suits,
the three of them arguing over unpaid debts. But she says nothing. He would
never understand such a vision.
He
gives her shoulder a light squeeze. "I'll take you home on the way."
She
hesitates. "I was hoping to get to know Chase a little better."
Jax
pauses, glances at the new model. "Excuse us."
Chase
nods and moves away, pretending not to hear anything more. He approaches an
unfinished sculpture that stands alone by a large bay window overlooking the street
below.
"Alone?
Are you crazy, Michelle?" Jax hisses into her ear. "We don't know
this clown!"
"I
will be fine."
He
curses under his breath. "I'm not leaving you alone with a stranger."
"You
are forgetting something, Jax."
"Yeah,
what's that?"
"I
know. I can see—"
"Don't
give me that crap. You're blind as a bat and you know it."
"I
can see, Jax," she replies, undaunted. "I can see the good in people,
the Light." She smiles. "Chase is a shining star."
He
releases a long sigh of exasperation. "There's no reasoning with you.
There never is." He shakes his head. "All right, Michelle. You're a
big girl. You're on your own here. And you've got my number." His heels
clap across the floor as he leaves without another word, slamming the door
behind him.
Michelle
remains seated for a moment in the silence, the womb of all her creativity.
Then she rises to her feet.
"Have
you found it, Chase?"
He
turns from the sculpture at the window. "What?"
She
faces him across the studio and smiles. "Yes, I thought you had."
Judging each step before making it, she starts toward him. "Tell me, what
do you think?"
He
looks the sculpture over one more time, his gaze traversing every line and
crevice. "It's beautiful," he says without reservation.
The
attention to detail is incredible, as perfect as Michelangelo's David —a
life-sized sculpture of the human body, every feature portrayed with stunning
realism. It looks as if it could come alive at any moment and begin walking
around the room. Only it has no head.
"You're
almost finished?"
"Yes,"
Michelle nods and comes abreast of it, and her fingertips trace the swell of
its white marble chest. "We should have it completed by the benefit, I am
certain."
"We?
You mean—"
"Yes,
Chase. This is why I need you." Her fingers crawl up over the rough
plateau that is the base of its neck. "You will give it a head,
Chase."
He
stares at her.
"What?"
She steps toward him.
"I—I
don't know." He scratches at his neck. "I guess I feel honored."
A
smile forms on her lips. She seems to watch him for a moment. "Well, then.
Shall we begin?"
"Tonight?"
"Yes."
"But
I thought—I mean, Jax said—"
"Jax
does not run this studio, as much as he would like to think so. I work when I
feel creative. And right now, such is the case. So, if you are with me . .
."
He
grins another half-smile. "Let's do it."
Michelle
gathers her supplies together, and in no time she is mixing the ingredients of
her art, bare hands moving with familiarity through what looks like a bowl of
grey batter.
"Cement?"
Chase chuckles, knowing better.
"It
is a clay I concocted during my last sculpture—quite versatile." She
wipes her hands off on a stained and ratty towel. "Chase, would you turn
off the lights, please?"
"Of
course." With a puzzled frown, he heads over to the switch beside the
office door and flicks it, plunging the studio into darkness.
"There." His voice echoes.
"Thank
you."
He
faces the sound of her voice. One step at a time, one foot in front of the
other, he makes his way back to the rough planks of her work table. Pulling out
the stool across from her, he sits and waits.
"Back
so soon?" She no longer wears her sunglasses. Her milky-blue eyes stare
ahead, vacant of attitude or regard.
"I-uh,
followed your voice."
She
smiles. "That's the trick." She reaches for his face as would a
hungry prisoner for a lone scrap of bread. "Are you ready?"
He
leans toward her and closes his eyes as her fingertips fly across his forehead
and chin,
the three of them arguing over unpaid debts. But she says nothing. He would
never understand such a vision.
He
gives her shoulder a light squeeze. "I'll take you home on the way."
She
hesitates. "I was hoping to get to know Chase a little better."
Jax
pauses, glances at the new model. "Excuse us."
Chase
nods and moves away, pretending not to hear anything more. He approaches an
unfinished sculpture that stands alone by a large bay window overlooking the street
below.
"Alone?
Are you crazy, Michelle?" Jax hisses into her ear. "We don't know
this clown!"
"I
will be fine."
He
curses under his breath. "I'm not leaving you alone with a stranger."
"You
are forgetting something, Jax."
"Yeah,
what's that?"
"I
know. I can see—"
"Don't
give me that crap. You're blind as a bat and you know it."
"I
can see, Jax," she replies, undaunted. "I can see the good in people,
the Light." She smiles. "Chase is a shining star."
He
releases a long sigh of exasperation. "There's no reasoning with you.
There never is." He shakes his head. "All right, Michelle. You're a
big girl. You're on your own here. And you've got my number." His heels
clap across the floor as he leaves without another word, slamming the door
behind him.
Michelle
remains seated for a moment in the silence, the womb of all her creativity.
Then she rises to her feet.
"Have
you found it, Chase?"
He
turns from the sculpture at the window. "What?"
She
faces him across the studio and smiles. "Yes, I thought you had."
Judging each step before making it, she starts toward him. "Tell me, what
do you think?"
He
looks the sculpture over one more time, his gaze traversing every line and
crevice. "It's beautiful," he says without reservation.
The
attention to detail is incredible, as perfect as Michelangelo's David —a
life-sized sculpture of the human body, every feature portrayed with stunning
realism. It looks as if it could come alive at any moment and begin walking
around the room. Only it has no head.
"You're
almost finished?"
"Yes,"
Michelle nods and comes abreast of it, and her fingertips trace the swell of
its white marble chest. "We should have it completed by the benefit, I am
certain."
"We?
You mean—"
"Yes,
Chase. This is why I need you." Her fingers crawl up over the rough
plateau that is the base of its neck. "You will give it a head,
Chase."
He
stares at her.
"What?"
She steps toward him.
"I—I
don't know." He scratches at his neck. "I guess I feel honored."
A
smile forms on her lips. She seems to watch him for a moment. "Well, then.
Shall we begin?"
"Tonight?"
"Yes."
"But
I thought—I mean, Jax said—"
"Jax
does not run this studio, as much as he would like to think so. I work when I
feel creative. And right now, such is the case. So, if you are with me . .
."
He
grins another half-smile. "Let's do it."
Michelle
gathers her supplies together, and in no time she is mixing the ingredients of
her art, bare hands moving with familiarity through what looks like a bowl of
grey batter.
"Cement?"
Chase chuckles, knowing better.
"It
is a clay I concocted during my last sculpture—quite versatile." She
wipes her hands off on a stained and ratty towel. "Chase, would you turn
off the lights, please?"
"Of
course." With a puzzled frown, he heads over to the switch beside the
office door and flicks it, plunging the studio into darkness.
"There." His voice echoes.
"Thank
you."
He
faces the sound of her voice. One step at a time, one foot in front of the
other, he makes his way back to the rough planks of her work table. Pulling out
the stool across from her, he sits and waits.
"Back
so soon?" She no longer wears her sunglasses. Her milky-blue eyes stare
ahead, vacant of attitude or regard.
"I-uh,
followed your voice."
She
smiles. "That's the trick." She reaches for his face as would a
hungry prisoner for a lone scrap of bread. "Are you ready?"
He
leans toward her and closes his eyes as her fingertips fly across his forehead
and chin,
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