Alex Evans was as handsome as Perle remembered.
She was relieved that, in nights of loneliness, her imagination had not embellished the man whom she had met in her art gallery.
Now was their second meeting. It was not an art gallery in the city but in his home. He was on his land. He was in his own environment.
He sat on the edge of a large leather armchair with his elbows on his knees. Alex had Leo talking about the piece of art Alex had recently purchased. To Perle’s surprise, Leo had totally forgotten his intended snotty, arrogant artist attitude. Before coming, he had determined to be an ass, which he had decided was his signature. However, Alex had done something that erased Leo’s signature.
Perle was impressed by Alex’s power to crack people that he just met. She believed this man’s attention, his intense eyes, made people want to expose their hidden selves—to drop their hard, outer shell. People were willing to let Alex see them in a deep sense. Naked.
He had done it to her. Now Leo too. The little terror of an artist had shed his shell in front of this mystifying man. Leo was sharing so willingly. He was even laughing and being funny.
It must be because an inscrutable man, like Alex, was interested in the conversation when it was atypical for men, like Alex, to do so.
Meanwhile, there was Perle.
Sitting with Leo and Alex, she let the pair talk. It was best—sort of. Yet, it caused a torrent to rage inside her.
She understood Leo and Alex’s conversation was what an artist and his buyer should do. Most artists don’t talk with their art buyers, and, even more, despise the people with the money—even though that money makes life survivable as an artist. To be honest, survivability comes from either the collector or the artist’s wealthy parents.
Perle had connected Alex and Leo, which was great for her business. More big sales may be in the offing between Leo and Alex. Even more, Alex was likely to return to Perle as a curator he trusts and who knows his likes. She might be the one who leads him to more intriguing pieces. Those were the benefits of Leo and Alex’s conversation. But then there was what caused the hidden tornado inside her. Frankly, Perle wanted Alex to focus on her. Not on Leo. Not on the stupid artwork. She wanted Alex.
As her mind wandered off, she scanned the large den. On each wall hung a trophy from Alex’s hunting—an elk, a bison. She shivered at the ugliness of a rough-skinned boar with grisly tusks.
Perle suddenly came-to when Leo’s hand patted her shoulder.
“Perle saw my art with papier-mâché, and she was in love with it immediately. Right, Perle?”
She smiled but did not have a moment to answer aloud. Leo didn’t stop speaking.
“The piece is one of my favorites. It launched me from flat paintings to my new era of three-dimensional art on canvas.”
Alex leaned back in his chair, relaxed. He crossed his legs. A risen pant leg showed ostrich-skin cowboy boots with intricate stitching.
Alex’s forehead was creased in thought.
“The dimensional aspect of the art intrigued me,” he said. “It must have been a hard transition, moving from one style to another.”
“It was tough, sure. Mainly, though, listen to this, because of the necessary space! My tiny studio didn’t allow me to spread out my work to dry.”
Hearing that, Perle hoped he would not mention her. She did not want to be a part of his story—except professionally. The thing was that around the time when Leo launched this new style that she allowed him into her condo. She let Leo in further than she should have allowed. He became a couch bum and then his oddities emerged—punishment with dog collars and a leather isolation hood. They made her cringe, particularly now when Alex was only a few feet from her.
Then, Alex brought Perle’s full attention into the conversation when he spoke.
“The art work struck me as—I can only think of the word ‘exotic.’ But I don’t mean like a rainforest or safari. It had an underside, if that makes sense.”
“Sure it does,” Leo said happily, and he continued to ramble.
Exotic? Perle ruminated on the word.
The Hockerman painting, which had captured Alex that night—the piece that had rushed him back to a summer as a teen in Michigan—was what Perle hoped would be more than exotic. Leo’s papier-mâché piece had not whisked Alex to a bygone place. Over that, Perle wanted Alex to love that magical Hockerman, to love that she had brought it, to love her.
“I cannot be more pleased that it was available at the gallery. It suits my collection so well.” Alex stood abruptly. “Let me show the art collection and where I placed the piece.”
“You hung it up?” Leo asked.
