Overture (Rain Dance, Book 1) (Rain Dance Series) (8 page)

     
"Not at
all. I just assumed you wanted to be surprised."

     
"That's
true. I am interested in seeing your process, though."

     
"There's
not much to it, really," I shrugged. "Once I know what I'm doing,
it's just a race to get it done."

     
"And how
long do you think it will take to complete?" he inquired.

     
"I'm not
sure." Bringing the back handle of the brush to my chin, I looked at the
other walls, comparing them to what I had done already. "Three weeks
minimum. Is there a time limit?"

     
"Not at
all. Please, feel free to go at your own pace," he answered smoothly.

     
I nodded and
returned to working. Bing Crosby's voice filled the room then, singing about
cows. When I noticed that Mr. Desmond was distracted with his own thoughts, I
sung along quietly.

     
"Have you
eaten yet?" he asked a minute later.
Does he ask everyone such random
questions?

     
"I had
breakfast," I replied.

     
"I meant
lunch."

     
"Not yet.
I have to finish what I'm doing here, first."

     
He frowned
slightly. "Do you often skip meals when you work?"

     
"Only when
I'm in top form. I make up for it later on by eating triple the amount of
yummies." I cringed inwardly when I realized I had just spoken the word
'yummies' out loud.
He's not Dale, silly. Talk like a grown-up.

     
"Even so,
you shouldn't go too long without eating something. So long as you're working
here, do keep yourself well-fed, Daphne."

     
He only said
my name, no need to start swooning.
Normally, I would have told him to
butt-out, but I was able to look kindly back at him - he hadn't spoken
condescendingly.

     
"I will,
thank you." I hesitated before I finally decided to ask, "Do you have
a first name, Mr. Desmond?" I kept my eyes on the wall, but I could feel
the heaviness of his gaze on me again.

     
Eventually, he
answered, "…Ethan."

     
Ethan…?
Of course. I faintly remembered Patricia mentioning it when I had called in for
the interview.
Feel like a fool now, don't you?
"Ethan…sir…your
building was quite the dazzling spectacle when I arrived this morning."

     
"Yes, it
was," he breathed more than spoke. The tingles made their return, this
time in heavy, ragingly sharp herds - so much that I was afraid I might
implode.

     
Did he have an
ulterior motive? Or did he normally go around telling his employees to eat
while dropping compliments about their gracefulness? I already knew the answer,
of course.

     
Shit
.

     
Shit-shit-shit.
But then again, if he really wanted something from me, he would ask outright,
would he not? Certainly a man of his position would have no reason for taking a
roundabout way of getting what he wanted.

     
Keep
dreaming, Doll. If he really wanted you, you would know it.

     
Would I really,
though?

     
We stood in
silence for the next few minutes until he finally left me to work on my own,
with one last reminder regarding me and food. By the time it was getting dark
and my stomach was starting to protest, I had a whole wall-and-a-half covered
in underwater details.
That's enough for now.

     
I took a cab
home and ordered some pizza. I didn't feel like watching anything in
particular, so I settled for an old episode of Tales From The Crypt. I spent
the next half-hour laughing at overly cheesy acting and ridiculous sexual
innuendos that would put even porn flicks to shame.
Not that I had any
experience when it came to porn…much.

     
As I sat with
cheese and sauce dripping down my face, watching the Crypt Keeper looking at a
copy of
Playdead
, I realized I was
living a fairly good life. But did
this
really count as living? Was I
any better off than I had been before?

     
Are you
breathing?

     
Yes.

     
Are you
happy?

     
Oh…is that what
the problem was? But the pizza I was eating made me pretty damn happy.

     
Is that the
best you can do?
 

     
For almost a
year now, my life had been in a constant state of peace. I was even at a point
where I could survive on my own by relying on my art.
Hey, remember that one
time you were offered a ridiculous amount to paint a mural?
 
Yeah, life was great. If I died right
now, I would be okay with it.

     
Only okay?
Admit it...compared to before, life is practically perfect right now - you're
just too scared to admit it. It's okay, you already know you're going to lose
it at some point, so you might as well enjoy it while you can. You can deal
with the pain when the time comes. Don't let the future ruin what you could
have right now.

     
Sighing, I set
my slice of pizza down. This was the result of years of solitude. The only
advice I ever sought was my own. But who else could understand and judge me
better than myself? Only I knew how fucked up I was.

