Vegas Knights (9 page)

The pressure there reminded her of Rick's tender explorations. Suddenly she felt his finger entering her, a little at a time, while he massaged her pussy and nibbled on her breasts. The pressure inside of her was building as quickly as her love for Rick. Her world exploded in steamy blasts of light.
 

Spent and overly sensitive after a mind-blowing climax, Kelly shut off the jets and remained under the steaming spray for a few moments as she regained her senses. Her listless hand finally reached out and shut that off as well.
 

She wrapped an oversized cotton towel around her and padded into the bedroom to lie on the massive bed. The air cooled her heated skin, but her heart continued to thump. The little voice in her head was back, and it was telling her that her affair with Rick would end up just like that shower. Hot and heavy and thoroughly enjoyable, but her world would shatter in the end.

In the bathroom's many drawers, Kelly found more make-up and skin care products than she could ever use in a lifetime. She didn't even know what some of them were used for.
Obviously leftover from his ex-wife
. Not wanting to dip into the other woman's personal products, she settled for some moisturizing sunblock and a little smoothing lotion for her hair. She shot her hair mostly dry with a blowdryer and figured the sun would do the rest for her.

Then it was time to choose an outfit for the day. It wasn't even one in the afternoon, but the heat outside would be brutal. She was tempted to stay inside the cool apartment, but she felt uncomfortable there alone, like she was trespassing. Whatever she chose had to allow for the heat.
 

She moved to the dress rack, once again impressed that Rick had had the forethought to have an entire wardrobe waiting for her. She felt a little like a princess who had come into her own, but she quickly reminded herself that this was only temporary. When she left for home in about a week, all of this would be left behind.
Even all the beautiful shoes?
her inner voice whined.

Flicking through the selection of dresses, Kelly was even more impressed by the quality of the clothes. Dolce & Gabbana, Carolina Herrera, Michael Kors, Donna Karan. They were all here, and all in her size, and all with brand new price tags.
How did he guess my size?
The answer hit her like a brick. He had to have looked at her clothes when she was in the bathroom during their trip. She flushed red that he knew her size. It was silly, but having him
know
her double digit size did nothing for her ego.

As she neared the end of the rack of dresses, Kelly realized that none really suited her taste. Most were over-the-top glamorous. Far too chic for her to pull off. She finally stumbled across a light silk Marc Jacobs sundress that looked comfortable and casual.
 

She dug around and found plenty of sexy panties but none of the bras fit well. She pulled her bra from the pile of clothes on the bathroom floor, gave it a sniff and wrinkled her nose. She'd be better off going bra-less than wearing that sodden contraption. Maybe she'd find a bra store during her wanderings, then stopped herself. She didn't have any money to spend.
 

She quickly washed the bra in the sink and hung it over the shower door, hoping it would be dry by the time she got ready for her dinner with Rick. In the meantime, it would be fun to go commando — at least on top — for the day.

Kelly shimmied into the dress, marveling at how the silk caressed her skin. The soft pinks and tans complemented her coloring, and the not-too-deep vee-neck accentuated her assets without showing them off to the world. She stood for a moment in front of the shoe rack, wondering which pair to wear, wanting to wear them all. In the end, a sweet pair of tan Prada sandals stood out as the obvious choice.

The mirrored wall in the bathroom reflected a completely different person than the one who'd walked in the first time. Kelly's long blond hair was no longer stringy and mashed against her face from the helmet. She was clean and practically glowing from the invigorating shower. The dress suited her body type, and the style said classy yet fun. She smiled at herself.
 

Now she just needed to decide what to do for the day. Getting jostled around in the casinos wasn't appealing. Besides, she didn't have any money to gamble. She remembered a laptop on the kitchen counter and went to see if she could find out where the galleries were. A town like this had to have a few, at least.
 

Fifteen minutes later, Kelly had gulped down a carton of yogurt and a banana, and was heading down the express elevator with a map marking the location of several galleries in the Arts District she wanted to check out. All were within walking distance of the apartment, but Peter the Doorman still wanted to call her a cab. "Heat stroke hits you fast, miss," he insisted.

