Complementary Colors (8 page)

“So you did.”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“Could have turned your back like everyone else in the bar.”

He dropped his gaze. “I went to break it up, and they came after me.”

“How many were there?”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “Just wanted to know the odds.”

“Five to one.”

“Not a very fair fight.” I sipped my juice while Roy scuffed his feet against the faded linoleum. “And what happened next?”

“After I broke a few noses, they backed off. Except for one. He pulled a knife. He lunged. I grabbed him and snapped his neck. It just happened.”

“Self defense,” I said.

“Yes and no.”

“It was five on one. Not to mention they were trying to rape a woman. Tell me how a jury could possibly find you guilty of anything else?”

“I pled out.”

“Why?”

“Because seven years was better than twenty.”

“No one would have convicted you.”

“It was a small town. I killed someone’s son, husband, brother. He’d grown up there, I didn’t. He had friends, I was an out of towner just running a construction job. The lawyer said there was a good chance they’d find me guilty on principle alone.”

“Should have fired him and gotten a different attorney.”

“Public defender. I didn’t have any money to hire one in the first place.”

So Roy went to prison when he should have been given a medal. “Seven years for saving a woman from being raped and maybe even killed?”

“I got out on parole after three for good behavior.”

“Doesn’t make it all right.” My spoon clanked against the bottom of the bowl.

“Want some more?”

“No thanks.”

“I don’t mind.”

If only he would. “Is that why you left Arkansas?”

“That was the divorce.” I have no idea what he saw on my face to make him add, “I didn’t always live in a rat hole and work for money under the table. I used to have a really good business.”

“Building houses?”

“Sometimes. Mostly commercial buildings.”

“And you didn’t have money for a lawyer?”

“The ex got the business, the house, plus alimony. There wasn’t much left to live on, let alone hire a lawyer. I took the out-of-state jobs to pay the bills.”

“If you ran a building company, why are you fixing air conditioners?”

“Constuction companies don’t hire felons.”

“But you still get work.”

“Because I’m willing to work for less than anyone else and there are always folks looking to cut corners.”

I didn’t know whether to be worried or grateful.

Roy watched me with a kind of longing seen on the faces of people who are about to say good-bye for the last time.

“I guess I was wrong about you,” I said.

His smile was tight. I hated the fact he wouldn’t even try to defend himself.

“Do you want me to call you a cab?”

“Why? Do you want me to leave?”

“I figured…”

“I’d be scared of you?”

“Like you said, you were wrong about me.”

“Yeah, I was. You’re far more than just a good person. Someone should nominate you for sainthood.”

Somehow his expression became even more broken.

“That was a compliment.”

“One I don’t deserve.”

“Why not?”

He went to the cabinet. “I’m out of vegetable, but I have some chicken noodle.”

I slid off my stool and cornered him near the stove. Surviving prison with his virtue intact was the proof his wide shoulders, thick arms, powerful body were capable of delivering everything his presence led me to believe.

Yet there he was, crushed against the counter in an attempt to get away, his pulse jumping in his neck, eyes wide, lips parted, sucking in short, panicked breaths, just because I stood close to him.

“Are you still scared of me?” I rubbed the crotch of his blue jeans. The hard length of his cock rode across his thigh in search of escape. “Nope. Definitely not scared.”

Roy’s incredible green eyes searched my face. He touched my cheek, ran his fingers to my jaw, followed my chin to my lips. I waited for him to kiss me. But he only stared, and touched, and stared some more. The weight of it all became too much, and I stepped away. He followed me until I was the one pinned against the counter.

Roy slid his hands over my shoulders, down my arms, then back up to hold my face. “Stay here tonight.”

“Why?”

“Do I need a reason?” His chest and his thighs pressed against mine.

“Will you fuck me again if I do?” The smile I tried to pull fell flat. Roy leaned closer. Instead of hungering for his mouth on mine, I feared it. I turned my head, and he brushed his lips against my jaw.

