoot silver sparks at a bloke before. He liked that, too.

Jagger smiled to himself as he walked through the corridors of the art school. Yep, he liked a lot about this new place. The job was going to be a corker. Easy way to make a nice quid, this sitting around without knickers.
Bloody awesome!

Down the stairs and out into the parking lot, Jagger pulled a deep breath of cool air into his lungs. It was a great day all around. He was feeling pretty damn good. Maybe today was the day to try that phone call again. Couldn’t hurt.

He swung himself into the driver’s seat of his van and pulled on the seat belt. Moving to turn the key, Jagger saw Zee’s art critic standing in the middle of the parking lot. Just standing there. Odd duck, that one. He reminded Jagger of that weasely idiot he’d met in Akron. The one who harassed that pretty bartender for weeks, and ended up with a bullet in his thigh. Lucky for him and his future children the bartender was a lousy shot.

The guy took a few steps back toward the school. Jagger’s hand hovered over the seatbelt release. Then, as if changing his mind, the weasel turned and sprinted off toward the main road.
Good move, mate.
Although what Jagger would have done had the bludger gone back inside, he didn’t know. Jagger shrugged it off, turned the key in the ignition and headed his van back to his posh second job and his new digs.

Later, Jagger stood in the study of a grand house staring out the window. “That went over like a pregnant pole-vaulter.”
He raked a hand through his hair, moved the phone to his other ear and looked over the trim grounds of the sprawling estate. “I should have known.” At least he tried. And he’d keep trying. That was one thing he could say for the two of them, they were both stubborn as two dogs with a bone. He scratched at the stubble on his jaw while he listened for his second call to connect.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sis, it’s me.” Jagger let the silk drape fall back across the window and paced as far as the old phone’s cord allowed.

“Jagger? Is that you? How are you?”

“Just wanted to check in. Let you know I’m still alive.”

“Did you call you-know-who?”

He rubbed his forehead. “Yep. Soon as she heard my voice, she hung up.”

“She’s still upset.”

Jagger shook his head. “I get it. She’s madder than a cut snake. I understand. But…”

“You need to give her a little more time. You broke her heart, but she loves you, you know that. Just give her some more time.”

He stood listening. His frustration swelled. “How many times do I need to apologize to her? It’s been three damn years!” His shout echoed off the high ceilings. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you, ducky. She just makes me crazy. Did she get the birthday card I sent?”

“Yes, last week. Saw the airmail stamp, called you a lopsided bull bollock and tossed it straight in the bin.” Her giggle tinkled through the phone line. He forced a laugh for both their sakes.

“Well, she didn’t throw it in the fire this time. The trash bin could be a sign she’s thawing.” He tried to laugh again, but hearing her voice on the line was starting to make him homesick. He missed her. He missed them both…so much.

After a silent pause, she asked gently, “So, how are things going?”

“Things are good. I’m working two gigs now. With any luck, I’ll be moving on in three or four months, tops.”

“I can’t keep up with you. Where are you this time?”

“Little town called Stoddard, New Hampshire.”

“Your last email said you were trying for a lifeguard job.”

“That didn’t pan out. Got here too early for the beach crowd. There’s still a bit of snow here. I’m a model.” He took a breath, and waited for the inevitable fall out. He heard her snort.
Here it comes.

“What? You? A model? That’s hysterical.”

“Don’t be laughing at me, girlie. There’s an art school here. Get to be bare as a gorilla’s butt, too.”

“You’re posing naked!” She choked.

“It’s good money.” Jagger had to raise his voice so she could hear him over her raucous laughter. “And hell, it kills two birds. I can run tunes in my head and work on my songs while I’m sittin’ there having my arse drawn by some very cool artists.” Z.Z. Lambert’s face flashed in his mind. She could sketch him all she wanted.

The grandfather clock in the corner chimed the half hour. “Hey, I—”

His sister was still tittering on about his modeling. How she wasn’t surprised. How he used to torture their mum by running about the back garden in his all together and strip off his clothes every chance he got. How his balls must be made of solid brass. “Hey, Mick, I gotta hang up now. This is the boss’s dime. I just wanted to tell you where I was.”

