Aria

 

 

“I know, it’s as if the old stiff was compensating for something.” I chuckled, tilting my head back to gaze up at the tip.

“Compensating? But it’s a building. And I thought you told me Alexander Hawthorne wasn’t old? You said he looked younger than you.”

Turning my head, I found a confused Tiffany glancing between me and Alexander’s building.

“Alexander didn’t build this, he just owns it. It was built in the 1920s. I know enough about Chicago Architecture to know that whoever designed the Haute Tower was old, male, and has long since died. Being one of the tallest buildings at the time, I can almost guarantee he felt sad about his lack of manhood so he decided to take it out on the world by building a large phallic symbol.”

Tiffany frowned. “I don’t think I can ever walk into a building again without thinking of old men with penis issues.”

“You’re welcome.” I curtsied. “Now, come help me design the crap out of the wall of a recluse’s bedroom.”

Tiffany nodded. We began to move toward the front entrance but as I was about to push through the revolving door, something made me stop. A shiver ran up my spine as if someone was staring at me so I turned. Searching the various people walking up and down the sidewalks of the city, I found no eyes turned my way.

I shook my head and shrugged it off along with the still bitter cold of an early spring day once we were inside. Glancing around, I was surprised by the small lobby. The slabs of dark marble that covered everything made it appear smaller than it should. My eyes landed on the two metal elevators behind a security desk.

Last time I was here, we came in through the garage. And, I was pretty sure staring at the elevator wall wasn’t automatically going to take me to his floor like it did for Alex.

“Did he tell you to call him when we arrived?” Tiffany’s innocent brown eyes darted around like a lost puppy.

“He doesn’t know about this,” I said.

“You didn’t tell him I was coming? I thought he was okay with me helping layout the design on his walls?”

Tiffany went to school for design. She never graduated as her son David surprised her and her deceased husband. A year before she graduated she left school to become a mother and wife.

She works from home now doing graphic design, and I thought she would be the perfect person to help me with the layout of my mural.

“I never had a chance to talk to him about it. Don’t worry, Tiffany, it’s not like he’s going to hold us against our will. He only did that once, and he has since apologized for it.” I shook my head and patted Tiffany on the back.

Alex never contacted me after asking me to paint the mural last Thursday. It’s Tuesday and since I still haven’t heard from him, I figured I would stop by to pay him a visit. I figured the worst-case scenario would be him telling us to come back another day to start the work.

I tried to make my way toward the elevators before I heard a deep voice. “Can I help you two ladies?”

The security man, with graying hair and a thick neck, glanced in my direction through weary eyes.

“Yes, we are here to see Mr. Alexander Hawthorne.”

His lip ticked up as he pushed back his black security hat. “Is that so.”

I nodded but he didn’t say anything, only folded his hands in front of his belly while leaning back in his chair.

“Do I take one of these elevators or do you need to call him?” I waved my hands at him because he wasn’t doing anything. As far as security guards go, he wasn’t very good.

“Oh, how rude of me. Just take that door right there. It should be obvious what to do next.”

I glanced at the door near the far wall. “But . . . that has an Exit sign over it . . .”

He waved me over. I came to stand as close as I could with his wooden desk in the way. Leaning toward him, he lifted his hand as if to whisper something to me, “It’s to fool all the reporters and unwanted people.”

When I pulled away he winked.

Waving Tiffany over, we walked over to the Exit door and pushed. It was hard to open but we managed to shove through before stumbling onto the pavement.

“We’re in an alley,” Tiffany said.

“That asshole.”

The door slammed behind us and I noticed we were standing next to a dumpster beside the building we were just in.

How am I supposed to paint Alex’s bedroom if I can’t even get into his place?

“I’m going back in there and tell that man exactly who I am and that Alex is going to be very upset that he prevented me from meeting him.”

I realized I sounded terrible but I was mad. At the very least he could call Alex to make sure I could go up. That lazy guard couldn’t even do that.

“Aria, no, I don’t think that’s—”

I threw my arms in the air. “He’s going to be very sorry he messed with Aria Dixon. Very sorry. When I’m through with him, I’ll—”

The door that we just came through swung open. A police officer stood in the middle of the doorframe and stared at us.

“Are you two ladies lost?” The tall, lanky officer who seemed too young to hold a badge stepped out into the alleyway and right behind him was the security guard twat.

“Oh, no, Officer, we were just leaving,” Tiffany said as she grabbed my arm trying to pull me away but I was having none of that.

