Insight
Her
fingertips trace the sunburned curves of his face, gliding through coarse
stubble, neglecting nothing. She frowns at times as her fingers make the
journey. Then she smiles, parts her lips as if to speak. But no words escape.
She is silent as she travels.
"Well?"
The man behind her is dressed in black, his face and head clean-shaven. Gold
rings pierce both ears. He stands leaning to the right, holding a clipboard.
"What do you think, Michelle? Is he the one?"
She
frowns, disturbed by this interruption. Her fingertips linger on the face of
the young man before her.
"Wait,
Jax," she murmurs. "Another moment."
Her
fingers slide down from the man's temples again, feeling the shape of his broad
jaw. There she stops. She nods to herself and removes her hands as a pleasant
smile spreads across her moist, full lips.
"Yes."
She nods. "He is the one."
"About
time." Jax circles a name on the clipboard with a black marker and turns
away, his sharp boot heels echoing in the bare studio. "I'll let these
other jokers know they can beat it." The door to the outer office slams
shut behind him.
"Does
this mean I get the job?"
Michelle
faces the voice of the man before her. They are alone here now, in a silence
neither one seems to find uncomfortable.
"Yes,"
she says. She inclines her head to one side. "What is your name?"
"Chase."
He shrugs with a half-smile, and his clear blue eyes continue to study the
woman sitting across from him.
Despite
her youth, a few streaks of grey have trespassed through her black hair, cut to
brush her delicate shoulders. Her complexion is fair; she wears no jewelry. A
dark, form-fitting bodice and full skirt slims her already slender figure.
Hiding her eyes, she wears wire-rimmed sunglasses.
"Sorry,"
Chase catches himself staring.
A
slight smile plays on her lips. "Have you ever worked as a model
before?" Her voice is tranquil and melodic, like faint elfin music on a
summer's night.
"No.
But I know I can do it, whatever it involves. I need the money—"
"You
have the job, Chase. I was just curious, that is all." She releases a sigh
borne not of impatience nor intolerance, but of contentment. "Have you any
family here in the city?"
"No."
He clears his throat, a self-conscious tick.
She
nods to herself, as if she already knew the answer. "The hours will be
long for you here. At times, they will pass excruciatingly slow. You may be bored
out of your mind."
He
chuckles. "I think I can handle that. My-uh last job just about killed me.
Construction."
She
nods. "You are very strong."
He
chuckles again. "Well, I'd like to think so."
The
door from the front office bangs open. Jax returns, boot heels striking the
floor without mercy.
"Okay."
He consults his clipboard. "Your name's Chase—is that it?" He fixes
his sharp eyes on the young man.
"Uh-yes."
Chase gets up from the stool. "Yes, Mister—"
"Just
call me Jax, kid." He looks down at Michelle. "Have you explained the
deal to him yet?"
"No,
Jax." She sits on the stool between the two men, her gaze set on a point
midway between the floor and the far wall.
Jax
sighs, dropping the clipboard to his side. "You know it's a modeling
job—right, kid?"
Chase
nods. "That's what I've been told."
"All
right." He gestures toward the woman seated between them. "Michelle
here, she's a sculptor. One of the most gifted artists in the country— the most gifted I've ever come across. We've got a benefit showing of her work
slated two nights from tonight." He points at Chase. "And you are
going to be part of her crowning achievement." He glances at his watch.
"So be here tomorrow at sunrise and plan to spend the next forty-eight
hours of your life pent-up in this fire trap."
Chase
nods, shuffles his feet.
Jax
rests a hand on Michelle's shoulder, and she turns to face him.
"I've
got to run, girl. A jerk across town still thinks I'm his agent."
Inwardly
she cringes, seeing him in a dark strip club with two unfamiliar men in
Her
fingertips trace the sunburned curves of his face, gliding through coarse
stubble, neglecting nothing. She frowns at times as her fingers make the
journey. Then she smiles, parts her lips as if to speak. But no words escape.
She is silent as she travels.
"Well?"
The man behind her is dressed in black, his face and head clean-shaven. Gold
rings pierce both ears. He stands leaning to the right, holding a clipboard.
"What do you think, Michelle? Is he the one?"
She
frowns, disturbed by this interruption. Her fingertips linger on the face of
the young man before her.
"Wait,
Jax," she murmurs. "Another moment."
Her
fingers slide down from the man's temples again, feeling the shape of his broad
jaw. There she stops. She nods to herself and removes her hands as a pleasant
smile spreads across her moist, full lips.
"Yes."
She nods. "He is the one."
"About
time." Jax circles a name on the clipboard with a black marker and turns
away, his sharp boot heels echoing in the bare studio. "I'll let these
other jokers know they can beat it." The door to the outer office slams
shut behind him.
"Does
this mean I get the job?"
Michelle
faces the voice of the man before her. They are alone here now, in a silence
neither one seems to find uncomfortable.
"Yes,"
she says. She inclines her head to one side. "What is your name?"
"Chase."
He shrugs with a half-smile, and his clear blue eyes continue to study the
woman sitting across from him.
Despite
her youth, a few streaks of grey have trespassed through her black hair, cut to
brush her delicate shoulders. Her complexion is fair; she wears no jewelry. A
dark, form-fitting bodice and full skirt slims her already slender figure.
Hiding her eyes, she wears wire-rimmed sunglasses.
"Sorry,"
Chase catches himself staring.
A
slight smile plays on her lips. "Have you ever worked as a model
before?" Her voice is tranquil and melodic, like faint elfin music on a
summer's night.
"No.
But I know I can do it, whatever it involves. I need the money—"
"You
have the job, Chase. I was just curious, that is all." She releases a sigh
borne not of impatience nor intolerance, but of contentment. "Have you any
family here in the city?"
"No."
He clears his throat, a self-conscious tick.
She
nods to herself, as if she already knew the answer. "The hours will be
long for you here. At times, they will pass excruciatingly slow. You may be bored
out of your mind."
He
chuckles. "I think I can handle that. My-uh last job just about killed me.
Construction."
She
nods. "You are very strong."
He
chuckles again. "Well, I'd like to think so."
The
door from the front office bangs open. Jax returns, boot heels striking the
floor without mercy.
"Okay."
He consults his clipboard. "Your name's Chase—is that it?" He fixes
his sharp eyes on the young man.
"Uh-yes."
Chase gets up from the stool. "Yes, Mister—"
"Just
call me Jax, kid." He looks down at Michelle. "Have you explained the
deal to him yet?"
"No,
Jax." She sits on the stool between the two men, her gaze set on a point
midway between the floor and the far wall.
Jax
sighs, dropping the clipboard to his side. "You know it's a modeling
job—right, kid?"
Chase
nods. "That's what I've been told."
"All
right." He gestures toward the woman seated between them. "Michelle
here, she's a sculptor. One of the most gifted artists in the country— the most gifted I've ever come across. We've got a benefit showing of her work
slated two nights from tonight." He points at Chase. "And you are
going to be part of her crowning achievement." He glances at his watch.
"So be here tomorrow at sunrise and plan to spend the next forty-eight
hours of your life pent-up in this fire trap."
Chase
nods, shuffles his feet.
Jax
rests a hand on Michelle's shoulder, and she turns to face him.
"I've
got to run, girl. A jerk across town still thinks I'm his agent."
Inwardly
she cringes, seeing him in a dark strip club with two unfamiliar men in
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