Chapter Four: Caleb
Claudia Dexter knows what she wants, and she doesn’t like to wait for it. That’s her rep, anyway. This semester’s the first time she’s taken a class of mine, but Daniel has some experience with her, and so does Markus. I have no idea how long she’d been upstairs lying in wait, but when she came down to get me, I saw the irritation in her eyes. When they flicked toward Romy, I almost stepped between them, to shield Romy from it. I can’t let the shit from my life rub off onto her. I get the feeling she has enough to deal with already.
“Nice of you to help some of the beginners,” Claudia says as we hit the second floor. “But I think your time is more valuable than that.”
“Huh?” I’m having trouble getting Romy’s face out of my head. There was something haunted in her expression, but also rebellious. Strong.
Claudia chuckles, patting her hair as the huge diamond on her finger twinkles yellow and red under the light. “That little charity case downstairs with the blank page.”
Anger explodes beneath my skin and roils inside my chest. “She’s one of my students, and she’s going through a block.” My mouth snaps shut. I shouldn’t be doing this, defending Romy like she’s special, not to Claudia. It’s not smart.
Claudia’s eyes flash, confirming as much. “I wanted to talk to you about your paintings, Caleb. I thought we’d agreed to meet. This is a great opportunity for you.”
Shit. Her text. I said I’d meet her at nine. But I spent the afternoon putting out a fire … literally … and then I got so wrapped up in Romy that it completely slipped my mind. I clear my throat. “I’m so sorry, Claudia. I should have called.”
We reach my studio and she looks over her shoulder at me. “You should have. But I’ll forgive you.” She glances toward my canvas, the one Romy said was exquisite. “I want to commission a painting.”
My heart beats a little faster. Between my mom’s email and what happened this afternoon, I need cash in a major way. “Really?”
She nods, her gaze sliding down my body before returning to my face. “We’re adding some pieces to our gallery room in advance of our annual fall charity event, and I think a Caleb McCallum original might be the perfect addition.”
I gesture at my painting. “I could have this one done by—”
She laughs, and the edges of it slice at me, making me feel two feet tall. “Oh, darling, I can’t hang something like that on my wall. My husband would think I’ve lost my mind. No, I need something tasteful.”
“Tasteful,” I say, feeling like she’s punched me in the stomach. You need the money. Be nice. “I’m getting the sense you have something specific in mind?”
“It can be abstract,” she says, “but I want it to be … organic. Like a landscape. Greens and blues. Flowers. Things like that.”
“Flowers.” Be nice nice nice. Daisy does landscapes. She does flowers. And I could say that, but I fucking need the cash, and she’s not asking Daisy because Daisy doesn’t have the proper … equipment. “I could do flowers,” I say. God. I feel like a whore.
She arches an eyebrow. “I knew you could.” She saunters over to me. Her perfume makes me want to cough. Her manicured fingernails skim up my stomach, snagging a little on my shirt. And I don’t stop her. “You can do anything, can’t you?”
That’s the funniest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time, and it almost brings me to my senses. “Claudia …”
“My budget is five thousand,” she purrs. “I want something big.” Her eyes stroke down to my crotch, and my balls shrivel a little. “Can you do it?”
What are we talking about again? And … does it matter? Five thousand dollars. Five thousand. “Yeah,” I say, wishing it didn’t sound unsteady. “You just have to tell me what you want.”
She flattens her palm on my chest and steps closer. “I can do that.” Her breasts, artificially firm, press against me. Her perfume is giving me a headache. I take a step back and my hip hits the edge of the long center table. She follows, her hand finding my waist. “Before I can decide, I’d like to get to know your … work.”
I brush her hair off her shoulders, stroking my fingers along her neck and trying not to think about how much I hate myself right now. It’s not like I’m inexperienced or don’t know what to do. It’s that I’ve never had sex for any reason other than simply wanting the girl and enjoying the fact that she wanted me, too. This … Claudia obviously wants me, but it’s going to take some effort to reciprocate. Still, I’m going to do this. I need to. Claudia smiles up at me, going for girlish, but the effect is ruined by all the makeup and jewelry. I force myself to smile back. My chest aches.
She’s dipping her fingers into my jeans when Daniel walks in.
He stops dead when he sees us there, registers the look on my face, and rearranges his own expression into one of relief. “Dude. I’m so glad I caught you. I really need to talk to you about something.”
