Reclining Nude in Chicago (Encounters) Read online

  The next morning, Emerson treated me to a little morning delight before he poured coffee into me and rushed me out the door. He had a whole itinerary that included touring several artist lofts and art venues in various areas of downtown Los Angeles. We viewed some amazing artwork, some bizarre artwork and I found what I hoped would be my next magazine article or better yet; series of articles. After visiting lofts and galleries along Spring, Main and Broadway, we settled into Church and State, a French bistro in the art district. Emerson treated my palate to a bevy of delights; goat cheese with lavender honey, New Zealand oysters and Carre d’Agneau Roti along with a delicious bottle of wine. With my belly full and happy, Emerson treated me to an endless buffet of dessert all night long… between the sheets of my bed.

  Abandoned the next day in the early afternoon, I found a note on the pillow next to me: “Hated to leave your warmth. Have meetings. See you later baby! x E.” Though I would’ve preferred to be wrapped in his big strong arms, I spent the day working up a few concepts to present to Herm. I needed the right approach, a perfect angle to introduce a fresh twist on the artist lofts, galleries, artist patronized restaurants and bars throughout the art districts of downtown LA. My experience had opened a flood gate and I could visualize a variety of articles. I quickly shot Herm a long list of rambling ideas. I knew I had sparked his interested when he responded immediately with a text message straight to my cell phone. “GREAT ideas. Interested in writing a monthly column?” Was he kidding? I texted back promptly, “HELL YES!” To which I never heard another word, but I still jumped up and did a little dance in the sunshine of my private outdoor terrace until two arms snaked around my waist.

  “Mmmm. I like that ass shaking. Why don’t you wiggle that glorious butt of yours while I fuck you over this table?” Emerson whispered in my ear as he ripped my clothes from my body. That man was so hot. I would let him do anything to me.

  Coming down from a major high, I saw a couple brochures from some showrooms in the La Cienega Design Quarter sticking out of the back of Emerson’s jean pocket. Pulling them out, I inquired, “Were you visiting galleries today?”

  With a big grin on his amazing face, he proudly answered, “As a matter of fact I did, and I have a surprise for you tonight. So you might want to go take a peek in the shopping bag sitting on your dining table.”

  “Ooooh,” I squealed pulling out a knee-length red silky tank dress, gold strappy high-heeled sandals and an exquisite gold hammered cuff bracelet. Holding it all up, I beamed, “Love everything!” Then tilting me head sidewise, looking into his beautiful smirking face, I asked, “How did you know my sizes?”

  Looking at me like I asked the silliest question ever, he shook his head, “Baby, you have a closet filled with clothes and shoes.”

  Laughing, I set the fabulous gifts on the table and walked my way into his big, muscular arms, “Thank you. Thank you. I don’t know how to thank you enough for this week. And then these gifts on top…” my words were cut short.

  Grabbing a fist of my hair, tilting my head back, I looked into his penetrating eyes and he told me, “Don’t worry, I know exactly how you can thank me properly,” and then he captured my mouth with his hungry mouth, making me moan.

  Dressed in a black suit, Emerson was sitting in a club chair when I walked out of my bedroom clothed in my sexy, seductress red and gold ensemble. The sexy grin painted across his chiseled face told me he liked what he saw. I smiled and he scooped me into his body for a brief moment before pulling me to the door. “If we don’t leave now, baby…” That was all he said winking at me and I completely understood. However, I would’ve been happy to stay home with him too.

  Walking out of my building, we walked to the end of my block and turned north on to La Cienega Boulevard. Strolling passed a few windows admiring the lovely decor; we saw a group of people and heard distant “oohs” and “aahs” before they ventured inside. In anticipation of seeing what was in the window, Emerson quickened our pace. I thought to remind him that I was wearing four-inch sandals but noting his excitement, I stilled my complaints. Joining the small gathered crowd, I was kissed deeply and then I was spun to face the store front window and “Holy shit!” loudly escaped my red tinted lips. It was ME! Reclining nude! It was the large canvas painting from the infamous night that I reluctantly posed for him. The colours were bold and bright. The patterns and the textures were brilliant. It was magnificent. The painting looked like it was painted by Matisse himself. “Oh Emerson… it’s absolutely spectacular… it’s so beautiful…” my voice trailed off as chills danced along my spine as he kissed the top of my head. My skin instantly warmed making me feel like I was on fire when he guided me inside with his big firm hand at the small of my back.