Perle was last to stand. Her mind had never been intrigued by their conversation. As a dealer and gallery manager, she should have been involved somewhat. Despite her churning, she had to remind herself again that A. Evans Collectors could be buyers for future art and for art events. After the first purchase of a major piece, the second and third would be easier. However, her business, honestly, had fallen second to infatuation.
Alex led Leo and Perle into a long dining room. It stretched the length of the large house. The walls were jam-packed with framed artwork. The interior design concept was simply to leave as little space as possible on the wall.
Looking up, Perle noticed a theme of abstract art. Smears of color and swipes of paint on canvas. Cubed and rounded forms. Distorted facial features. Further down the wall, the artwork style transformed to multimedia. Mixed media with textile and the fabric of a ship sail. A cardboard piece. Then came Leo’s papier-mâché.
Leo rushed up to it in admiration. Alex came next to him.
“Your work matched with what I’m always looking for.”
Perle’s heart sank into her stomach when she heard that. She immediately questioned her decision to give Alex the Hockerman piece. It would not match. It was not abstract. It was not three-dimensional. It didn’t fit what he was always looking for.
The churning inside her turned into sickness. A cramping. She was lost. Her mind had gone abstract in its own way.
Her eyes aimed at some odd piece, although it didn’t register in her mind.
“I’m glad you came, Perle.”
She heard her name. The word yanked her back into the room with walls plastered in art.
“Oh, oh, yes,” she bumbled, “I would have it no other way.”
Caught up in a whirlwind of feelings, she didn’t know how to stop talking. “Leo needed to meet you, he is young and can be influenced, I just thought I could— could connect every— everyone. Mmhmm.” Her run-on crashed.
Alex let a grin move his lips. “I owe you a lot,” he said softly.
Her eyes widened. “Owe?”
He gently tugged his shirt collar. “I owe you for connecting me to his painting. And I owe you … You, well, caught me in a questionable place.”
Her face must have spoken.
“You remember, right?” he asked. “In the gallery, staring.”
Perle felt her cheeks warm. Like him remembering her name, it was special that he recalled the evening in the gallery. These were very simple things, but, to her, they were like cathedrals and mountain ranges. Not characterless and never forgotten.
“Ah, yes. The gallery,” she said.
“Perle, I owe you an explanation,” he said. “A lot of things were happening with business and my property—this plot of land. I was not myself that night. I apologize for—”
“Apologize?” Perle asked, astoundedly. To her, no explanation, and by no means, an apology, were needed. Quite the opposite.
“Yes, I should not have been so blunt, so forthright. Teenage dreams and things. It’s not the persona that I wish to convey. Then I went way too far.”
She countered. “There was nothing wrong with the evening.”
“I just needed … We did some inappropriate things that I would not typically do. It’s not like me.”
“Well, I pushed.”
“But you were doing business. A curator has to learn about the buyer.”
“Business? That is not how I conduct, how I connect buyers with pieces of art. No, no, no.” She shook her head, her long earrings brushing her neck.
He stroked his face down to the end of his chin. “It’s just that, you might have been involved with someone or been in a vulnerable place.”
“I’m not and I wasn’t, so we can stop the I’m-sorry’s.”
In a tense pause where anything might happen, he changed the subject from apologies to an even worse topic for Perle.
“I saw there was a crated shipment that came with you.”
“Yes, um…” Now, she was the one tugging at her shirt collar. She straightened the tiny sapphire on her necklace, centering it between her collarbones.
How was she supposed to explain this? There was only one way.
“I thought you might like it. A gift. It may not go with this gallery though,” she said.
“My gallery is somewhat wild and broad.”
“Trust me.”
“Leo,” he called, waving him over, “we’re going to look at a gift. Come with us.”
Soon, the three of them were in the empty bay of a large garage. The floors were smooth and painted a dull gray. No oil or stains spotted it. In the center was the crate. The carriers had loosened the crate’s edge, so Alex easily reached in the narrow side.
“She says it’s a gift,” he said to Leo. “Did you know about this?”
“Not a clue.”
“Now I’m really wondering.”
He pulled out the Hockerman painting: The shapely woman whisked in golden paint against the plain pattern. When Alex realized what it was, he was silent. He only stared and stroked his chin.
Waiting there, Perle was sick at this whole situation. Embarrassing, awkward, and yet hopeful, albeit a quickly waning hope.
