Chapter Thirty
HIS STUDIO IS FABULOUS, and larger than I initially thought. I’m mesmerized when we first walk in. One end is very industrial and a little scary, the other is full of color. By the entrance, there’s a cozy corner with a sleek red sofa, coffee table, and a little kitchenette. Cool framed vintage posters and art dot the tall grey concrete walls, and there’s an art table in the corner, and tons of shelving. Shelves with finished pieces; vases, pitchers, decorative glassware, in all the colors known to man. There are shelves of different glass sticks in every hue — I feel like I’m in a candy store. On the opposite wall, there are hundreds of glass jars containing colorful powder.
“I have a lot of supplies,” he tells me. “Come here,” he urges, takes my hand, and leads me to the finished pieces. “These are ready to go to the dealers.”
“Wow, this all seems like a lot of work,” I say. “There’s so much to think about, the business end…” I used to work in Marketing, and I wonder how he goes about selling all this stuff. “How do you promote yourself, how do you sell?” I ask, being quite nosy again but I can’t help it.
“Well, I have a website,” he tells me, “social media, and cards I give out at art shows, but that’s about it,” he says. “Thankfully, Albert takes care of all the sales. He’s great at what he does. He has contacts all over the world. He’s in New York right now.”
“You seem like you’re doing pretty well,” I offer, taking in everything around me.
“I’ve been lucky,” he admits. “I’ve made a name for myself so I can charge a decent fee for my work. I’ve poured everything I have into this studio, which is why I could never afford rent, clothes, travel, eating out, and the luxuries of life.” He smiles. “It’s why I don’t have a house or a car. And the rent on this place is kind of insane. This city is crazy expensive. ”
“I know. I’ve heard.”
“I just paid everything off a few months ago.” He’s beaming. “I’m officially debt free.”
“Congratulations.”
“Actually, this guy came over a few months ago and was asking me if I was interested in selling. He had one of those long crumb catcher beards, and was a little scary.”
“Oh wow,” I say. “And are you… selling?”
He grins. “Never. What would I do with myself if I didn’t have my studio?”
I study the beautiful pieces, the swirls of color, and the delicate details. What he does is truly incredible. There are tall vases, intricate bowls which look very breakable, and heavy glass balls. He reaches for one of the balls of glass. “I want you to have one of these,” he says. “It’s small and has no delicate edges,” he explains. “It shouldn’t take too much space in your suitcase, and shouldn’t break. It’s a paperweight.”
“Oh wow,” I say and reach for my favorite color — orange. “Thank you. The glass is cold and heavy in my hands. I study its insides carefully, swirls of oranges and tiny bubbles. “It’s really pretty. It’ll be perfect on my desk.” I know I’ll never forget Eli with this constant reminder. But how could I ever forget him anyway? He will be a part of me forever.
We continue our tour into the industrial part of his studio. There’s an industrial oven, which kind of looks like an old-fashioned wood burning stove, something from another era. “How hot does that thing get?”
“About 2500 degrees,” he tells me.
“Holy shit.”
There’s a shovel leaning against the wall, a giant floor fan, and strange steel contraptions. I can’t even imagine what they’re for. There are tons of scary looking tools; giant scissors, plyers, and clamps. “This place looks like a torture chamber,” I point out.
He shoots me a creepy smile. “Yes…” he whispers. “How well do you really know me, Gabriella?”
I laugh as he inches closer, and wraps an arm around the small of my back. “Maybe it’s all been leading up to this,” he whispers in my ear, his tone ominous. “I even have the oven to burn your body parts after I cut them up.” And then he plants the softest sweetest kiss on my cheek.
I let out a weak laugh. “You scared me there for a minute.” He really didn’t, he just made my heart beat a little faster like he always does. I feel a little weak in the knees.
“What is this weird chair for?” I ask. It’s an old theatre-like leather seat, sandwiched between two steel rods. It almost looks like something pre-historic, some kind of a torture chair.
He sinks into the chair and grabs one of the poles next to it, and rolls it along the steel bars. “I spin the glass on here.”
“Oh, very cool.” Damn, he looks sexy sitting there. I immediately have very inappropriate thoughts.
I reach into a steel bin of glass shards — they’re rough, but not sharp. “This place is amazing.” I’m still awestruck by my surroundings, so much more interesting than my little studio, or the boring grey office cubicle I used to work in when I had a day job.
He hops out of the chair and closes the distance between us. He presses his tall frame against my back, and wraps an arm around my waist. I close my eyes. My body is instantly aroused. Just a touch, and I’m on fire. “I’ve daydreamed about this,” he whispers against my ear.
“About what?” I ask.
“About having you here.” he says. “In my studio. About making love to you in my studio.”
Oh my… I open my eyes and study my surroundings. “Where… on the red couch?”
