Page 13 of Meet Mason, the Billionaire

“No, he was very rigid in his interpretations. At one point when he was in power, he hosted an exhibition meant to mock modernist styles, while presenting the ‘better’ classical paintings he favored.”

She set her swizzle down and stared intently at me.

“There were soldiers with machine guns nearby. If anyone were to speak too highly of one of the modernist works, or criticize a classical one too much, or God forbid go through the modernist exhibit a second time, well—you do the math.”

“So there are art Nazis as well as grammar Nazis. Good to know.”

She laughed, and the light returned to her eyes.

“You know, as strange as it sounds, some people consider schlock movies from the fifties and sixties to be an art form.”

I set down my tiny espresso cup on a white glazed saucer, feeling a tinge of excitement.

“On that I’m in complete agreement. There was this Mexican wrestler who made a bunch of schlock—”

“El Santo!” She blurted, almost spilling her tea in her zeal. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You know about El Santo?”

“Oh yeah, my grandpa got me into it initially and then it took on a life of its own. We used to own an ultra-rare laserdisc copy of El Santo vs. the Vampire Women. Only it was the crummy English dub where they called Santo Samson instead.”

“I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the laserdisc portion of this. I’ve never even seen one.”

“They were huge, like records. Have you ever seen Ed Wood?”

“Only about a dozen times. Bill Murray just owns it. Anyone who says he’s not a good actor—”

“He’s such a good actor!”

“I know, right?”

When it was finally time to walk her home, I did so with great reluctance. We caught a cab the last ten blocks because her feet were starting to hurt.

Here comes the hard part,I thought to myself as we reached her apartment building.I really like this woman, and I want this to be more than just a hookup. So much more.

So that means I need to make it obvious that I’m not just into her for the sex. Which means I’m probably not getting any tonight.

I was disappointed, but I sort of got the vibe she was feeling the same way. We had started with carnality, and now we were dialing it back to what should have—or at least, normally does—come before sex.

“I had an amazing time today,” I said, taking her hand. “Thanks for joining me.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” she said. Megan swallowed and dropped her gaze awkwardly. “Um, I would invite you in, but my place is a total mess, and I’ve got that paying gig—”

“Say no more. I look forward to seeing you again, Megan.”

I took her in my arms and pressed my lips against her own. It started as a sweet kiss, and deepened, my tongue exploring her mouth and lashing against her own.

We broke apart by mutual unspoken consent, leaning our foreheads together.

“Good night, Mason,” she said.

“Good night.”

The door closed, and I felt my legs tremble a bit on the way down the steps. I had it bad and I knew it. I’d never met a woman who so thoroughly engaged me. I hadn’t even had the urge to look at my phone even once.

As I waited for a taxi, I went through my messages. Things were not turning out well on the search for the mysterious portrait. None of my usual lines of inquiry had borne fruit, and looked unlikely too.

The woman in charge of intake at the Galleria never called me back, either. I started to wonder if the man even gave her my message at all.

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