Page 17 of Dirty Money
Still bubbling, Aullie resisted the urge to jiggle restlessly as they waited to have their tickets checked. Once they had, she secured a tiny square museum pass sticker under the left lapel of her burgundy cotton button up shirt.
“Where would you like to go first?” Weston asked, standing close. Their shoulders almost brushed each other, but Aullie didn’t feel invaded.
“Well, you were the one asking for a lesson, so why don’t we hit the exhibit first and then I can show you around some more since I do come here a lot.”
“I can imagine you would,” he said with an endearing smile. “Lead the way.”
Aullie was almost sure her leader status was just so he could walk behind her. She wore a pair of dark, hip hugging jeans and she had printed a pair of wide, white eagle’s wings across the back pockets, almost like a tramp stamp. Suffice to say she had gotten compliments on them before, she felt his eyes on her lower half and added a little more sway to her step. The desire she was almost sure he felt, that sexual power she had established over him, boosted her confidence and she became significantly more relaxed.
The temporary exhibits were on the third floor, and they hustled up the three flights of stairs together under a rain of silvery things dangling from the ceiling. The stark white stairs glittered with reflections of cool sunlight off the mirrored adornments, it almost felt as if they were in a snow globe. It really was beautiful.
“Here we are,” Aullie said, pushing on the door to the traveling exhibit. Right in front, there was a huge picture of Wassily Kandinsky, in an aged sepia. A plain looking man with a narrow chin, round wire spectacles and an expressionless face. Underneath, in a neat typewriter font, was a short biography detailing the life of the Russian artist.
The first painting on display, frameless against a beige wall, a single soft light illuminating it from above, was a four by three grid of square shapes with circles of descending size in various colors.
“This one’s interesting,” Weston commented, though he sounded unsure.
“Hilariously enough, it’s actually just called Square in Concentric Circles,” Aullie replied.
“What a fitting, clever name,” he joked.
Most of the other visitors in the exhibit were elderly women in semi-formal dress which quickly changed Aullie’s mind about her jeans. Discreetly keeping her hands over her butt, the two moved through the maze of walls art museums always built to maximize the surface area of the room. Keeping their voices and giggles low as to not disturb the ladies, they stopped in front of a new painting, an interesting piece of geometric-esque shapes on an off-white background. It was titled The Rider, and Aullie pointed out the vague shapes in the middle that represent a horse’s head and the jockey riding him.
“It’s really amazing,” Weston said, a tone of wonder in his voice. “I mean I have no artistic ability, none, so it always amazes me to see things like this. To see the way that other people see the world.”
“That’s why I love it so much,” Aullie gushed. “So many different views, so many different ideas and visions and mistakes and passion. Like, here.” She pointed to a dark, brownish abstract that was alive with colored streaks. “Composition 6. There’s no structure here, no subject. These colors, these patterns, the way this all fits together is one hundred percent emotion. Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Yes,” Weston said, eyes not on the painting but firmly on her. “It really is.”
Oh, how that voice got to her. Aullie blushed and dropped her eyes, almost wishing she’d left her bangs down so that she could hide behind them. Slowly, gently, Weston stepped closer and slipped an arm around her waist. She stiffened at his touch initially, but eventually she softened into his side. He was warm, so tall the top of her head barely reached his shoulder, and his dark, musky scent was exceptionally heady. She didn’t know what it was about him but she was beginning to feel like he had said before: bewitched. Almost as if a spell had been cast upon them.
The pair wandered through the rest of the Kandinsky exhibit, Aullie exceptionally moved by his work and Weston extremely moved by her passion. The strange young bond between them became even stronger, even more magnetic. By the time they’d finished, their fingers were loosely entwined, and Aullie felt surprisingly comfortable and happy.
They made their way back down the stairs, taking time on each floor to appreciate different exhibits; bold Native American art done in earthy colors, bright expressionist classics, and gigantic rooms packed with portraits that were hundreds of years old. The conversation flowed between them, light and easy until Weston rolled up his sleeve.
For a few moments, Aullie had been able to distance herself from her trepidations, but the chunky Rolex adorning his wrist was a quick reality check she wasn’t expecting. Almost involuntarily, she let her fingers drop and became quiet and resigned.
Weston wasn’t stupid, she had to give him that. He picked up on her shift in behavior right away and tracked her gaze to his watch.
“Shit,” he grumbled, rolling his sleeve down to cover the gaudy timepiece. “I forgot I had this on. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for, it’s fine,” she lied. The mood was broken, even though she really wished it wasn’t.
“This whole money thing is really going to be an issue, isn’t it?” Weston asked, disappointment shining in his goldish eyes.
“I don’t know,” she said, exasperated under the pressure of his sad expression. “I don’t want it to be, but I guess I have some pretty deep-rooted biases. And, if I’m being honest, your money is really intimidating. I’m an artist. The chances that I’ll ever see a small fraction of your wealth are so low…”
He placed his hands gently on her shoulders, his eyes meeting hers. The pull between them was so magnetic, and Aullie wished it was an easy thing to ignore.
“I don’t care about any of that,” he said.
“You don’t have to,” she shrugged, “because I do.”
Aullie wanted to turn away from him, to walk away again, but he was her ride and it was a long walk from the museum. She wasn’t sure what to do.
“Can we at least try?” Weston asked, gently tilting her head up.
Before she could respond, he put his mouth to hers. The kiss started soft but quickly intensified. As the heat built between them, Aullie was almost embarrassed to be experiencing such a passionate moment in public. He pulled her body close to his; his size, his warmth, his smell engulfed her and made her feel safe.