“That’s so ugly!” Leo blurted out, like a toddler unexpectedly puking. “So, like, 70s with a Pottery Barn twist. I wouldn’t hang that anywhere. Can we burn it?”
As he gagged, Perle and Alex were quiet.
Finally, Alex looked at Perle. They connected. He said gently, “Of all things.”
“Hey, Alex,” Leo said, interrupting the connection, “if I had known what it was, I wouldn’t’ve let her bring it. Don’t blame me.”
Perle softly cleared her parched throat. “I thought it would be best here. Nowhere else.”
However, to her mortification, Alex took her hand and shook it firmly. She knew a businessman’s shake. Then, he concluded the meeting.
“I’ll have to end this.” He checked his chronograph watch. “I have my next appointment in a half-hour.”
As he led them out of the garage, he asked about their flight home. By then, Perle had shielded herself with a guise to look strong and unemotional. He raised his businessman’s persona. She had to raise hers as well. Curator and buyer.
“We’re not going to attempt to fly out tonight,” Perle said. “Leo could use some fresh air, so we’re staying at the Frontier Inn.”
“I know where that is. A nice little place.”
“Backwoods, if anything,” Leo puked again. “But I am letting this place settle me. I’m trying to soak in what I can.”
Alex next shook his hand. “Soak in all you can at the Saloon Steakhouse.”
The three parted. On the way to the Frontier, Leo rambled, but Perle was trying to sort out what had happened. She didn’t want to reconcile his businessman’s handshake, the true apology, and the enigmatic reaction to her gift. It hurt.
Over a small dinner at the Saloon, she concluded that he was not interested in going further. Their night was just that—a night. No two nights. No more nights. Alex, she determined, would be a dream. In time, with the lacerations on her soul, he was to be that ugly boar with grisly tusks. And she did not want to be near a beast like that.
So upset, that at dinner, she checked for last-minute flights home so she could curl up and cry in her bed, the only place to heal. There was a plane leaving around midnight. From now to then would be an eternity in range of Alex.
She bought the ticket at full price. Only one seat. Leo would be left behind. As would Alex.
After dinner, Leo was in the next room while Perle packed her small carry-on suitcase. Finally done, she yanked the zipper around the case. She sat on the hard couch, leaving the bag in the center of the bed. Her jaw was clenched and her forehead was tense.
A ping on her phone woke her from stewing.
A text from Alex.
Coming to frontier. Be ready to leave.
It confused and surprised her. There were so many ways she could reply. An emotional explosion. Nuclear anger. A frosty no-thank-you. A professional decline. She opted for.
?
The reply to her.
Shoes on. No Leo.
What did Alex have in mind? She had four hours before her flight time. And, while it would be easy to get through security at the small airport, she intended to be at the gate well before then. It was her intent to be inaccessible behind government security—no access without a ticket.
Nevertheless, she slid her feet into her flats.
Soon there was a hard knock at the door.
Alex.
He grabbed her hand. “Let’s go.”
She let herself be tugged off. So much anger melted at his grip, leaving behind invisible wet prints where she stepped.
Alex sped his truck to his house. He didn’t speak on the drive. Perle remained silent too.
Alex rushed them upstairs. He opened the door to his wide bedroom. She was shocked when she entered.
The Hockerman hanged proudly and prominently.
She didn’t move.
Large hands touched her shoulders.
“I would not put it anywhere else,” he said lightly.
Perle was astounded.
Alex’s mouth warmed the base of her neck. “That little artist kid of yours would never understand this—what it represents between you and me.”
His hands slid to her elbows. “I knew immediately where it was going in my house, as soon as I saw it.”
His hands came to her hips, and he kissed the base of her neck.
Perle felt relief, a weight off her shoulders. Melting. She turned to look at him. She asked the obvious. “You, you like it?”
She knew the answer, but nothing would be as precious as a confirmation.
“No one else will ever, ever understand.”
She looked at the painting again.
His hands clasped in the front of her.
Perle’s arms hanged limp. She leaned back into him. She simply rested in his warmth.
He spoke close to her ear. “I never told you the end of my story.”
