Complementary Colors by Adrienne Wilder

I said.
    “It’s water. She’s not going to melt.” Julia scrolled through her records on her smart phone. “Do you think ten will be enough?”
    “I’m sure it will be fine.”
    “I don’t know. You sold three at the last showing.”
    “Three?”
    “Yes.” The men cast a wary eye in Julia’s direction. She didn’t look up so they proceeded to unwrap the canvas.
    “Then ten is all we have.”
    “I know.”
    “Then you’ll have to make do.”
    “But we won’t have one for the interview.”
    “What interview?”
    “I told you that you have a Q and A on the Allen Rock Show.”
    “Why would I need a painting for an interview?”
    “As a backdrop. This is huge, Paris. Millions of people watch that show.”
    Millions. I pinched the bridge of my nose.
    “Are you okay?”
    “Headache.”
    “Take some aspirin.”
    “I think I should go eat.”
    Julia glared at me.
    “I haven’t eaten all day.” I wasn’t hungry, but I needed to get away.
    “Fine.” She gave me her back. “Just don’t eat junk, or you’ll get fat.”
    Rain soaked my clothes in droplets of ice blues and frigid whites. I could have taken the limo. That’s what Julia would have wanted. Which is why I didn’t.
    I followed the sidewalk to a stretch of buildings. Neon signs advertising beer and wine glowed in the windows above paper menus of upscale restaurants. The wind shifted, and the scent of grilling meats and sweet pastries was replaced by burned petrol and rot from the dumpsters up the street. People passed me huddled under umbrellas. Fragments of their conversation left vibrant confetti in the air while the passing cars dragged out streaks of gray.
    I stopped under an awning. The pounding in my skull eased, and the ringing sound left behind mixed with wet soles sticking to the pavement.
    It rained the same way that terrible, terrible day in the woods when the mud caked my clothes, packed under my nails, clung to my cheeks.
    My hands trembled.
    My heart skipped.
    The space around me expanded until I was lost in years past.
    Wet earth. Fresh leaves. The tap, tap, tap of rain passing through the canopy of leaves overhead. I flexed my hands, and my knuckles ached like I’d been carrying something heavy.
    “Paris?” I knew that voice. Roy stepped out a café.
    I hoped my smile didn’t look as fake as it felt. “Are you following me, Mr. Callahan?”
    “Uh, no, I just stopped to—” He frowned at me. “You okay?”
    I ran a look over him, from his flannel shirt to his dirt-stained jeans. He had a tool belt around his waist. “I am now.”
    He nodded in the direction of the café. “Do you want to go in and get some coffee?”
    I stepped closer. “What I want is for you to take me home with you.”
    Roy glanced over his shoulder.
    “Yes, I’m talking to you. Do you have a car?”
    “No. I walked.” He held up the raincoat draped over his arm.
    “Then what are you waiting for?” He didn’t move so I brushed my lips against his ear. “I thought you wanted me?”
    His exhale shuddered. “I do.”
    “Then take me home with you, Roy, and fuck me.”
    He swallowed several times and then nodded. “Okay. Yeah, yeah, okay.”
    I grinned.
    “Wait.” He wrapped his raincoat around my shoulders.
    “I’m already soaked.”
    “I know, but you’re chilled.”
    “What about you?”
    “I’ll be fine.”
    “How about we take a cab?” He dropped his gaze for a moment. I added, “I’ll pay.”
    “You don’t…”
    I put a finger over his mouth, pushed it between his lips, slid it along the edge of his teeth and brushed the tip of his tongue. “The quicker we get to your apartment, the sooner I can get out of these wet clothes.” I pulled him to the line of cabs.
    “It’s not far,” Roy said as he sat down beside me. He gave the address to the cabby, and the car jostled for a spot in traffic. A horn honked, and someone yelled. Through the sheets of rain, two little boys holding hands ran down the sidewalk. They