"I've been sitting for the last three days and I really need to stretch my legs." She didn't want to admit that she couldn't afford a cab. In a place like this, such a confession would probably get her booted out on principle alone. "Thanks anyway, Peter."
 

Kelly's wave to the doorman faltered as she passed through the door into a wall of heat. The shock almost sent her reeling, but she caught herself and finished waving at Peter, who was watching her intently, presumably to make sure she didn't pass out right there on the sidewalk.

The sweat that instantly broke out on her skin was almost as quickly whisked away by the arid climate. She was still uncomfortably hot, but it wasn't as bad as she'd initially feared. As long as she moved slowly and kept to the shady parts of the street as much as possible, the heat was tolerable.
 

The apartment building was relatively close to downtown and Fremont Street, but out of the way enough that she didn't run into the crush of tourists she'd imagined. It didn't take long for her to reach the first gallery on her map, which turned out to be a storefront offering paintings very similar to the ones she'd done for the art fairs back home. Sweet paintings, panoramic photographs, sculptures of Vegas landmarks. Nice, but targeted to the tourists. She made a quick pass, noting that some of the artists were quite talented, while others seemed to be phoning it in.
 

The next spot on her list was now a clothing store. The gallery must have been a victim of the recession. Two more galleries on her list suffered the same fate. Many of the rest were nice, but generic. Suited for the general public, not connoisseurs.
 

Just three ended up being serious galleries. The first was very upscale, complete with snooty receptionist and a stark interior. As she entered, Kelly smiled at the anorexic girl, who gave her one look and turned back to thumbing the keys on her tiny cell phone.
 

Nice
. Kelly marveled at the girl's ability to make her customers feel unwelcome.

A tour of the offerings took a matter of minutes. There were just two artists represented, both well-known, both very pricey, and both overexposed, in Kelly's opinion. Clearly the gallery was making enough of a profit from selling these two in-demand artists, but it was not an interesting stop. The girl didn't even look up when Kelly walked out the front door.

The next gallery was similar, though they had a much wider variety of artists and styles. The artists were all mildly successful, but hardly in high demand. They were all truly gifted and Kelly felt they deserved to be treated better than the two at the previous gallery. But she wasn't in charge of the art world, sadly, so her opinion hardly mattered.

She spent a couple of hours leisurely inspecting each piece, delighting in this one's use of vibrant colors or that one's bold strokes. It was a comfortable atmosphere, and the receptionist even offered her a glass of champagne, which she gratefully accepted.

Heading to the final gallery on her list, Kelly wondered how she would occupy the rest of her day. Rick had left a wad of bills on the kitchen counter with a note to treat herself to some clothes, lunch, a massage, or even some art supplies. This last had been underlined — twice — and she knew he was right. She had several pieces already mapped out in her head, but she was hesitant to spend his money. It felt weird, like she was Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. In other words, it made her feel like a whore.

On the other hand, he had said he'd spring for this trip. And more importantly, she knew he wasn't offering the money with any thought of 'buying' her. He just wanted her to have some fun. It still felt weird to her.

Those thoughts were spinning through her head as she searched for the address of the final gallery. She walked back and forth in front of where it should have been, expecting to find a glass-fronted shop. Instead, where there should have been a door marked 838, there was a gap between 836 and 840. She walked past the gap again, wondering if she got the address wrong. Then a girl with pink hair and several large facial piercings walked up the steps in the gap.
 

"Excuse me." Kelly stepped toward the girl, hoping she could give her directions.

The girl, clad in paint-spattered overalls, turned to Kelly with one eyebrow raised. "Yeah?" Her tone seemed defensive, so Kelly plastered a friendly smile on her face.

"I was looking for the Pinyon Art Collective? It seems like it should be right around here but I can't find it. I was hoping you might know it."

