What was on the page was a beautiful, hand-painted ad for coke-a-cola from the 1940s that looked like it was drawn by Norman Rockwell.
“Looks like a Rockwell,” I said off-handedly.
“It is a Rockwell.”
“Oh!”
“And there’s this one,” Chris said.
Flipping a few pages back, he revealed a gorgeous ad for Absinthe featuring a beautiful green fairy I could have sworn was Tinker bell’s big sister.
“Beautiful, right?”
I nodded, not quite able to find the right words to express how transcendentally awesome I thought the image was. Take out the words, and it looked like it could have been hanging in a gallery or illustrating a classic fairy story. I loved it and how much Chris seemed to enjoy such exquisite examples of advertising from a time when they were gorgeous and the beauty and potential he still saw in them. He was like an advertising version of a Pre-Raphaelite, trying to resurrect the techniques of the old masters. No wonder the firm had won so many awards with him at the helm.
“Isn’t that illegal here?” I asked.
“Absinthe? Yeah, technically, but nobody really cares anymore.”
“Would you like to go for a drink?” I continued quickly. This was as good of a chance as any.
Chris’s eyes widened. “Of Absinthe?”
“If you like,” I said, giggling. Something I hadn’t done since I was about fifteen.
“I have to work tonight, but I’ll take a rain check, yeah?”
“O-okay,” I said, feeling my heart break a bit.
It was the third time he had declined my invitation. I had to wonder if maybe Chris wasn’t into me despite the signals he was clearly giving off. Or perhaps he really was just that into work. He certainly did seem passionate about it, and I didn’t begrudge him that. I just wouldn’t have minded a bit of that passion for myself as well. He made me feel in ways no man had since – well, ever. All I wanted was a chance.
I left the building trying not to cry. I was better than that. Though that didn’t stop my pussy from being wet. I was frustrated and horny and about to go on a swing shift at the hospital. Not my best day ever.
Chapter Two
Chris
I called it “The Zone”. The semi-Zen state that I got into when focused on work, every scrap of my attention dedicated to rendering the best images it was within my ability to create. I was pretty much self-taught out of books and later videos. Though I did seem to have some natural talent, which kept me from being completely frustrated, there were still times that I envied Aden for his raw ability — but to be fair, there were few people who were able to draw like our top graphics designer. He had a natural attention to detail that made his renderings, either in terms of illustration, cooking or music, almost impossible to match. Something that made even more sense when I found out his history in the army.
My interest in both art and commercial illustration went back years. I couldn’t quite pinpoint when it started, probably around the time I discovered Andy Warhol, but it had always spoken to me. The art was usually quite beautiful, which appealed. Though something else that appealed a lot was the commercial side, particularly the fact that it was one of a few ways that an artist could make real money. The perfect balance of art and pragmatism. In part proven by the number of painters who started out their careers of commercial artists. Including the core members of the Group of Seven who met while working for the Eaton’s catalog, literally painting images of the products for sale just after the First World War. All of it beautiful as well as functional.
I jumped with surprise at the tap on my shoulder, taking me out of my reverie.
“Oh, hey Aden,” I said, taking out my earbud and looking up at my coworker.
“Is that Swedish?” Aden asked.
“Yeah, I’m working on it.”
“Cool. May we talk?” Aden asked, dripping with gravitas. The former soldier looked stern.
“Sure,” I said, knowing better to contradict him when he was in one of his serious moods. I waved for him to take a chair, but he ignored the gesture, instead choosing to pace the confines of my office.
“I’m concern about Shae.”
I startled. She seemed fine when she was visiting earlier. Did I miss something?
“Why, what’s happened?” I asked her cousin.
“You,” Aden said bluntly.
“Oh?” I dropped down into my chair, feeling a bit guilty.
“She is really into you, and you are torturing her.”
“I’m what?”
“How many times have you turned down her invitation for drinks?”
“I —”
“How many, Chris?”
“Three,” I said, with no small measure of shame.
“Is that fair?”
“No, not really, and I do like her, but you know me. We’ve been friends long enough for you to know that it is hard for me to open up to people. It is better to avoid entanglements at all rather than ending up with someone who might not understand me or might hurt me.”