The kiss never happened. I remained still, feeling his breath drift softly across my lips and his silky hair in my hands. He was a breath away, so close. His eyes were lowered, like mine, watching my lips the entire time. My fingers slid down the side of his face, slowly. When my hands reached his chin, I released him. The moment shattered. The kiss was lost, never to be given, never to be taken.
That was so long ago. Why was it bothering me now? Shoving the memory aside, I said, “I just... I need to think about it.”
He stepped in front of me, blocking my view of the painting, looking down into my face, “What’s there to think about? It pays better than the other job, and you’d have less people to deal with. Just me and the model.” He pressed his lips together, “Is it because it’s too much? Does the idea of being around nude models bother you?” A normal person would have nodded and said yes, nak*d people make me uncomfortable, and then continued to point out that no one sits next to the nak*d guy on subway. For some reason, I didn’t say that. I felt compelled to tell him the truth. Stupid Abby.
Glancing up at him, I found myself answering before I intended to, “No. I’ve never had issues with that about art. The human form is one of the most beautiful things in creation.” I was a total freak. In Texas, I kept my opinions on art to myself, because they didn’t really jive with the culture. They thought nudity was scandalous, as if bare skin was inherently evil and needed to be instantly covered in denim, gingham, and large bows. I thought Jack’s painting was interesting—a moment in time, captured in paint, showcasing what people perceived as beauty. Clothing would have ruined it.
“Then what is it?” Jack asked, deadly serious, voice hushed. Before I could answer, he added, “I swear to God, when I heard your voice coming from that room, I couldn’t believe it. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up before I even saw you. And then, when I opened the door, and saw you sitting there with Gus... it was like seeing a ghost.” There was an expression in his eyes that made me melt.
“I feel like a ghost, Jack.” It was strange we were using the same word. It felt like my life was stamped out and I was the walking dead. At the same time, seeing him again, it was too much. Everything was rushing back. Just standing here with him had me in overdrive, trying to fend off that look. Taking this job would save me from one thing and screw me with another. I looked away from him, toward the door, my stomach twisting over and over again. Crap. I couldn’t do this. “Thanks for the offer, but I think that I’ll have to find something else.” I couldn’t be in the same room with him. It wasn’t the idea of him painting these sensual images, or the nak*d models, or any of that... it was him.
It was Jack.
“If that’s what you want, Abby… but would you do me one favor before you totally turn it down?” his voice was soft.
I glanced up at him, my hand on the knob, ready to run, ready to walk away from Jack and never look back. But that tone, that soft questioning sound of his voice stopped me. It sent currents straight to my heart, melting me, making me want to give him anything he wanted. Turning I said, “Sure. What is it?”
“Come to the session later tonight and see what it is that you’d do. Talk to the woman you’re replacing. I think you’d really like it. It’s a good job. We start at 8pm. See you then?” Jack’s demeanor changed from boyishly shy to bold.
Maybe being around Jack wouldn’t be so bad? If he was working, he wouldn’t have time to run his sapphire blue eyes over my body and make my heart pound in my chest. He couldn’t make me question every decision I’ve ever made. Going against my better judgment, I said, “Okay. I’ll try it.”
CHAPTER SIX
I drove back to Kate’s thinking I was insane, and she told me as much as soon as she got home from work. Kicking off a pair of commuter shoes, she said, “What the hell are you thinking? You can’t take a job like that. Your church won’t take you back after that. The whole thing sounds indecent. And I’m a New Yorker! Those Texan crack-pots think dancing is evil, Abby. You live in that little Footloose town, for christsakes! Use your brain! Naked women rolling in paint is way worse than dancing!”
I rolled my eyes, cringing as she said it. No doubt she was right. Back in Texas, anything even remotely sensual was evil. That explained all the clothing starched into sandpaper. Nobody wanted to touch that. But what she said was the perception that Jack tried so hard to diffuse, and I wasn’t going to back down. There was nothing wrong with his art. “You don’t get it Kate. It’s not like that. The paintings were so raw that it was shocking. It showcased beauty, not lust.”
Rolling her eyes, she said, “You’re a girl, Abby. Guys look at nak*d chicks and lust. Believe me. You’re in uncharted waters here—unless you did it with some random guy and forgot to tell me.” Kate walked into the kitchen while we were talking, shirking off her jacket and draping it over the counter.
I blanched at her reference. It was something I didn’t talk about with anyone. I was a 28-year-old virgin, by choice. My vows forced me to a life of celibacy, but that didn’t mean I was an idiot. Following her, I said, “I don’t have to screw someone to see the difference between art and porn, Kate. If you’d seen his work...” I didn’t get to finish. She rounded on me, cutting me off.