Claudia steps away from me, looking peeved. “We were having a meeting, Daniel.”
He gives her an apologetic little boy smile. “Sorry, Claudia. Emergency.”
Her eyebrows rise, wrinkling her forehead. Makeup gathers in the creases. She looks between the two of us and then takes hold of my arm. “Call me tomorrow, so we can schedule another consultation session. You can come to my place and see the gallery room.” Her eyes glint with the possibilities.
Before I can say anything else, she strides toward the stairs, her hips swaying. I don’t move until I hear the front door slam, and then I sag against the table. “Fuuuuck.”
“That’s definitely what was on her mind,” Daniel says with a laugh. “She was about two seconds from ripping your clothes off.”
Now I feel more like a whore than ever. I shudder and scrape my hand through my hair, coming away with the elastic dangling from my fingers. “She wants to commission a painting.”
Daniel’s expression sobers up quick. “I’m sorry for busting in like that, then. It was just, when I came in, you looked—”
“No, you read it right. Thanks for the momentary reprieve.” I sigh. “I have to take this, though. Katie’s struggling again, Daniel. She says her meds aren’t working. I’m starting to wonder if she needs to go back to the hospital. I almost took her there this afternoon.”
Daniel winces. He knows all about my ups and downs with my sister. “Did she try to hurt herself again?”
I shrug. “Maybe. She set a fire.”
His eyes go round.
“She said it was an accident.” She said she was trying to make herself a grilled cheese and forgot about it, then fell asleep. If I hadn’t caught it in time and put it out, our entire apartment would have gone up in flames—maybe taking both of us with it.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know how you do it, man. If it was me …”
“She’s been through a lot.” And it’s my fault. “But if she has to go into the hospital again, it’s going to be rough. I’m still paying bills from last time.” When you don’t have good health insurance, even a day in the psych ward will wipe you out. And Katie is a frequent flyer.
“Doesn’t Amy help you out? She’s got money.”
I scrape a few flecks of paint off my forearm with the edge of my thumbnail. “Amy’s got her own family to worry about.” She’s always been on the outside, anyway. Eight years older than me, ten years older than Katie, Amy left for college only a few months after my mom married Phil. She doesn’t know what it was like for us. She wasn’t a part of what happened. “She helps a little. Does what she can.”
“Yeah,” says Daniel, his voice dripping with skepticism. It makes me want to hit something. Or maybe someone. Or maybe a lot of someones. Suddenly, I feel like I’m in a cage, iron bars close around me, my knuckles white as I try to break free.
“Claudia offered me five thousand dollars for the commission,” I blurt.
“Nice.” He blows a long breath between pursed lips, then gives me an assessing look. “It won’t be so bad, you know. Claudia takes care of herself, and she’s pretty nice. Maybe a little aggressive …” He gives me a sympathetic look. “You could do worse.”
I grit my teeth. “Yeah,” I force myself to say. “I know.” And he’s right. The lonely, bored wives of the local CEOs have too much time and money on their hands. They offer commissions or ask for private lessons, but there are always strings firmly attached. Daniel seems to enjoy it thoroughly and has been with a bunch of them. Markus, too. I’ve avoided that kind of entanglement … until now, because I can’t anymore. “Thanks.”
He slaps my back. “Did you know Romy was here tonight, or were you too wrapped up with Claudia?”
“You saw her?” I wonder if that means she stayed. I wasn’t sure she would, but I was hoping … “Is she still here?” I’m two steps closer to the door before my brain catches up with my body.
“Slow down, stud. Can’t you leave any scraps for the rest of us?”
I whirl around, every muscle tight. “Did you just call Romy a scrap?”
His arms shoot upward. “Calm down! It was a figure of speech.”
“Did you hit on her?” I growl.
He gives me a look that says he thinks I’m the one who needs a visit to the psych hospital. “I walked her to her car, Caleb. It’s late. She’s tiny and was lugging a toolbox that weighs half as much as she does. Would you have preferred I let her fend for herself?” His voice has turned hard.
No. I step back and shove my hands in my pockets. I remember the feel of her shoulders underneath my hands, the rise and fall of her chest as she tried to control her breathing. As she tried to control herself. That’s what she’s here for. That’s what she wants, I can tell. I know the feeling. “She let you do that for her?”
He gives me a slow smile. “She was adorable. Said she’d had a productive night.”
