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Hi Thanks for all the great feedback. Guess I'll keep it going, so here you go.
Chapter 1
Willow awoke the next morning with Oz’s arm draped across her mid-section. He smelled like smoke and sweat from a night out at Devon’s. A look of disgust graced the redhead’s features as she quickly extracted herself from their huge bed. Willow had done well with her business, their house was big, their things nice; due in no small part to Willow’s business. In fact Oz contributed very little to the household income. Willow didn’t mind, she had plenty of money and never resented Oz for pursuing his music. Like their relationship it was just something they did.
Willow showered, made coffee, and sat down at her computer. A few hours later Oz came in. He leaned over and gave her a kiss. She was relieved to find he had showered.
“How’d the art thing go?”
“Fine” She said before remembering the night and the way the blond made her feel. “Someone bought me a painting. It’s being delivered today.”
“Really? Who?”
“Donno, Buffy and I were leaving and this guy said someone bought me a painting and that it would be delivered today. Weird huh?” Willow said wanting to gauge Oz’s reaction. She was disappointed when Oz replied with a distracted ‘Yeah’.
“How was practice?” Willow felt compelled to ask, praying that it was just a one word response.
“Fine, same old same old.” Oz didn’t disappoint.
“Practice tonight?” She inquired.
“Na, gig, some bar downtown.”
“Oh, cool.”
Both fell into silence before Oz said, “Well I’ll let you get back to work” and walked out.
Willow didn’t know what Oz did during the day. Sometimes he was in the house, sometimes he left, she didn’t know and didn’t ask. Willow continued to work until Oz interrupted again.
“Paintings here, it’s in the living room.”
“I’ll be out in a minute.” She said before closing her project and making her way to the living room. She found Oz on the couch reading the newspaper and drinking what appeared to be scotch. She eyed the painting which sat against the wall, covered in brown paper.
“Well, you gonna open it?” Oz inquired when Willow had yet to make a move toward the painting. Willow had been preparing herself all day for when she would have to see the monstrosity again. She would be damned if she had another reaction like she did at the gallery. She began making her way toward the painting, Oz following along like a curious cat, interested to see what lay beyond the brown wrapping. Willow saw stapled on the brown paper a small business card that read Aberrant Art owner Tara MaClay. Oz lunged at the card and tore it from the brown paper. Willow momentarily felt a pang of jealousy that he should touch the card first. She quickly pushed that away to the depths of her mind.
“Must be who bought it for you.” Oz said.
“Yeah.” Willow replied and still stood staring at the torn paper where Oz had ripped the card off. Oz placed the card on the coffee table.
“Well, come on, the suspense is killing me.” He joked. Willow smiled weakly at this, and tore off the paper to reveal the painting. All day she had practiced her reaction of indifference when she was faced with the painting again. If she wanted a different reaction she got it. This time was 10 times more powerful than the feeling she had at the gallery. She clenched her jaw so she wouldn’t cry out with an emotion she had yet to name. Up close, she could now see every line and every stroke as the paint was brushed across the canvas. She felt each brush stroke, as it brushed something deep within her soul. She forced herself to look away and back at Oz, she needed to feel grounded and knew he would provide that. He had his head cocked to the side, much like Tara did at the gallery. She felt comfortable and safe as she looked at him. The painting made her feel detached, almost float-y, like the woman on the canvas.
“Artist must be lesbian.” Oz commented.
“What?” Willow asked and looked at Oz like he had grown another head, then looked back at the painting.
“Well, I mean two women, both look the same age, so doesn’t look like mother and child, but I don’t know. I’m not so good with the art stuff, I mean music sure that’s my thing, but painting and art, I just never got it.” Oz mused.
Willow continued to look at the painting finally realizing what Oz had seen. What Willow thought were lines of grays and blues, were really the outline of another woman. So faint, almost ghost like. The woman wrapped in the sheet wasn’t reaching out, she was embracing the other woman.
“Where you gonna put it?” Oz asked taking another sip of his scotch.
“Um.. I don’t know.” She looked at Oz and back at the painting and again at Oz. She didn’t want him looking at it anymore, ever. “My office.” Willow decided. It was the one place Oz hardly frequented, and it would be safe from his eyes. Willow didn’t give it much thought. She quickly grabbed the painting and took it into her office. She faced it canvas side toward the wall so she didn’t have to look at it. She opened the project on her computer and tried to work, but the painting kept distracting her. She traded looking at the computer and thinking about the painting, to looking at the painting and thinking about the painting. She finally gave up, and rationalizing it in her own head, turned the painting around.