“Yes, we are lost. And when we asked this guard how to find our way, he led us to this alleyway. Seems a little bit suspicious to me.” I tugged my arm away from Tiffany and folded my arms, firming my stance.

“Is that so?” the officer said as he pushed his hat back.

I narrowed my eyes, glancing at the officer and then at the security guard. “Are you two related?”

“Yes,” they answered at the same time.

Now I’ll never get into see Alex.

“Mr. Hawthorne has no visitors scheduled for today. The only way to see Mr. Hawthorne is with a scheduled visit, unless you are his mother.” The guard leaned forward as to inspect us closer. “And neither of you two ladies look like his mother.” The guard leaned back against the doorframe.

“But I am his mother.” A deep feminine voice came from behind the security guard causing him to jump.

He turned and nodded his head profusely. “Yes, Mrs. Hawthorne. Forgive me, I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s all right, Mitch. I can vouch for these ladies. I’ll take them to see my son.”

I smirked at the officer and guard as I passed them, walking back into the building. That was nice of Alex’s mom to help us out. He must have told her about me. Maybe she had seen my paintings and wanted to be in on the design. While it’s his room, I think a feminine perspective might be helpful.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hawthorne. I’m Aria Dixon,” I said as I followed her past the elevators behind the guard desk to another door.

“I know who both of you are,” Mrs. Hawthorne said.

My eyes widened as I turned my head to Tiffany. I understand how Mrs. Hawthorne would know who I was, but how would she know Tiffany?

Tiffany appeared as confused as me.

When we entered the other room, I noticed an elevator. It seemed to know Mrs. Hawthorne was coming as it opened as she drew near. The doors started to close so Tiffany and I picked up our pace to hop inside. The door nearly closed on Tiffany’s red scarf, but she yanked it away in time.

As the lift began to move, I held my hand out to Mrs. Hawthorne. “It’s so lovely to meet you.”

She turned her head toward me and I noticed her eyes at once. So much like her son’s but with age they seemed to darken to a worn iron. There was an air of polish about her, but with a little too much shine. Her high cheekbones held unusually tight, blemish free skin. Even her beautiful raven hair, that glistened in the florescent light of the elevator, appeared so perfectly coiffed into a French twist I had to stare at her roots to make sure it wasn’t a wig.

There was a familiarity about Mrs. Hawthorne. I couldn’t imagine she came to any of the bars I tended. Perhaps I saw her at an art show once.

She scrutinized me with precision before producing the tiniest smile and turning back to face the metal doors.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I prefer not to touch people if I don’t have to.”

Okay.

I slid my eyes toward Tiffany as she frowned. Tiffany pushed her hands into her pockets and I wondered if she had wanted to shake Mrs. Hawthorne’s hand too.

The elevator stopped and the doors flew open. We followed Mrs. Hawthorne down the art-filled hall and through the haunted door, right into Alex’s living room. It was even more beautiful in the daytime with light from the windows overlooking the river and the city. It was as if the window was one of the art pieces.

“Mom, what are you . . .? Aria?”

I turned to find Alex dressed in low hanging sweatpants and no shirt. Heat gathered between my legs and I immediately removed my puffy coat. I will, one day, want this room as my eternal resting place, I just didn’t want that time to start today. If I left the coat on, I might perish due to heat exposure and possible ovary explosion.

 “There’s my boy.” His mother walked over to him, cupping his cheeks and kissing both.

“Why are you all wet?” she asked and I instantly glanced down at my jeans for fear my ovaries had already burst.

“I just got out of the shower. Why are you here?”

With relief I realized Mrs. Hawthorne wasn’t referring to what was between my legs. But that didn’t stop my ovaries from threatening total meltdown when I saw Alex’s hypno-eyes staring at me.

Heat was migrating up my body to my cheeks, and I knew I wasn’t the only one taken in by this reclusive Adonis. I turned to find Tiffany staring at Alex’s bare chest.

“To help you of course. I hear you wish to have a mural painted in your bedroom by your artist friend, Ms. Dixon.” She waved her hand at me that glittered from the various diamond rings that littered her fingers.

“But it’s my bedroom, Mother. I don’t need your input.” Alex folded his arms in front of his chest. You would think that would help cool me down, but the way his arms grew bigger, his muscles tighter, I almost drooled at the sight. I could hear Tiffany whimper beside me.

“Alexander, sweet boy, I let you live in this building. Where do you think your money comes from? If you wish to change something, I must have input on it. It’s in the lease.” She placed her hand on Alex’s arm but immediately pulled it back and wiped her palm on her black, wool pencil skirt.