Chapter 4

Bailey

"Well. Good for you." Ellen sounded rather approving as I held the phone to my ear. I stood just outside the Currier Museum of Art. It was my day off hangout place. Every time I had a day off.

The greeter at the door smiled as he turned my way. "Morning, Miss Wright! Oh, sorry. Didn't see the phone."

"No problem." I nodded and moved away from the building. There was no way in hell I was going into the quiet, majestic halls with Ellen talking to me about her eight-inch cock conquest. It just felt - wrong. I turned my attention back to the call. "Yeah. I need a new place to go on my days off, but this one is still doing it for me."

"You need a man. Period." She sounded as if she were spot on where my problems laid.

"Yeah. Right." I glanced around and took in the beautiful serenity around me. "Like I need a hole in the head."

"Bailey. Jared was exactly the kind of guy you should be with."

"Mr. Eight inches?" I laughed and turned away from the poor guy that walked in front of me about the time I mumbled my nasty response. "No thank you. I haven't been with anyone in a really long time."

"Define a long time." She seemed to hold her breath as there was no sound coming from the phone.

"Like... ever." I shrugged and glanced back at the museum.

"You're a virgin! What the hell? Have you ever seen a dick?"

"Yes, I've seen one. I've given a few blowjobs and-" I turned the other way as a grandmother walked past me quickly with three kids. I was going to hell. "I'm not having this conversation here. We can talk about this over wine."

"How are you a virgin?" she yelled much louder than necessary.

"Because I haven't found the right guy. Shit." I turned and faced the museum as my stomach tightened. I couldn't sleep around. I just couldn't do it. I wanted lust so fucking bad, and yet when it got right down to doing the dirty deed... I couldn't do it. I couldn't push past the idea that I was giving the guy above me, behind me, below me something that he wouldn't cherish. It was my innocence. It was just about all I had left to offer anyone.

"The right guy? Well, from someone who has slept around her whole life and I do mean whole life, sex is amazing. It's not something you want to miss out on. People pay for it for goodness sakes. It's like a delicious high. A drug."

"Hey. Doctor Ruth. Slow your roll. I'm not talking about this over the phone. I'm hanging up now. It's museum day, okay?"

"This conversation isn't over-"

I dropped the call, put the phone on silent and walked back toward the door. The greeter, Thomas gave me a nod.

"Everything okay, today?" His smile was warm and reminded me of my grandfather on my mother's side.

"Yeah. Just a friend who has no relationship trying to give out relationship counseling." I smiled.

He chuckled and opened the door wider. "Well, a beautiful woman like you doesn't need advice, she needs high standards, which I'm sure you have, Miss Wright."

"That I do." I walked in and waved before mumbling under my breath. "And it's probably half the reason I'm still alone."

Stopping just inside the door, I breathed in deeply and let the beauty before me settle my soul. I'd never be anything too special, nor would I probably figure out how to sell my art or even create a piece that I'd consider letting someone see, but I could pretend. It was easy to do in the middle of the art museum where dreams seemed to come alive.

I moved up to a beautiful modern piece that used multiple mediums. The colors were rich and bold, and the aluminum and tin were twisted and manipulated to almost cause a 3D effect on the painting.

"I love it." I moved closer and tilted my head a little.

"I do too." A deep masculine voice resounded next to me. It was smooth. Sexy. Strong.

"Oh. Sorry." I moved to my right a little and tugged at the white cardigan I had over my blue blouse. My skirt was a mixture of both, and I regretted wearing sandals the minute I stepped out of the house seeing that my toes were turning purple and freezing.

"Nothing to be sorry about." He glanced down at me and smiled. His glasses looked good on him, as did the grey and white streaks in his black hair. His face was clean shaven, and his nose and cheekbones aristocratic. He was much too thin, but still a very good looking older man.

I turned back to the painting and tried to figure out my best plan of attack. I needed to move to something else, but I didn't want to appear rude. A million thoughts raced through my mind as I stood there, most of them around the conversation with Ellen. Why was she dating and having great sex and I was still stuck in my hopes for Mister Right? It seemed stupid and childish.

"The artist is from Columbia." He spoke again, and the beautiful way he said Columbia had me turning back to him. "It's multi-media art, and yet it has a hint of what Van Gogh was after, no?" He kept his eyes on the painting, but it felt like he was staring straight at me. There was something very powerful about him.

