Flying (31 page)
“There.” Will stops but doesn’t let go of my elbow. If
anything, he moves closer to me. “That’s what you like.”
The piece is simple. Carved, polished wood. There’s no real
form or figure, though the piece is evocative of a woman’s body. The smooth
curve of hip and thigh and belly and breasts, the curl and twist of hair. It’s
not a woman, but it feels like one. Without thinking, I touch it. She feels like
a woman. My fingers curl against my palm as I take my hand away. I shouldn’t
have touched it. Oils from my fingers could harm the finish. It’s not a museum
piece, but even so, it’s not right to ruin it.
And Will is correct. I like this one. I have no place for
something like that in my home, but suddenly, I want it.
“Do you know who did it?” I’m already looking for the artist’s
card.
Will says nothing. I look at him, thinking he’ll be smiling,
but he’s not. He’s studying me.
“I knew you’d like that one.”
My body tenses. I’m not sure if I don’t like the way he says
it, or if I like it too much. Either way, I frown. “You sound so proud.”
He glances at the piece of carved wood that shouldn’t look like
anything but looks like a woman. “I like to figure out what people like. I mean,
it’s important, you know? For an artist who wants to sell his shit.”
“Is that what it’s about, for you? Selling things? I thought
real artists wanted to...you know. Make art.”
He laughs, low. “Sure. But I’m also into paying my rent and
eating. Not many people can live on art.”
Not many of the people displaying here in Naveen’s gallery
tonight, anyway. New York City has galleries like this all over the place.
Competition’s fierce. I told him to keep his Philly gallery, but he insisted on
branching out. I’m still not sure this one’s going to make it.
“So...you like to know what people like, so you can sell them
things.”
“Sure.” Will’s grin is a little sly. “And I was right about
you. Wasn’t I?”
“Yes.” For some reason, I’m reluctant to admit it.
He nods as if I just revealed a secret. Maybe I have. “You like
things smooth.”
I take a step away from him. How could he know that? Hell.
Until a few minutes ago, I’m not sure I knew it.
Will nods again. “Yeah. Smooth. And curved. You don’t like
sharp things. Angles and shit. You don’t like it when there are points.”
“Who does?” My voice is anything but smooth.
“Some people do.” Will looks again at the carved wood. “You
should buy it. It would make you happy.”
My laugh snags, like a burr. “Who says I need to be happy?”
“Everyone needs to be happy, Elisabeth,” Will says.
Oh, my name.
When he says my name, I see it in shimmering shades of blue and
green and gray. Those are not my colors. I’m red and orange and yellow. Brown.
My name is autumn moving on toward winter darkness, but not the way Will says
it. When he says my name, I see summer. I see the ocean.
Blinking hard, I have to look away from him. My breath catches
in my throat. I’m sure I can’t speak, not even one word.
“You should buy it,” he says again.
“I don’t want it.” It would make me happy, but my house is
corners and angles and sharp points. There’s no place in my house for something
like that.
“You want it,” Will says, leaning in close for just a second.
Just a breath.
Naveen saves me. He comes up behind Will and claps him on the
shoulder hard enough to rock him forward a bit. Will frowns, fists clenching for
a second or two before relaxing as his mouth slides into a smile, so fast it’s
as if he never looked angry at all.
“What does she want?” Naveen asks with a smile like a
shark’s.
Before either of us can answer, one of the musicians, a girl
with a pixie haircut to match her petite stature, eases her way between us with
an overly casual smile for Naveen. She holds up what looks like a scribbled
receipt. Her eyeliner has smudged and, yes, I judge her for looking sloppy.
“Can I talk to you about this?”
Naveen gives her a smile considerably less casual than hers and
winks at me. He puts his arm around the girl’s shoulders, his fingertips denting
the soft, tanned flesh of her upper arm, bared by her strapless dress. “Sure,
Calysta. Let’s talk in my office, okay? Betts, you’re good? I’ll call you
tomorrow?”
“I’ll call you,” I tell him. “And yes. I’m fine.”
Will waits until they walk halfway across the room before he
turns to me. “What’s up with that?”
I shrug. “Not my business.”
He squints, mouth pursed. “He’s married, huh?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not his wife.”
“No,” I say. “It’s not.”
Will gives them another look and slowly shakes his head, then
lets his gaze slide back to mine. Sly, sideways, full of charm. He reminds me of
a fox, I think suddenly. The slight spike at the tips of his ears, the way his
hair feathers forward in front of them, the sleek and perfect arch of his brows.
He leans close to me again. Sharing secrets.
“How about,” he says, “you and me, we get out of here?”
Copyright © 2013 by Megan Hart
ISBN-13: 9781460330043
FLYING
Copyright © 2014 by Megan Hart
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