Trifecta (11 page)

He watched his best friend take hold of Lauren's chin.  Their mouths opened, and he could tell the exact moment that Jason guided her tongue to his by the way she moaned and tightened her hold on his hand.

As if his body was trained to react, his erection began to swell.  The simple act of watching both satisfying and arousing.  They did need to reserve this for the three of them.

Jason broke the kiss and motioned toward her.  "I've primed the pump for you."

This time he went for it.  One moment her lips were on Jason, the next on his. 

"I'm glad we waited for Jason."  She spoke into his open mouth.

"Me too."  He helped Jason rid her of his sweatshirt.  Yes, they had to wait for Jason, it was the three of them or none of them, and he wanted this. 

He better get ready for their debut.

Chapter Ten

The morning right before Jason opened his eyes was a magic time.  With the day not yet begun, and reality still at an arm’s reach, the universe held potential.  Creativity blossomed, creating colors and images he could later recreate on paper or canvas. 

Today was one of those mystical mornings.  The steady breathing of all three of them wanted to lull him back to sleep.  He opened his eyes to find Lauren slung over him, her hair over her face creating a delightfully distorted viewpoint of the world.  Fuzzy and off kilter, shining gold and brown, and in a flash, inspiration was born. 

He brushed her hair aside and slid out from under her, kissing her hand before placing it back on the bed and covering her up.

"Jase," she moaned.

"Studio."  He didn't need to say more.

She gave him a thumb up and turned over into Russell's arms.

He backed out and nodded.  Though he wanted to stay with them and take in the couple of hours before their work called, art wanted him.  A welcome alarm clock.

With one pit stop into his room to pull on pants and a sweatshirt, he made his way into the studio.

He sat down at the table, took a fresh piece of parchment and a handful of pencils, and resisted the need to turn the computer on.  Now was time for art, and he ran his hand over the paper. 

The pencil hit the parchment and he closed his eyes.  The picture in his mind remained, and he drew a line.  No, that wasn't right.  His vision didn't have lines.  No corners or sharp edges.  He erased the line, hating the way the shadow of the mark remained, but reminding himself this was merely a sketch.  There would be time to refine later, he only needed to concern himself with getting something on the paper.

He changed colors to a peach pencil.  The mark of the other pencil remained.  Maybe he should start by covering it.   His heart began to pound, his muscles tightened.

"Wait." He put the pencil down.  Before he started, he needed to think of a theme.  What was he going to show?  He took a breath, moved his neck from side to side.

He sat back.  The paper was one giant pool waiting for him to jump in, but there was no water. There was no plan, no theme.  If he wanted an exhibition he needed to have a cohesive message.

"Damn this."  He looked around his studio.  Touches of the three of them were everywhere.  A picture of the three of them in college at a toga party in a silver frame on a shelf, a sketch Lauren made of him when she decided to dabble in art, and the pencils she gave him that Christmas.  The first computer Russell put together that Jason decided was an antique and must be kept.  The thing was huge and dwarfed modern machines.

Where did the moment go?  It was just there, as tangible as if he could hold it. 

He forced himself to turn to the paper over and pressed the pencil point into the parchment.  A small piece of graphite broke off and made a sad crumb on his pristine page.  He clutched the drawing implement tight enough to cause the wood casing to crack.

The picture living in his mind in the bed with Lauren's hair and Russell's breathing refused to travel down his arm and onto the paper.  It vanished in a poof.  He almost saw the small cloud of dissipate before him, not leaving as much as a raindrop for him to work with, he didn't dare dream for a rainbow.

"Draw anything!"  At last the pencil snapped in two, the colored core jutting out from the wood, one half still between his fingers, the other falling on his page off to one side.

He brushed the soiled paper off the desk and found his sketchbook.  If he couldn't do his work, he would do something free form.   He rifled through the pages of pictures.  There was no rhyme or reason to the drawings, just the little things that entered his mind.  He seized some more colored pencils, drawing what he should have waited for that morning instead coming in here.

At first the streaks of color meant nothing, it was crap, but he forced himself, adding in some shadows, two male naked forms, one blond, one dark haired, a woman in the middle.

He drew them in a blatant erotic scene.  The three of them intertwined with each other. 

The image came out natural, right, and unique.  Everything he wanted.

The three of them was supposed to spur his creativity, remove the block.  Instead, it absorbed him.  Maybe Steve was right. 

