Enticing An Angel (5 page)

Opening the refrigerator revealed a pitcher
of the liquid, and Michael refilled the glass; he gingerly took a
sip and realized it was not yet sweetened. Frowning, he looked
about the kitchen; it took only a moment for him to find the sugar,
it was already on the counter with a spoon next to it. Guessing as
to the amount, he measured out a small portion and sweetened the
beverage. He then returned it to her without her knowing.

It was several minutes later, while he
watched from the couch, that she reached to her left. The full
glass of tea did not faze her in the least. Michael smiled and held
his breath as she took a sip. He must have gotten the amount of
sugar correct; she didn't respond to the flavor; she just put the
glass back when she was done taking a drink.

As the minutes continued to pass and Michael
watched in fascination, it became apparent that Melanie was upset.
Something was wrong with the painting and she didn't appear to know
what. Michael pondered the work and thought it was fine the way it
was, but he understood her dilemma. He was an architect, and people
often told him something was fine, but many times the project did
not sit right with him.

Melanie continued to become upset and
vigorously cleaned her brushes, only to apply more paint and try
again. Three or four more attempts were made before she cleaned her
brushes thoroughly and set them aside. She placed her palette down
and backed away, turning her head in a multitude of directions as
she did. She obviously wanted to see the painting from many
angles.

One of the attempts succeeded in making her
aware of Michael's presence. She had caught him from a sideways
glance and then turned fully to him. Confusion reigned across her
face, and he watched her carefully. When comprehension dawned about
who he was, she smiled and joined him on the couch. She sat next to
him, pulled her legs up and laid her head into his lap. Michael
didn't say a word and began to stroke her hair. It was a full
minute before either spoke.

"I just can't get that upper quadrant right,"
she said.

"Do you know what you want it to look like?
Or, are you suffering from artist block?"

"Maybe both," she replied.

"Well, the architect in me screams for
symmetry, but that's not what you're about. However, you have a
great color scheme. Perhaps a gradation from light to dark."

"A gradient won't work. It'll be too
subtle."

"And you're not at all about being subtle,"
he said with a smile.

Melanie turned her head to his leg and bit
him.

"Ow," he said playfully. It had hurt, but not
that much. However, he was not about to let her know that fact.
Melanie laughed as she turned her head back to the canvas.

"Well, if not subtle, then perhaps bold. How
about a radical color change? I would never do it, but then again
this is art not architecture," he said.

Melanie sat up quickly and looked at him. He
could see that she was thinking. If he looked carefully, he
believed he might see the wheels turning in her mind. The smile
left her face and her head turned back to her canvas. For a moment,
she resembled a bird whose head moves in odd jerking motions.
Michael just watched her as she thought about her next moves.

She stood quickly, returned to her canvas,
and began to paint. Michael was pleased to be of some assistance,
although he doubted he had been much help. However, he also hated
himself for it. Melanie's head on his lap, with her knees curled up
on the couch, had been something he enjoyed. Now that she was gone,
he missed it.

Luckily for him, Melanie painted for only
twenty minutes and then took the time to clean her equipment. When
she returned to him, it was just past five in the morning, and he
was pleased to have her head in his lap again. He stroked her hair
for a moment as she breathed deeply, apparently intent on staring
at her painting. He looked at it as well and enjoyed the
colors.

She had swirled the upper corner with a
mixture of green and purple. The design was interesting and flowed
well, and Michael believed he liked it. That was often the case
with him and art. Part of him liked it and part of him did not. His
job called for straight lines and things such as door hardware—not
exactly the most glamorous notions in design.

"How long have you been up?" he asked her
without taking his eyes of the artwork. The wet oils reflected well
in the light and kept his focus. It was a few seconds before he
realized that Melanie had not responded. He looked down and saw
that she was asleep.

The image presented to him at that moment
enraptured him. Continuing to stroke her hair, he watched her sleep
with her head on his lap. He didn't consider moving; that might
disturb her. Besides, he didn't know how long she had been awake
and she probably needed her sleep. The fact that she felt
comfortable enough to curl up with him warmed his heart, and as he
stared at her, he came to realize one important truth.

"Michael Angel," he whispered to himself as
he stroked her hair, "This woman is going to be trouble for
you."

"Don't you have to get to work?" Michael
asked Melanie as she emerged from her poor excuse of a
bathroom.

"I'll get there," she replied as she dried
her hair. "And don't you have to get to work as well?" she asked in
return.

"Yep, but I'm one of the bosses, so I get a
break."

"Oh, you're one of them," she said as she
rolled her eyes. "Well, you might want to think of a good excuse
for being late. Us underlings like to know you're not just slacking
off," she said as she threw her towel at him.

Michael dodged it easily.

"I'll just tell them I was getting laid last
night, and the woman couldn’t get enough of me," he chuckled.

"Oh great, a work of fiction," she replied
with an eye roll as she bounced up to him and gave him a peck on
the cheek.

Michael allowed her the quick show of
affection by bending down to grant her easy access to his face. He
then took a sip of his coffee, and made certain he had all of his
belongings. It wasn't much, just his clothes, his wallet, his keys
and a phone.

"Melanie, can I see you again?" he asked as
they exited her apartment.

"Sure, you still have my number right?"

"Yep, I put it in my phone," he replied.

"Good boy," she said as she began to head
down the stairs. Much like the day before, she seemed to dance as
she walked. Michael found it an odd contrast to the serious nature
displayed when she painted. Like two sides of a very odd coin. One
side light-hearted and flaky, the other focused and intense. He
could understand it to some degree; she was an artist and
demonstrated two extremes—almost simultaneously.

