Page 44 of Scarlett and the Big Bad Billionaire
Perfect.
The people standing in line for services next door would be able to see the mural and so would those driving by on the highway.
Maybe it would give someone a smile, and we could all damn well use one of those right now.
As with many of my street pieces, I would use washable paint. As quickly as I’d created it, the painting would be gone with the next rainstorm—or fire hose, if the powers that be in the city decided to call it vandalism.
Parking a few streets away, I slung my backpack over my shoulder and hoofed it to the empty lot.
The ugly (for now) wall loomed above me, the perfect representation of the dark chaos I felt inside. I checked around first for witnesses, slipped on a paint respirator and my climbing harness, and got to work.
As the image took shape, I moved and breathed, focusing on the blending colors, the shapes and contours, letting my pent-up emotions flow out through the spray can nozzles and create a visual of my mind’s interior.
Several hours later, the cans—and my soul—were pleasantly weightless. I used what remained to add a title for the piece—Welcome Home—and stepped back to take in the complete picture I’d created.
It was a mural in four parts that met in the middle. One part portrayed some of the city’s more recognizable landmarks. Drivers speeding by would assume that’s all it was—a simple welcome message to suburban commuters and visitors.
Below it was an image of Vietnam Vets being booed as they returned from overseas—no doubt some of the homeless center’s clients would be able to relate.
In the top right corner, I’d painted a mimic of Salvador Dali’sThe Ascension of Christ. which depicted Jesus rising from the earth into the nucleus of a bright yellow atom.
Finally, the lower right quadrant contained visuals that called to mind cold Mediterranean waters and hot sand and rumpled bedsheets surrounding the shadowy outline of a woman who held her arms aloft in sultry invitation.
Her figure was curvy and lush, her eyelids heavy. Her lips were parted as if she was about to speak or laugh or make some guy very,veryhappy he had a few days off between operations.
Oh yeah—they’re gonna turn the firehoses on it all right.
I chuckled, packing up my gear and jogging back to my car. It didn’t really matter if my work lasted a few hours or a few days or if they roped it off and built a museum around it. Its purpose had already been served.
I could go back to Eastport Bay and face Scarlett again. Nothing she could say or do would bother me—I’d gotten my troubling desire for her out of my system and onto a canvas.
I only hoped she didn’t see a photo of it and recognize herself.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
A PEEK INTO HIS SOUL
Scarlett
The next day, Gray arrived, saying hello and smiling at me and Vivi as if his strange, abrupt departure from the gallery last night had never happened.
His inconsistent behavior reminded me so much of my dad I felt like an eight-year-old again, unsure whether I wanted to clutch his leg and beg for his attention or run away and hide.
It didn’t help that I was sitting on the floor doing a puzzle when he arrived.
Vivi had invited me to help with her current work in progress, an eighteen-thousand-piece behemoth depicting one of Van Gogh’s famous Sunflowers paintings. She told me Gray had given it to her last week.
The entire image was comprised of shades of yellow, so it was a challenge to say the least.
While I sat cross-legged on the floor, she sat on the sofa, leaning over the puzzle board which rested atop the large, square ottoman between us.
For some reason Gray stayed in the doorway, leaning against the frame and watching from a distance. When I glanced up at him, he was wearing an odd expression.
He looked… concerned. Or distracted maybe.
“Come and join us, son,” Vivi said. “Doing puzzles is the best way to keep your mind sharp and improve your finger dexterity. Your lady friends will appreciate that.”
Gray burst into laughter. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll keep that in mind in case I ever get one of those.”
