Her Body Of Work. Marie Donovan

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СКАЧАТЬ checking on the painting in front of her.

      Rey clipped on the cordless earpiece that freed her hands. “Hello?”

      “Hi, Rey. It’s Evelyn. How are you, dear?” While Evelyn Colby might sound like everyone’s favorite grandmother, she locked on to business deals with the jaws of a pit bull.

      “Just fine, Evelyn. In fact, I’m finishing that portrait of Narcissus,” she hinted, hoping to cut the call short before her paints dried into a hard, glossy lump.

      “Glad to hear it, but I’m not calling about that. Are you sitting down?” Evelyn’s usually serene voice had an edge of excitement.

      “Actually, I am.” Rey settled on her painting stool. She thought with an ample butt like hers the stool would be more comfortable than it was. Hmm. Speaking of butts, the buttocks in her work-in-progress needed more definition. Maybe alizarin-crimson?

      “You got the Stuart commission!” Evelyn crowed.

      “The what?” Rey covered her palette with a plastic lid, resigned to another delay.

      “I sent your portfolio out for review last fall and the Stuarts finally made a decision.”

      Rey sat up straight. “Do they want an oil painting or an acrylic?” Her loft building was being turned into condominiums. She needed a big chunk of cash for a mortgage down payment or else she’d have to move. No more twelve-foot windows. No more room for dozens of canvases and blocks of stone.

      “Not a painting—a ten-foot marble sculpture for their new lakefront mansion,” Evelyn explained.

      Rey adjusted her earpiece. She couldn’t possibly have heard right. “Did you say a ten-foot sculpture?” Although she made somewhat of a living with painting, sculpting was her favorite.

      Evelyn rustled some papers. “My notes say Carrara marble, no less. It’s being sent from the Italian quarry as we speak.”

      Rey gasped. “Oh, my God! Who can afford a ten-foot block of Carrara marble?”

      “The Stuart family can. And what’s more, they can afford to pay you to sculpt it.”

      “How much are they willing to pay?” Anticipation curled in Rey’s stomach. Maybe she wouldn’t have to lose her loft.

      Evelyn triumphantly named the fee.

      The paintbrush fell from Rey’s nerveless fingers, splattering dark brown paint on her bare toes. “That’s six figures!”

      Her agent was understandably smug. “That’s right, kiddo. You’ve hit the big time.”

      Rey’s knees were too weak to balance on her stool. She staggered over to the chaise longue and plopped down next to Craig. He lifted his head and smiled at her.

      “Hey, baby.” He wrapped an arm around her waist. She shoved it away and concentrated on Evelyn’s incredible news.

      “Am I interrupting something?” Evelyn had the hearing of a bat.

      Rey frowned at Craig, who rolled over onto his back and stretched both arms over his head. “No, that’s just my model. Tell me about the ten-foot statue. Where on earth do these people live?”

      “Didn’t you read the society column I faxed you?” Evelyn made a tsking noise.

      “Sorry, Evelyn. I’ve been working twelve-hour days and haven’t had a chance,” Rey fibbed. She found the ingredient list on her paint-thinner can more interesting to read than the Chicago society pages. Fifteen years of hearing her mother gloat over them at the breakfast table had been enough. Mr. and Mrs. Hans Martinson of the Swedish consulate of Chicago hosted last night’s gala benefit for the preservation of the Scandinavian spotted puffin, blah, blah, blah…

      Evelyn interrupted Rey’s trip-and-fall down memory lane. “I read them, and they reported that Mr. and Mrs. Preston Stuart III sold their Gold Coast penthouse and bought a lakefront home just north of the city. It’s already a mansion, and they’re making it even bigger.”

      “How did they pick me?” It was still too much for Rey to absorb.

      “The Stuarts love the art and culture of ancient Greece and Rome. Remember the fountain of water nymphs you sculpted last year?”

      “Sure, that was a great project.” She’d carved the nymphs’ faces to look like the owner’s wife and daughters. It was a good thing they’d all been attractive women.

      “I sent them a portfolio containing photos of the fountain and some of your recent paintings. They loved your Greco-Roman works.”

      “Really?” Giddiness swirled through her. She’d spent almost a decade watching so-called artists get grants for dipping themselves in chocolate or making sculptures out of empty toilet-paper rolls. Now it was her turn to show the art world what she could do. To show her parents and all their stuck-up friends that her painting and sculpting commanded respect. And lots of money. They all understood money extremely well.

      “You’ll get to sculpt that block of Italian marble into Mars, the Roman god of war. Totally nude, no fig leaf or loincloth. And if they like your preliminary sketches, they want you to paint murals in the grand rotunda. For an additional fee, of course.” Her agent laughed.

      “Evelyn, I don’t know what to say.” Rey blinked to keep the tears from spilling onto her cheeks. “Thank you so much.”

      “You might not thank me when I tell you the time frame on this project. The preliminary sketches are due in three weeks, so call that modeling agency. Pick someone who looks like the god of war.” Evelyn’s line clicked. “I’ll fax you the contract, Rey. I’ve got another call coming in. Congratulations!”

      “Wait!” But Evelyn had already hung up. Three weeks for sketches on the most important project of her career? Rey drummed her fingers, smearing light brown paint on the sheet. She had to call Meg. Meg would cheer for her and keep her from panicking.

      “Good news?” Craig’s voice startled her. She’d almost forgotten he was still there.

      “Great news.” It was the best news of her career, if she found the perfect model. She examined Craig’s pretty-boy features. God of war? More like god of wuss.

      He propped himself on his side and peeled off the sheet, revealing his tanned, naked body. His tanned, naked, aroused body. “Want to celebrate with me?”

      Rats. “Sorry, Craig. I make it a rule never to get involved with my models.” She stood and put several feet of distance between them.

      “Rey, baby, who would ever know?” He patted the expanse of chaise longue. “Plenty of room for two…” he wheedled.

      She considered him. Was it time to break her rule? After all, he was buff, had all his own teeth and hair and was presumably heterosexual. It had been a long dry spell for her.

      “And besides, who said anything about getting involved?” He smirked at her, running his hand down his chest to cup his erection.

      Okay, it would have to be a much longer dry spell before she’d wet her whistle with a drip like him. That was all СКАЧАТЬ