“Okay, Lady Godiva. You didn’t answer my last email. You promised you’d keep in touch no matter what. Too busy forgetting how to fasten your fly?”

“You’re so bloody funny. No, my laptop died, and I’m not buying another one. Not yet. I can probably find a computer at the school I can use. Don’t worry, I’ll write and tell you all about it. If you need to reach me in a hurry, call me here or leave me a message at the Stoddard School of Art.”

“I’d like to hear from you more now that you’re settled again, okay? I can’t wait to hear all about this new job.” He heard her take a deep sigh. “I miss you so much.”

“I know. I miss you, too.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, sis. Bye.”

Jagger hung up the phone and moved back to the window. Never failed. Just hearing her voice dragged up the last three years and dumped it all on his head again. His leaving had hurt her. He’d hurt them all; more than some were willing to forgive. Even after all this time.

He closed his eyes and sighed. He pictured his da’s face, heard his voice.
A man’s word is all he has. When you make a promise, you bloody well best be prepared to keep it.

“At what cost, Da?” He spoke to no one. Should it cost him everything? His family—his home? His future? “Not sure who was more bonkers. You…or me.”

Jagger left the study in search of Ellie Jackson, the head of domestic affairs at the Harding estate. It was a self-imposed title. She hated the word housekeeper, and insisted her staff refer to her in the proper regard. To the rest of the staff she was a stern taskmaster, but not to him. He found her wiping at nonexistent dust in the spotless foyer.

“Hey, Ms. Ellie, make sure you tell me how much that phone call just cost, and I’ll give you some money.”

She swatted at him with her rag. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Mr. Harding doesn’t mind the occasional long distance call.”

“Might when the call’s to Australia. I’ll feel better paying for it. Keeps me honest.”

“Whatever you want, Jagger. That’s very considerate of you. Are you hungry?”

“I’m always hungry.”

“Didn’t you have a proper breakfast before you headed off this morning?”

He shook his head. “Had me a dingo’s breakfast.”

“I just love your sayings. What’s a dingo’s breakfast?”

“You know—a yawn, a scratch, and a good look ’round.” Jagger smiled and winked.

She swatted at him again, laughing. “That’s no breakfast.”

“No worries. I grabbed an apple or two for the road.”

Ellie tsked at him and took his arm. “Come, I’ll fix you something.”

“You do know the way to a man’s heart, don’t you? If I was a little younger, I’d be fighting Mr. Jackson and begging you to run off with me instead.” He tugged on the tails of her apron bow and watched as she blushed all the way to the roots of her blue rinsed hair.

“You’re just a rascal, you know it?” She retied her apron around her generous middle. “What do you want to eat? I’ve got some casserole left over from last night, or I could whip you up some eggs.”

Jagger took a seat at a wide oak worktable that stretched through the middle of the huge kitchen. Ellie stood with her hand on the handle of a twin-door, stainless fridge that was bigger than his van. “I wouldn’t say no to one of your sandwiches.”

“I’ll make you two.” She smiled.

“Throw in one of those brownies.” He nodded toward the pan cooling on the table. The smell of chocolate was making his mouth water. “And you’ve got yourself a deal.”

****

By the time he got back to the caretaker’s cabin, Jagger was full to bursting and carrying a sack of goodies from Ellie’s kitchen. The woman kept telling him he needed more meat on his bones. At least he wouldn’t go hungry working here. Ellie Jackson was good people.

Jagger pulled a small beat-up suitcase from beneath his bed. Flipping the thumb latches on either side and opening the lid, he laid a gentle hand on an inlaid wooden box tucked inside before grabbing a bundle of notebooks, and worn manila envelopes. He made a notation in a ledger of sorts and pulled a $20 bill from one envelope that read FOOD and slipped it into an envelope that read PHONE. Both calls together hadn’t lasted more than ten minutes. That should cover it. And Ellie just slimmed his grocery budget by at least that much. Good deal. He may just be ahead.