Something in my chest loosens. “Really? That’s … good.” She’d looked miserable and lost when I found her in the classroom. Did I help her? God, I was trying so hard. The way she looked at me brought something to life inside of me. But it didn’t feel sleazy or greedy. It felt clean and honest.
“She said she’d see me Tuesday, so I guess that means she’s feeling good about the class.”
A flash of jealousy burns through me. “That’s good,” I say lightly. “I think she’s here for the right reasons.”
Daniel’s eyes narrow, and I turn away from him, heading for my studio. If Claudia wants a landscape, I’d better sketch a few before our next meeting. “Hey, I only came by to grab some stuff,” he calls. “Can you close up downstairs when you leave?”
I wave my hand, letting him know I will. And then I sit on the floor of my studio and stare at my painting. I’d been feeling better about it until Claudia looked at it. Laughed at it. Dismissed it. Now I don’t know what I feel.
I pull my phone from my pocket and dial home. Katie picks up immediately. “I’m fine, and I’m not doing anything bad,” she snaps. She’s twenty-two, but she sounds fifteen.
“You’re okay? Feeling safe?” I ask, steadying my voice, softening the edge. There’s nothing that sets her off faster than that.
“I’m watching TV. You’re making me miss the rose ceremony.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about. “I’ll be home soon, okay? Call me if you need anything or if you start to feel bad?”
She huffs an impatient breath into the phone. “Why, so you can call 911?”
“No, Katie, come on … I’m trying to help.”
“Ever heard the phrase ‘too little, too late?’” she whispers angrily, then hangs up.
I stare at the wall, phone still to my ear. “Yeah, actually. Every fucking day.”
It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. I should be numb. I lost Katie ten years ago, and I’ve been losing her over and over again ever since. It doesn’t stop me from wanting to save her, though. I don’t think that will ever go away. She’s my sister. My responsibility. My fault all my fault all my fault.
With a sigh, I put the phone away and try to focus on the job that’s going to earn me enough to cover bills and pay our rent for the next three months. I grab my sketch pad from a corner and pull the pencil from its spiral. Landscapes. Flowers. Tasteful. The blank page greets me, and the irony makes me chuckle. Wasn’t I pulling Romy through her creative block only an hour ago?
If she could see me now, what would she say?
Why am I thinking about her at all?
But before I can stop myself, I’m recreating the slope of her neck, this graceful line of pure wish. I trace my index finger along its path, smudging it a little. The curve of her jaw, the shell of her ear. It’s easily visible because her hair’s so short. I stretch out on my stomach on the floor of my studio, among my oils and brushes, stupid landscapes the furthest thing from my mind. I want to capture it, challenge and fear at the same time, the need for shelter and the need for strength bleeding together, mixing but still distinct. It was all there in Romy’s eyes, and it made me want to take her face in my hands and stare long enough to figure it out.
I reach over and snag one of my brushes, then start combining colors. Yellow, blue, a little black. Yeah. Her eyes were like that, dark and deep, intense but opaque. I could see what was on the surface, but not what lay behind them. She doesn’t want anyone telling her what to do, but at the same time, I can tell she’s a little tempted to let someone do just that. I don’t know why. She might have daddy issues—hopefully not the same kind Katie has, for Romy’s sake—or she might have ex-boyfriend issues. Something bad might’ve happened to her and she’s trying to find her feet again. She might be on her own for the first time and feeling nervous about it. She’s probably only twenty-three or so. It could be any of those things.
All I know is this: when she closed her eyes, when she trusted me enough to let me try to help … I haven’t felt that worthwhile in a long time. My fingers tangle in my hair as I sketch, losing myself in the soft angles of her cheekbones and the delicate curve of her lips. I’m dimly aware of how fucked this is, but I have to see it again, that look she gave me. I have to figure it out.
My shoulders and neck ache like hell by the time I finally tuck the pencil into the spiral and close the sketch book. I’m not done, not there yet, but I need to get home to Katie. She should be in bed by now—usually her evening meds knock her out by eleven, but that’s only if she takes them. I push myself to my feet and kick my sketchpad beneath my drop cloth. I glance at my phone and my eyes go wide. It’s after midnight. “Enough,” I say to myself. “Enough.” I don’t even know Romy. She’s a symbol of all the things I want but can’t have, nothing more, which means I need to leave her alone and come to grips with reality.
Done. I flick off the lights and head for the door. I might be walking into a nightmare when I get home, and daydreaming is something I simply can’t afford.