She sat in her chair staring at the panting and let her guard down a little. She looked at the painting with a sad expression. The more stared at it, the more it crept into her soul. She felt warmth spread from the middle of her chest out toward her fingers. She gasped; it had been a long time since she had felt something, anything at all. She basked in it for a moment; as she closed her eyes and let the feeling take over. Suddenly she felt a pull; she had to do something, right now. She opened her eyes and quickly turned the painting back over. Getting up from her desk, forgetting to close the program on her computer, she walked out into the living room. Oz wasn’t there, so she grabbed the business card still lying on the coffee table, and read the address on the back. She located her purse and grabbed her keys and left the house.
Willow drove slowly down the art district, looking at the street signs. She rarely went downtown, in fact she couldn’t remember the last time she was downtown. When she saw the street she wanted, she parked the car and made her way west down the street. Evening was falling and the sun stripped through the buildings, casting long shadows of the patrons that graced the street. Willow located the sign, which reflected the sun as it swung in the breeze. Aberrant Art. Willow walked quickly toward the door of the building. The door was decked out in brushed metal, much like the sign that hung above. It didn’t look nearly as beautiful nor has as much elegance as the painting held.
She opened the door and heard it hit the bell that hung above. It made a dull clang that caused Willow to cringe. She heard her boots click on the old hardwood floor every time she moved her foot. She walked around not seeing anyone and glanced at the art that hung on the walls. Nothing looked as good as the painting she had. She smiled at this and felt a sense of pride. She turned back around and saw Tara standing at the end of the room opposite herself. Tara didn’t seem surprised to see her, her face held an amused expression, which caused Willow to become agitated.
“Why did you do it?” She asked before she could censor herself.
“Because you wanted it.” The blond replied.
“I said I didn’t like it.” Willow retorted.
“Do you not want it?” Tara asked.
“I think I clearly said that I did not like that painting.” Willow said exasperated.
“Do you want it?” The blond asked again smirking slightly. Willow was increasingly loosing focus in the deep pools of sapphire that stared back at her. She had to regain her composure. She looked away, ignoring the blonds question.
“So you own this place.” Willow said as she begun to walk in a wide circle looking at the art on the walls.
“Yes.” Tara said as she eyed Willow. Willow looked at the plaque next to each painting that held the price.
“Expensive.” She said in low voice. Tara slowly started to move toward Willow, but stopped when Willow abruptly turned and said. “Why would you spend so much money on someone you don’t know?”
“Who said I spent any money on it.” The blond laughed. Willow thought she should feel angry, but the sound of Tara’s laugh made her feel comfortable. “I gave it to you.”
“You, you painted it.” Realization finally hitting Willow. For the first time, the blond seemed vulnerable, as she nodded and lowered her head. Willow’s first instinct was comfort the blond, but she held back and simply turned away. She began walking again looking at the art posted on the wall. “Why is your art not out here?”
Tara looked up and began to move toward Willow. “Sometimes it is. When I need money I sell some of my work. I like to be able to give local artists some space for free, when they sell a piece they give me a percentage of the price.” When Tara had finished talking she was standing directly behind Willow. Willow could feel her presence and it made her uncomfortable.
“Tell me about this piece.” Willow could think of nothing else to say or do, it was as if she was under the spell of this gorgeous woman.
“Well.” Tara began, her voice dripping with sensuality, dropping an octave lower as she continued. “It was done by Anne, a local. See these dark black brush strokes.” Tara pointed leaning a bit over Willow and pointing over her shoulder. Willow could smell Tara’s skin, sweet and clean. She closed her eyes for a second to take in the smell she knew would haunt her when she left. “Very angry. You can see the pressure at which the brush touches the canvas and causes the paint to clump together between the bristles.” Willow no longer knew what they were talking about anymore. Multiple sensations ran through her skin and in her veins. She was at complete mercy to the blond. Tara moved a few steps back from Willow and continued. “Anne she is very angry, mad at the world for cheating her. Karma, for Anne works in the opposite. Do you believe in Karma Willow?”
Willow still trying to regain composure of her emotions, slowly turned at Tara’s last statement. She looked directly into Tara’s eyes and allowed a small smile to grace her lips. “No.”
Tara smiled back and began walking toward Willow. “So tell me Willow.” Tara was mere inches from Willow and slowly reaching out, placing her index finger on top of Willow’s hand. She began to trace her finger up Willow’s arm, very lightly, but Willow felt like it was cutting into her arm with increasing pressure. “Do you like wine?”
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