Chapter 11
Brandon Yates was one of the most entertaining subjects Devon had ever painted.
She was deeply depressed by Charlie abandoning her again.
Especially after the magical week they had spent together, which made it doubly hard.
It was clear to her now that every time they got close he would run away from her.
She understood now why he did it, but it wasn’t going to get any better.
He couldn’t help it. And she couldn’t help him.
He wouldn’t let her. He was incapable of being close to anyone, especially Devon, because she loved him.
The relationship was doomed, and she was mourning it silently while she worked on Brandon Yates’s portrait.
He was so good-looking he wouldn’t be hard to paint—even the sketches of him that she did before using paints were handsome.
He said he wanted a Gothic mood to the portrait, which threw her at first. He showed up with a full suit of armor he wanted to wear at the sitting.
They talked about it, and she suddenly had an idea.
In a storeroom full of unusual objects that she sometimes used to create a mood or a counterpoint to a painting to give it additional interest, she had a miniature eighteenth-century vermeil suit of armor that had been used to sell armor to aristocrats, as samples of the armorer’s wares.
It was beautifully made, with silver trim and elaborate engraving.
She showed it to Brandon and he loved it.
“Where did you get that? It’s fantastic.”
“I bought it at an auction in Paris,” she said, pleased that he liked it.
She suggested they put a table next to him with the helmet of the armor he’d brought, and the miniature armor, which made an interesting composition, and gave it a personal touch.
She offered to paint him in a Gothic-style chair, with the still life next to him, and his dog on the other side.
The giant bullmastiff looked somewhat Gothic too.
“And I can paint a fabulous collar on him.” The dog’s name was Thornton, and he rolled over on his back with all fours in the air whenever he wanted attention.
He had a teddy bear he took everywhere, and he put his paws on Devon’s shoulders and licked her face.
“He likes you,” Brandon said, pleased. He was interesting and eccentric, with a tremendous talent.
He also wrote and directed and produced his own movies.
He told her funny stories that made her laugh, about movies he had shot on location.
He was the only thing that made her life bearable once she realized that Charlie had abandoned her again, and the romance was over.
She was heartbroken, but she was a consummate professional and didn’t let it show.
Once or twice Brandon caught her in the kitchen crying and blowing her nose.
“I’m sorry,” she said, apologizing, and pulled herself together until he left after the sitting. He was kind and sympathetic and funny.
“Don’t be. Whoever the guy is, he’s an asshole if he makes you cry.” She laughed.
“You’re right.” He invited her out to dinner after the second sitting and she declined. “I never socialize with my subjects,” she explained, and Brandon looked surprised.
“Why not? I sleep with most of my leading ladies. Only the good-looking ones, actually. It creates an additional bond and gives credibility to the love scenes,” he said in a matter-of-fact way that made her smile.
“Socializing with my subjects distracts me. And I spend a lot of time sketching after the sittings, so I get the bone structure right.”
“I never thought about that,” he said pensively. “Devon, how many commissions do you do a year, for portraits?” She thought about it.
“Ten or twelve.”
“How many are women?”
“Two or three a year. Men are usually more eager to have portraits done than women. And I’m better known for the men I paint.”
“All right, so that gives you seven or eight men a year to pick from. If you slept with most of them, you wouldn’t have time to care about the jerk who’s had you crying every day I’ve been here.
” She laughed, though she suspected he meant it.
She hadn’t slept with eight men in her entire lifetime, and didn’t want to.
“What if they all make me cry?” she teased, as she took photographs of him to use later if she needed them for reference of a detail, like a chin or an ear.
“In that case, you’re definitely picking the wrong subjects.
First of all, no old or ugly ones. You should only pick subjects you find attractive personally.
No one in religious orders, like the pope—they won’t sleep with you, which wastes your time.
Take me, for instance. If you sleep with me, you’ll have a hell of a good time.
I’ll make you laugh, take you to expensive dinners and some really great parties, and when it’s all over we’ll be friends forever.
