Draw Me A Picture (41 page)

“It’s William, Bob,” he said, taking another drink. “Hopefully, Felix-Maclane will give you a raise and an excellent retirement package, so you won’t have to work anymore in the near future, unless you want to.” At this, Bob laughed and slapped his knee.

“Contracts and negotiation, my ass!” he said, chuckling. “You should go into politics.” William shuddered.

“No, thank you,” he said, with conviction. “That’s an honor I will forego. Right now I want to keep busy until my wedding to the sweetest girl in the world, so we can go on our honeymoon… the first long vacation I’ve had in years.” Bob listened to this, rubbing his chin a little.

“Your honeymoon is one of the best vacations you’ll ever have,” he said, raising his can of soda.

“I’ll drink to that,” William said; they tapped the containers and relaxed in the relative quiet of the lounge.

“If anyone comes in this room...” William said, after a pause. “... I’m going to pester them for eight hours until they sign on as a client.” From the depths of his chair Bob answered with a tired laugh.

MICHELLE WALKED into the photographer’s studio and immediately liked the frank absence of a ‘waiting room’. Laurel was making a call out in the hall, so she felt free to look around. No receptionist and no photographer... as far as she could see. The wide, white room was also devoid of furniture, save for several dozen white candle stands each set up about a foot away from the wall, all around the room. Each stand had an extinguished candle on it. A far corner of the room held a wide cream-colored drop cloth hanging from the ceiling and high-end photographic equipment set up around it.

“I normally only do portraits.”

A man spoke, from somewhere close by. Turning, Michelle beheld an older gentleman standing a few feet away from her. He appeared to be around fifty-five years of age, with very gray hair; he looked a bit thin and pale but had a sparkle in his eye that showed life was yet present within him. He was dressed much like Mr. Rogers in tan slacks, a red, zip-up sweater and sneakers.

“You don’t startle easily,” he said. “That’s good.”

Michelle raised an eyebrow at him and looked smiled politely.

“Well… that’s all wedding photos are,” she pointed out, softly; the echoing room made speaking loudly unnecessary. “Unscripted portraits of those who attend.” At this the man laughed; it was more of a cackle, but not an unpleasant one.

“I like you already,” he said. He handed held out a long, butane lighter. “Would you help me light all these candles? It’s quite a job, as you can see.” Michelle was puzzled by the request.

“Are we taking pictures now?” she queried. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” the man said. “I’m James Torville, by the way.” Michelle took the lighter gently from him.

“Michelle Gregory,” she said, smiling. Mr. Torville leaned his head a little to one side.

“That… is a lovely smile,” he said. “Really nice. I’ll get this side of the room.” He produced another lighter and set about lighting the candles very quickly. The door opened. Laurel entered the room and walked quickly over to Michelle; she saw the slender little man lighting candles and arched a brow.

“Is that Mr. Torville?” she whispered. Michelle nodded.

“He wants me to help him light the candles,” she whispered back before walking over to start on her task.

Lighting the dozens of  candles proved a rather calming activity; Laurel followed the bride-to-be, looking around.

“Bare room,” she commented, quietly. “I hope he agrees to do the photos; I’ve seen his stuff... really good, very real and stark sometimes, but peaceful.” Michelle smiled, continuing her task. Her uncle’s assistant was amusing in her ability to pile as many adjectives into a thought as it could hold. It was an admirable trait, in that one could always tell exactly what the woman thought and liked about any particular subject.

In a short time all the candles were crowned with tiny flames. Mr. Torville aimed a remote at the large windows. They immediately darkened, shutting out all the outside light. In an instant, the look of the room changed completely; the flickering warm light of the candles glanced of the rounded ceiling, back down on their faces, lighting them perfectly.

“Wow...” Laurel said, an awed expression on her face. “That’s brilliant!”

“Thank you,” Mr. Torville said, appearing behind her. Laurel jumped and giggled nervously. “I had the room designed specifically for candlelight,” he explained. He looked at Michelle and gestured the drop cloth.

“Over here please, Miss Gregory,” he said. “I think you are a person who would sit very well.” Michelle obligingly removed her coat and let Laurel take it from her.