"I agree." I forced myself to turn back to it. "It reminds me a little of The Starry Night, but the colors are more in line with the upcoming holidays. Warm and rich." I took a shaky breath. I'd never really spoken to anyone about art before, and though it was silly, there was something almost sensual about it.

"Edward." He extended a card toward me. He held it between his first finger and middle finger, both longer than other guys I'd been around. His nails were perfectly manicured. I couldn't help but wonder if he minded getting his fingers dirty. Heat burned in the center of my stomach, and I felt flustered. What was wrong with me?

Was there an age a woman hit to where everything was about sex? The desire to be touched was almost overwhelming. It was silly. Stupid.

"What's this?" I took the card and tried hard to act about ten years older than I was.

"My card. I'd like to take you out for lunch? Dinner? Drinks?" He turned to face me. His dark blue eyes moved around my face but never went any lower. I was a little disappointed, but then again, I was turning into a member of the whore-core in my head.

"I'm Bailey."

"What you are is beautiful." He smiled softly. "Not in the way I'd usually be interested in, but you carry yourself as if you're protecting precious cargo."

I reached up and rubbed just above my left breast. "Heartbreak is no fun, and there are only so many times you can crumble before you don't want to get back up again."

"Poetic, Miss..."

"Wright. Baily Wright."

"Well, Miss Wright. You've captivated me today. Not an easy feat in the slightest." He nodded toward the card. "Call me. Let's get together and talk about the things that make both of us come alive."

"Like art?" I glanced down at the card feeling very immature and not nearly enough for the well-dressed, older man in front of me.

"Among other things." He took a step back. "Until then?"

"Enjoy your day." I turned back to the painting and waited for an excitement to race through me. Nothing. He wasn't my type, and where it was flattering that someone so good looking and well put together would stop to even talk to me, much less ask me out, it did nothing for me.

"Boo!" Ellen's voice sounded beside me.

"Shit!" I yelped and covered my mouth with my hand before giving an apologetic look to everyone standing around us. "Sorry."

"Hey. I wanted to surprise you." She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed. "You sounded so ugh a few minutes ago."

"What?" I whispered as softly as I could. "I was just being me."

"Well, let's be me and you together. I'm off today too, you know."

"I know." I moved out from under her arm and walked to the next painting. "You don't even like art."

"No, but you do, and I want to hang out. I need to recover from being drowned in hormones. Art galleries take it out of me like," she glanced around and gave me a look of boredom, "immediately."

I laughed softly. "I love this place."

"Right, but you're not getting laid." She lifted her eyebrow as if challenging me.

"Life isn't about sex." I held up the card. "And before you give me a nine inches lecture-"

"Eight inches." She held up her hands to show me a visual on the eight inches.

I pulled her hands down. "Right. Before you give me a lecture, I got asked out."

She snatched the card. "What? Who?" She glanced up and looked around before reading the card again. "Edward Neobalm? What kind of last name is that?"

"It's an older rich guy."

"How old?" She pulled the card just out of my reach. "We talking forties and hot or eighties and could be your grandfather."

"Probably late forties." I popped her in the stomach and took the card. "I'm not going to call him. He wasn't my type."

"He's twenty years older than you. Wonder why he's not your type." She gave me a look. "Wait. What is your type?"

I shrugged and stopped at a painting of two lovers, their bodies wrapped around each other. It was hard to tell where one began and the other ended. It caused a need to awaken in me again. I wanted so much more than I had.

"I'd say six foot four, two hundred pounds of muscle, handsome face, warm brown eyes, and brown hair." I wanted to reach out and touch the picture, but I forced myself not to. "He would be a baseball player or maybe an Air Force Pilot or even a fireman."

She laughed and forced me to turn toward her. "What's his name, Bailey?"

"Who?" I came up out of imaging what Jeremy looked like after all these years. "What's whose name?"

"The man you're describing." She lifted her eyebrow. "Tell me. Seriously."

"No clue what you're talking about, Ellen." I walked toward the side exit. "Come on. Let's grab a coffee. I'm tired of being here."

"You? Tired of the art museum?"

I nodded and walked back out into the chilly morning. I refused to tell her or anyone else how fragile my love of art was. One minute it had me soaring to the highest peaks because of its beauty and the promise that I'd find all the emotions it spoke of. And the next? I'd come to and realize that nothing in my life could be described as anything but a valley.

A long, lonely valley that I had to trek through alone.