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"Oh, why ..." she stammered.
"I'll take care of the drinks, Ernesto," Dawson interrupted. Jill was terribly relieved ... so that's what an
aperitif was, a cocktail!
Jill arranged a few acrylics on the vast marble coffee table. Garcia, sitting next to her on one of the seven
foot couches, studied the paintings critically, his well-manicured hand brushing his narrow upper lip in a
slow, sweeping motion. This was a group of still lifes-not his favorite subject. One of the paintings was
quite amateurish, although the color was good. But the brush work and the general composition reeked
of "student cliche."
"Very interesting. Lovely highlights on this one, and I can see you have a well-developed sense of color,
Jill."
"Thank you," she acknowledged breathlessly, and yet, in the presence of Ernesto Garcia, she was
suddenly able to see flaws she had never noticed before. She realized the things were simply not that
good, and she regretted bringing them.
The next grouping showed abstracts. Garcia's face reflected greater interest-he happened to be very
knowledgeable about abstract art;
Klee and Miro were two of his favorite painters, and he very much admired Alexander Calder. But he
was also more critical. The abstracts were hopeless, though he didn't tell Jill that. He tactfully
complimented her on the best aspects of each painting and asked to see the next drawings. He was very
interested in those. The girl did have a feel for the human form that was not visible in her still lifes and
abstracts.
"These nudes are promising, Jill. You've done the boy very well ... is he a special friend of yours?"
Garcia wanted to know.
The drawings were of Chris. He had a beautiful body. "Oh, oh no," she lied, "it's just a model they use a
lot at school."
Dawson was leaning over their shoulders, a gesture which particularly irritated Garcia. "Sure is a ha ...
sure is a handsome fellow." (He had almost said "hung"!) Garcia did not turn around, but his icy
vibrations were so powerful that the printer quickly stood upright and walked a few steps away. "I think
she's a real find, don't you, Ernesto?" he added.
"Decidedly," came the level reply.
When the gallery owner had carefully studied the last of the figure drawings, he turned to the portraits. It
was in these that Jill excelled-yes, the human face and figure were definitely her purview. An idea came
to him.
"Jill, have you determined what it is you want to do with your art? That is, what do you hope to achieve
with your studies?" he queried, looking intently into her eyes. Again, she felt an involuntary shiver course
her spine, and she squirmed in the soft, deep cushion of the long couch. Delicious little sensations of
pleasure reverberated through the walls of her pussy, and she couldn't understand why she felt so turned
on. Was it Garcia, or something in that strange tea Josephine concocted? She had never been turned on
like this without overt stimulation ... Chris's tongue, or her own hot fingers ...
"Well, actually, Mr. Garcia ..." she began.
"Please ... Jill," he answered smoothly, looking at her with dark eyes full of warmth and sincerity, "
...please call me Ernesto. You make me feel like a very old man, and I am not yet a senior citizen!" A
warmer smile, showing straight white teeth, melted the innocent ingenue. Jill flushed.
"I-I didn't mean it that way, Mr... . I mean, Ernesto," she stammered.
"You're very young."
"Not all that young, I hope. I have no desire to be a youth again," he said, making his point in a
good-natured but nonetheless firm way. "The point is, I want you not to think of me as Mr. Garcia, the
gallery owner, but as, Ernesto, your friend. Do you understand that?"
"Yes, I do. And I appreciate that very much ... Ernesto. And as far as my art is concerned, I guess I
really haven't thought enough about how I want to be great-but I need to be. Very much," she answered,
looking up at him with wide eyes. She was beginning to feel the aperitif, too. It didn't taste strong, but it
certainly had a powerful effect.
"You are an intelligent young woman, Jill. And you have talent, I can see that. What you lack is focus ...
if you'll permit me to be very frank. It is a common flaw in the young artist. Today is the day of
specialization, and art is no exception. You cannot be a GP in the art world and make a name for
yourself. In medicine there is the internist, the endocrinologist, the pediatrician, et cetera. So it is in the
graphic realm. In my opinion, your best aptitude is for portraiture and figure drawing, the unclothed body
..."
(When he said, "the unclothed body," Jill felt another tremor, and she became aware of a sticky wetness
oozing from her pussy.)
Garcia went on intently, his eyes never leaving hers. His gaze was mesmerizing, and the young artist
nodded her head in mute acceptance. "If you are willing to concentrate your energies on those, and
forget still lifes and abstracts, which, I must say, do not generate the excitement necessary to promulgate
instant success, I think you can do quite well and perhaps, even command a following. But of course, I
do not know how interested you are, nor to what degree you are willing to dedicate yourself. Perhaps
you intend to finish a year of schooling and find a nice young man and settle down to the cozy domestic
life ..."
Oh, he was clever! Garcia had an uncanny ability for honing in on a woman's vulnerabilities. He phrased
it just right. Putting it the way he did, the "cozy, domestic life" seemed terribly stultifying compared to a
glamorous 'career' as a renowned artist! Besides, there was little chance to enjoy a domestic life with
Chris, based on that brief and disheartening phone call to Kansas City. Where did that leave her now?
"No!" Jill said resolutely, her big hazel eyes flashing sparks. She bounced on the couch for emphasis,
feeling the sensations in her pussy increase. Garcia smiled ever so subtly, in his bemused fashion. From
another part of the room, Dawson, who had been watching and listening avidly, felt his cock twitch to
semi-hardness. Goddamn, he swore to himself, she's already gettin' hot! I can almost see the claws
agrowin'! Stuff's workin'fast!
"How's about a little touch up before dinner, honey?" he put in, sweeping her unfinished drink from the
table before she could protest. Hovering over the bar, he unobtrusively pulled a small paper packet
from behind his belt, perforating it with the prong on his buckle, and emptied the white powder contents
into her glass. It dissolved instantaneously into a colorless, odorless and powerful aphrodisiac as he
refilled the glass with Pernod and water. Hell, Pernod was a turner-onner all by itself! The big man
chuckled quietly as he noisily added cubes from a silver ice bucket.
"... And furthermore, I have no intention of giving up my art for any togetherness scene, not for a long,
long time. I want to be a truly fine artist more than anything in the world!" Jill was insisting vehemently as
Dawson put the refilled glass in her hand. Garcia was not deceived, though at that moment, Jill almost
believed it herself. She was more angry than hurt now, and she wanted to get back at Chris-and Wendy.
The gallery owner had turned her head, and she was convincing herself that her fantasy was nearly a
foregone conclusion!
"In that case, Jill, I think I can be of help," the Latin offered.
"You can???" Jill asked incredulously, her eyes widening even more. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]