"No."  He slammed the book shut and turned on the computer, his email program opening up first.  Unlike his two cohorts, he could go days without checking electronic mail.  Lauren said she was jealous, Russell only shook his head as if he were shirking some great responsibility.  But after a weekend of facing every mundane errand, he needed to stay on responsibility road and tackle business.

The emails loaded, the ones from Bette Terrance, his agent, piled up in bold face from not being read.  Again, unlike his cohorts, he didn't need to rush to read them.  He already knew what she wanted.  Was he creating?  What was his inspiration?  Did he want to meet?  Did he want to take on some art for hire?

Of course unlike his cohorts, he seemed to be the only one who noticed they didn't go out together once during the entire weekend.  Oh, they were together, but somehow the three of them never left the house all at the same time.  He thought he gave Russell some time to deal with their situation with all the errands a week before the party, but Russell was raging his own internal battle.

He shook his head and clicked away from his email and into his game.  He began shooting his enemies, naming each one of the bad guys.  Blocked, embarrassed, frustrated, lost. 

At least in the mystical land of his game he had no pressures. No blank pages to be filled with artistic brilliance.  No best friend avoiding that he lived an alternative lifestyle.

In this world he was a God.  Master of everything. 

A light knock on the door interrupted his adventure into the land of the witches, and he closed the screen not caring if he lost some points as long as no one caught him. "Enter."  The emails from his agent taunted him. 

He sat up as Lauren came in carrying two mugs.  In the house of boys she insisted on having a girl mug, and the one she carried he hand painted for her with different twisted flowers in various colors, and a red one with a white gas station logo.  "Want some?"

He held his hand out and tilted his head toward the extra chair.  "How's the morning treating you?" He took a sip.  She prepared his coffee just perfect.  A little thing, but one he appreciated.  Strong Italian roast doused by a dash of half and half and two teaspoons of sugar.  She looked cute and tousled in her robe and t-shirt and fuzzy slippers.  He could make out a bit of her cleavage, she hadn't put on a bra yet. Talk about inspiration.  He wondered if he could convince her to get rid of the robe.

"I stopped Russell from making breakfast by saying I had to get on the road."  She laughed. 

"Do you have to get on the road?"  He wanted to play hooky.  Maybe he could find his missing muse.  It seemed to want to hide out in the bedroom.

She shrugged her shoulders.  "I do before Russell makes breakfast."

"Eventually we are going to have to have Russell's dinner, I mean breakfast."  He winked at her. With how long that meal took, the three of them could satisfy each other twice, and still make it to the table in time for Russell's patented potatoes.

"Let me see the greatness."  She scooted closer to him.  "I was so excited when you said you were going to the studio."

He stared at her.  Of course she was excited, she wanted a man who would bring home the goods, complete his work.  Everyday Russell gathered his tools and his papers and went off to create components and computers, and every other Friday he brought home a paycheck.  The pride on his face radiated brighter than his twenty-seven inch computer monitor.

Ever since the exhibit, pride flipped him the bird.  The money he earned at the dealership for doing ads and such was a fancy way of his parents continued support.  To date, his art earnings wouldn't buy a wallet at the fancy store Lauren loved.

"Can I see?"  She hooked her arm in his.

"It wasn't much."  Thank god she didn't need anything at that store, or even a thrift store, he couldn't buy it for her, but his parents could.

"Did you sketch?"  She leaned over the desk, setting the sights on his pad.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Can I look?" 

Over anyone, Lauren would tell him the truth.  Maybe what he drew wasn't as intrusive as he thought.  Maybe she would be flattered.  He put his hand on the paper and was about to let her see, when Russell came in.  The man was already in his full business regalia of a navy blue suit, white shirt and red tie.  Ever since his promotion to king of the nerds his wardrobe changed, he had grown up.

"Lauren."  He raised his chin in Jason's direction but went straight for her. 

"Yes." She spun toward him.

"Since we were all about catching up on projects this weekend, I fixed this."  He fished inside one of his pockets and held up her necklace.  "You said you wanted to wear it the other day."

"Thank you!"  She turned her back to Russell and lifted her hair.

Russell looped the necklace around her.  Before he fastened it he gave her a quick kiss on the back of her neck.

Jason nodded.  The man may not be able to deal with them in the outside world, but he would not skip an opportunity to one up a fellow bedmate.

"You're giving me the shivers."  Once more she spun around.  This time with her lips pursed. 

He glanced at Jason and gave her two pecks.  "I wanted to know if you had time for lunch."

