The Artist

Melody had been the curator at the gallery for nearly fifteen years. During that time, she had seen artists come and artists go. Some gay, some straight but all seemed to be bogged down with emotional baggage of some sort. Maybe that was the reason she was never attracted to any of them. So when she stopped to take a long, hard look at Michael, it came as quite the surprise to feel her heart quicken when he looked back at her with those crystal blue eyes.

Forget it,” she thought out loud, but even from a distance, he still found a way to raise her pulse. Quickly she went back to work, praying that her feelings towards a man fifteen years younger were not exposed.

Melody casually strolled around the floor. For an off-season viewing , the gallery was quite full. Some of it was due to a great deal of marketing but the rest was due to Michael’s work. Every canvas spoke, as if in the middle of beautiful story, he’d taken a snapshot...frozen that exact moment in time. Each were unique in their own right. She stopped in front of her favorite piece: Angel Eyes. A fantastic painting, it stood four feet tall by six feet wide. Michael had mixed a variety of pastels with dark hues to create a sunset of such contrasting colors that even God himself would have to take notes.

Within that sunset Michael placed a woman high on a cliff, covered only in a flowing mane of blonde hair. Her arms and the wings on her back were lifted into the heavens as she basked in the scene of the cloud-filled sunset that draped her naked body in a cloak of prismatic colors. But to Melody, it was neither the sunset nor the perfect shape of the woman that drew her into the picture, but rather the soft, serene face of that woman. When she’d questioned Michael about the woman, he said he had painted it two years before he arrived in Santa Clara.

His agent had attested to that fact, but still the likeness was uncanny. “Melody, I watched him as he worked on this one,” he’d said. “He was obsessed. He barely ate or slept for three weeks. He said the girl in the picture haunted him. I would tell him to work on something else but he said the vision of the girl plagued his every thought even to the point where he claimed the other unfinished works in his studio refused to be painted until Angel eyes was done.”

At the time, Melody figured Michael was just another whacked-out artist. But when she saw the work, she understood his feelings.

“Quite the piece.” A voice sounded behind Melody, drawing her back from her study of the painting. “Excuse me?” Melody said coming out of her daydream. She turned to face Ms. Valerie Fitzgerald, a major contributor to the gallery.

“I said ‘quite a piece of work’. It is amazing what he can do with a paintbrush. I can only imagine what he is capable of with his hands.” The smile that shone on her face oozed into a comfortable country club affectation.

“Yes, he is quite the artist.” Melody shook off the crass comments of older women. “But if you will excuse me, I need to make sure his work is admired by everyone.”

“No problem, my dear. I will go see if that handsome lad needs an assistant to hold his ‘brush’.” She turned her back to Melody and strutted toward Michael, who was in the midst of a crowd discussing one of his sculptures.

Melody turned away angrily not wishing to show her jealousy towards Ms. Fitzgerald’s boldness. Even at her age, Ms Fitzgerald was still prowling for men. It only got worse after her husband died five years ago, leaving her with free time and a substantial sum of money.

Melody scolded herself. “You shouldn’t care what Michael does. He is a big boy. Besides you aren’t involved with him nor should you get involved with an artist. They are too flighty and this particular artist is ten years younger. You need someone that isn’t some fly-by-night-boy-toy with bulging biceps and a trim waist.”

Melody continued her canvassing around the room, straightening perfectly straight pictures, ordering about the well disciplined wait staff and for all general purposes fussing over things that normally she would have left alone. After ten minutes she had migrated within earshot of Ms. Fitzgerald and Michael.

“Oh Ms. Fitzgerald. I would love to come over and see your bedroom etchings, as you call them. But I am a jealous lover and you are too sensual a woman to be held captive in the bonds of just one man. It would not be right for me to take you and hide you away from the bouquet of pleasures that you so longingly desire.” Ms. Fitzgerald blushed openly at Michael’s remarks.

“You darling boy. How right you are.” She rubbed Michael’s tight buttocks with her left hand then gave him a loving pat along the back pocket of his black slacks.

Melody snickered quietly to herself. Michael had masterfully called a woman of Ms. Fitzgerald wealth and power, a harlot and still come out smelling like a rose.

Ms. Fitzgerald content on finding new prey moved off towards two young men standing at the far side of the Gallery.