“This guy really knows what he’s doing,” Laurel whispered. “Your skin is glowing!” Michelle smiled at her, but felt a bit silly; she hadn’t had pictures taken of her by a professional since she was in high school. Those school pictures didn’t turn out very well, as she recalled.

“Pick any spot,” the photographer instructed. “The camera will find you.” Michelle admired the man’s artistic way of expressing himself.

Though she was not able to see how the soft, flickering of the descending candlelight illuminated her skin, Mr. Torville was quite enthralled with his new subject.

“She looks a fairytale heroine...” he murmured, peering through the camera. “Talk to me about your groom,” he said, loud enough for Michelle to hear. The young woman immediately blushed and smiled, looking down. Snap. A hauntingly beautiful picture resounding with innocent dreams... right off the bat.

“I’ll take the job,” Mr. Torville said, speaking to Laurel. “Just let me know the time and place.” Beaming, Laurel scratched off another line on her clipboard.

A half-hour later they left the studio with warm goodbyes.

“I never thought we’d convince him to do it,” Laurel said, smiling. “Mr. Maclane will be really pleased. He suggested James Torville because he’d seen some of the guy’s work in a magazine article on war veterans. I saw his portrait of Elizabeth Taylor and thought she’d never looked better. Are you hungry?” Michelle laughed.

“Not really,” she said. “I ate a fairly solid breakfast.” Laurel looked around as they gained the street. She pointed at a little café across the street; it looked sunny and flew Italian and American flags from its upper level.

“Oh, they have fantastic gelato over there!” she said, smiling. “Could you manage to choke down some sorbet?” Chuckling, Michelle nodded.

“I’m certain it’s too good to choke down,” she tempered. “Let’s go.” Laurel grinned and signaled to Drake in the car; she joined Michelle for a short walk across the street to the café.

The café embodied all the good sounds and smells of Italian-American light cuisine, complete with a solid row of scrumptious-looking gelato under glass. Soon, the girls were settled at a tiny table by the window, with Daniels at the next one eating two different flavors. Drake surprised them by joining them soon after.

“I like gelato,” he informed them, shortly. Laurel giggled into her napkin while Michelle hid a smile in her hand.

They ate in relative quiet until someone else came into the shop; someone by the name of Luca D’Angelo. Michelle saw him the moment he entered the café; she turned to Laurel and began to ask a question about the florist they were going to see.

“What on earth is he doing here?” she wondered silently. Michelle didn’t really want to know but hoped he’d leave them alone. She was not in the mood for fending off the seemingly unending advances of Sophie’s son. She glanced at Daniels. “He’s armed; maybe I can just ask him to shoot the guy...”

Across the tiny table, Laurel obliviously studied her notes.

“OK... next we’re going to see Ermine over at Le Fleur and...” The young woman stopped mid-sentence and actually hid behind her clipboard. “Omigosh! Who is that?” She peered over the top at the tall figure standing by the counter ordering gelato. Michelle glanced over her shoulder.

“You mean the over-confident predator skulking by the counter?” she asked, coolly, taking a bite of her raspberry sorbet. Laurel gaped at her.

“Are you blind?” she whispered, fiercely. “No! The gorgeous guy standing over there, with the dark curly hair... oh, wow… he could be a model. Definitely.” The young woman sighed, peering over her clipboard again at Luca. Michelle laughed, softy.

“Yes, he could,” she said, smiling at Laurel. “But, a guy like that is used to women throwing themselves at him, trying to get something from him; so, he uses them and tosses them away. He’s an acquaintance of William’s and not a close one. I met him at the party where William proposed to me.”

Laurel stared her.

“He’s the guy who flirted with you all night?” she asked, quietly. By now Laurel knew most of the details of that night, barring the tender ones. Michelle saw the young woman began to look a little less enamored with Luca. “Oh, crap... he’s looking over here!” She busied herself writing some notes on her clipboard and flipped open her cell phone.

Luca did not see the two women at first. He came in here often; he owned this café… well, the bank did, but he was slowly paying it off. He spent a great deal of time here working the tables, trying to find out if the local market was receptive to light, healthy Italian cuisine. Hearing a familiar, soft voice from across the room, he turned and saw William Montgomery’s lovely fiancée--of all people--sitting at a table in the corner. About to walk over he spied another young woman sitting with her, one who gave him bashful glances over her clipboard. She looked very sweet dressed in fashionable business attire, with warm, brown eyes and bouncy, natural blond curls; Luca felt an inexplicable urge to feel those springy curls in his fingers.

