Chapter 1
The walls of the
art gallery were long and so achingly white that your attention naturally clung
to the myriad of hanging paintings. Of course, the building was designed this
way. That didn’t mean the wall didn’t bore me, however. This month’s feature
artist was a young woman from Chicago, who painted exotic skylines imposed over
cityscapes that she saw from her apartment window. They were beautiful, truly,
and I couldn’t help but be a little jealous.
I uncrossed
and then re-crossed my legs, fumbling clumsily around my pencil skirt. My
blouse was just as restrictive; I slid my hands around my slim torso, and –
since no one else was around at the moment, least of all my boss – I quickly
cupped my breasts, placing each thumb over a nipple. At least my tits looked
perky in this top.
I slung a
strand of loose auburn hair around my ear. Working at Jamieson Gallery, I’d
apparently traded both my sense of style as well as my flexibility for the
trimmings of the professional world. I adjusted myself on the chair again.
And why did I
always find myself stuffed into corporate clothing? That one was easy to
answer; I was Clarissa Drayer. I was merely the girl who helped showcase other
artists. The real artists. I was never the artist myself. Always a bridesmaid,
never a bride. Heh. My life thus far had felt stagnant and unfulfilling. I was
where I was, and I had no one to please but myself. And at that, I was failing.
I was just waiting for something powerful to come and excite my being.
I opened my sketchbook
(that I kept hidden in a compartment inside the reception desk in case my boss
came around – Mademoiselle Pia, an older woman, with a taste for young
men).
And the first
page I turned to was a self-portrait. Great. The only thing I had going for me
was my own looks. Somewhat. I’d always been told I was a pretty girl, cute, but
never hot. And never beautiful. My eyes were too big, and somehow, always
revealed my naiveté and trusting nature immediately upon meeting someone. Maybe
that’s why boys always took advantage of me. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t land a
boyfriend. And, just maybe, that’s why I’d never had an orgasm.
That’s when my
boss came strolling around the corner; I quickly shut the book closed and
placed it under my seat.
“Good morning,
Clarissa.”
“Hello,
Mademoiselle” I said. That’s what she preferred to be called. Sigh.
“You’re
looking a bit… tired? Do you have a brush by any chance? You should run one
through your hair, quickly. We have a very big client coming today.” She said
as she walked about the room.
“Oh, no, I’m
sorry I didn’t bring one,” I said, quickly running my hand along the top of my
hair. I knew what tired meant. I thought my hair looked fine, but every now and
then, I could be a little absent-minded in the morning.
“A big client,
Mademoi-“ I said before being cut off.
“Yes,” she
moved closer to whisper, “and with very deep pockets.” She backed away to
stroll around the room looking at the featured artwork, her stilettos clicking
on the black ceramic tiles of the floor.
We were
dressed quite similarly today, except that Mademoiselle actually looked the
part of a professional adult. I wondered, was this how I was going to end up? A
middle-aged sex-starved spinster, hanging on to the last of her good looks,
bullying around her employees? No, I’m only twenty-two. I still have
time.
“You might
actually have heard of our client. In fact, I’d be surprised if you hadn’t.
He’s the young Will Garrett, the founder of PEAR Corporation.”
I didn’t know
him. Damn it, I told myself to become interested in current affairs. “Oh right.
Worth a million dollars, right?”
Mademoiselle
laughed a short, condescending high-pitched laugh.
“No, dear. Try
billions. The man can step away and never work another day in his life, imagine
that. Just like myself, actually, if I really wanted to.”
Somehow
Learning to Kill: Stories