Chapter 13: Enticement

IT WAS MY FIFTH piece from the new me. It had taken three days because I had to sleep sometime. I was worried about laying down my brushes for fear I wouldn’t be able to pick up the vision again, but when I woke up, it was fresh in my mind.

It was a good thing I had four rookies to pass my work to. I paid no attention to my job all week. When I checked in at the office, they were all excited about the showings they had scheduled. They were still working through the list of leads they’d acquired from the Morrison open houses. It was mid-January and people were still getting over the holiday rush.

Friday night, Rita arrived at my door with kisses and love. I took her straight to the studio. There was my painting.

It was bigger than anything I’d ever painted—a full four feet high and six wide. I’d had to start by building an easel I could set it on. The canvas was washed with gray. Only a few strokes defined the figures leaning against the opposite edges. Their outstretched feet melted into each other behind the billowing steam. The figure on the right was a dirty blonde, her hair wet and plastered against her face. She was voluptuous. Her face was cast down to her left with a look of ecstasy. The rictus of her orgasm peeked through the steam. Beads of sweat dripped from her brow.

The figure on the left was thinner and leaned out of the picture with her short dark hair also plastered against the side of her face. Her head was thrown back as she howled toward the sky. In the foreground, their legs extended off canvas into the depth of the fog. One hand of each figure was dropped into their laps, pussies barely visible through the steam. The other hand was stretched toward its mirror image, not quite touching.

Rita stood looking at the painting for a long time with a smile playing on her lips. “You do love me,” she whispered at last. I wrapped my arms around her and she melted into them, lifting her lips to me. I kissed them with gentle passion. When our mouths parted, she heaved a deep sigh. “You need to have a showing.”

First, however, I needed to show my lover how much I cared for her. We didn’t go out often, as strange as that seemed. Often on Friday evening, I would cook a special dinner and we would watch a movie on television, eventually leading us to bed and lovemaking.

I determined, however, that this special painting deserved a special evening celebration. I didn’t want to risk driving when I might be drinking so called Uber to take us to the restaurant where I’d made dinner reservations. The Union Broiler had two locations. The one in the suburbs was at the top of an office building and looked out across the city to the mountains in the distance. People who could afford their prices went after a hard day of work in business suits and dresses. They looked out at the expansive view and drank cocktails with cute names while they awaited their food.

The location downtown was built on a pier that extended over the lapping waters of a lake where boats tied up and discharged diners. The food was the same, the price was the same, but the clientele tended to be more insouciant and affable than the suburban location. I’d donned a jacket and Rita wore a dress, but neither were what we’d wear to someplace ‘fancy.’

Still, we ordered cocktails and appetizers and settled in for a long dining experience. We enjoyed crab cakes followed by a Caesar salad, filet mignon, and a dessert called ‘chocolate decadence.’ It was all enjoyed with a bottle of local merlot.

“Why such a fancy celebration for this work of art?” she asked. “I’m loving every morsel and every sip, but why so extravagant?”

Before I could answer, our very attentive waitress came to our table with a refill for our water and to take away the appetizer plates. We sat mostly parallel to the windows but I noticed she stayed beside Rita and leaned across the table to remove my dishes. It was only momentary, but I saw a flash of creamy white skin as her scoop neck blouse fell loosely from her throat revealing the generous mounds of her breasts. Then she was gone. My distracted eyes followed her shapely ass as she returned to the kitchen.

“Doc?” Rita said. “Where did you go?”

“Um ... Spelunking, I guess. I just caught sight of a canyon I was tempted to climb into.”

“Ah. She does have a rather nice valley between the mountains. Should I go? Perhaps if we had a bit of a tiff, she would try to comfort you,” Rita giggled.

“No, no! I’m truly sorry to have been distracted. The display was rather pointed,” I said.

“Yes? A point on each peak?”

“It makes no difference. I’m sure it was accidental and she’d be terribly embarrassed that we ... or I noticed. About the extravagance. Yes. Well, I’m beginning to feel more at home with my new style. When you think about it, the painting of Allison that started this was months ago. It was three months after that when you brought Kelly to play with us. The next three paintings were done in the two months since Thanksgiving. It’s becoming hard to take a portrait commission when I know I can paint something far more dramatic. I think this celebration is of the rebirth of my art and is an honor to the woman who made it happen.”

I raised my glass to Rita and we touched just as our waitress returned to remove our bread and salad plates with the entrée soon to follow. Once again, she stayed near Rita’s shoulder as she reached across the table to take my plate and then again with a brush and tabletop dustpan. The motion of sweeping the breadcrumbs from the tablecloth set her breasts swaying in a delightful way. Then she set our entrées in front of us and poured more wine. I was certain now that she was intentionally facing me specifically to give me the view. There was really no other reason.