“I have seen his work! What the hell do you think I do all day? Jonathan Gray is the next big thing. We’ve been trying to get him to do a show for the past four years! I’ve seen his work. I know he’s good. And I know he’ll get your ass canned if you take that job.” Kate’s steam seemed to ebb a little, and she added, “Abby, it’ll end your career. A forced sabbatical was bad enough, but this... There’ll be no going back.”
I wanted to tell her that she was wrong, but she wasn’t. It didn’t matter what was right or wrong, or what I believed. This was the catch-22 of being me—sometimes self-preservation kept me from doing what was right. I had to choose my battles, or I’d get strung up by the conservative types that sat in my pews and not get a chance to help anyone. They would say the same things Kate was saying, or worse. If you thought the minister led the church, you thought wrong. It was more like giving a kid a stick and telling him to corral a hundred big, smelly sheep without anything else. You had to be careful who you poked, and sheep weren’t the brightest bulbs in the box. It honestly took a lot of restraint to not beat them over the head with the stick. But that was my life. It required unending patience, which I felt was worth it if I saved one person along the way.
Leaning hard on the counter, I hung my head. “Fine. You’re right, Kate. You’re right.” I looked up at her, “I’ll have to find something else.” I pushed back, and walked into the living room, slumping down onto the couch. It smelled like Kate’s perfume. Foiled again by close-minded crazies who weren’t even here.
Kate thought I was sulking because of her terse words. “I didn’t mean to yell, Abby. I just know how serious this is,” she emerged from the kitchen, thigh-highs in one hand and a beer in the other. She tossed the stockings on the table and sat down on her favorite chair, opening the can at the same time. “Those loans are gonna kill you. That church has you trapped. You have to make nice, go back as soon as they’ll have you, and find another congregation. Don’t stay there. Dropping you on your head during a freak-out was a shitty thing to do.”
I rubbed my face, confessing, “It wasn’t a freak out.”
“Then what was it?” her voice mystified. “What was so intolerable that got them that pissed off?”
Instead of answering, I stood and opened the front closet. Pulling on my coat, I looked back at her. “I told Jack that I’d see what the job entailed tonight. He has a model and his assistant there.” Kate cocked her head and gave me an are-you-retarded look. “I have to go. He had them all come in so I could meet them. I’ll humor him for a little bit and then tell him no. You’re right, Kate. I’m trapped. The only way out is to survive the next twelve months and then go crawling back, and see if I can salvage things well enough to get me to the next place.”
She downed the beer while we were talking, her jaw tight. “I’d pay those off for you, if I could.”
Zipping my coat, I answered, “Thanks, but I wouldn’t want you to. It was my mistake. I’m the one who has to pay for it.”
I reached for the knob, when she called my name, “Abby?” I paused, looking back at her. “Do you want this job? I mean, is this what you would have chosen if you got a do-over? No loans, no bills. Just Abby. Would you choose this? I’m asking because it seems risqué, even to me. I can’t imagine you wanting to have anything to do with it.”
I considered her question, my lips parted, ready to answer. When I was younger, I loved art classes. I looked forward to them. It was the highlight of my day. Getting to create something, getting to form something beautiful where there had been nothing was an act reserved for God, a gift he bestowed upon artists. I couldn’t paint the way Jack did, but even then I knew I liked being there, near him. Seeing what he created and watching his gift spin things of beauty to life before my eyes. Nodding, I said, “Yeah, I’d want this job.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I arrived at the studio about an hour later. Jack was talking to an older woman dressed in a suit. A model sat on a stool with a robe draped around her; shapely legs were crossed at the ankle. She watched Jack, waiting for him to instruct her.
When Jack looked up as saw me, his face lit up. It made my stomach sink. I planned on telling him that I couldn’t take the job right away, but I couldn’t. Taking me by the hand, his touch sizzling on my skin, he led me into the room. Jack didn’t seem to realize what he did to me. He presented me to the model and the marm. Both were courteous.
Jack seemed excited. He walked me over to the older woman. Pale blonde hair was done stylish and short, framing her round face. Glittering brown eyes looked up at me. She sat aside from Jack and the model, a table to her left where she had a cup of coffee. Jack told her, “Abby’s an old friend. Tell her exactly what you think about anything she asks, Emily. Okay?”
Emily smiled at me, taking my hand and leaning in close, “An old friend! Well, that will work out wonderfully for Jack. This position is important, but it also needs to be someone he trusts immensely. His career depends on your word. A few vicious words would destroy him.”
I nodded, curious. I could see what Kate meant, that this job sounded like debauchery at its finest. Settling next to Emily, I asked “How long have you been working here?”
“About three years. I took this job after I retired for something to do. Seeing Jack work is a real treat. When inspiration sparkles in his eyes, I can’t help but get excited with him. People like that are rare, you know.” The older woman had fine lines on her face that I hadn’t seen before.