“Stay the night with me, Paris.” I trembled. “Shhh—” His heated touch danced over the back of my neck.

“Why?”

“I want to feel you next to me. I want to know your body.”

“You already know the important parts.” I hated that my voice cracked.

“No, I don’t.” He put his hand on my left pectoral.

“Julia will have a fit if I don’t come home.” And that wasn’t a lie.

He made some space between us, and I was able to regain my composure. “Why do you do what she wants?”

“It’s difficult to explain.” How did you tell someone you had no rights? You’d been made into property? You’d long ago had the fight stripped from your core?

And there was no such thing as parole from Julia’s prison.

“Try.” Close again, his exhale warmed the shell of my ear.

I found myself leaning into him, searching for the warmth of his body, inhaling the scent of sweat and sex from his skin. What would it be like to be held as I fell asleep and to wake up in those same arms? I wanted to know. I needed to know.

No matter the price.

“I’ll stay, but under one condition.”

“What?”

I scraped my teeth down his neck to his shoulder. “You make sure to fuck me hard enough there’s no way I could even think of walking out.”

“Where have you been?” Julia cut me off at the bottom of the steps.

“Can you yell at me later? I’m tired.” Tired, sore, completely melted. I was going to have to sit on a pillow for a week. God, I hoped she hadn’t promised me to anyone.

“Not until you tell me where you were.”

“Out. With a friend.”

“Please tell me you used a condom.”

“I didn’t know you cared.”

She slapped me. “I work too fucking hard to have you destroy it all just because you can’t keep it in your pants.”

“Then I would suggest you cancel any further dates you have scheduled me for.”

“The clients who have earned your company have to prove they are clean. And they know the rules.”

Condoms.

She gripped my chin and turned my head to the side. “Do you have any idea how hard those are going to be to cover up?”

And no visible marks. Especially no hickies.

“Now I’ll have to take you to get tested.” She pulled out her cell phone. “Have you showered yet?”

“Take a sniff. What do you think?”

“I do not need this, Paris. Not now. You have the biggest interview of your life in three days. I cannot believe you would risk everything for…” Her face reddened.

“Sex?”

She slapped me again.

“Well, what else did you want me to call it?”

She quick-keyed the number. “How dare you do this to me?”

“You can calm down. He’s clean.”

“Really? He tell you, or did he show you his paperwork? I’m sure he just conveniently had it lying around.”

“No, he’s never had sex with any other man.”

“There are more than a few ways to catch something.”

“You’re right, there are. And those ways won’t be stopped by a condom.”

“I mean, drugs. Specifically needles.”

“He doesn’t even smoke cigarettes, let alone shoot up.”

“Drug users lie.”

“I had my tongue in every crack and crevice of his body. If he had track marks, I would have found them.”

She curled her hand into a fist. I braced myself, but the strike never came.

“Look, sex helps me paint. That’s what you want me to do, isn’t it?”

“Then maybe I should take more applicants?”

“Sex with people I want to have sex with.”

“And obviously, that’s not a choice you can be trusted with.”

“He’s the only one I’ve slacked on in years.”

“It only takes one.”

“Even without tests, there’s less of a chance with him than the people you hook me up with who wear condoms. Now, can I go get a shower?”

A child laughed.

I turned. “Who did you bring in here?”

“What are you talking about?”

With only a dividing wall between the kitchen and open floor plan, there was nowhere for anyone to hide. “Nothing.” The beginning of a headache throbbed behind my eyes.

“Here, I have some pills in my purse.” She walked over to the dining room table.

“I’m fine.”

“If your head hurts, you need to take something for it.”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“Then why are you rubbing your temple?” Julia dug around in her handbag and came back with a fat white pill. “Here.”

“What is it?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Take the pill, Paris.”

“Fine.” I turned to go up the stairs.

“Now.”

“I need water.”

“Then go to the kitchen.”

“My room is closer.”

“You have no trouble fitting far bigger things down your throat, so swallow it dry.”

“Sucking cock is a lot different than trying to swallow pill the size of an egg. If you’d ever done it, you’d know that.”