“Strikes two and three,” Melody said under her breath as she watched Ms. Fitzgerald approach the handsome young gents. “Those two are gay.” She then approached Michael just as he turned around to reposition the sculpture.

“I see you met Ms. Fitzgerald.”

“Yes she is quite charming. She said she would buy Angel Eyes if I came over to hang it and look at her private collection of sketches.’

“So are you?”

“No. I didn’t think it would be appropriate.”

Melody stood in amazement. Michael had just said no to a $4000.00 paycheck and a chance to have his work seen by every dignitary that ventured into the great hall of the Fitzgerald estate.

“Besides,” Michael continued, “I have room in my heart for only one passion.” As he said this he looked directly into her eyes than quickly averted his glance away to the painting behind her.

Heat rose into Melody’s neck and cheeks. “Excuse me,” she stammered, “I need to check on the champagne.”

Melody quickly exited, tripping over Michael’s foot as she passed him. For the rest of the night she avoided Michael. Not because of what he’d said or how he’d said it, but because of what she’d felt. She dared not fall into the charms of this well built artist with his broad shoulders, tender voice and quite confidence. A man years her junior with a dimpled smile and bright eyes, even if the mere mention of his name made her mind swirl in a hazy fog. She sighed heavily as her daydream of Michael flitted away.

The next morning Melody knocked on Debbie’s door. Debbie was Melody’s assistant, a girl of 25 years, who had graduated with a degree in art. Debbie was an up coming prodigy destined to either replace Melody or move on to a gallery of her own. “She has more energy ,”Melody had convinced herself late last night as she tossed and turned in her bed unable to get Michael’s gaze out of her mind. Deb would make an excellent rep for Michael’s work and her bold ideas would allow his talents to be showcased in such a manner that he could help but get the acclaim he deserves.

“Yes,” came a sweet voice from within.

“Debbie,” Melody stuck her head through the door. “It is high time for you to take on a little more responsibility. Therefore I am putting you in charge of Michael’s next show and all the viewing of his work there after. You can call and tell him today.” Melody quickly closed the door as the tears streaked down her cheeks.

Weeks went by and Melody acted the constant professional. Cordial in every way toward Michael, but all the while her heart tugged at her mind’s stubbornness. She wanted to be with him. Him and only him. But she dare not even harbor such thoughts. Melody had done her best to distance herself from him, but offering his account to her apprentice had done little to ease her troubled spirit.

Michael, she felt returned her politeness. He smiled at her when he came to the gallery. He continued to work hard and produced some marvelous work and, as Melody predicted, gained the attention of some high-ranking people in the industry.

“Oh Melody,” said Debbie the morning after Michael’s show. “You should have seen their faces. The people from the San Francisco Museum of Art. They were here you know. Last night at the show. They loved Michael and his work. It is a shame that you haven’t been feeling well. You know that is the second show you missed this month.”

Melody just smiled, hung her coat on the rack, and went into her office. Behind closed doors she sighed heavily and sat at her desk. And there propped on her day calendar was a hand written note written on the back of a Gallery Invitation. It read: “Good bye, Angel Eyes”

Melody’s heart raced. Was he leaving? Going away? She rushed to Debbie’s office. “I got this note from Michael” she panted outside the doorway “Is he leaving?”

“Yea, tomorrow” came Debbie’s bubbly reply. “He is going to San Francisco to do a showing. Most of his work is being shipped today except the four pieces he sold yesterday and the large panting of the sunset. That one he donated to the gallery as a thank you.”

No, thought Melody. He can’t just leave.

She rushed back to her office and flipped open her Rolodex. She dialed and waited. The phone rang and rang but there was no answer.

Her mind in turmoil, she grabbed her purse and flew out of the door. Debbie called after her but she made no attempt to slow down. “Just hold my calls,” she shouted without turning around.

Weaving through traffic in her BMW, Melody raced up the narrow streets of downtown Santa Clara to the warehouse district. She had been to Michael’s studio only once but she remembered that it was an old warehouse downtown. As she enter the area she searched frantically for the words Anaconda Steel written on the side of the building. It appeared in faded black on the tin building at the end of the row. There it was... Michael’s studio and home. Above the main floor, Michael had converted the upstairs office space into a studio apartment with the living quarters separated from the bedroom by glass blocks.