  Inside the showroom, we were greeted with a glass of red wine and as I took a sip gazing about the enormous space, I nearly spit it across the room. Softly in a calm, soothing deep voice, I heard, “Yes baby, there are more. A whole collection of my beautiful girl. I wasn’t lying when I said you inspired me to paint. I’m sorry I left you alone in your hotel room the last night in Chicago, but I had to capture you on canvas. My brush came alive that night. I couldn’t stop myself… I painted throughout the night and over the next two weeks. I sent photos to my friend here in LA and he begged me to use them for his latest interior design show.” Wow! He said, “My beautiful girl.” I would love to be his… his…

  Recovering from his words, I commented aptly, “They work perfectly with his furnishings and decor… I could live in this gorgeous shop,” I said mesmerized, and Emerson murmured something about how he could live with me in it too. At his words, I felt a tightness in my chest and a lump form in my throat knowing he would be leaving soon.

  Putting on a happy face, Emerson and I circulated amongst the guests. Tucked into his side at all times, he introduced me as his muse. I was proud of him. I was also surprised at myself… I was not embarrassed of my nakedness for all to see. He had painted me in various poses though I only sat and reclined for two of them. Confused, wondering when he snapped me without my knowledge, I studied a few of them paintings while he chatted with his friend and my mind wandered to right before we left for this party.

  Lying on my back earlier, Emerson fucked me senseless, pounding into me with my feet over his shoulders. Feeling the first waves on my walls gripping him hard; he pushed my legs off, and pulled out of me. “No!” I screamed and he shhh’ed me. Spreading my legs wide, he rubbed my swollen nub hard with one hand; taking me over the edge. With his other hand he stroked his erection; shooting sperm all over my torso. So sexy. I panted wildly watching him as the last wave left my body. Then with two strong hands he began to massage and spread his come all over my tits. Pushing into his hands, he pinched and tugged my nipples and my breathing grew rapid. Moving away from my breasts, he coated my belly and my throbbing bare mound. I couldn’t get enough of him inside of me. I moaned, “Please.” Smiling he rubbed his torso over mine, and plunged his cock deep inside of me, pounding me over and over while fucking my mouth with his tongue. Sweat and stickiness connected our two bodies and this time thankfully he remained in me as he brought us to a simultaneous climax. My nostrils were filled with the mingling of our scents and my ears were invaded with primal sounds. I couldn’t tell who was moaning or growling or groaning louder and if I were to receive an eviction notice tomorrow, I would know why.

  Catching our breath, Emerson passionately kissed me once more and pulled me up. “Get dressed!” He said in his usual commanding tone.

  “Show…” was the only word I was able to utter as a finger silenced me.

  “I like the smell of our sex.” That was the end of our conversation. There was no point arguing with him. There would be no discussion. What he wanted… he would get. I could not say no to him. I was happy to please him.

  Remembering that moment, the paintings appeared more erotic. I could still smell and feel Emerson on me and when he neared me, I quietly begged him to please take me
home. He laughed, “Be patient, baby.” He knew what I wanted. I imagined he must be feeling the same but he was calm and charming. I had never heard him speak so much and I was throbbing and aching to have him all to myself. I didn’t know how much more I could take. I was soaked. I wanted relief. I wanted him to strip me. I wished his creations were performance art. I wanted him to fuck me on the gorgeous mahogany table in the center of the room. I didn’t care if everyone watched. I wanted him inside of me. Damn! I needed to get a grip!

  Maintaining for the next hour or so, I was relieved when we said our final goodbyes and exited the design gallery. Unfortunately, I was quickly disappointed as he opened the door to one of my favourite restaurants. No, we were not going home anytime soon and I was going to continue with the almost unbearable achy feeling between my thighs. He was going to torture me with the most incredible sea scallops and tantalize me with refreshing blood orange Rossellini martinis. Could a girl really complain while dining at the Fig and Olive? The answer was no.