     
Before I could
fall into an even deeper conversation with myself, the phone rang, effectively
putting an end to my inner session. I ran to pick it up, already knowing who it
would be.

     
"Jillybean!" I answered. A chat with an actual human being was
a sure way of erasing the last minute of my life. "How are you?"

     
"Bored," she whined. "I started flipping through the
normal channels for old times sake. I can't do it anymore. The commercials are
killing me. Anyway, what are you watching?"

     
Ah, Jilly
.
"Who says I'm watching anything?"

     
"I hear
laughing," she said suspiciously. "Is that the Crypt?"

     
"The one
and only."

     
We spent the
next half-hour ranting passionately about nothing of much importance before
settling down and returning to the real world.

     
"So how
are things going with you and The Doctor?" I asked.

     
Her girly
giggle was enough to tell that everything was going just fine between the two.

     
She had been
working the nightshift at the hospital in place of a friend when they had first
met three months ago. One minute she was in the elevator, trying not to pass
out. The next minute he was leaning over her, asking if she was alright. Sparks
flew and they've been dating ever since. It was only by chance that they met
that night. He was a plastic surgeon and worked elsewhere. As per tradition,
Jillian's new guy always got a nickname - the same went for Dale's girlfriends,
too, when he was actually seeing anyone. Dale had wanted to get more creative,
but Jillian liked the classiness of
The Doctor.

     
When she asked
about how things were going on my end, I explained the whole mural ordeal. I
left out all details regarding the man who hired me, of course. I wasn't ready
to start talking about him. Not that there was too much to say about him,
anyway.

     
The next few
days passed rather quickly. When I had gone in on Friday, Patricia informed me
that Ethan had left earlier that morning on a business trip and would not be
returning until Sunday. Half of me was somewhat disappointed, but the other
half was glad that I could work in peace without the worry of getting
interrupted.

     
A couple hours
into the day, I realized that I'd forgotten to pack myself a lunch. Eating out
was tricky business. It could be nerve-wracking depending on the place, the amount
of people, and the familiarity. But I was happy to find a quaint little
sandwich shop just a few minutes away from the building. The menu was simple
and it wasn't terribly crowded. I put it on my
Safe Spots in Seattle
list.

     
When I returned
to the Luxadigm, I managed to become slightly better acquainted with Zach, the
elevator guard. Before, I had been too nervous to look at him for more than a
quick second. But now I was able to politely observe him as did Samantha and
Patricia, and found myself fascinated by the way the light gray hue of his eyes
were enhanced by the dark richness of his skin. I wondered then just how
important looks came into play here when hiring for certain positions. Much
like Samantha, the man could easily pass for being a model.

     
Though I wasn't
entirely anti-social, I was surprised by how easy it was to talk to some of
these people without any of my anxiety acting up. Perhaps I'd finally gotten
over it completely? No, I knew that wasn't it. I guess it was the people
themselves…I had taken an instant liking towards all of them. They were just
very likable beings. Pleasant, nonjudgmental, easy to talk to, and very
professional. That was probably why they had been chosen to work there.

     
I decided to
work through the weekend, wanting to get as much done as I possibly could
before Ethan returned. As expected, the Luxadigm wasn't nearly as full on
Saturday. There was a different elevator guard, as Zach had Saturdays and
Sundays off. Someone took Samantha's place on those days, as well. Patricia's
desk remained empty all throughout.

     
Sunday was
especially interesting. It wasn't completely empty, but it was just a few
people coming around who either forgot to drop something off or forgot to take
something home with them. That's what it seemed like, at least.

     
I worked
ardently, bobbing up and down to the blasting music. I was the sole inhabitant
of the top floor that day, so I didn't have to worry about bothering anyone. It
was a pretty odd feeling being up there all alone, almost dreamlike - so much
that I had to snap a few pictures just to have physical proof of my being
there. But it was also true that I had a bit of an obsession with capturing
memories in image form. I didn't see anything wrong with it since I never
remained in the same place for more than a few months at a time. I wanted
tokens of all my experiences, insignificant as they were.

     
By the end of
the weekend, I had all four walls covered up and was already drawing outlines
with chalk for the angels. Painting the upper part of the walls had been an
issue. Because I had to sit on the scaffold, I wasn't able to back away and get
a full perspective of how things were looking. It was a bit tricky at first,
but I got used to painting by feeling rather than relying on constant checking.
Besides, it would be easy to paint over any mistakes - during this stage, at
least. I didn't want to think about messing up later on when there would be a
lot more variables involved.