Overture (Rain Dance, Book 1) (Rain Dance Series) (4 page)

     
Inhaling
deeply, I took my seat. He took the armchair to my left and sat down, folding
one long leg over the other before closing his hands over his lap. He sat
perfectly still, studying me quietly.

     
I swallowed,
feeling the need to get things moving. "I was told I didn't have to bring
anything. I don't have a resume, but I'm assuming you've seen my
portfolio?" He wouldn't have called me in for a job unless he had. Most of
my work was available to view on the website.

     
"Yes," he answered. "Actually, I was hoping I might get a
chance to speak with you during the opening of the gallery. But then I was told
you wouldn't be coming."

     
Guess it's a
good thing I hadn't gone, after all.
"That's right, I was…" I had
to take a moment to remember. Friday was the night I had stuck to chick flicks
and inadvertently burnt myself with some homemade wax. What excuse could I give?
"…indisposed."

     
"...I see.
Well, I must say that I was intrigued with your portrayal of the building. Is
there any particular reason you chose this place as a subject?" It was
only now that I noticed it, though it was extremely faint and could only be
heard when he spoke more than a few words at a time. His voice held the barest
hint of an accent.

     
"No, not
at all," I admitted. "I just happened to stumble across it while
trying to find my way home. The weather was…interesting, to say the least, and
this building reflected that. I wanted to capture it for myself."

     
"I was
surprised when I came across the other works on your website. Your art is very
diverse in terms of style." Long gone was his friendly facade. He was
entirely business-like now. But rather than shrink at the careful hardness of
his gaze, I straightened my back. I would not allow this man to effect me as he
had before. Still, I avoided any direct eye contact.

     
"I like to
experiment. There are many moods I've come across. Accurately portraying them
is very important to me."

     
"The moods
of others or of your own?"

     
"Both."

     
"How far
back do those paintings on your site go?"

     
"…Some are
as old as six or seven years."

     
"If I may
be so frank," he began, "a few of them are rather dark, possibly
bordering on morbid, even. Wouldn't you say?"

     
I kept a
straight face and smiled politely. "Yes, that is true."

     
After a few
seconds of silence, he began tapping a finger on his hand. "Mercedes said
that you only very recently moved to Seattle. How are you liking it so
far?"

     
"I like it
very much, though I haven't seen too much of it yet. The weather here is
great."

     
His brow rose
slightly. "The weather?"

 
    
"Yes. I'm eager for the rain to pick
up."

     
"And what
is it about the rain that pleases you?"

     
It was a
question I didn't know how to respond to. "I can't say. It just makes me
happy."
Great. Now I sound like an idiot.

     
"Why the
name Emeline Vincent?" he asked after another pause. "Is there any
meaning behind it?"

     
"...I'm
sorry?"

     
"Your
pseudonym."

     
I laughed
uneasily. "Was it that obvious?"

     
"Forgive
me." He leaned forward a bit, offering a small smile. "We require background
checks for all potential employees. Yours came up blank."

     
"Oh, of
course." They issued background checks that soon? And what was this about
potential employees? Did he want me to work
here
? In the actual
building?
More importantly, what should I tell him?
I didn't like giving
out my real name. But…I guess I didn't feel particularly nervous about him
knowing. "Emeline is my middle name. Vincent was my father's."

     
"Was?"

     
"Yes."

     
"I'm
sorry," he said quietly.

     
I gave him another
polite smile. "Daphne Myers. Twenty-four years old. Born in
California."

     
"Where in
California?"

     
"Northern
California. In Sonoma."

     
"You grew
up there?"

     
"I moved
to the southern area just before I turned nine." His questions were now
coming in quick succession and I had to focus in order to keep up.

     
"And how
do you feel about the weather over there?" he asked with another arched
brow.

     
"It's
acceptable," I stated. "Although it doesn't rain nearly as often as I
would like it to."

     
"Tell me,
when did you first get into art?"

     
"Around
the age of nine or ten."

     
"And what
sparked your interest?"

     
"It was
summer break and I was very bored. One day I started drawing and I realized
hours later into it that I quite enjoyed it."

     
"Is that
all?"

     
"I'm
afraid so."
What the fuck is that shrewd look for?

     
"But most
of your work is now done with acrylic, correct?"

     
I nodded.

     
"When did
you decide to turn to painting?"

     
"Middle
school. I was taking an art class and we had to paint for an assignment.
Watercolor. I was terrible at it - I still am, actually. But I liked the feel
of the brush. Eventually, after some experimenting, I found that I had the
easiest time with acrylic. I started from there, occasionally dabbling with
oils when I felt like it."

     
"And when
did you decide you wanted to make a career out of it?"

     
Did I ever?
"A few years ago, maybe. I never really hoped to make a living off of it.
I just got lucky, I suppose."