  Raising his glass, Emerson proposed a toast, “To our last night.”

  Smiling at first, I lifted my glass to his and then his words hit me, and I mumbled softly, “To… our…” and the rest of the words would not come as I tried to take a sip and still the pending tears.

  Chapter Seven

  Emerson’s departure was devastating. Our last night together stirred new emotions I’d never felt before with any man. How I ever made it through the intense sex that followed his toast at dinner; I will never know. My heart and soul left my body and an empty shell performed. I moved. I moaned. I engaged. I climaxed. But it was surreal… If not for Herm, I would’ve curled up in my bed and let the world slip by. As luck would have it, Herm was even more excited by the ideas I proposed last week that he gave me a detailed list of instructions and several deadlines and a column title “Art and the dtla Girl.” Returning to the art district of downtown Los Angeles (dtla) without Emerson was not the same.

  Nothing was the same without Emerson and I wondered what it would be like seeing him at the museum gala. On the morning, before he left for the airport, I was sitting at my vintage 1940s glam dressing table applying mascara to my eyelashes when he walked up behind. Leaning over me, the shirtless hunk picked up the Matisse Exhibit Gala invitation addressed to me from Pierce sitting on my mother of pearl inlaid wood table. “I see you received a VIP invitation to the gala event… you will attend… with him?”

  Meeting his darkened eyes in the art nouveau vanity mirror, I nodded and answered, “Yes,” quietly with somber eyes.

  Breaking eye contact, he flipped the invitation over and over in his hands a few times before tapping in on the table and returning it to its original resting place in front of me. With one more glance at me in the mirror, he kissed the top of my head, dropped his grey lounge pants, moved into the bathroom, turned on the water and stepped into the shower. Watching him, I thought; if it was yesterday, I would’ve joined him, but something had changed in an instant with one look at that fancy invitation. When he exited the shower, he promptly closed the door and I took that as my clue to leave my dressing room. I was being shut out. Standing in the kitchen, pulling out pastry and pouring two cups of coffee, Emerson poked his head around the corner and announced he was leaving. I dropped what I was doing immediately, walked him to a waiting taxi and after a far too brief kiss; I watched him be driven away.

  Since Emerson left last week, I had not heard a word from him. I texted him a couple times but there was no response. Pierce on the other hand was messaging me daily. Everything was complete for the exhibit and now he was waiting for the big night. He had informed me that on the night of the gala a car would pick me up from my hotel. I told him thank you and then changed my flight and hotel reservation. There was no reason to stay in Chicago any longer then a couple of nights.

  I arrived at O’Hare airport the night before the gala, and after a good night’s rest, I treated myself to a much needed day at the invigorating hotel spa. With an hour long, deep tissue massage, manicure, pedicure and up-do hairstyle completed, all I had to do was slip into my gala attire. After a final look in the full length mirror, I headed down to my waiting car dressed in a black, mid-calf, long-sleeved, sheer at the top, slinky dress with a deep plunging low back and a pair of delicately thin, ankle tie, black Bionda Castana stiletto pumps.

  Pulling up to the Chicago art museum, a young handsome tuxedoed escort greeted me at the town car and walked me inside the marble foyer to a champagne reception in the hallway just outside the closed crushed velvet draped entrance to the exhibit. Handing me a fluted glass of bubbly, he bowed at the waist and wished me a good evening. Milling about, looking at the masterpieces lining the pale ivory walls, I sampled a variety of delicious hand-passed hors d’oeuvres. I saw a handsome Pierce dressed in a well-tailored black tuxedo, sporting his sexy rectangular black framed eyeglasses, making the rounds. When he caught a glimpse of me he excused himself and made his way to my side. “Julia, you look so beautiful,” he said while kissing me on each cheek and grasping my elbow. “Come let me introduce you to some very important people that I believe you will find extremely interesting.”