“Not bad,” he thought, smiling.

Walking over towards them, Luca noted the strongman and uniformed driver sitting near the ladies. He continued to the table.

“I hope you are enjoying the gelato,” he said. “It is our most popular item.” While the blond woman pretended to talk on her phone, Michelle looked fearlessly up at him.

“Hello, Mr. D’Angelo,” she said, forming a polite, frosty smile. It was a look her father had taught her, one that you’d give to a neighbor whom you know is stealing your newspaper but have no proof. “So, this is your café?”

“Yes,” Luca said, returning her gaze. “I also work here, Miss Gregory.” Michelle peered at Luca closely; the man’s face was a little altered, as if his pride was gearing itself up to be hurt. “I live upstairs, in the apartments.” His expression conveyed an expectation of being laughed at.

Michelle gave the man a real smile. So, the whole suave playboy image was a facade; she liked him better for it. At least he believed in making his own way in the world.

“It’s a very nice café,” she said, turning toward Laurel. “Luca D’Angelo, meet a friend of mine, Laurel Ecland, she’s my uncle’s assistant.” Smiling, Luca looked over at the pretty blond girl again.

“Laurel,” he repeated. “What a beautiful name.” He took up the young woman’s hand and kissed the back of it. The girl seemed speechless; her face rapidly turned pink. “I am charmed to meet you,” Luca finished, with a grin. Michelle smiled into her gelato.

Luca met Daniels and Drake and spent a moment speaking with them on the menu until one of the cooks beckoned.

“I must go,” he said. “We have to prepare for the lunch crowd.” He cast a smile at Michelle; she regarded him with a bit less frostiness and her smile was genuine, yet still distant. The lovely Laurel, however, could not stop blushing; Luca liked this very much and kissed her hand again. “Please return soon, Miss Laurel.”

“I will...” she squeaked out, returning to writing her notes; they looked rather illegible to Michelle but she said nothing about it.

“Perhaps they’d make a good couple,” she thought.

“Shall we go get the florist squared away?” Laurel said, having recovered a little. Michelle nodded. Anything to make the day go faster; she glanced at the clock.

“Just make it ‘til tonight,” she thought, biting her lip. She missed William like oxygen gone from her lungs.  

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Michelle stumbled into her tiny domicile at 3pm, shutting the door behind her with relief. Room 203 never looked better. As appreciative as she was of Laurel’s help, the woman was relentless with the montage of appointments, lists and ideas. Still, they'd taken care of the florist, approved a decorating scheme with the hotel, approved the guest list and ordered invitations. Initially the invitation printer said they couldn’t go out for a week. Apparently a large payment made that iron fact a bit more pliable; they’d go out in two days.

Michelle immediately went over to her phone. In her hand sat two messages from William, along with a number to call some kind of waiting room that he was apparently in. Dialing the long line of numbers, Michelle held her breath and smiled, waiting. An operator picked up.

“Who do you wish to speak to?” said someone in a banal tone.

“William Montgomery?” she asked, uncertainly. There was a pause.

“Hello?” came William’s warm, wonderful voice. Michelle sighed. It felt so good to hear him speak; she sat down on her bed.

“Hello William,” she said, softly. “I got your messages.”

“I am not ashamed to say I have missed you, to the degree that I may quite possibly go batty,” William told her, sincerely. Michelle smiled; her small measure of bravery tripled.

“I... I cannot go many minutes without wishing you were here,” she said, haltingly. “Though you’d hate going around all these places... I still feel your absence.” Michelle took a breath to calm her nerves. “I hope the days go by very fast until I can call you my husband.”

The last part was really only just above a whisper but William heard it. He gripped the phone and closed his eyes. This girl had his heart. There was no way around it; he was captured.

“Three thousand miles away and she affects me the same,” he thought, smiling.

“I appreciate being let into your confidence, my love,” he said. “Your little ways and words refresh me, you know; even here in this airport, over the telephone no less. That would only work if we are meant for each other.”