Another slap.

“Covering up a busted lip is going to be a lot harder than hickies.” I pressed my tongue to my lip.

“Take the pill, or a busted lip will be the least of your worries.”

I put it in my mouth.

“Swallow.”

The chalky rock scraped my throat. I worked my mouth for every drop of saliva I could get.

“Swallow it.”

“I’m trying.” It got stuck on the way down.

Julia held my face and squeezed my cheeks. “Open.” I even remembered to lift my tongue. When she was satisfied, she let me go. “Go bathe. You’re stinking up the place.”

Cut free, I climbed up the steps.

“Paris.”

I stopped at the top. What the hell could she want now? “Yes?”

“I only do this because I care about you.”

I always wondered if she actually believed her lies or if she thought I did. “I’ll be in my room.”

By the time I’d washed, the pill lodged somewhere in my chest had begun to burn a bitter chemical taste back up to my tongue. I drank two glasses of water, but the lingering pain made it impossible for me to tell whether or not it had gone down. Then the room tipped.

The mystery pills Julia pushed on me could either give me the best highs or the worst hangovers.

I staggered over uneven ground and into my bedroom. A blinding mass struck me from above, but the light switch had moved so I had no way to turn it off.

The walls fell, kicking up waves, and my bed rocked in the center of my room. I grabbed the comforter but was swept away by the undertow before I could climb on.

My shoulder knocked against the frame, and somehow I wound up on the ceiling with all the furniture dancing around me. I reached for the bed, but it drifted off the edge of the world.

Then the ants ate all my strength, and all I could do was float.

Sunlight cast broken pieces of red and gold across the ripples. Fat orange fish made circles, and we watched them for a while before he spoke. I didn’t know where he’d come from, but I don’t think I cared.

Summer was always so lonely for me.

The boy put his hand on my chest. “¿Cómo te llamas?
”

I looked down because I thought I had something on my shirt. “I don’t understand.”

His entire face lit up when he laughed. “No. Name. You name.”

“Paris. My name is Paris.” I put my hand on his chest.

“Me llamo…”

“Your dinner is getting cold,” Julia said.

The salmon and asparagus on my plate had been arranged with bits of lemon and decorated with lacy sauce. Too bad making a pretty food sculpture didn’t make it taste like a cheap can of alphabet soup.

I poked the fish with my fork.

The murmur of conversation flowing through the restaurant was chorused by the occasional clink of silverware on porcelain. The contrast spit out shards of lime greens over reds and purples.

With every new chip, the pain behind my eyes swelled. It might have been tolerable if the people at our table would have stopped talking to me.

“So tell me, Paris, what are you working on right now?” I think his name was Crayson. “It’s going to be difficult for you to top the Trinity you unveiled at that last showing. It was definitely your best so far.”

My best. A corpse was my best. A corpse being torn apart by ravaging dogs while onlookers did nothing.

That…That was my best.

“Thank you,” I said.

He smiled and so did his wife. There were two other couples at our table. I’d never seen them before, but they must have been serious about purchasing one of my works. Julia only invited out the ones who’d practically given her a blank check.

“Paris is always working on amazing new pieces. I’m sure whatever it is, you will be pleasantly surprised.”

“Are you a religious man, Paris?” I didn’t know the man sitting across from me at the other end of the table either, but he looked vaguely familiar.

“No.”

He arched an eyebrow and sipped his wine. “Then why do all your works have a religious theme?”

“I—”

“Paris respects the need for religion,” Julia said. “While we don’t belong to a particular church, it doesn’t mean we can’t recognize intelligent design.”

The man folded his hands and leaned forward. His eyes were so dark they were black. I’d never seen a man with eyes like that.

Exactly like mine.

“Is that what you believe, Paris?”

Julia paused mid-bite. The gleam in her gaze dared me to refute her. Would she stab me with her steak knife if I did? Wouldn’t that be a wonderful front-page story? At least she would get the fame she’d always dreamed of.