Screeching to a halt, she jumped from her car and rushed to the large steel door. She rang the doorbell. It wheezed out a tired buzz but no reply came from inside. Melody checked the door. Locked “Damn.” Where could he be? He should be here packing. She thought

Then from an open window on the second story, she heard the splash of water hitting concrete from a shower faucet. Melody tugged on the door again and then went to the window around the side. She pulled hard and the window yielded slightly leaving a 12-inch gap. Without thinking, she squeezed herself into the open space and fell onto the concrete floor.

Melody righted herself and slapped the dust from the floor off her black sport coat and skirt. Above her she could hear the sounds of a male voice whistling above the gentle splash of a shower. She walked quickly across the floor towards the sound, her high heels clicking loudly against the bare concrete.

As she headed up the stairs, she could smell the faint fragrance of an incense puck burning in its holder. The sweet fragrance drifted down the stairs and partially masked the damp odor of the old building Suddenly the shower stop. Melody froze with fear.

What if this wasn’t Michael, but somebody else? The thought of the trouble she could be in suddenly hit her like a truck.

“Melody you’re acting like some teenage schoolgirl. What are you thinking breaking into a man’s house and what’s worse it maybe the wrong house.” She turned to go, but froze with embarrassment as she heard his voice.

“Hi Melody. Did you come to say good bye?”

Melody looked up to meet his eyes. Her heart jumped again. He was dressed only in white overalls with his long damp hair flowing along his shoulders, taking her heart and making it soar.

“I am sorry to intrude. I was just leaving.”

“Please, Melody” his cheerful voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Stay. I want you to.”

Melody raced up the stairs like a fleeing sparrow and rushed into his outstretched arms, meeting his lips with full force.

Michael’s strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her into his soft mouth. His tongue gently slid past her lips as it searched for hers. Inside, a wave of emotion swept through her body. His kisses were like fine chocolate that she could devour every day for a lifetime. She clenched her arms tight around him pressing her lips further into his mouth. Their tongues intertwined as their mouths engulfed one another.

She felt him pull away and her heart sunk slightly.

He whispered into her ear. “Let me paint you.”

“Okay.” She replied without hesitation, unsure of his meaning but not caring as long his was touching her.

Effortlessly he scooped up her body and carried her into the loft apartment. Inside the door along the floor in the corner lay a mattress covered by a single white sheet. Beside the mattress resting in a cup were three paintbrushes of various sizes and a white rose, next to them lay a bottle of oil. An unopened bottle of wine, two glasses and a corkscrew occupied the other side of the mattress.

Michael lowered them both to the floor and Melody lay back against the bed. She pulled Michael into her again and their lips fell together. She could feel his heart pound into her chest as his body lowered down on top of her.

He lifted slightly from her body and Melody could feel his nimble hands release the buttons on her jacket, blouse and finally the plastic clasp of her brassiere. His hands traced the curves of her breasts and shoulders, then pushed the loose clothing off her arms.

Michael kissed her again then slowly moved his mouth down her neck across her shoulders. She could feel his wet tongue roam freely about her body as it went, sending nerve after nerve into a passionate quiver.

Finally he reached her firm breasts.

“Hmmm” she moaned arching her back and shoving her mounds into his lips.

Michael licked and massaged each breast in turn and then suckled the nipples. Melody closed her eyes, immersing herself in the pleasure his kisses brought.

“Oh God” she moaned.

Under the spell of passion, a month’s worth of the pent of frustration released without warning. It all bombarded her senses and she came, drenching her undergarments with her excitement.

Michael pulled away from her body again, sitting up beside her on the bed. He looked into her eyes, smiled, and warmly, slowly removed her skirt and panties from her waist. Michael leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips and whispered into her ear. “Melody, you are so beautiful.” She could feel the kind words against her skin and she relaxed her arms.

Feeling awkward about being naked, she blushed and moved her hand to cover herself. She could feel the wetness from her climax beneath her fingers.

Michael reached up and opened the wine. He ran the moist cork over her lips allowing her a tiny taste of the bottles’ contents. Then he grabbed her arms and placed them above her head, palms facing upward towards the tin roof. He placed the two glasses in her hands, one he filled with wine, the other he filled with massage oil.