“Obviously,” she huffed. “And I’ve asked and asked. I want to know all about it.”
Perle felt his chest expand.
“Standing there, in that house in Michigan, in front of the painting, I began to … you know.”
“Tell me. I want to listen to you say it,” she said.
“I was stroking.”
“Stroking what?”
“You really do want it all.”
She only nodded.
“I was stroking my hard, teenage dick.”
Exactly then, a birr delightfully attacked her body. It hit the bends of her arms, the back of her legs, the pulse in her neck.
“My mind was consumed, totally engrossed. It was centered on her. I didn’t hear the back door open.”
Perle spun out his arms, breaking his clutch. “Oh no!” She put her hand over her mouth.
“Yep.” His eyes dipped. He scratched the crown of his head.
“Who was it?”
When he raised his face to Perle, it was flushed red.
“A girl my age. I was standing there holding myself, and she comes walking in.”
“My goodness! What did she do?”
“She squealed. Her eyes were so big. They looked like she was being electrocuted. I just remember her saying ‘I came to watch TV.’ Then she ran out of the house. I completely missed the beach towel that I had laid out on the coffee table.”
Perle wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, to hug him or punch his arm, as in an attaboy.
“What did you think when you saw her the next time?” Perle asked.
“She stayed away. So did I. I may have seen her across the camp hanging out with her friends. Nothing more. But never got near her again. Thankfully. The whole thing was a crazy welcome to this new world.”
Perle studied the man. The one who had set up strong walls. He had just let her pass through by a tiny door. She rested before him in quiet. His dark eyebrows lightened. His large nose narrowed. He became young once more.
Perle swished a bit of hair from his forehead.
“A great story would be,” she said, “to say you and her met all that summer—everyday at the same time in that same house—to watch each other.”
He shook his head and grinned. The hair fell back over his forehead.
“Things like that happen in erotic stories, and I’ve never been in one of them before. Don’t figure I ever will be.”
She shrugged. “Yeah, me neither.”
They both then faced the painting. Shoulders inches from touching. Once again they didn’t talk. They stared.
Eventually, Perle broke the solitude. “So she saw you.”
“Let’s not talk about it. It’s a weird experience. Embarrassing.”
She questioned whether to move forward with her idea. He was obviously uncomfortable. But she wanted to so badly.
“Do you think …” She paused to rethink her decision. There was no stopping though. “Do you think I could be that girl?”
His eyebrows darkened as they tightened.
“—I mean, would you let me play her?”
“Act out the situation?”
“Alex,” she whispered in his ear. “I won’t run away.”
He gave a scandalous look.
“You should leave.”
Perle’s jaw dropped. “You’re not interested?”
“I have a painting to stare at.”
Perle leaped joyfully, patting her hands.
Before leaving the room, she asked, “What was the girl’s name?”
“Holly.”
“Nice of you to remember.”
He gave a grin. “Go.”
Perle hop-skipped out of the bedroom. One glance over her shoulder: he was opening his pants.
In the hallway, she wondered what Holly looked like. Strawberry blond hair in a wedge cut that left uncovered only her newly pierced earlobes. Or waist-length hair in a ponytail to avoid the work of fixing her hair when the lake and so much fun was close at hand. Maybe Holly started styling her hair after seeing Alex.
Perle, in the whimsy of the moment, slid down her slim panties. She used them as a make-shift hair tie.
As if going on stage, she became the young Holly who was ready to plop down in front of a 70s-era television with a tiny screen set inside a wooden box.
Nonchalantly, she entered the bedroom.
She walked toward Alex whistling lightly. Passing the bed, she gasped extra loudly.
“Oh, my god!” She gasped and covered her mouth.
Alex paused stroking his hard dick. His mouth fell open. He gathered only enough of his senses to mumble.
“Holly, what … what are you doing here?”
“I came to watch TV.” She gulped. “What are you doing?”
“I was … looking … only looking … at the painting.” His slick hand kept its hold.
Holly ran her eyes up and down his body but then locked on what he held.
Realizing what she had happened upon, she looked to the door for escape. However, a brand-new fascination halted her.
“That’s your wiener,” she said. Her mouth became wetter. “You’re playing with your wiener!”
