Before answering, Kate said, “I’m buying you a cookie or something. You’re staring through the glass like a homeless chick.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me through the door. I was protesting, but I lost my focus when that door opened. The scent alone was enough to make me move back to New York. There weren’t places like this where I lived in Texas. My mouth was salivating as we stood in line, staring at a refrigerator case filled with millions of tiny cookies, beautifully decorated pastries, and cakes that put all others to shame.
“Well, Jack sold his first painting about eight years ago. It went on auction at a benefit and sold for over $200,000. That auction is what propelled him into stardom. Suddenly, he was discovered and had patrons breathing down his neck, wanting more art like the one he’d given away. Jack didn’t get a dime from that first sale. It all went to charity.” We inched up to the glass when the person in front of us left. Kate ordered two giant butter cookies covered in mini chocolate chips. After she paid, we walked back outside and continued strolling toward the docks. “Oh my god, these are good.” She bit off another piece of cookie and continued, “After that, he continued to sell racy art to the affluent. He only paints models, which is interesting since he did have some patrons who wanted their portrait made like that. Rumor has it that he turned down a multimillion dollar commission, because the patron insisted on being the model and Jack wouldn’t have it.”
“Holy shit,” I didn’t mean to say it, but I couldn’t believe my ears. Kate laughed at me, spewing cookie, nearly choking while I asked, “Who was it? Who would offer that much money and insist on being in the painting?”
“Forget that!” she said. “Who would turn down that much money? It makes me wonder, it really does.”
I glanced at her, wiping away cookie crumbs that were hugging my lips, “Wonder what?”
We stopped walking. She tilted her head at me, “Wonder what’s wrong with him. Guess which painting that would have been if he painted it?” I shook my head. I would have assumed it would have been after he had some money and felt okay turning it down. It had to be after he knew where his next meal was coming from. But Kate shocked me again, “Number two. He was broke, Ab, and turned down all that money on principle.”
My jaw dropped, eyes going wide. I swallowed hard, nearly choking on my coveted cookie. I stared at Kate for a moment, too stunned to speak. Last night when I spoke to Jack, I could tell how important it was to him that people knew he was beyond reproach, but turning down millions to paint a patron... that sounded insane. Especially when you know broke the way we knew broke—Ramen noodles, toilet paper doubling as tissues, and should I buy dinner or pay the electric bill kind of broke.
Kate continued, “That’s what got him more media attention. The poor kid that turned down nearly three million bucks on principle. The public ate it up, and clients poured out the woodwork. Jack’s been able to do things on his terms since then. His principles helped him get to where he is.”
Breaking off a piece of cookie, I muttered, “Same here, with less successful results.” I sighed. Things worked out for Jack, and I was happy for him. But I wasn’t so lucky.
Kate swallowed the rest of her cookie and asked, “You ready to talk about it yet? Or are you just going to continue to make obscure references to what you did down in Texas that pissed off pews filled with crazy, rich white people?”
We walked out onto a pier and sat at the end. “Obscure references for a while longer. Just until I decide if what I did was right or not.”
An expression of shock washed across her face, “You don’t know? How could you not know if it was right or wrong, Abby?”
I glanced at her, “It was definitely wrong. I just don’t know if it was justified, if I should have. They obviously didn’t think so.” I wanted to come to my own conclusions on this, before I told her. I smiled at her. “I’ll tell you soon.”
Kate looked out at the deep blue water. It lapped at the wooden pier, and the sky was gray, ready to rain. “There’s actually something that I’d like to know more.”
“What’s that?” I asked, not really paying attention.
“Do you really think you can resist him?” her lips were smashed together. She knew she just asked a loaded question. I must have looked at her with venom, because she held up her hands in surrender, “I come in peace, Ab!” she laughed. “I’m just thinking about you—about the life you chose—does Jack fit into it?”
Swallowing hard, I wanted to answer her, and bite off her head, but Kate was right. I looked down at the water. “As a friend, he fits perfectly.”
“And as something more?”
I didn’t look up at her, “There can never be anything more. I’d have to turn my back on everything I believe, and I already know Jack’s not the guy for me. I didn’t tell you this when it happened, but Kate—I almost kissed him once.”
Her green eyes were as big as saucers, her jaw hanging open as she stared at me. “When! How could you not tell me?”
I shrugged it off like it was nothing, even though it wasn’t. “I didn’t tell anyone. It was kind of embarrassing. Before I left, I nearly kissed him. We were so close, but he didn’t kiss me, Kate. When I touched his face, he froze, like I disgusted him. It was horrible, like I completely misunderstood him. I’m not making that mistake again, so you don’t have to worry about Jack, and neither do I.”
CHAPTER TEN
My opinion of Jack was soaring. I couldn’t believe what he did—that his success was from doing what he thought was right and helping the poor. It blindsided me, revealing another facet of Jack Gray that I didn’t know existed. I couldn’t even get my congregation to tithe ten percent, and they still pitched a fit when we didn’t spend the tithes on the church building. But Jack, he seemed to have a fundamental sense of right and wrong. When he thought I couldn’t see that, he was angry—hurt. But now, after working together for several days, I couldn’t see anything else.