I always stay friends with the women I have affairs with.
My leading ladies love me, for the duration of the movie.
You should think about it,” he said, appearing to be serious, while she tried to concentrate on the photographs and videos she was taking.
“And you would completely forget the idiot who upset you. What’s wrong with him?
You’re gorgeous, intelligent, brilliant in fact, sexy, talented—even my dog loves you.
Clearly the guy’s a jerk. Tell me about him.
Married, I assume,” he guessed, and she nodded, finding it hard to believe she’d been pulled into the conversation.
Brandon was a character, talented, a brilliant actor, and definitely outrageous.
“Married men always make women cry—their wives, their girlfriends, they’re a mess.
And if he’s married, that tells you he’s a cheater.
That really makes him questionable. Personally, I don’t like cheaters. What’s wrong with him?”
“It’s complicated. He’s afraid to get close to anyone,” she said as she bent low to take photographs of Brandon’s arms and legs for future reference. Thornton licked her face, and Brandon told him to sit. He did and held out a paw to shake hands.
“Your friend sounds dramatic,” he said, frowning, thinking about it. “He’ll be back. Drama guys always come back, after they make everyone cry and get hysterical.”
“I’m not hysterical, I’m just sad,” she said, feeling ridiculous having this conversation with Brandon.
“Let him cry and wail, and moan about getting close. You go out and have some fun, and ignore him. Drama guys always come back. They get bored when no one pays attention to them. You know, you and I could really have some fun. We could wind up in the tabloids together and make him jealous.” She was laughing by then.
“But then no one would take me seriously as an artist.”
“Movie stars would. They would flock to your doors. But I guess they already do. I had to wait eight months for this sitting,” he said seriously.
But he had boosted her spirits, and the dog was sweet, even if he was the size of a small horse.
He weighed a hundred and eighty pounds, Brandon had told her.
It was the most unusual sitting she’d had, and they had fun talking every day.
He told her about skin care, how to get thicker hair, gave her the name of his trainer, and described his exercise routine in minute detail.
He brought her some of his vitamins, and the name of his plastic surgeon.
He was fifty-two and looked thirty-eight at most. He was a bottomless pool of information about how to look more beautiful, be healthier, do relaxation exercises, and find inner peace.
His entire life was dedicated to how he looked and felt.
He was fun and funny, while she mourned Charlie, and she didn’t believe Brandon that he’d be back.
Charlie’s wounds were too deep, and it was easier for him to live in a dead marriage than to be close to someone he loved.
She didn’t expect to hear from him again.
Her last session with Brandon was the day before Christmas Eve and he stunned her by giving her a beautiful diamond bracelet. She was embarrassed to accept it, but he insisted, and gave her a big hug when he left, and said he’d had a wonderful time with her.
“You should have slept with me though,” he scolded her before he left.
“You’d have totally forgotten the jerk by now.
” She hadn’t forgotten him, but she was feeling better.
She hadn’t finished Brandon’s portrait, but she promised it to him in early January.
It was obvious that Charlie wouldn’t be coming to have his portrait painted.
She was going to wait until the first week in January, and have the gallery return his money to him. She hadn’t had the heart to do it yet.
She had no plans for Christmas, which she knew would be hard.
It always was. She was going to work through the holidays, and she would forget what day it was, which always happened when she was working.
She wondered if Brandon Yates was right and she should have more fun.
He said she took life too seriously. He had told her that she had amazing eyes, and a very good nose.
She smiled every time she looked at his portrait.
It was different and fun, and the props they’d used were working well.
He had worn a black turtleneck sweater and black trousers, and with the Gothic effect, it was a very powerful painting, and Thornton added a certain panache to it as well.
It was eccentric and humorous, which her paintings usually weren’t.
They were beautiful and serious. But this one was full of Brandon’s personality.
And there was something sexy and smoldering about it too.
He posed well. He was a very handsome man.