Brushstrokes

All characters depicted
in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

Title: Brushstrokes

Author:
Lilith Fox

Kindle
Edition

This work of fiction is
© 2012 Lilith Fox. All rights reserved. This work of fiction may not be copied
or distributed by unauthorized parties.

Sandra was more excited
about tonight than she had ever been about anything in her life. It was her
first opportunity to meet a famous artist and it she was afraid that the
butterflies in her stomach would become too much for her to handle. All she
could do was ignore them and pray that her nerves would settle down in time for
the show

Getting ready had been
no small ordeal. It took several applications of shampoo to get the linseed oil
smell out of her hair from an accident she had in her makeshift studio that
morning. She was feeling overly inspired from looking at all of Leon's work in preparation for tonight and tried to create a few works of her own. While
the painting looked fine
—
at first
—
her accidentally
spilling clear oil while trying to dilute the opacity of her paint made a mess
of everything.

The picturesque cottage
gained a decidedly ghostly quality, while her desk and floor became impossible
to clean. She fell right on her behind as she tried to get a rag, which is why
she wound up in the shower for hours on end. As it turned out, oil made up of
molecules that small is nearly impossible to get rid of.

Upon hearing her alarm
clock in the other room, she quickly gave up on trying to completely remedy the
damage to her hair and jumped out of the shower.  "I only have an
hour and a half to get ready!"

Patting her curvy body
dry, she grimaced at her shape and her hair in the bathroom mirror. "The
other women there are all rail-thin. I am not going to even bother trying to
compete with them." She pulled her long blond hair back and scrutinized
herself closely. "A tight pony tail and a dress that flaunts my bust will
have to do."

After drying her hair,
she slicked it with what she thought was a decent-smelling hair product that
might be able to cover up the oil smell and tied a loose bun on the back of her
head.  She thought about the tall, broad man with the impossibly large
hands that she was hoping to meet tonight. The first time she saw Leon's work, she had only been an undergraduate student fresh out of High School. The
abstract colors and overt sexuality had offended her at first. After learning
more about how to create art herself, she marveled at his technique and longed to
be a part of the art world.

It seemed as if
everything that Leon touched turned to gold. Everything she touched, on the
other hand, seemed to fall short of what she envisioned. The oil all over her
spare bedroom that she dubbed a 'studio' was just one example. She shrugged off
the moment of self-pity and studied her nude body in the mirror one last time.
Her hips were wide, but her waist dipped inward and gave her form a pleasing
hourglass-like curvature. A man she used to see once told her that her teardrop
breasts looked as if they were the modeled after Botticelli’s Venus. The soft
mounds perked into pink rosettes that had left all of her lovers breathless.

She hoped that these
charms would be enough to attract the attention of Leon, if at least for a
moment of his time. Almost every artist she had met so far had been attracted
to women with smaller frames. Something about his art gave her the impression
that he was different than what she was used to. He gave all of his female
figures a decidedly worldly character, but whether he did this to appeal to
potential patrons or to express himself was up for debate.

Passing her hands over
her body slowly, she indulged in pretending that her touch was his, if only for
a moment. Remembering that the real Leon was already setting up his show a few
miles away, she jolted out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.

“I’ve got to get out of
here.” She said to no one in particular. Verbalizing her thoughts was a way to
keep herself focused. She pinned her stray hairs back with dark clips, pulled
on an attractive black slip and stepped into a flattering, yet ladylike dress.
A few minutes of expert makeup application later and she looked like a woman
poised to take on a man as daunting as the world-famous Leon.

***

He had been at the
gallery for some time before she walked in, her high heels announcing her
presence before she stepped fully into the main lobby. These were especially
tall heels, because she was of a slight build and read that Leon was an especially tall man. He was busy being especially bossy to the staff, yelling about the
quality of lighting and the incorrect wattage of the bulbs directly shining on
his work.

“The colors are far too
blue because of the piss poor bulb. I sent specific instructions, do you need
me to get on a ladder and change it myself?” The person he was directing his
frustration at seemed used to these types of angry outburst.

“No Mr. Leon, I’ll do it
myself in just a minute.”

The artist stood over a
foot and a half above the young man, who was of average height. Leon looked at him quietly, his silence louder than words. His presence seemed to expand
and take up most of the room, but his height and broad shoulders did not have
anything to do with it. As Sandra stepped into the room, she could not help but
to feel physically moved by the air of greatness.

This is Leon!
She thought,
as giddy and nervous as any school girl walking up to her idol.
Such genius,
such talent! I wish I had the creativity that he does.
In spite of the knot
in her stomach, she continued her confident gait towards him, blind to all
other people and obstacles in the area.
All I want is to do is introduce
myself. I can do this; I’m a damn professional.

She walked into his
invisible bubble and he turned directly towards her, his eyes a piercing blue
that almost stopped her in her tracks. His physical presence was remarkable. It
was also overwhelming. She felt dwarfed by everything about him, from his large
frame to his spectacular and sensual works of art on the wall behind him. There
was something in his eyes as he looked at her that was so intense that instead
of sending tingles up her spine, it set it on fire.

