The Genius and the Muse by Elizabeth Hunter Read Free Book Online

Sculptor
     

 
     
     
     
    CHAPTER EIGHT
     
     
     
    Pomona, California
    May 2010
     
     
    “ H ello?” Kate had to shout over the pounding punk music that roared out of the warehouse. She pushed the door open, stepping into the dimly lit industrial studio.
    “Mr. Lugo?”
    The music seemed to be coming from one corner of the warehouse, so she walked carefully in that direction, dodging sheet metal, rebar and various concrete blocks scattered haphazardly around the huge space. She swallowed nervously as she approached the source of the noise, thinking perhaps Dee had been mistaken in directing her toward the notorious sculptor.
    As she walked around a seemingly random corner created by cinder blocks and a reinforced steel door, she saw the sputtering light of a stick welder and the hulking form of the famous sculptor, Javier Lugo.
    He was reaching upward, welding a massive piece that resembled a ragged flame turned upside down. The music continued to blare as he worked and a shower of sparks fell across his leather-shielded legs. His face was covered by a riotously painted helmet, and his arms were encased in the cow-hide sleeves typical of a working welder.
    “Mr. Lugo?” she shouted again as the song changed.
    The welder shut off immediately, the flickering blue star disappearing as he lifted his helmet and glared at her with angry black eyes.
    “Who the hell are you?” he shouted. “Get out of my studio. This isn’t a gallery.”
    “Ow!” Kate stubbed her toe on a partially broken cinder block as she continued walking toward him. “Um… my name is Kaitlyn Mitchell,” she tried shouting over the song that had just started.
    “What?” he yelled back. Setting his equipment down on a rolling cart next to him, he pulled off his thick leather gloves and picked up a remote control he used to turn the music off. The space echoed with quiet as he turned back toward her, scowling.
    “Did Lydia send you? Are you from another fucking newspaper?” he asked, his deep voice echoing through the warehouse. Looking her up and down, from the toes of her canvas shoes to the Ray-Ban sunglasses that rested on her head, he grunted. “Shit, you’re a student, aren’t you?” He shook his head. “I don’t use assistants, little girl. Go away.”
    He turned back toward the cart, picking up his gloves and flipping his helmet down.
    “Wait! I’m Kate Mitchell, Dee’s friend. She said she called you?” Kate’s voice raised hopefully, though she was starting to doubt the cranky artist would tell her anything useful.
    He paused, lifting his helmet again.
    “Dee’s friend?” His forehead furrowed in concentration. “I thought you were coming tomorrow. Wait, what day is it?”
    “It’s Saturday.”
    “Well, shit. No wonder Mari was pissed off,” he muttered, throwing his gloves on the floor and pulling his brown sleeves off, revealing a sweat-drenched undershirt with no sleeves. He pulled his helmet off and set it on the cart. His hair was dark brown and closely cropped, and Kate watched him silently as he bent to remove the leather chaps that covered his jeans. He took a moment to stretch and rub his neck which had been kinked at an angle as he worked.
    Javier Lugo was built like a bulldog, a massive one. His round head sat on a thick, muscular neck, and his broad shoulders were layered with the musculature he had developed from years of working with wood, metal, concrete, and stone. Though his hair and eyes were almost black, his skin was unexpectedly fair—and colorful, swirling tattoos marked his forearms and peeked from the back of his collar. He twisted his neck in either direction, and she heard it pop.
    Kate winced at the painful sound, and he caught her out of the corner of his eye. A grim smirk crossed a face that would never be described as handsome. Kate saw the scar at the corner of his mouth turn up as he watched her. Javier Lugo may have been famous in art circles, but he would never be a