"Lunch sounds great."  She returned the kiss.

Lunch was only for those who had a real job.  It was a gift of an hour in the middle of the day. He balled his hand into a fist.

"What are you up to today?"  Russell smoothed her hair back, but looked at him.  "Are you going to the dealership?"

He chewed the inside of his mouth.  The thought of the dealership and watching the rich and spoiled rent cars to appear even richer and more spoiled made his stomach churn. 

"Jason sketched." Lauren pointed back at him.  "I wanted to see."

Now both of them stared at him waiting for the grand reveal.

He stared back.  It seemed appropriate.

"Are you spending the day in here?"  Russell pointed to the floor. 

If 'in here' meant spending the day playing his game the answer was yes.  He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. Catching up on promises was only one item on his yellow pad of failures he needed to fix.

"I don't think he's ready."  Lauren jumped off the chair.  "I better get going."

Russell pushed his glasses up and blinked. "Later."

"Later."  No art was going to happen today, no car dealings, no lunch.  Everything in the studio felt like it wanted to fall on his head.  He needed to appear as if he were doing anything and clicked on one of the emails from his agent.  A quick scan told him he was right.  She was once again begging him to take commissioned work.  Drawings and sketches businesses needed. 

"Will you help me bring a box to my car?"  She pulled Russell's sleeve.             

Russell had to go to work, he wore a suit and was going to lunch, and Lauren asked him to help her. 

Art for hire.  Not art for art.  Not art for creativity.  Art for money.  A hired pen.  He stood up.  "I'll do it and I'll make the offer even better."  He went to Lauren's other side and decided to test his friend.  "I think I'll go on calls with you and then we can both meet our better third for lunch."  Two could play the challenge game.

"You hate going on calls with me."  She narrowed her eyes.

"I think it will be good for the art."  He grinned, using his teeth and everything.  What would be good for the art would be making art, not pornography. He needed to clear his head and spend some time with at least one of his muses outside of the bedroom.  Going to work with Lauren was sort of working.  He glanced at Russell with his jaw set and his focus just beyond the two of them. 

"Okay."  She hugged him.  "I suppose I could do worse than you as an assistant."

He embraced her back, and shut his eyes.  He wasn't an assistant or a car salesman.  He was an artist.   

Chapter Eleven

"No worries, we'll catch you at home."  Lauren hit end on her cell phone and turned to Jason.  "Russ got called into an emergency meeting, he can't make lunch."
                Though not like him to cancel, his new job demanded a lot of his time. "Oh well."  This would have been the first time she went out with both of them since they got together, but she still wasn't sure if they were even dating for real. 

"Good thing you brought a spare guy."  Jason held his elbow out to her. 

She refused his peace offering and began walking to their next call.

Jason ran ahead, skidding to a stop in front of her.  "I apologized to the staff and the doctor."

Not wanting to get sucked into to forgiving him, she tapped her foot.  Normally, he served as her number one sales tool, today he was simply a tool.

He bowed his head.  "I am sorry."  Once more he held out his arm.

There was no staying mad at him, it was a silly waste of energy and she laced her arm in his.

They walked down Bedford Drive, or as she liked to call it, Plastic Surgery Central.  Not only did this area drip with every big name Dermatologist and Plastic Surgeon, but there was an entire building which housed only those two specialties.

"I don't feel like doing any more calls."  As they strolled, she rested her head against his shoulder.

"Yes, dropping off flyers to three practices while you wear next to nothing and having every male kiss or paw you does make for a full day."

"Jason!"  This time she stopped.  "You just apologized."

"That I did, but it doesn't make up for the fact that you are half naked and every man on this block has touched in some inappropriate way." He put his arm around her.

"Don't tell me you're jealous."  She let out a laugh.  Maybe he should try hanging out with himself and every woman who wanted to fling their panties in his direction. "You didn't have to make a scene."  Fine, she loved the scene he made when he pulled her away from one of her accounts, but she needed to keep up a front.

"I don't think all those men should be caressing you."

"What about Russell?"  She grinned. 

"I am speaking for both of us."  He cleared his throat.  "I am sure he would insist you get dressed."

"This is a normal business outfit."  She put her hands on her hips.

"What happened to pant suits?" He reached down to the hem of her skirt and tried to pull it down.  "What else do we have today?"

"Stop doing that!" She swiped his hand away from her outfit and lifted her phone to access her calendar.   The name of her next call may as well have stood out in underline, bold, italic and red.  Her body stiffened, but she still tried to shut the phone off.  "Let's get lunch."