     
"If a
career in art wasn't on your agenda, what was?"

     
"I can't
say. Back then, I didn't really think that far ahead."
I just wanted to
make it to the next day
. Wait a minute - should I have lied and said that I
had always wanted to be an artist? I didn't like the idea of lying to him,
though. Then again, I hated lying in general. Omission was always the best way
to go.

     
He was quiet
for a moment before he spoke, somewhat nonchalantly, "I can't help but
feel as though you had a hard time growing up."

     
Had my face
given something away? No, I was positive that I'd kept it straight this entire
time. Unless he was still hung up over those
borderline morbid
works of
mine. Regardless, was that the kind of remark one would expect from an
interviewer? I didn't think so, but then again, what did I know? "My life
has been significantly more fortunate than others, for which I'm grateful. Of
course, everybody goes through times of difficulty. Myself included."

     
"May I ask
why you prefer working under a different name?"

     
Again with the
name. I didn't understand why he found it so important. "I'm just a
private person, I suppose."

     
"Yes, so
it would seem." His eyes quickly looked me over up and down.
Don't let
him see you squirm.

     
"I was
very surprised to hear that someone wanted to hire me," I said, trying to
get to the purpose of my being here. "In person, I mean."

     
"…Of
course," he answered after a second, rising to his feet. "I'm sure
you're wondering what kind of job I'm offering you. If you'll follow me, I'll
show you."

     
I stood up from
my seat and began trailing him. Holding the door open, he motioned for me to
step out first with his free arm. I hurriedly exited the room, trying to keep a
distance from him. I noticed that the woman, Patricia, was no longer there.
Also, whereas before it had only been very quiet, it was now dead silent. Had
everybody gone home already?

     
"This
way."

     
He walked us to
a large hallway located in the corner of the floor. The left side was all glass
window and the right side had what appeared to be rows of meeting rooms. There
was a turn near the end which led into an extremely long corridor. I couldn't
see what was in the rooms on either side since the doors were all shut. We
walked in silence the entire time, the only sounds being the soft clicking of
our shoes. Finally, when we had almost reached the end, he stopped and turned
to face me, tilting his head towards the open room to my right.

     
"In
there," he said.

     
Taking his cue,
I entered. The room was completely empty - the walls a stark white with no
windows. The only source of light came from the setting sun in the sky that was
viewable through the glass ceiling. I was about to ask why the rest of the
floor did not have ceiling like that when he spoke again.

     
"I'd like
you to paint a mural," he said brusquely.

     
So this
was
a legit job.
Well, thank fuck for that.
"What kind of mural?"

     
"Whatever
kind you want. My only request is that you fill up all four walls."

     
I turned to
him, trying to see if he was serious. "What will this room be used
for?"

     
"That is
yet to be determined."

 
    
Huh
. This was starting to sound kind
of odd. "…I wouldn't really know where to begin."

     
He looked at me
directly, almost trying to hold my gaze by force. "Can you do it?"

     
"It's not
that I can't…but wouldn't you prefer to hire someone who specializes in this
type of work?"

     
There was a
small twitch in his brow, and I had to wonder if my question bothered him.
"As I said, I was quite taken with how you portrayed my building. I would
be honored if it were you who marked the inside with your talents."

     
My building
,
he said. Of course. I was on the top floor, previously in what would have been
the largest, most expensive office with the best view, probably. Still, I found
myself having to clarify. He was obviously a few years older than me, but I
doubted he was anything over thirty. It was a little hard to believe. "
Your
building?"

     
"Were you
not aware?" He looked genuinely surprised.

     
"I'm
afraid I don't know anything about this building aside from its name, which I
only just learned a few hours ago. And the fact that it's very nice to look
at."

     
There was
something about the smile he gave me just then that was different from the
others. It was warm - less like the polite and professional ones he had been
giving me. I had to ignore the way it made my stomach fizz up inside.

     
"Will you
do it?" he asked.

     
I looked around
once more, contemplating. "If I had a theme to go on…or even an idea that
might help get me started…"

     
"I
would've thought that absolute freedom would be the dream for an artist."

     
"It
usually is."

     
"You love
the rain. You could choose to work around that," he suggested.

     
I exhaled
softly. "That would be a bit boring though, wouldn't it? Especially since
the real thing happens outside often enough. At least around here it
does."

     
He began taking
small steps around me. "If you could teleport anywhere in the world right
now, anywhere at all, where would it be?"

     
"Disneyland." My response was automatic. "I
mean…Yeah."

     
He continued in
his steps, looking amused now. "Imagine that you're there, then."

     
I countered
before I could stop myself. "For a mural? That's a horrible idea. It
wouldn't translate well on these walls at all. Plus, it would only serve as a
constant reminder to anyone who walked in that they were
not
at The
Happiest Place on Earth."