She swallowed slightly,
undetectably. “Hello, Leon. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

She felt his eyes taking
her apart in the same way that he probably deconstructed and reconstructed his
works of art. She had been around enough artists to know how most of them
studied their subjects. She felt more than ever that if she ever were to faint
in her life, this would be the right time for it to happen.

After a moment of
thought, which seemed more like hours under the intensity of his gaze, he
finally responded, “I would say the same, but you did not give me your name.”
The inflection in his voice had changed drastically
, as
if something or someone had dramatically improved his outlook on the day ahead.

“Sandra.” She choked her
name out as smoothly as she could. Stepping up to him and making dreams meet
reality was easy. Letting go of her fantasies of this meeting and replacing
them with what might end up being a cold, hard reality was terrifying. Then
again, she had never dreamed that being in his presence would feel larger than
life.

He smiled slightly on
the right side of his mouth as he undoubtedly noticed her struggle with her own
name. “Pleasure to meet you, Sandra.”

It felt as if time
stopped when she heard her name come from his lips. She envisioned at least a
dozen other scenarios of this moment, but she never contemplated feeling
thunderstruck in any one of them. The power in his voice was audible even as it
sounded out the soft vowels in her name.

She realized that he was
staring at her. Coming to her senses, she willed her knees to hold her up and
confidently thrust her hand outwards, making eye contact. This was something
she had been trained to do school. Whenever overwhelmed or meeting someone more
powerful than herself, she knew to bridge the physical distance as soon as
possible to create a sense of equal footing. It was a good thing that this had
become a kneejerk reaction and did not require thought on her park, because her
brain was tied up in the sound of her name on his lips.

He took her hand, an
amused look on his face. His hands engulfed hers, which were at least half the
size of his gargantuan ones. She knew that the rough hands now touching hers
were responsible for creating countless works of art known the world over. She
did not even have any real idea as to how many sculptures he had freed from
their stone or paintings he had made. Her hands, small and soft, had been
trying to emulate his example and create for years. The rough, large and
extremely warm hand was joined by its mate, clapping themselves around her one
hand.

With her hands being to
perspire, she suddenly felt like a bug. This man was enjoying this the same way
that a scientist looks at a bug under a microscope. His eyes were keenly
interested in her reaction to him. The flat blue took on a mischievous look to
them. For a moment, she felt that she could do anything with this man.

“I’ll tell you what,
Cherie.” He looked to his right at something Sandra could not see. “Let us
continue this introduction after the show. I have much to do, but you are too
lovely. Perhaps we can discuss you sitting for me,
oui
?”

She had always thought
French was a pretentious-sounding language until she heard it come out of his
mouth.
Cherie? Oh lord, don’t let me pass out now!
She nodded helplessly
and he made his leave of her, turning to the gaggle of rail-post men and women
setting up his works. His voice boomed at them and they all immediately went
into action.

Sit for him? Talk later?
She began walking
aimlessly to try to look unaffected by their meeting. It was only when she
noticed that she had nothing to do except to setup the reception area that her
steps had purpose again.
I’m sure he just said that to be kind.
She was
trying to come up with ways to soften the blow that was sure to come later.
He
was probably just trying not to seem so abrasive after yelling at the setup
crew.
Discretely patting her palms dry on her dress, she began the task of
setting up the check-in area and all of the paraphernalia. She would just have
to try to act like a professional until the end of the evening. Thinking about Leon walking around her all night, she readied herself for what was sure to be a rough few
hours.

***

As she had predicted, it
had been rough. The constant influx of guests kept her extremely busy, but she
was unable to resist glancing in Leon’s direction throughout the show. To make
matters worse, he always looked back, as if he could sense her eyes on him.
There were even a few instances where she felt as if she were being looked at,
but she did not have the courage to check it was her imagination or his eyes
that she felt. She preferred to pretend that it was really him and not just her
imagination.

With the show coming to
an end, she had to turn people away at the door and turn the key. There was no
shortage of crowds tonight. Looking over her check-in sheets, she saw upwards
of 1,000 names. This was an astronomical number for such a small space. Leon insisted on the small space when he signed his contract, saying that intimacy was
crucial to viewing his work.

Sandra was lost in her
own thoughts and counting up guests when she had to suddenly stop short.
Looking up from her clipboard, she caught the gaze of flat blue eyes with
intense pupils looking right at her. “Oh! So sorry, Mr. Leon. I wasn’t,”

“Looking where you were
going? Clearly. You looked busy.”

Her brain failed her in
the shadow of this gorgeous, giant of a man. All she had was backup small
talk.  “Well, it was a very busy show.”

He smiled proudly. “Yes,
yes it was. Very good overall.”

“It kept me busy with so
many people to keep happy while waiting in line to get in.”