Chapter Seven

Connor

He's getting off the elevator just as I'm stepping in and I can't help but laugh. Dressed in tight leather pants and an even tighter white t-shirt, I have no doubt who the strapping young lad is – he's the man who was supposed to be “Misty's” company for the evening.

“What's so funny?” he turns to me and asks.

I shrug. “Nothing, mate,” I reply. “Just thinking about a joke an old friend told me about the importance of punctuality.”

He looks at me for a moment and snorts. “Yeah, whatever, man.”

I watch him walk down the hallway toward her room. He's a good-looking lad. Tall, well-built, with muscles upon muscles. Unfortunately for him, youth and muscles don't outweigh experience – and a healthy dose of good fortune. Oh, and being on time for an appointment usually helps too.

Fortunately for me, I was in the right place at the right time – and he wasn't. Nothing like a good dose of the luck of the Irish. It's gotten me through a few tight spots in my life.

I laugh heartily as I get on the elevator, riding it down to the lobby before heading to my car. I give a brief thought to taking a room, but opt to make the drive home instead. Given the time, traffic shouldn't be too much of an issue and I can be home in an hour or so.

I feel good. Energized. I even feel inspired enough to paint – something I haven't done in a few weeks. In addition to being a musician and owning a very successful winery, I also paint. Some galleries in Sonoma and San Francisco show my work pretty regularly.

Painting is another one of the many things one of my many therapists suggested I take up during my recovery. Their prevailing belief is that to prevent relapsing, I need to fill my life with things I enjoy doing. Things that give me a sense of purpose and accomplishment.

They were split on my music. A few of them thought it would bring me back into the orbit of people and situations that led to my overdose – and Ronnie's death. A couple of them thought it was still a good idea. That music can help serve as a creative outlet – something they all agree that I desperately need.

Unlike most of the other activities they suggested I take up, painting stuck. And I was surprised to find that I have something of a natural knack for it. I mean, I don't expect to see my work hanging in the Louvre or anything, but some people seem to appreciate what I do, and I've sold quite a few pieces as a result.

It's almost midnight by the time I pull to a stop in my driveway. Shutting off the engine, I get out of the car and bound up the steps to my front door. Punching in the code on the keypad, I wait for a moment and hear the soft beep, announcing that the door is now unlocked. Pulling it open, I step inside and close it behind me, re-arming the locks.

The front room has an open floor plan, making the space feel even larger than it already is. There's a sunken living room with a large fireplace at one end, a dining nook, and a kitchen near the back wall. A few couches and a large flat-panel TV are set up in one corner, while large, floor-to-ceiling windows dominate one entire wall of the room.

The windows overlook the back of my property, giving me a view of the vineyards that produce the grapes for my company – Six String Winery. The winery itself sits in the distance, on the opposite side of the vineyard.

Once I got myself clean, one of the hobbies I took up was learning how to make wine. I don't know why. Maybe it was fate steering me to this, or perhaps it was just boredom. Whatever it was though, I enjoyed learning the process and art of winemaking. I appreciated it so much, in fact, that when a small local winery came up for sale, I jumped on it.

It started off slowly, as new businesses always do, but I threw myself into it with an addict's zeal. Eventually, I won a few small awards and business started to pick up. Six String took off from there and now, we're one of the most popular wines coming out of California.

When the business got to be too big and overwhelming for me to work alone, I hired on a master vintner and a substantial enough workforce to keep Six String running – and growing. That little taste of success doing something I enjoyed, and not needing chemical enhancements to enjoy it, was a stunning achievement for me. When I was touring and making records, I celebrated success with a needle in the arm. When Six String really took off, I celebrated with a quiet dinner with close friends – and felt better for it.

It was then that I first felt truly thankful for the counselors and therapists who helped me through my recovery. It's a process that still continues, of course, but they put me on the right path. Because of them, I haven't touched a drug in years and have really gotten myself to a good place in life.

I feel fulfilled. Content. My cup, as they say, is full. And I can honestly say, this is the happiest I've ever been in all my years on this rock.

I walk through the glass block hallway that leads from the front of the house to the back. Back here I have a small recording studio, my painting studio, and the bedrooms. I head into my bedroom and change into a pair of sweats. It's a warm evening out, so I go shirtless as I step into my art studio.

Flipping on some music and the lights, I set up a fresh canvas and start squeezing out some paints onto my palette. I let my mind wander, let it get lost in the music that's flowing from the speakers set up around the room, and try to funnel that inspiration I feel into something coherent.

Of course, it's not difficult for me to decipher the thoughts and images flashing through my mind. I think on some level, I knew what I wanted to paint before I sat down to do it.

It's her.

For whatever reason, I can't get “Misty” out of my head. I can clearly visualize the beautiful contrast between her midnight black hair and pale, delicate skin. The depth within those dark eyes. The fullness of her breasts. Her plump lips. I close my eyes and can smell her perfume, her skin, the smell of our sex. Recall the taste of her. The way her body felt against mine. The way it felt to be inside of her.

I open my eyes and put brush to canvas and let my mind and body run free. My reaction to this mystery woman is puzzling. Typically, it’s out of sight, out of mind. I get my fix and move on – regardless of how beautiful or thrilling my partner was.

But this woman – something about this one is different. Something about her is sticking with me and no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to shake it. I don't know what it is about her, but I can't stop thinking about her.

This woman – or rather, something about her– has its hooks in me. And those hooks are in deep.

As the music flows through me, my brush hits the canvas with bold, confident strokes. My mind is caught up in the memory of the smell, taste, and feel of the mystery woman. My virgin.

This isn't like me. Not at all. As the kids say, I usually prefer to “hit it and quit it.” Women are my addiction and once I get my fix, I'm gone.

But, this woman – “Misty” – has somehow wormed her way into my head and I can't get her out of it. My hope is that once this painting is done, it will have exorcised her from my mind completely. I mean, it's not like I'm ever going to see her again – I don't even know her real name. I gave her my number – which is unheard of for me – but I somehow doubt I'm going to get a call from her anytime soon.

The first fingers of dawn begin to appear on the horizon, fingers of pink and purple stretching across the sky. When the dazzling brilliance of the sun finally creeps over the edge of the world, beginning a new day, I'm surprised to look up and see that I've finished.

Ordinarily, it takes me a few days to complete a piece. But, as I look at the painted canvas before me, I nod, approving of what I see. I guess I was extraordinarily inspired this time.

The painting is of “Misty,” done in the impressionistic style I'm most fond of. I won't say I'm a master or anything, but as I look at the painting, I recognize the fact that I'm pretty damn good for not having been formally trained. In the painting, she's wearing black lingerie and is stretched out on in a reclining position. It's all very tasteful and shows nothing inappropriate. If anything, it's seductive and sensual, yet understated, given the artist.

I have to say, I think it's one of the best pieces I've ever done. This one though, isn't going to a gallery or auction. This one is for me. I don't know why, but I feel strangely attached to it. I was wrong though, finishing the painting didn't expel thoughts of her. If anything, they only intensified them – this woman, who I'm never going to see again.

Stretching my arms above my head, I let out a long, loud yawn. Putting my supplies away and cleaning up a bit, I head off to take a shower, exhaustion finally taking over me. Now all I want is to clean myself up and get a little sleep.

And hopefully, when I wake up, all thoughts of this mysterious woman will have magically disappeared.