“Really, I’m here just to pick up the mail,” Alex blurted.
Not hearing him, she repeated her astonishment. “You’re playing with your wiener.” Her eyes widened. “I’ve never seen one before in real life. Not one so stiff.”
“I need to go,” Alex said frightfully. He put his back to her.
“No, no.” Holly walked to him. She touched his shoulder. Her eyes still were locked on this private part of a boy’s body. “Can I watch?”
“Watch what?”
“I want to see what happens.”
“Happens?”
“When you keep doing that with your hand.”
He eased somewhat. “Um, I don’t know if it will work. I’ve never done it in front of anyone.”
“Try.”
“All right,” he whimpered.
His hand began to move up and down his stiffened dick.
Holly’s eyes did not break her stare as she knelt. Her tongue even swept across her lips.
“It’s not working,” Alex said. He turned away again from her, cupping it with his hands. “I can’t, not with you watching.”
Holly crawled closer.
“Me touching it— would that help?” She let her innocent gaze meet his.
“Yeah. Touch it.”
Her hand gripped the slippery cock. She examined it like a scientist.
“It’s amazing,” she uttered. “So hard, and are these veins?” She looked at the penis’s intimate detail. She pressed her forefinger against the very tip.
She let go and looked at the slobber covering her palm. Instead of wiping it off, she drizzled her saliva into her hand. She gripped it and stroked.
She heard Alex moan somewhere overhead.
Soon, she leaned forward slowly. She moved close like she was about to give a boy her very first kiss. But out came her tongue. It lapped the underside of Alex’s dick. Once at the head, Holly stuffed it in her mouth.
Without a pause, her head was rocking back and forth. The slobber seeped out at the corners of her mouth.
Pulling back to admire it, strands of spit stretched from her tongue to the tip of the wonderful hardness.
His hand pulled Holly’s face to his dick. “You can’t stop now.”
Pleased by his approval, she took it back into her mouth. Sucking him to completion was her own deep pleasure. It was an aphrodisiac all its own. The first shot of his cum at the back of her throat was gratifying for so many reasons.
“You did that so well,” Alex said. His voice sounded exhausted.
“It was my first time.”
“Oh.”
“Can I show you what I have?”
“You have to. It’s only fair.”
He heaved her onto the bed. The way that Alex moved Perle knew he wasn’t the teenager and she was not Holly.
He flung up her skirt and growled like a beast when she spread her legs. She squealed as his rough skin rubbed against her pussy and his wide tongue swept from bottom to top.
The moves made her body weak and then spring alive with more squeals and squawks of approval.
She combed through his thick hair and cooed. When his mouth attended to her long labia she had to hold onto his large ears.
He tugged over the edge. He let her bathe in the goodness of orgasm. She curled up, childlike, against his emanating strength.
However, she awoke, sitting upright.
“My flight! My flight! What time is it?” She scrambled around to find a clock. “I’ve got to go.”
Alex appeared in the doorway topless. “What’s the matter?”
“The time! My flight!”
He picked up his wristwatch. “Half-past-ten. Isn’t the flight tomorrow?”
“At midnight. I got to get my bag. It’s at the hotel.”
“When did you change—”
“I can’t explain—I’ll explain later. Get me to Frontier, please.”
Half-dressed, Alex sped to the hotel and then to the airport.
“The security line there is not long,” he said. “You’ll be fine. Breathe.”
She tried.
“I don’t understand why you changed the flight. What about Leo?”
“His leaves tomorrow. I just had other—another appointment I need to be at. I have to.”
At the airport, he pulled the small suitcase from the bed of his truck.
“I’m sorry you’re leaving in such a hurry,” he said. There was a question in his tone.
She took the suitcase handle. “Everything’s fine. Great. Loved tonight. I’ll text you soon.”
She gave him a peck on the cheek and rushed off.
She felt his eyes on her as she checked in and then entered the security line.
Once through and waiting at the gate, Alex had been right. She had plenty of time. Perle knew she had overreacted.
Perle knew changing the flight was done first out of fury and embarrassment. She kept the flight, though, out of fear getting too near to happiness. The two are elements, and, by putting them so close together, Perl didn’t know their reaction. And she was unwilling to fuse them. For now at least.
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