| Subject: À la Vie! – Chapter 8 |
Author:
Diane
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Date Posted: Sunday, October 24, 06:01:49am
In reply to:
Diane
's message, "À la Vie!" on Tuesday, October 19, 01:16:54am
Chapter 8
Michael made his first million dollars before he was twenty-five. He had opened galleries in Marseilles, Paris, London, New York, Los Angeles, and Tokyo. It was from this last gallery that he had just returned to the Marseilles gallery, and was feeling extremely jet-lagged, as well as gratified. He would be thirty next month, and he would be a millionaire several times over. The money was a bonus, no doubt, and he wouldn’t give it back, but Michael enjoyed working for the sheer pleasure of what he did. He had excellent taste, and an eye for the most exquisite treasures in the world. He still painted when he could, and his collection of beach scenes was famous all over the world. Many of these paintings featured a small girl with long, white-blonde hair wearing a long black T-shirt. Michael would never acknowledge who she was—his daughter? Childhood sweetheart? Muse? Whoever she was, Michael wasn’t telling, and the mystery only added to the allure of his paintings.
Down the street, Gray Wellman was having difficulty with one of his new models. Surely she knew that the beaches in France were topless? So why, then, was she so determined not to remove the top of her bikini?
“I told you,” Nikita said, facing Gray firmly, “I don’t do nude shots. It’s in my contract.”
“But this isn’t nude,” the photographer protested. “You are still wearing your panties.”
“It’s the same thing,” Nikita maintained stubbornly.
Gray ran his fingers through his ash blond hair. He looked at Nikita appraisingly. She was old, as far as models went. At least 24, which is why she was probably doing print work instead of hitting the runway scene. Still, her legs were incredible, and those eyes. So blue you could fall right into them.
“Let’s take a break,” he said wearily. “I need to reload, anyway.”
Nikita stepped out from under the bright lights and donned a light robe. She wasn’t so sure this was a good idea after all. Her manager told her that Gray was one of the best, but he didn’t tell her about the skimpy clothes she would be wearing. Ever since her “discovery” three years ago at an embassy party, she had done mostly print work, but generally hair, make-up and skincare ads for women’s magazines. Nikita was not comfortable with displaying her body, and her manager, Mick Schtoppel, had never insisted.
Gray was wracking his brain for a way to get Nikita to loosen up. She probably didn’t do coke, and she had adamantly refused the glass of wine he had offered earlier. Maybe he could slip something in her soft-drink.
“So, Michael, what’s next on the agenda?” his office manager inquired. Michael hated Perry Bauer with a passion but he had to admit, the man was good at what he did. Michael chose to ignore the rumors about Perry’s private life, as long as no hint as scandal touched Samuelle’s.
“You know I’ll be going to San Francisco at the end of the next month, but first I need to visit my father in Turkey.” The ambassador’s health had been in rapid decline in the last six months, and Michael felt obligated to pay him what could be a final visit.
“Right,” said Bauer. “I’ll book your flight for the end of the week.”
“Thank you,” said Michael quietly, stifling a yawn. He needed to retire to his loft and catch up on some sleep. Business could wait until morning. He turned to go.
“Oh, just one other thing.” Damnez-le! thought Michael. Almost made it.
“The private investigator you hired called. It seems that he has found a Roberta Wirth in San Francisco. She emigrated from Australia about 10-15 years ago.”
Michael’s heart beat faster. It’s just a name, he told himself. She could be anyone.
“Thank you,” he answered calmly. “I assume his number is on my desk?”
When Bauer answered in the affirmative, Michael told him that he would handle it in the morning, and left the gallery.
Nikita was still wearing the bikini, but now she was modeling hats. Big, floppy, silly hats. This was fun, she realized, mugging for the camera. She turned this way and that, bending the brims forward and back. She couldn’t stop giggling. Gray didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to be amused by the whole thing, and very, very pleased. Until Nikita threw up. It happened so fast neither one of them had time to react. She just fell to her knees and started vomiting. The room started spinning. She had never felt so sick. She couldn’t even raise her eyes to look at Gray. Which was just as well, because he was furious. He had wasted two whole rolls of film on those freaking hats until the drugs made her relaxed enough to take off her bra, and then she had to start puking everywhere.
“I think we’re finished here,” he said coldly. “Get dressed and go home.” He packed up his bags and left the studio. Nikita lay on the floor for a full thirty minutes before she could sit up and then crawl over to the dressing room. When she came out, she looked at Gray’s studio. What a mess. She wrinkled her nose. Oh, well—it wasn’t like she was ever going to work with him again!
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