The Offer
(Skye)
I can barely concentrate on driving. My mind keeps flipping between that guy kissing me, and Kevin sending me home straight after. My first real kiss, and holy cow was it amazing. But it’s cost me big money in tips since the restaurant was so busy.
Kevin said that was my last chance. I can’t afford to be out on my ass. But if that man comes in again and tries to kiss me, there’s no way I’ll stop him. No matter how much I need the money from the restaurant. His kiss just felt too damn good.
When I’m getting ready for bed, I realize the money the hot guy gave me to cover his check is still in my pocket. I pull the money out to put with my apron, which I’ll bring in with me on Thursday.
I unfold the bills. Three hundreds. The bills lay across my hand and I stare at them. Did he mean to give me three twenties? I don’t think so. He doesn’t strike me as the sort of man who ever makes mistakes.
Is this supposed to be some sort of ploy to get my attention? Can he even afford to do something like this? I stand, debating what to do. There’s one person who really deserves this money.
Instead of putting the money with my apron to take into work, I open my top drawer and place it in my stash of emergency money. Money that, until tonight, consisted of thirty bucks.
When I see the guy again, I’ll try to give him the money back. If he refuses, I’ll think up a reason to convince Ava to accept the money from me.
In bed, I can’t help myself. I slide my hand between my legs, remembering the minutiae of the kiss. His smell, his taste, the strength of his arms. And, of course, I can’t ignore what was digging into my hip — what an incredible feeling.
Why didn’t I write my phone number on my drawing? How stupid am I? All I did was sign it with my standard art signature: Skye. No last name; nothing. I wonder if he’ll come in again after the way Kevin acted.
Almost instantly, an orgasm washes over me. The memory of the kiss is so fresh, I can’t bring myself to take my hand away. I fall asleep with it between my legs.
At some point in the middle of the night, I half wake up, realize I’ve been dreaming about that kiss, and the man doing the kissing, and that my hand has been moving as if possessed. Dripping wet and excited all over by the dream, I crash into another huge orgasm.
Please let him come back next Saturday.
In the morning, I hide from Ava in my studio. I have too many thoughts to sort out. After being sent home and given a final warning, Kevin’s not going to give me any extra shifts; there’s no point in asking. Ava needs to remortgage her house, and my freeloading is the reason. I need to think up a reason for her to take that money, but I haven’t come up with anything yet. And then there are all those possible commissions from the artist website.
I sit on the floor beside my laptop and call up the website. My eyes widen when a message icon appears in the corner. Someone probably wants me to paint their dog, but my heart leaps in excitement anyway.
My eyes pop when I see it’s not from any of the jobs I replied to. It’s a new user who only joined last week. I try to calm myself as I read the message.
I am looking for someone to commission for several works to be hung in the new house I’m building. Am impressed by your work. Reply for more details. Kelso Wilson.
Holy shit. This might be my solution. I type a reply as fast as my fingers will move and include my phone number. Deep inside, I fantasize that Kelso Wilson is the man from the restaurant. I know it’s silly and immature, but maybe he’s hunted me down somehow.
Though there’s no way he could find me on this website, artists are told not to publicize their names so people can’t contact the artists without using the website and paying its fee. I was too scared of being banned so left off mine, like most other artists on the site.
I try to put the message out of my mind while I get back to work on the project of items of wealth out of place in the world. But the whole time my mind is whirring with possibilities. This job could solve all my money worries. If it turns out to be the man from Johnny’s then all my dreams have come true.
There’s no message back before bedtime. I’m disappointed, but I take comfort in the fact that it’s Sunday.
***
It’s after lunch on Monday, and I’m busy working on the sand in the beach scene. I’ve tried to make the evening dress as unnatural a color as possible, and am now working on making the sand as natural as possible.
The cell phone balanced on the easel rings. I’m so excited about the commission that I drop the paintbrush on the floor, getting brown paint everywhere.
“Hello?”
“Skye? It’s Kevin.” A huge pit opens in my stomach. He never calls.
“Hi, is everything okay?”
“It’s really hard for me to do this, but we don’t need you to come in this week.”
“What about next week?”
“We’ll see how we manage without you. But that little stunt on Saturday was a serious misconduct.”
“I’m sorry, he kissed me.”
“It looked pretty mutual from where I was standing.”
Fuck. Depressed, the only thing I can do once we hang up is check my messages on the art website. Nothing. I grab a rag and scrub the floor, and continue long after all trace of the spilled brown paint is gone.
Still on my hands and knees, my phone rings again. What bad news is it this time?
“Hello,” I say, my voice flat.
“This is Kelso Wilson. You replied to my message about the commissioned pieces.”
“Yes, hi, thanks for calling,” I say, suddenly much more cheery.
“I’m building a fifteen-thousand-square-foot home and want original artwork for it. Right now I anticipate ten paintings, though it might change depending on the size you feel the space needs. The pay would be five grand a painting.” His voice is stern, and more like a command than a request.
“That sounds like something I would be interested in, yes. Who covers the cost of the supplies?” My heart is pounding. Fifty grand? Holy shit. I’m saved!
“I’d cover all costs. But I’d need you to paint on-site. I want each work created in the room it’s going to hang in.”
“As long as you’re local.”
“And one more thing — I’d need you to start right away. The last person I had bailed on me, and now the work is behind.”
“I could start tomorrow, if you want.”
We exchange details and I hang up. My hand trembles as I put the phone back on the easel tray. Fuck you Kevin. I won’t tell him that yet, though, just in case this falls through.
Now, how pissed is Ava going to be when I tell her about the commission? I walk through the house looking for her, and find her sitting on the couch in the living room, busy with her needlework. It’s a huge image of a local tent city and is a project she’s been working on for eight years now. She expects it to take at least that many more to finish.
“How’s the new project coming?” she asks. A pang of guilt hits my chest.
“I have some exciting news.” I try not to sound quite as excited as I am.
“What are you waiting for? Tell me!”
“I’ve just been commissioned to paint ten pieces for a new mansion that’s being built.”
Her eyes widen, and I worry it’s for disappointment in me selling out.
“That’s fantastic, I’m so proud of you.” She hops up and hugs me.
“It doesn’t make me a sellout?”
“No, silly, artists throughout time have painted pieces for their big houses. It’s our way of sucking as much money out of the rich bastards as we can. But I tell you what you should do, make him fund a gallery exhibit for you as part of the deal.”
My shoulders relax at her words of approval.
A gallery exhibit — that would be the real break I need. It would get my name out there, not like locking me away in some mansion.
Excitement bubbles over and I can’t help myself, I start jumping up and down. Soon Ava is as well, and we jump up and down in a little circle.