love, are you busy right now?”
Elly glanced at the piles of papers on her desk. Yes, I am always busy, you ass, she thought, but instead she said, “Nope, I’m not. What do you need?”
“I need some artwork for my billiards room. Today. Something with women in it, you know, a little bit naked, but not too much. My wife will see them. Thanks.”
Elly sighed loudly as she hung up the phone. Her “errands” for Mr. Burhope were always of the ridiculous nature, like finding exotic chocolates that he tasted once in Asia, or calling his wife to request his favorite dinner (beef butt roast with BBQ sauce), or stocking up on foot cream for his weird toes. She was less executive secretary than personal assistant. She had spent a good portion of that morning noting highlights from his favorite blogs. Per his request that fateful day, Elly had packed her bags and headed out to a local gallery to find some pictures of women who were a little naked.
The gallery was light, starkly clean, and full of art Elly did not understand—a red line splashed on a white canvas here, a giant phallic cucumber statue there. It was overwhelming. There were also some beautiful pictures of flowers on the wall. Up close they were messy and had an air of amateurism, but they were bright and vibrant, and captured the essence of flowers—Elly’s favorite things. The more she studied the pictures, the more she realized that she was looking at erotic flowers. Twisted throughout the flower were the shapes of women—naked women, hidden in the stems, petals, and blooms. Naked women and their lady parts everywhere. Oh my goodness. She blushed.
“Do you know what you are looking at?” asked a deep voice behind her.
She turned around and smiled. Aaron stood before her. He was tall, with dark blond hair that drifted below his strong cheek bone. He had soft green eyes, dotted with tiny gold flecks. He was wearing thin, well-worn jeans and a long-sleeved maroon shirt. Elly found herself instantly swept away.
“No, what am I looking at?”
“You … are looking at my latest collection, which highlights the female body within the realms of nature.”
“Oh … that’s … ,” Elly told herself not to sound stupid, “that’s very … thought provoking.”
Aaron smirked at her. “You don’t know a lot about art, do you?”
“Umm … no.” Elly confessed. “I have no idea what I am looking at.”
“Well, it’s a study of different kinds of women. Like a garden. You have some lush flowers,” he trailed his fingers over his painting, where plus-sized women were woven in among peonies. “You have some sharp flowers,” his finger passed over calla lilies that were filled with lean, athletic forms, “and you have some typical women.” A rose blooming underneath his fingers was filled with dense, erotic forms. He looked at her. “What kind of flower are you?” The dark passion in his eyes took her breath away. Elly rocked back on her heels. This guy is intense.
“I’m, um … a gardenia. You know, refined but made primarily of frosting.”
He laughed. “Funny. I like you. What is your name?”
“Elly.”
“Hi, Elly,” he said, reaching out his ink-stained hand. “I’m Aaron.”
And with that, her heart had ripped wide open.
Back on the floor of her apartment, Elly wiped tears off her face, as the sound of Cadbury retching brought her back from her all-too-clear memories. She never allowed herself to think of Aaron. She never spoke his name. She denied his existence and refused to talk about her past with anyone but Kim. The life that she watched fade away that last morning in Georgia was a dream of her past. It never existed. Because if it didn’t exist, neither did he. Aaron. The man who threw her heart onto the floor. The betrayer. The love of her life. Ugh, why was she thinking of him? She was sitting on the floor, by a bag of Chinese food, crying against the wall.
“Cadbury, STOP!” She yanked his collar, hard. He looked at her, betrayed.
Elly picked up the food and set it on the counter. Isaac. Incredible. The way he had looked at her. Those dark eyes. And so funny! She shook her head violently. No. No more men. It was a silly idea, a flight of insanity. He was just her neighbor. Besides, he was cool. He had it. She did not have it—she was wearing reindeer pants. Her heart a jumble, Elly shut the door softly behind her, and slipped down the narrow stairs to the studio. She didn’t bother turning on the lights. She walked softly into the yellow room, rubbing her arms as the goose bumps rallied. She opened her cooler, flooding the space with neon light, and listened to the comforting hum of the electricity.
Reaching inside, she grabbed randomly from black buckets. Slowly, she gathered peach garden roses, pink lisianthus, bright-yellow tulips, and a pale-blue scabiosa. She then selected a narrow bronze bucket from the vase wall, and arranged the flowers one by one. With each flower, she felt her memories heal over, smoothed over with a soft balm. Aaron disappeared, a shadow of her past. She clutched her arrangement to her chest and stared out the large windows of her studio as the cars drove past, their headlights illuminating her face, one by one.
This is my place, she thought. I’m okay here. Nothing can touch me here.
Cadbury’s whine sounded overhead. Elly’s stomach rumbled at the thought of her warm Chinese food. Slowly, she headed back upstairs, back up to the light, with a new vase of flowers clutched in her hand.
Chapter Four
Kim poked her head around the corner and motioned to Elly, who was on the phone. Elly cupped the phone and whispered, “I know, I know, we need to talk. She’s crazy!” She circled her finger around her temple.
Kim snickered and ducked back into the studio, her long ponytail swinging perfectly behind her. Ugh. Unfair, thought Elly, her own hair damp and curly against her forehead.
Elly turned her attention back to Brooke, her least-favorite bride, who was talking nonstop in her ear.
“I called the caterer yesterday, and even though he said he would call me right back, he hasn’t. Sooo typical. I’m thinking of switching. Anyway, the table linens are a bright blue, but they aren’t like a real bright blue, they are more like a really pale baby blue. Not quite a lavender though. They look great with pewter, but not silver. Does that make sense?”
This person is crazy, thought Elly.
“The color is actually called wisteria. I was wondering, for the grandfather’s bouts, could we maybe use something that just has a HINT of wisteria, instead of the actual color?”
Elly could feel her palms digging into the chair for a confrontation. Instead, she forced herself to smile, which made her sound nicer than she actually was.
“Brooke. I know that we have talked before about how flowers aren’t paint colors. We can try and get as close as possible to wisteria, but it’s not something we can match 100%. And the grandfather’s bout is not something you should be worrying about. I will put down that you want a pale blue or lavender accent. Is that it?”
Brooke paused.
