Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Chapter 7
Autumn
Two days pass. Soon it will be time to close, but Rocco Rossetti doesn’t come to the shop. He must know by now that I transferred the deposit he left for my painting to Miranda Taking a Bath.
I know my body is waiting for him, because I jump every time the rusty doorbells ring. My painting of the crumbling castle is nearly finished. It is intricate and detailed. Yesterday, after Larry had gone out of the door I pulled it out and put it on the easel, but Larry had forgotten to turn off the lights in his office upstairs and he came back into the shop. To my surprise he came and stood next to me.
I was nervous to have him look at my painting. Of his verdict. It was my baby so of course I loved it, and Rocco Rossetti had wanted to buy it unfinished, but Larry was a connoisseur. He knew about great art and could recognize a winner at a glance. I could hear my heart beating like a mad thing and I hardly dared to breathe.
Finally, unable to bear the tension anymore I turned and looked at his profile. “Well, what do you think?”
“Hmmm… it’s very good.”
“But…” I prompted softly.
He met my gaze. “It’s not you.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “Remember when you told me you used to climb the tallest trees and go higher than any boy in your neighborhood, and how a branch you were standing on gave way and you fell and broke your arm so badly the bone was sticking out of your flesh?”
“Yeah?”
“And how you climbed straight back up that tree while your arm was still in a sling.”
“Yeah?”
“Do you remember the sensation you felt as you were climbing that tree with one arm in a sling? The crazy exhilaration of knowing how dangerous what you were doing was and the memory of the pain of breaking your bones still fresh in your mind, but conquering and mastering your fears, anyway.”
And suddenly I knew what he was talking about. He was talking about the kind of painting I had done alone in my caravan the night I met Rocco Rossetti. That painting of me and Rocco having dirty, animalistic sex together.
“You’re a daredevil, Autumn,” Larry added passionately. “This kind of painting is pleasing to the eye and is fine for people who want something pretty to hang in their living room, but you are capable of something far, far greater. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I nodded slowly.
He smiled suddenly at me. “Until you find that spark in you, you won’t be all you can be, but don’t be disheartened. I’m still happy for you to hang this piece in the showroom when it is finished. For sure someone will buy it.”
“It’s not for sale,” I say quickly.
“Okay,” he says easily, and walks away.
Since that illuminating encounter with Larry, I haven’t painted anything. I know he is right. I will only paint again when that same irresistible urge to create that had come upon me that night when I painted in the caravan strikes me again.
I turn to look at the clock. Half-an-hour before closing time. Maybe I should order a large pepperoni pizza and take it home. I can certainly afford it, I found an extra two thousand dollars in my paycheck this month. Larry said it is my commission for selling the painting. I felt bad and told him honestly that I’d done nothing to encourage the sale. In fact, I’d been a bit startled by his appearance and so had been quite rude to him, but Larry waved away my objections with the final words, “If you hadn’t been in the shop in the first place the Count would not have been able to come in and buy the painting.”
Upstairs, I hear Larry start to move around. He is getting ready to leave.
The rusty bells ring and my head whirls around. The air is knocked out of my lungs as my gaze collides with a pair of translucent blue eyes. Wearing all black and looking as impossibly immaculate as he did the other night, he locks his gaze on me… and suddenly I can’t look away. The air becomes thick with lust, mine. What is it about him? The moment I see him I start thinking about climbing him. Impaling myself on him.
It is only when Larry’s footsteps on the wooden stairs penetrate my crazed state that I manage to drag my gaze away. I can feel myself trembling as Larry arrives in the showroom. He sees our customer and immediately his face splits into a beaming smile. He appears genuinely happy to see the Count.
“Ah, Count Rossetti. How wonderful to see you again,” he gushes expansively.
The Count smiles, and I stare at him, mesmerized. His whole face transforms and he appears utterly, indescribably, and unbelievably handsome. I know I sound like a silly teenager with a crush on a pop star, but without warning that wild feeling fills me again. I need to paint his face.