I went to the studio, night after night for over a week. Jack was always smiling, excited at the start of every session even though I could tell he hadn’t really found the look he was after, not yet. That didn’t affect his mood. When Jack was painting, he was in his element and happy. Once he started, his concentration kicked in and he didn’t speak until he was giving directions at the end of the session. The process Jack created made the paintings extraordinary, even if he didn’t finish most of them. A few lucky paintings would be pulled from the pile and completed. At any given time Jack had about a dozen paintings in his collection. It was this collection that patrons could browse and purchase from. One of the gallery girls said Jack sold them quickly, usually within a year or so. It gave him the means to own this pricy plot of land and pay his employees very well. Jack seemed to donate a lot of his fortune as well. He didn’t say anything, but I saw one of the letters on his desk thanking him for his generous contribution with way too many zeros to be real—but it was. And Jack was real, no matter how fairytale-like he seemed.
As I sat and watched him paint model after model, I expected the feeling in the pit of my stomach to subside. There was something about watching the movement of the brush on bare skin, and the look in his eyes when he did it—like nothing else existed—it was alluring. I found that I wanted to watch him paint, that those moments were both awkward and exciting.
The images strewn across the paint took my breath away, not only because of their beauty but because of their raw, evocative nature. In short, the paintings were hot. The way in which he achieved those sensual pieces of art was so far from the dirty things that people thought. Jack’s art was hauntingly beautiful. The images were burned into my mind, and seeing how he made them only made it more incredible. His directions were so cold and mechanical, the total opposite of what I’d thought he’d be while creating.
Just as I found my groove and wasn’t concerned about dropping the models anymore, I dropped a model. It wasn’t really my fault, but it was completely my fault. It was about two weeks after I started, Jack and I were at the studio alone with a model. That part was normal. What wasn’t normal was the hollering lunatic that came barging in just when we were stamping the model, Rose, onto the canvas. Rose had her hand stretched out behind her, ready to do what Jack wanted. I held her other hand firmly, and was using my butt as a counterweight. My feet were slipping toward the canvas as I tried to hold her still and lower her at the same time. Jack’s eyes flew to the door when he heard the voice outside. His eyes blazed with fury when the woman threw open the studio doors and came traipsing in like she owned the place.
“Jonathan Gray,” she snapped her fingers at him, commanding him to come like a dog. Gus appeared behind her with an apologetic look on his face. The witch snapped twice more.
That’s when it happened. The model turned her head to see what was going on, and the tiny movement made my already slick hands lose hold of her. The model went crashing down onto the canvas, as I fell backwards onto my butt. All the air was forced out of Rose’s lungs as her back hit the hard floor. Knowing Jack couldn’t touch the nak*d, painted, girl, I scrambled over to help her up—my sneakers getting covered in paint.
Jack was furious, “What are you doing here, Belinda? The Galleria is closed and I’m working.”
A designer suit clung to her body, revealing every ample curve. Her long hair was elegantly plated into an elaborate hairstyle at the nape of her neck. The dark suit made her sandy hair seem darker. She sneered at him. “Yes, I see.” She made a disgusted face at me and Rose on the canvas. “Looks more like p*rn than art. Two girls wrestling on a slick canvas? Jack…” She tutted him, waving a finger at him like he was a naughty puppy.
Jack practically growled, “Get out before I throw you out.” He turned his back on her, ready to storm away, but her words stopped him.
“It’s only a matter of time, Jack.” The tone of her voice was sharp. Her meaning wasn’t clear to me, but it was to Jack. He turned and glared at her. The woman smiled, “When you change your mind, let me know.” She pressed a card down on the counter, turned on her heel, and sashayed out with Gus on her heels.
Still helping Rose up, I asked, “Are you okay?”
The girl nodded. Paint dripped from her hair, rolling down her br**sts and splattering onto the floor. She rubbed the back of her head where it hit the ground, “I’m fine. She just startled me.”
Jack turned back to see both of us covered in paint, standing on the canvas. He closed his eyes, and raked his hands through is hair. “Rose, we’re done. Go change. I’ll call your manager and reschedule.”
The girl looked disappointed, but nodded and headed toward the back of the studio to shower. I watched Jack as he tried to ignore me. The tension that straightened his spine when that woman walked into the room hadn’t abated. He was still on edge. Jack moved to his paints, slowly covering them. I walked over and grabbed a lid, hammering it back on. When I reached for another lid, Jack was still kneeling next to me. Reaching out, he covered my hand, stilling me. There was paint everywhere. The model tracked it across the floor, and so had I. Somehow, Jack never had a drop on him, save his sneakers. But, when he placed his hand on top of mine, he brushed his thumb over my hand once, smearing the paint. He sat down hard on the floor after releasing me.