"Wait."  He captured the phone.

"Deli is just around the corner."  She kept her eyes on the phone and did everything in her power not to grab it back.

"We don't have time for lunch, we have to go see Dr. Porter, Dr. Carter and Dr. Dalton."  He nodded.  "That last one sounds familiar."

The problem in being with, or dating, or doing whatever, with her best friends was they knew too much.  "I just saw him for lunch last week.  I can go another time.  I make my own schedule."

He shifted his focus to her.  "Isn't he like your number one account?"

"Let's go get deli first."  She needed to stop protesting.

"All right a short lunch break, and then off to Dr. Dalton's."  He motioned forward.

"Okay."  They turned the corner onto little Santa Monica.  "Look, they keep opening up pop-up stores here." Small stores opening for a day or two in vacant storefronts were the latest L.A. trend.  Sometimes it was a famous designer, or electronics, or even home goods, but it was always fun to check them out.

"You turned this into a shopping trip."  Jason moaned.  "You can't stop the inevitable."

No, but she could delay it. "Come on."  She stood on her tiptoes to get a view down the street.  A new store popped up in the spot that sold tents and outdoors stuff only last week. 

"Five minutes and you can't break Russell's budget." 

"Like you even know the word budget."  She pulled him. 

Today the store had blacked out windows, and no name.  Her heart began to pound.  Sometimes the top designers hid like this, offering only the most lucky or the most in the know a chance to buy specialty items at a fraction of the cost.  "Jason!"  She gripped his arm.  "What if it's a secret Jacque's store?"   There could be a Valerie bag in there.  She’d heard of this.  One of the bags with a microscopic scratch, not enough to be detected by the naked eye, but enough to be rejected by the stringent standards of the Jacque's craftsmen who designed the portable masterpiece.

"Oh my god, what if it's a Jacque's store!"  Jason raised his voice to sound like a girl and held her.

"We have to get there."  Her blood sped up, fast tracking her adrenaline through her body and she jumped off the curb.

The screeching of brakes, the honk of a horn and Jason screaming her name caused her to freeze the second she landed on the asphalt.

"Lauren!"  Jason yanked her back up on the sidewalk, away from the huge white luxury car that tried to decimate her.

The shaking started the moment his arms were around her.  She kept her eyes shut and breathed in.  No matter what, the smell of soap with a layer of some special shaving cream Jason bought followed him everywhere, but right now it was like being encompassed in the comforter Russell just put on the bed to warm them as the nights started to chill. 

"Are you okay?"  He smoothed her hair down.

She nodded, but wasn't sure.

"Purse or no purse, we will only go over there if we use the crosswalk."  He held her at arm’s length.

"Okay."  She wrinkled her nose.  "The bag would look terrible with tread marks."

"The bag would look terrible without you."  He tilted his head as if inspecting her.  "There will be no more freaking out over phone calls and hand bags.  We have to keep you with us."

At his words, she couldn't stop her smile.

"You're not supposed be smiling.  I'm trying to be firm."  He wagged his finger at her. 

"What is with you with phones and purses?"

Now she frowned.  She wanted to be about more than phones and purses.

He blew through his lips, took them to the corner and with an over exaggerated movement pushed the walk button.  "See the little walking man in green?  That means we can go."

Phones, purses, outfits, and shopping.  She stared down at the lines in the crosswalk as Jason guided her across the street. 

“Hey.”  Jason tapped her as they made their way up on the sidewalk.

She raised her head, once more taking him in.  Neither Jason nor Russell were what she would consider materialistic.  Yes, they liked their items, but they wouldn’t have thrust themselves in front of a moving car in a quest for them. 

“Don’t you want to go in?”  He pointed to the store.

She glanced at the blacked out windows, back to Jason and inhaled.

“Come on.”  He held his hand out to her.  “Let’s just look.”

She closed her eyes and took his hand, choosing to look down at their fingers tangled together as they crossed the threshold into the store.

They entered the dark space and when Jason gave her a squeeze, she finally took the store in.

No handbags, scarves or shoes graced the walls.  No women scrambling for the latest find.  Instead, she was presented with a makeshift art gallery.  Black walls, strategic lights and silence perfectly framed the paintings inside.  Nothing else was in the small space except for a desk in the far back corner and a few people taking in the art.

Without a word, Jason took her to the nearest painting.