Before they separated for the day, they made
plans to see each other again. Conflicting schedules required it to
be a few days later, but Michael wouldn't leave her presence until
she consented to some future activity. In the end, she agreed that
he could call her on Friday at three PM, and she would answer the
phone so they could make plans for the evening. That was all
Michael could get her to agree to, but he took it happily.

Friday arrived, and as fate would have it,
the S.A.M. was having its Rave. Melanie had forgotten about it
until the last minute, and she convinced Michael to attend the
event with her. It didn't take much convincing. He called her, and
she explained the situation clearly to him over the phone.

"Well, Michael, you either go to the Rave
with me or spend the night alone," she had said.

"I don't like ultimatums," he responded
dryly.

"Well, then consider it a choice," she said
back to him, and Michael could almost feel her smile.

"I'll do that thing you really like," she
added with emphasis.

Michael honestly had no idea to what she was
referring, but decided he had to find out. He quickly agreed to the
event and even set a time to pick her up.

"That's a good Angel," she said and hung up
the phone.

Right on time, Michael arrived at her
building, and after buzzing the bell, she joined him on the
street.

"Wow," he said to her. "A woman that's ready
when she's supposed to be. I think you're a keeper."

"Oh, really," she responded. "And how do I
look?"

Michael didn't need to say anything. His eyes
had already popped out of his head when she exited the building,
and they repeated the performance as she turned around for him.

"Not to worry, little Angel," she said coyly.
"That look says it all."

Michael could certainly understand her
comment. While he had chosen business casual, Melanie had chosen an
elegant fall dress with cleavage down to her navel. The skirt
portion flared out with ruffles, while the upper portion was tight
enough to keep her breasts in check. How that occurred was
something that he could only guess at, but honestly he didn’t care.
He just took one of her hands, which were wearing elbow length
gloves, and began to lead her away.

"Two sides of a coin," he said to her as he
twirled her.

"What?" she asked, after she had turned
fully.

Michael took the opportunity to explain his
comment, and Melanie nodded her understanding.

"Ah, well, when I'm at the office I spend
much of my time thinking about art or culture. But, when I paint,
it's all about the work."

"Ever think about painting full-time?" he
asked as they headed down the sidewalk. The Seattle Art Museum was
not too far away, and they had decided to make the journey on foot.
Actually, Melanie had decided they would walk and Michael
complied.

"I do, but the money isn't there yet. I
barely make enough to live on, even with a full time job."

"I'm surprised you can afford the loft you
have. It isn't big, but I would think it's still expensive," he
commented.

Melanie's face became odd and then she
shrugged at the idea.

"Well," she said. "I don't have a car; I use
public transportation when I need to. Plus, my dad pays a big
portion of the rent. That way I can spend money on supplies and
important things like food."

"That's nice of him," Michael said. "He must
love you a lot."

Melanie acted as if she had been shot. Her
smile faded rapidly, and she stared at Michael; if he had slapped
her across the face she wouldn't have appeared any different.
Michael immediately knew something was wrong, and he considered the
comment he had just made. However, for the life of him, he couldn't
remember exactly what he had said. Melanie's odd reaction took his
entire focus, and his mind wouldn't work properly.

A smile suddenly returned to her face, and
she pulled his hand into the air and twirled herself.

"Come on, my little Angel, I don't want to
miss the Rave."

Like a storm passing suddenly, Melanie was
back to her normal self. Michael wanted to address the issue, but
felt awkward. He didn't know her well enough to delve deeply into
her personality, and if she had taken offense at something he had
said, then she had obviously forgiven him. Playing it safe, he
smiled and agreed to pick up the pace; he also decided to take the
opportunity to correct his carefree partner.

"And don't call me little Angel," he said.
"That's what my niece and nephew are. I haven't been a little angel
in over twenty years, although my mother still calls me one from
time to time."

"Oh, well then I'll just call you my personal
Angel," she said as she danced away from him.

They eventually made it to the museum, and
Michael had to admit that he was impressed. The first thing he
noticed was that the entry line was a block long and very wide. In
addition, the outside building soffits had colored lights, and
laser effects were being cast against the white walls. Through the
two story windows that graced most of the first floor, they could
see people dancing, strobe effects, a live band, and another laser
show being performed for those inside the lobby.

"Nice," he said as he and Melanie walked to
the back of the line. "Any idea how long it takes to get
inside?"

"Oh, about fifteen to thirty minutes with a
line this long," she commented.

Michael watched the entryway for a second and
his brow furrowed. Melanie continued to pull him along but his
curiosity got the better of him.

"Why don't those people have to wait?" he
asked as he tilted his head in the direction of the doors. Melanie
stopped her advance and looked to the museum. The building had
several front doors and the far left ones were currently being used
for special admittance.

"Oh, that’s for members of the museum," she
said as she pulled him along. "Apparently they get special
treatment and don't have to wait in line."

Michael jerked her hand and pulled her to a
stop. Melanie turned to him and gave him a look that simply said,
"What?"

"Come on, Dancy Girl," he said as he turned
about and led her to the far left front doors. She followed
willingly, and for once, she was wide-eyed.

"Michael Angel," he said to the attendant
just inside the door. The man took a moment to look at a computer
tablet and then nodded his head.

"Welcome, Mr. Angel," he said, and handed
Michael a couple of tickets. "These are for complementary glasses
of wine for you and your guest. Enjoy the evening."

"Absolutely," Michael replied.

Michael had to admit he felt good. Sure, he
was a member of the museum, but all that usually got him was
admittance without standing in line to buy tickets and a reminder
each year to renew his membership. What he had just experienced was
like being a VIP to a swanky party. He chuckled as he thought about
it; apparently, he was a VIP to a swanky party.