He grabbed a paintbrush form the cup along side of bed. With gentle strokes he ran the soft tip along her brow, down her nose and across her lips. She could smell the clean bristles as it passed. With teasing strokes he dotted gently the nape of her neck and the soft flesh behind her ear. She trembled and twisted as the bristles tickled the base of her neck.

“Careful” he joked. “ Don’t want to upset the wine.”

He took another brush. This one had a thinner tip than the first but was just as soft. He dipped the end in the wine and passed it over her lips, allowing several drops to race down the pink skin and into her mouth. He traced her lips with the brush and then kissed away the excess wine with a slow, long kiss.

“Mmmm” she mused as he pulled away from her.

He dipped the brush back into the wine and traced her breasts with the brush. The drying wine on her nipples caused the flesh to stand semi-erect. With gentle strokes, he teased them further until they jutted outward. Then again he took them into his mouth sucking the wine from her body. Her nerves were on edge again as he toyed with her and she arched her back to meet his hungry mouth.

Next, Michael placed the wine-soaked brush back and took the rose from the cup. Dipping the full blossom into the oil he lubricated its white petals. Then with bold strokes he coated her body, starting at the legs then working his way across her stomach and along her arms. On the next pass he parted her legs with the rose and ran the soft petals along her wanting mound. Her lips swelled from the excitement, exposing the soft nub of her clitoris. Michael stroked the tiny bud with the rose until she shook from the pleasure.

Melody moaned softly as Michael raced the petals up and down her sex, the silky feeling arousing her more with each pass.

With his free hand Michael grabbed a third brush. This one had a tiny bristle head but a large bulbous shaft rounded at the end. Placing the rose down on Melody’s trimmed blonde pelt, Michael parted Melody’s now steaming flesh with his fingers, exposing her ripe clitoris. Michael quickly flipped the brush in his hand and proceeded to work Melody’s protruding flesh with the rounded wood handle. The oil from the rose continued to flow downward adding lubrication to the already soaked bud as he danced the wood handle along the hood of her clit.

Melody moaned again as her passion rose. Moisture seemed to flow from her body in a steady trickle. She twisted back and forth at her waist trying to keep her hands still. But he was teasing her every nerve now and the pleasure was so intense that she could barely keep still.

“Oh God” she screamed as Michael continued to play with her engorged sex. His fingers stroking in and out of her now. No longer relegated to teasing just her clit. She arched her hips and Michael slid his fingers deep inside of her, running his fingers along the roof of her womb, stroking her dripping sex like fine guitar. “Oh please make love to me now” she heard herself cry as her mind a body departed from each other.

Not missing a stroke Michael undid the buttons of his jumpsuit with a free hand, releasing his taunt flesh from its material confines. Melody let loose the glasses, which clattered along the concrete floor. She reached for his hard shaft, wanting to feel its girth before it penetrated her lusty crevasse.

She felt Michael quiver as her hand met his flesh. Her hands ran up and down the long pole of his penis and then down the underside caressing the warm fuzzy skin of his testes.

“Melody,” Michael whispered her name beneath her breath “I want to feel you.” And he straddled her waiting body.

Melody guided Michael’s flesh into her. She gasped as Michael’s thickness completely filled her. Still, he continued to press further into her. She had never felt such size inside her, yet her body greedily devoured him until at last she felt his hips press against her. Michael paused allowing Melody to get use to the feeling then in slow long rhythmic movements Michael began to move in and out of her.

The waiting and longing quickly came to a head and again Melody came. This time, coating Michael’s firing piston with her nectar. As her body recovered Michael picked up the pace, thrusting faster now and pulling himself further into her.

“Yes baby!” She cried as a third climax built up inside her

Michael again varied his thrusting with short fast strokes followed by several slow long ones. Melody arched her hips to meet his thrust as he pushed into her, wanting to feel more of his wonderful tool. This time it was Michael who cried out in ecstasy as his tip ran along the top of her slippery flesh. Sensing that he was on the verge of exploding, Melody wrapped her legs around Michael’s hips and he quickly began to move faster inside of her. With each stroke he pulled himself deeper into her until she felt him along the back of her sex.