And I had hoards of pictures that I'd painted over the years that echoed my darker days. But this... This wasn't dark.
This was yearning, this was need.
This was going to be my life.
Laying out my most recent works, I grabbed some of the frames I had stacked to the side. Friday was going to be the breaking point for me.
I had to focus my energy on that, get these paintings ready to showcase for the investor my friend Dana set up.
Dana, even though I might refer to her as my friend, was really Beth's friend. Thank God Beth had connections around this city. Dana was a local art dealer, and she knew a man that loved to invest in upcoming artists, and small businesses.
After a few phone calls and a number of emails, Dana was finally able to convince him that I was worth the time.
Sealing the back of a frame, I flipped the image over. My tired reflection gazed back at me off the glass, the weathered and down look still boldly visible.
Get this done. You need to have your shit together or Friday will suck and you'll have nothing left.
That was the last thing I wanted. This was my stand, my feeble attempt to prove to myself that I had talent, and a boring desk job wasn't for me.
I had to make this work.
No. This is going to work.
And I was going to do everything in my power to get this investor to see I was worth it.
He had to. If he walked out and wasn't interested, I'd be screwed.
Positive, stay positive. This will work.
IT WILL WORK.
Chapter Six
Willow
It took me two days to finish framing all my paintings, and just as much time to force Kash to the back burner.
My fingers were raw and pink from sealing the pictures in, small indents rode the bridge of my knuckles where the metal tabs had laid their mark.
The frames I had were cheap and weak, but they were all I could afford. Every penny of my life savings was going into this gallery, and I needed way more to get it off the ground.
Beth called me late Sunday night after getting settled in Paris. And a twinge of jealousy raked my heart.
She had hit it big, a top model with agencies kicking down her door. There were already designers grappling each other over who's clothing line she would wear first.
I wanted that... God I wanted that.
I wanted people fighting for my art, battling for a single piece to hang in their store, their home; aching to have just one work from the great and talented Willow James.
Patience Willow, it takes time. Nothing happens overnight.
I thought about telling Beth what happened with Kash, but I silenced myself. She would've been excited, angry, mortified, all the emotions I didn't want to have to talk her out of over the phone.
Then I would have had to deal with her questions. The wonder of why I didn't take him home, was I going to try and see him, everything I didn't even want to let myself ponder.
Because the answer was 'No.'
No, I wasn't going to let myself get roped into a man who probably rotated through woman like socks on a hot summer day.
No, I'm not willing to be someone's midnight snack on a binge of pussy to feed their hungered cock.
No, no, no. Not Kash, not now.
So what if he made my sex scream with music, so what if he conjured up feelings that I never had, so what if he looked at me with real eyes.
Eyes that weren't just filled with having sex, eyes that called to me, eyes that made me feel alive.
Eyes... His eyes said more than his lips. And it made me forget everything about myself I despised.
The loud grumble of my stomach vibrated through my shirt. I couldn't remember the last time I ate more than a low fat yogurt and a dry bowl of cereal.
With all the crap I needed to get done before my big pitch, food was the last thing on my mind. And now, my body was insisting I refuel, regardless of my pressing time restraint.
Slipping on a sundress, I let the soft material cascade around my body. My thigh was still sore from the new tattoo, and the only clothing that didn't bother me to wear were dresses or baggy pajama pants.
Thank God it's summer and not the dead of winter. Jeans would torment the tender skin, leggings would stick to the ointment, and I'd be a miserable mess.
Hitting the pavement, I made my way over to this little pizzeria I found a couple weeks back. The food was amazing, and it was one of the few places I felt the price was worthwhile.
This city was expensive, and my wallet was growing emptier by the day. Each meager dollar I had left was tediously portioned out for everything I needed. I couldn't afford to splurge, couldn't afford to be mindless with what I had left.
Call me cheap, but money wasn't something I had a lot of, every last dime had to last.
Turning up Fifth street, the crowd had already formed outside Antonio's Pizzeria. The mass of people all chatted among themselves, the delicious scent of freshly made dough mingled with the aromatic smell of coffee from the cafe next door.
Taking my place at the end of the line, I fiddled with my ear buds. I was willing to deal with my awkwardly racing lungs standing in line, but I wasn't going to let my brain get swarmed with the loud mesh of voices all trying to talk over each other.
Music had become my calming facet, the soothing caress I needed in a wild and noisy place. Staring down at my phone, I flipped through the library of cover art.
A gentle tap on my shoulder pulled my head up to see a young man standing beside me, a soft smile spreading across his face.
Tugging on the wire, I popped one of the small speakers free. “Yes?” I asked, waiting for him to question me about what the line was for, or ask me for directions.
Which I knew if that was his question, I'd never be able to give him any sort of good navigation around the city. I barely had my feet wet here, and had really only migrated at most a block or two from my apartment by myself.
“Miss, that man is trying to get your attention,” he said, pointing towards the front door.
“Who?” Arching a brow, I held my hand over my eyes to block the sun's glare.
“The guy at the door, he's been calling to you.”
“How do you know he means me?” Glancing around, I took in all the faces. “He could mean someone else.”
“No, he's talking about you. You're the only girl here with a tree tattooed on her thigh.”
Shifting my eyes from the kid with spiked blue hair, to the shiny image on my leg, I shot my eyes back to the head of the line. “Me?” I half yelled, slightly embarrassed and unsure.
The guy at the door nodded yes, waving his hand for me to come forward.
What the hell is he calling me for? Did I do something wrong?
Stepping out of line, my chin held low into my neck like a kid getting called to the front of the room by their teacher. I felt like I was heading to a punishment or a lecture for not paying attention or causing an issue.
But I had been minding my own business, waiting in line. I didn't think I cut anyone, or did anything to bring one ounce of attention to myself.
Reaching the main entrance to the pizzeria, thin lips pulled across my cheek. My fingers braided each other around my clutch, teasing the small tassel that hung off the edge. “Hi.” The word tumbled off my tongue, a voiceless salute to the man in the apron.
“Why are you standing all the way down there? Come, come in.” Holding the door open, he waved me inside.