  Introducing me to a few patrons, contributors to the exhibit and some actual Matisse painting collectors who had graciously donated their paintings to this exhibit, Pierce announced that I was a true Matisse connoisseur. “You must tell Julia the story of how you acquired your Matisse paintings… Fascinating,” he insisted. Leaving me with this couple, I listened to the details of their adventures once I swore to never reveal the story. I’m sorry, I cannot tell you either. I can say they were unbelievable and perhaps they were pulling my leg, but I enjoyed them and they were a great distraction until I saw him.

  Across the room wearing in a three-piece, fitted black suit stood Emerson with his big arm casually draped around an attractive redhead dressed in a full-length, shimmering, midnight blue dress. No wonder I hadn’t heard from him; he had obviously moved on or maybe she already existed prior to me… during me. I had imagined spending time with him, knowing Pierce would be busy entertaining guests this evening. However, he had no obligation to me and he had a date as I could see in plain view. Locking eyes and seeing that he was making no attempt to come say hello, I decided to be the bigger person. Crossing the vast hallway, I armed myself with a new full glass of Moet Chandon. “Hello Emerson, nice to see you.”

  In that moment, his date turned to looked me straight in the eye and smirked. The redhead was Pierce’s assistant and just like the day in the office, I wanted to slap the grin right off of her pretty face.

  “How are you? Enjoying your stay?” The tone of his voice was cold, cutting and filled with innuendoes. I was surprised he didn’t come right out and ask if I was enjoying fucking Pierce.

  Now I wanted to deal him a blow as well. “I had a change of plans. I only arrived late last night. Quick trip. Leaving tomorrow at noon.”

  “Leaving so soon?” He raised a questioning eyebrow.

  Without missing a beat, I answered coldly, “Well, it turns out there’s nothing here for me in this city.”

  Before Emerson could respond, the bitchy redhead began clearing her throat while rubbing his arm. Looking at the hand, I wanted to remove, on his bicep. I heard him say, “Sorry… this is Jillian.”

  Reluctantly, she reached out and loosely shook my outstretched hand and quickly returned it to Emerson’s arm. Looking from the redhead to Emerson, I quickly downed my glass of champagne. “Enjoy your evening.” Then grabbing another glass of bubbly from a passing tray, I turned and walked away swiftly with an exaggerated wiggle of my ass.

  I was beyond happy when the lavish drapery parted; giving way to the Matisse exhibit and even more elated when docents supplied everyone with headphones for the tour. Normally I wasn’t one to listen to these pre-recorded presentations but I needed to get my head around anything but my thoughts of Emerson, and I welcomed the device. Though I could not tell you what was said once I
entered the room of the reclining nudes. The infamous worktable had been removed and in its place sat a bench upholstered in a brilliant Matisse “Jazz” print. Seeing the custom bench empty, I took this opportunity to sit upon it and gaze around the gallery space. Taking off the headphones, I wanted to hear only my own personal thoughts. This room held new meaning to me as I looked at each and every one of these women on display. I was like them. I knew what it was like to recline nude in front of an artist.

  The longer I sat there I began to weep silently. Tears spilled down my face and I began to wonder: What were their stories? Were they paid models? Were they lovers of Henri Matisse? How did they come to pose for him? Were they happy? Did Matisse consider them nothing more than an object? Did he toss them away? Once a muse and then easily discarded? Did they love him? Did he love any of them?

  My train of thought vanished as a tender but shaky female voice spoke softly in my ear, “They are lovely, aren’t they dear?” Handing me a tissue as I stood, I gladly accepted it and thanked her. “Time for dinner, dear. You are welcomed to join me if you are alone.” I smiled and thanked the elderly woman again and assured her that I was in good hands.

  Walking away, I wasn’t so sure I could make it through dinner, but I told myself, “Yes, you can!” Following the elegantly dressed crowd, I arrived at a gorgeous ballroom with dangling crystal chandeliers and checked in. Finding my assigned seat, I noticed I was sitting directly across the table from Emerson and the redhead from hell. To my left was supposed to be my date, Pierce, but he never arrived and I endured dinner being commandeered by a charming male art patron I had met earlier. When Pierce finally appeared, he promptly whisked me out on to the dance floor, saving me from a dance with my elder dinner companion. “Sorry, Julia. Crazy night. Would you care to dance?”