“Hurry,” Rita whispered. “We need to eat and talk between the distractions.”

“That was highly unexpected.”

“She must get tipped a lot.”

“I’ll remember that. But my point was that I think I am making a true transition in my painting. And I wanted to mark that with an elegant meal and the woman I love.”

“Doc, that is why I think you need a showing.”

“My love, it isn’t really that easy. I’ve only five of the pieces so far. Even a modest show would require a dozen. And the space needed. I’ve indulged myself in larger canvases and few galleries have the space to show them. I’m not disagreeing that I need a showing. Just that it will take quite a long time to arrange one and to paint enough canvases to make it worthwhile. To either myself or a gallery owner.”

“I wasn’t suggesting it should be next weekend. I see the same issues you do. That’s why an event like this needs to be planned months out. Perhaps more than a year. And my dear artist, even though you have a new and addictive style, there is nothing wrong with your paintings up to this time. You are still one of the most prized portrait artists in the city.”

“How do you figure that? I paint pretty pictures of wealthy ladies, but that is not a big business either. And besides, those paintings are commissioned. They are bought and paid for before I put brush to paint.”

“I read something,” she said. “I caught just a note in Home Spectacular this month. Certainly, you read it, don’t you?”

“I usually glance through the copy that comes to the office but I don’t think I’ve seen this month’s issue.”

“I’m surprised no one mentioned it to you,” she said. “They did an article on the Brainerd home. A tour conducted by Mrs. Brainerd. In one of the photos, they showed a portrait captioned, ‘Louise Brainerd as painted by the area’s premier portrait artist, DR Peters.’ Not a big mention, but high praise.”

“Dear me! I had no idea. I did that painting ... It must have been ten years ago.”

“Well, it still hangs in a place of prominence in their home. It’s weathered the years better than she has.”

“Still, most of my portraits are owned by the clients. There wouldn’t be any of them to show. And certainly none to sell.”

“I’m going to investigate on your behalf, Doc. I promise not to make any arrangements, but just to learn about what it takes. You need to market your ability.”

“Funny, isn’t it. I can go into super sales mode and market the hell out of a home but find I’m falling over myself when I think about marketing my paintings.”

Our waitress returned to remove our plates and then returned again with dessert and again with coffee. Each time she approached the table she flashed me a glorious view of her tits. The last time, I glanced up from the display and found her looking directly at my eyes. Caught! She blushed slightly but smiled and stayed bent over another few seconds before leaving and returning with our check.

‘Thank you, Lori’ was scrawled across the bottom of the bill. I looked for a phone number but she hadn’t gone that far.

“Speaking of marketing, do you have a business card for your art and portrait business?” Rita asked.

“Oh, yes. Seldom used. I seem to hand out a lot of real estate business cards.”

“Leave one of your art cards with the tip. Then hand both to me. She should see that I’m the one inviting her contact.” Rita quickly wrote her name and number on my card and we left. It was a lovely and inspiring dinner.

“Think of what fun you could have playing on and between those peaks,” Rita whispered as we kissed and fondled in bed.

“I’m quite satisfied with the peaks in my hands,” I said. I scooted down so I could pay oral attention to her nipples as well as fondling her breasts.

“Of course. But while you were looking down the blouse, I had ample opportunity to appreciate the derriere near at hand. I would say she is an example of something fresh and interested.”

“But why would she do that?” I protested. “It’s not like I am a particularly handsome man. And it was obvious that I was enrapt in my companion except when she leaned between us. What possible gain could she have from displaying herself to me?”

“In addition to the generous tip you left? Hmm. I’m not sure. It just didn’t look that mercenary to me. I managed to watch her out the corner of my eye and she didn’t seem to be flirting with other customers. At least not with the same technique. I think there is a story there. And very likely a new painting.”

“I love you, Rita. I am happy with what I have in my bed and would welcome you far more often.”

“Let me welcome you then, dear. Welcome between my legs. Oh, yes. Press into me. Whether in your studio or in your bed, we are partners.”

I moved into Rita smoothly and rocked back and forth as we both built up steam to our orgasms. This. If I could only capture this feeling on canvas, I would know I was successful. This feeling that began in my cock and extended up my spine. I could feel her in the core of my being as I thrust into her core. And my lovely assistant Rita called out her climax coaxing my own along with her.

I only heard one side of the phone conversation Rita had on Saturday afternoon. I’d begun to take a serious look through the paintings I had in storage to see if any had the quality I would need for an exhibition. Or if any sparked a flame that I could fan into a new piece in my newer style. I was also playing through the slides of my paintings. I was looking for the portrait of Mrs. Brainerd.