After going with Jason from gallery to gallery for years, she knew when he was taken by what he observed.  Right now was one of those times.  Instead of laughing, or searching for someone he may know, he became silent.  His grip on her hand loosened, and he stood in front of the first piece, stepping forward and back as if to get a different perspective in the few inches he moved.  Jason was about a lot more than the superficial. His world was art, meaning and nuance. 

She chewed her lip.   For that matter, Russell was always about learning, trying to do what was right, helping a friend.  She sighed and moved closer him.

The art itself was interesting, depicting space, stars, planets and otherworldly scenes.  Lauren nodded, the décor of the temporary gallery made perfect sense.

“What is it?”  Jason whispered.  “What do you see?”

Before she answered, opened her mouth and said something about how everyone looks good in black, Jason's last showing flashed through her mind. 

The gallery that night was white, glossy and vibrant, the colors he used in his paintings seemed to bounce off the walls.  Maybe his agent got it wrong. Maybe they needed black to absorb some of the hues, let the paintings stand out and glow.  She wondered if Jason thought the same thing. “I just liked the way the gallery is jet black, like space.  It gives a good backdrop to the paintings.”

"Ah, a woman who understands." 

Lauren turned to find an older man dressed in black standing next to her with his arms crossed. 

He motioned toward the painting.  "The finest art wouldn't look half as spectacular if it didn't have the proper back drop."

She fought a smile.  That sounded like something Jason or his parents would say.  Of course, Jason's parents would rearrange their home to display something their son created.  The image of Jason's mother deciding that only hard wood would do for Jason's sculpture, and Jason's father pulling out only a square of carpet to accommodate the request made her smile widen.

"The artist is a fan of science fiction.  Before I took him under my guidance he was painting snowcapped mountain tops and sold his work for under a hundred dollars a piece to old ladies in Venice."  The man nodded.  "I asked him to paint to his passion, make a mountain top on an undiscovered planet."  He leaned in closer and lowered his voice.  "I just sold one of his works for over five thousand dollars, and this is just the beginning."

Her smile dissipated as she pressed her lips together.  Jason didn't need to hear this. "Who are you?"

"Vincent Ingsby, Agent."  He extended his hand.  "If you fall in love with one of the pieces I wouldn't delay.  I have been open since this morning, and will definitely sell out.  I sent the artist home to get to work while his muse and adrenaline were in full force.  He is a talent."

"I'll show you talent."  In one swift motion she stepped in front of Jason and reached into her bag for her wallet.  She was about more than material crap.

"Lauren."  Jason uttered his first word since Vincent intruded upon them.

She knew Jason's warning tone.  It wasn't as much as a tone as it was the way he didn't call her Laurie, but she wouldn't be swayed.  Planets and stars were fine, but the final frontier didn't best her artist.  She unzipped her wallet and pulled out her old style photo holder, flipping past the picture of the three of them at college graduation with their caps and gowns, a picture of Russell as a teenager in front of his family home, and a picture of Jason with no hair in high school.  "Take a look at this."  She turned the plastic holder to the man.

"What have we here?"  Vincent held his hand out.

"There are more."  She gave it to him, but helped the man turn the little flaps to see all of Jason's art.  "His style is realistic set against the abstract."             

Vincent lifted the photo and nodded.
              "I particularly like the artist's use of different textures."               

"Of course you do."  She stood up straighter, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Jason with crossed arms, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.  "Look at the next one." 

Vincent pursed his lower lip.  "The artist is trying a bit too hard here."  He ran his finger over Jason's interpretation of a forest scene.  Purple, blue and red shapes created the background for pine trees and a cabin. 

A challenge.  This was more personal than when a doctor would tell her that her filler was too expensive.  She wanted to visit this landscape that existed only in Jason's mind.  In fact, that painting hung in her bedroom.  "I think art is about pushing and trying.  I think his use of color is exceptional.  If it were framed correctly he could get ten thousand easy."

Jason put his hand to his brow.

"Are you an agent?" Vincent lifted his eyebrows.

"I am a consumer, the very one you sell to, and I know what I like."  She put her fingers on her pictures.

Vincent kept hold of the art.  "Who is the artist?"

She lifted her chin and turned to Jason.  He may be pretending to study the paintings, but the way his foot tapped let her know he was listening.  "Jason Morgan."

Vincent returned the photos to her and walked over to Jason.

She held her breath.

"Mr. Morgan, are you being represented now?"