Struck by Lightning. Christa Maurice
“But I still owe you most of the value.”
“Those prices are way too high. I was just kidding around.”
“I’m not.” Dan shoved the money a little closer to her. She didn’t look like the wet bohemian he’d first met or the distant beauty in the gallery last week. Today she had her wild black hair pinned up off her neck and she wore a pretty yellow sundress. He resisted the impulse to look under the table and see if she had shoes on. She probably didn’t. He hadn’t seen her wear shoes yet. She also seemed to be suffering a shock response. Her breathing was shallow and her face had gone pale. It was hard to tell from across the table, but he thought her eyes might be dilated.
“I can’t ask a hundred and thirty dollars for two quick pencil sketches,” she whispered.
“Yes, you can and it’s worth it.” A woman Dan didn’t know dropped into the seat beside Rebecca. “Whatever she asked it’s no doubt worth it. She’s the best artist in the state.”
“Monica!” Rebecca protested.
Monica leaned across the table. “She’s also a fantastic teacher. I’ve been taking lessons from her for years and I’m learning new things all the time. I’m like a thousand times better than I was before. Oh, these are beautiful. Are these the ones he wants to buy?” She picked up the boatman and the family with the czar. “I missed a session of storytelling, didn’t I? You really should let people know when you’re going to do this. I’d come out to watch. A lot of people would.”
Billy came over to the table. “Sandy says you want a milk shake. What kind of milk shake do you want? Do you want a milk and Pepsi milk shake?”
“That’s fine.” Dan wished Billy and Monica would go away. Rebecca looked like she wanted to flee the scene, but she was trapped. What could be making her react like this? Him? Monica? Billy? The money? Low blood sugar?
“Are you gonna draw another story soon, Rebecca? I’d really like that. I like it when you tell stories.” Billy grinned. “Are you gonna have a milk shake too?”
Sandy crowded in behind Billy. “Billy, honey, you go make the nice man’s milk shake and you know Rebecca will want a chocolate one.” She grabbed his shoulders and shifted him away from the table, still talking.
“Listen, Rebecca. I came to tell you that I need to reschedule my lesson this week. I left a message with Bess, but she didn’t write it down so when I saw you in here I thought I’d stop and tell you in person. You have my number, right? You can give me a call and we’ll set up another time. I wish I’d known you were here today. I’d have come here for lunch instead of going through a drive-thru. Give me a call so we can reschedule.” Monica stood up. “She really is a great teacher.”
Dan waited for the dust to settle before he tried to speak. “So, you teach drawing too?” The color had returned to her face at least. It could still be low blood sugar, or him.
“I can’t let you spend a hundred and thirty dollars on two quick pencil sketches.” She put away her pad and pencils. “Just take them both for thirty.”
“That’s a pretty serious drop in price. How about I take them both for sixty?”
She frowned at him, her lush lips crinkling to match the determined crease between her eyes. It struck him as really cute. “This is not how bargaining works. You’re supposed to drive the price down, not up.”
He shrugged. “Well, if you won’t take my offer at least let me buy you lunch.”
“Walt is giving me lunch on the house,” she reminded him.
“Okay, what about dinner?”
She smirked. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“No.”
“Okay.” She stood up. “When Sandy comes back tell her I’d like the tuna salad. I’m going to wash the graphite off my hands.”
“If you sneak out the back, I still know where you work.”
“If I sneak out the back, the fire alarm will go off.”
“Well, isn’t it convenient that I’m already here.” He grinned.
She shook her head and walked away from the table.
Dan picked up the bargain-basement pencil sketches he’d just purchased. They were quickly done, with a few lines suggesting everything. But somehow they made more sense to him than that blinking object in the window of the gallery across the street. The question now was, which one was really her?
* * * *
Rebecca studied herself in the bathroom mirror. She was in serious danger of losing the advantage here. Things had gone swimmingly at first. She’d walked in with her sketch pad sticking out of her bag and Billy started jumping up and down. In addition to the excellent ego stroking, his enthusiasm gave her better advertising than a neon sign. She’d had two moms on cellphones before she got out her pencils. At Billy’s behest, she’d stalled for about twenty minutes while he filled milk shake orders for the whole group. It had provided her with an excellent opportunity to do a nice detailed sketch of the baby hero, the family and the villain. It also allowed two more adults with four children between them to arrive and order. During the storytelling, her entire audience had been very polite and she hadn’t forgotten anything important. Billy was happy and the tips had looked good when she stuffed them in her pocket without counting. Especially now that she was getting a free lunch.
And dinner.
Rebecca frowned more deeply. That was about when everything had blown apart. She couldn’t be completely certain how long the hero had been watching her, but she suspected he’d heard some of the story. The fact that he’d been watching at all had been disorienting enough without his offer to buy two of the sketches and the bizarre entrance of an overcaffeinated Monica Raines. She’d been far too rattled to slip out of his offer of dinner.
The visual didn’t help either. Every hair on her head was hell-bent on freedom in any direction possible. The smudged graphite on her cheek and the yellow sundress weren’t the image she was trying to impress him with either.
No changing what she had to work with. She pulled her hair out of the hasty bun she’d twisted it up in and braided it because it was too hot to leave it loose. Then she washed her face. At dinner she’d have to out-artsy herself just to balance this appearance.
Picking up her bag, she left the bathroom. It was just another play in the game. She’d let him out, now she had to reel him in. As she walked down the hall, she watched him staring at the tin ceiling. He probably didn’t know what it was and if he did, thought it was a stupid throwback, not something that had been painstakingly restored. He wore a burgundy polo shirt, and the knee sticking out from under the table, ready to knock into some unsuspecting waitress was clad in tan chinos. The mirrored wraparound sunglasses were probably in his truck. He had to drive a truck. that type always did. He was just making it easier to take him down.
He smiled at her when she sat down. “That’s a great ceiling. Do you know if it’s original?”
“O–? Yes, it is. Walt’s dad owned the place before he did and he had it covered with a suspended ceiling, but Walt remodeled about eight years ago and had it restored.” He kept not being what she thought he was. Why did he keep doing that? It made her doubt what she was doing.
“You sound like you worked on it.”
Rebecca shook her head. “My friend’s dad did a lot of the work and Max worked with him.”
“Where were you when all this as going on?”
“In high school about eighty miles from here.”
Sandy appeared at the side of the table with a tray. “Okay, tuna salad, extra pickle. Blackberry pie, a la mode.”
Rebecca looked across the table. The hero’s burger was missing. Had