representative of wealth. Images of living our comfortable existence, blended with the images of what made us comfortable – including slave labor and animals suffering. That sort of thing. I wanted to be provocative and make people think. That motivated me even more than the very feeling of putting the paint on the canvas, which was a high in and of itself.
Then, once the artistic inspiration ran dry, so did my very essence. I was really repressed. Perhaps I was even depressed. I didn’t really know. All that I knew was that I was on rote, and had been for a long, long time. For longer than I cared to remember.
Unfortunately, that kernel of a feeling didn’t last too long. I got home, and sat down in front of my canvas, hoping that something would spring forth. When nothing did, I got up in frustration, and did what was familiar for me by then.
I went to my usual watering hole.
Chapter Nine
I was on my fourth drink of the night, when I turned around and saw him. Nottingham. He was there in the bar, looking over at me with interest. There wasn’t a hair out of place, as usual, and he was perfectly clean-shaven. As usual. There was none of the casual insouciance of Luke in this man. He was very buttoned-up, and I could just tell that he was afraid of how others would perceive him. Unlike Luke, who dressed in tattered jeans and couldn’t control his hair, nor did he seem to want to.
I looked away, not wanting to engage him in conversation, but he was soon sitting next to me anyhow.
“Dalilah,” he said. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Yeah. Fancy,” I said, calling bullshit in my head. The guy was a stalker. That was all there was to it.
“How did it go today?”
“Fine. I have to email Luke later on and find out when he wants me again. In fact, I think I’ll do just that.” At that, I brought out my phone and prepared to text Luke. But Nottingham took the phone away from me.
“Text him later. I really would like your full attention.”
I raised an eyebrow, and put my hand out, palms up, wordlessly.
He just shook his head. “You’ll get this later, when you’ve earned it, Dalilah.”
Earned it? He did not just say that.
Still, I just let it slide. There wasn’t a point in getting upset about it. I was never one to be tied to my phone, anyhow.
“Whatever. Okay, you have my attention. What would like to say to me?”
He took a sip of his drink, which appeared to be some kind of whiskey, and peered at me with those cold blue eyes of his. They weren’t full of life like Luke’s were. Or my father’s. Or even my mother’s. There was clearly something wrong with him.
“Dalilah,” he said. “I’m rather taken with you. I’d like to see you on a more private basis.”
“Thanks, Mr. Nottingham, but, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather keep things between us professional. And I’m having a difficult time remembering how you first came to see me. I mean, you’ve obviously been following me, or something of the sort. But how you first encountered me…I’m sorry, but that escapes me.”
He looked quite hurt. “There was a party in the Hamptons. You were living with Nick O’Hara and his wife, Scotty. You were wearing a white sundress and sandals. I had never seen such a magnificent beauty in my entire life. I asked around the party about you, as casually as I could, as you were not yet 18 at the time. I was able to find out enough about you that I was able to….”
“Follow me,” I said, perplexed. And it didn’t take a rocket scientist to now know exactly how Nick found out about me and my drunken escapades and the rand om men that followed. My guess was that this weirdo had been in these bars all along, and I just didn’t notice him before because I hadn’t yet met him.
He said nothing, but took another sip of his drink. Thus confirming that he was, in fact, following me.
“So,” I said. “How do you know Nick and Scotty?”
“My company does business with his
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