Javier and Benson walk in the room first, carrying the easel and cardboard boxes, followed by Aiden. Javier does not look like Javier. He is wearing a button-down pale blue shirt over a dark pair of jeans I have never seen before. His only dress shoes are polished better than the brand-new hardwood floor.
He marches straight to me and sets the box of supplies at my feet. Wordlessly, he takes something out of the box. My white sheet. I almost collapse with relief. He throws it over my shoulders, not looking below my chin. I clutch it over my chest for dear life. If I were not en déshabillé, I would hug him. He must have known I’d fall apart. He gives me a nod and a small shrug. I nod back but then I notice Aiden.
His jaw is sharp, posture rigid, eyes dark, glaring at Javier’s back. Before I can breathe, he flashes to my side. His shoulders twitch as he stands closer to Javier than I’ve seen him stand to anyone, except myself.
“If you don’t want to do this anymore, I can cancel it.” His voice is even, except the slight drop in cadence at the word cancel.
Two hours ago this would have been a gift. Now, it feels like a stab in my stomach. Not so much canceling the painting, but leaving him.
“Of course I do. I’m just putting on my work uniform.” I smile, pointing at my sheet. He searches my face, perhaps for confirmation.
“So, Mr. Hale, what do you have in mind?” Javier interjects politely.
Aiden tears his eyes from me and looks at Javier. “I’ll give you full creative license, Mr. Solis. My only conditions are that she is in that attire and you use the same theme and colors as the others.” I’m not surprised to hear his voice back to cold and detached.
Javier nods and walks around the room, looking at it differently than I do, and probably differently than Aiden. He runs his hand over the walls, the furniture, the curtains. I know him enough to know that he is smelling, listening and maybe even tasting the faint sandalwood scent in the air.
As he caresses the chaise, he asks again, “Do you want me to use the furniture as part of the message?”
“The message?”
“Yeah. Every painting has a message. Given the furniture choice, this one is easy. She can stand or she can sit. Stay or leave. Or she could lounge for a while. What do you prefer?”
I grin proudly like a PTA mum. Javier knows his art.
Aiden measures Javier. “You’re the artist. I’ll be interested to see the resolution myself.” He gazes at me then, and his words from earlier ring in my ears. I shouldn’t. Is that it? A compromise between should and want? Is that the fantasy he is asking Javier to memorialize?
“All right.” Javier nods. His eyes squint and focus on the chaise. I’m willing to bet my next thirty days that he does not choose it. It’s too obvious for his style.
“Now, some business details,” Aiden says. “Of course, you know Feign is expecting payment for this painting even though it’s obvious who the real artist is. I’m sure you agree it’s best not to give him reason to retaliate against either you or Elisa.”
A shiver runs through me. Aiden is right. If Feign doesn’t get something for this, he would report Javier to ICE for theft. Javier swallows hard—his own fear well masked under his politeness.
“He said he pays you a salary,” Aiden continues. “But we all know that’s a lie. So I plan to pay you the same commission that I’m paying Feign—”
“Mr. Hale, no—” Javier starts to protest but Aiden puts up his hand to stop him.
“I want you to take what you deserve, Mr. Solis. On this point, I will not negotiate.”
I want him. Right here, right now. Not because of the money but because he gave Javier some recognition. I know what that means to Javier. One look at his face and I see the same appreciation I feel.
“Thank you, Mr. Hale.” Javier looks self-conscious, his eyes drifting to his polished shoes.
“My pleasure. Now, given your circumstances, I’m sure you understand that’s a significant amount of money to be paid under the table. I’ll consult with my lawyers about the best way to handle it, but for your part, from a legal standpoint, it would help if you thought of the painting, not as work, but as a gift to Elisa and myself.”
I tingle at the sound of him and me together. Javier’s forehead creases—did he hear what I did?—but he nods.
“A gift then,” he says.
Aiden nods back, but his eyes are on me. Thank you, I mouth and he smiles.
“Ready to strike a pose?” Javier says.
“Yes,” I answer with a smile, determined to make this as easy for everyone as possible.
“All right, lean back on the chair,” he says. I was right. Not the chaise.
“A little farther. Yeah. Relax your left arm along the armrest. No, not like you’re falling over. That’s good. Now grip the other armrest with your right hand like you’re propping yourself up. Yeah, like that. No, don’t cross your legs. Point your toes toward the door,” he instructs, his artist eye following each move.
Javier’s Rule Number One is to leave enough vagueness for the viewer to find his own message. And this pose fits that philosophy like a glove. I can’t wait to ask him about its meaning but he won’t tell me with Aiden here. Javier’s Rule Number Two is to never disclose his own interpretation of his art. I am the only exception to that rule.
Javier fidgets until he has me where he wants me. I peek at Aiden. But it looks like he has exchanged places with the dragon again. His eyes are trained unblinking on my feet pointing to the door. The rest of his posture emanates tension waves like scaly wings.
“I’ll leave you to it,” he spits out and strides out of the room before I can say…anything. And, thankfully, before Javier could notice the furious eyes. Benson follows him at his customary, three-feet distance.
Why was he angry? Which interpretation did he see in the pose? Whatever he saw, was it the one he wanted? I draw a deep breath. Well, tonight, I’ll do my best to convince him that, if I could, I would not be sitting in this chair but rather lying on the chaise, for as long as he would have me.
Javier continues to roam about, setting up the easel, deciding on perspective, but he does not speak.
“So, that was very nice of him to pay you as well as Feign?” I start.
“Yes, very nice.” Javier sounds a little off.
“Are you okay?” I ask as he measures the height of my chair.
He pauses and looks up at me. “Are you?”
I smile. “Yes. It’s been a good day for a change.”
He watches me for a moment and then takes a deep breath. “Be careful, please. He seems kind of intense. I don’t know—something’s off.”
“Like what?” My voice is both defensive and curious.
Javier’s forehead crumples, and he squints his eyes like he is looking at an image. “Like he is too desperate for this or something.” He shakes his head as though the image eludes him.
Desperate? Aren’t we all desperate for our fantasies?
“Anyway, just keep your distance. It’s going to be bad enough without all this.” He waves his hand around the room.
I shiver and clutch my sheet tighter. He is right, as always. But today is demon-free. “I’ll be careful,” I say quickly. “Now tell me, what’s the plan for this?”
He shakes his head again but lets it go. “Well, you want to stay here so you’ll be seated and relaxed, rather than standing. But we know you have to leave, so your feet will point toward the door to illustrate the conflict and uncertainty. He can see what he wants in the image.”
Brilliant. Javier is giving me a choice in art when I don’t have it in real life.
“With that message, I’m guessing you don’t want me to grin like a madwoman or look morose?”
Javier smiles. “You’re guessing right. I want you to be you. Think only of today, only of this room, and only of what you’re feeling right now.” He ruffles my hair and pads over to his easel.