As the girl looked her up and down, Kelly had a chance to do the same. She realized the girl wasn’t much of a girl at all. Her slight frame and offbeat style gave her the appearance of youth, but thin lines were etched around her eyes and lips, and her face was lean and mature. She had to be ten years older than Kelly, say in her mid-thirties. About the same age as Rick. She tilted her head, pink hair flopping to the other side, and pursed her lips.
 

Shrugging, she threw her arm in the general direction of the gap. "Down there." With that, she spun on the heels of her worn Converse sneakers and moved easily in the opposite direction.
 

Kelly looked uncertainly down the steps. She'd never known of a gallery to be so hidden. But the woman looked like she'd been painting up a storm, so Kelly eased down the steps and knocked on a massive, unmarked steel door.
 

A muffled yell responded. “Open!"
 

Kelly tugged the handle sideways to slide open the door. She'd expected more resistance so she'd pulled harder than necessary and the door slammed across the entryway with a bang.

"Oh!" She turned to see a dozen faces staring at her. Unsure what she should do, she stood stock still, paralyzed with embarrassment.

"Can I help you?" An older woman dressed in flowing purple clothes — probably a dress, maybe a top and a skirt, or a possibly even a robe — stepped forward. Her tan skin was leathery and her white hair was cropped close to her head. Kelly was impressed by the woman's unusual beauty. The average person on the street wouldn't think so just looking at her, but she exuded a self-confidence, a power that made her an undeniable force.

"Yes, um, I was, um...I was looking for the Pinyon Art Collective?" Kelly hated how uncertain she sounded, especially in front of this woman.
 

"Well, my dear, you've found it. Welcome, and why don't you go ahead and close that door to keep the heat out."
 

After sliding the door shut, Kelly turned to find the woman at her side. A smile lit her eyes when she asked, "So you're looking for some art to buy?"

"Um, I'm really just looking today." Of course she wasn't in the market to buy, but she didn't want to alienate anyone for wasting their time.

"Well, let me show you around, because there's plenty to look at here." The woman introduced herself as Greta Jaffe, and explained that the art collective was truly more of a co-op for artists. While they occasionally had shows, the space was normally occupied by painters, writers, photographers and anyone else who needed a place to create.
 

Kelly's eyes lit up. "I was a member of something similar back home..." She trailed off, realizing she'd just played her hand. She glanced sideways at Greta, who was smiling at her.

"So you're not looking to buy?"
 

Kelly flushed at being caught in her non-truth. "No, I'm just in town for another week or so and thought I'd check out the local art scene."
 

"Mmm hmmm." Greta eyed her with good-natured suspicion.
 

As the tour progressed, Kelly was amazed at the expanse of the space. The enormous main room was surrounded by smaller rooms, each offering artists a semi-private place to create. Greta explained that the main space was turned into a more typical gallery during their annual shows, and other individual shows she scheduled.

"Some of our members sell through other galleries in town, but their hearts really belong to Pinyon." Greta was so obviously proud of her protéŽgéŽs.
 

"Well, you've really created something special here, Ms. Jaffe." Kelly's fingers itched to pick up one of the hundreds of brushes littering the main room.

Greta cast a sideways glance at Kelly. "Call me Greta. Why don't you join us for the day?"

"Oh, no, I couldn't."

"Nonsense. In fact, I have a sense that you could, and do, very well. Am I correct?"

How does she know?
Kelly half-shrugged, half-nodded.

 
"Let's just get you an apron to protect your pretty dress and get you set up at a station."

Over the next few hours, Kelly learned that Greta had started the gallery 40 years earlier as a frustrated young painter. The local galleries wouldn't take her or her hippie friends seriously as artists. It came to her during one of their many gripe sessions, which typically included a communal pile of pot on the kitchen table, that if they stopped smoking for a couple of months, they could pool their resources and open their own underground gallery.

"Not everyone was, um,
enthusiastic
about the idea," Greta chuckled. "But the serious ones, the ones who knew in their gut they had the stuff to make it, agreed." It took the group six months to save enough for a down payment on the deserted fallout shelter, which, to their delight, was actually underground.