THE WRITING GAME Prompt "See THE Painting"
Mar. 2nd, 2012 08:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
basricTITLE:"THE UNIVERSE"
AUTHOR:basric
RATING:pg
WORD COUNT: 799
FEEDBACK: On || FEEDBACK TYPE: SERIOUS CRIT
WARNING: NONE
SUMMARY:Another chance meeting
PROMPTS:dancer, unnecessary, hustle, severe, limber, attest, undercurrent, correlating
He stared at the painting before him and sighed. Hell, he was Nick Constantine—he owned his own multi-billion dollar software company. At 36 he had been called a handsome man. He was in good shape; still had all his hair. He glanced around. HE had no reason to parade arm candy at these damn art exhibit openings. So why was he, master of his own life, doing here on a Friday night. Hell, he was staring at another piece of so-called art? Why?
Because as much as he despised these things, he loved his mother more. Even now she held court on the other side of the exhibit surrounded by other matrons and balding captains of industry with their latest trophy latched to their arm. At fifty-five she was still a beautiful woman who loved her family and," he grimaced fanfare and parties.
His step-father had managed to slither out of this by having sudden business out of town, the sneaky bastard. He was going to owe him.
“So,” gentle breath whispered behind his ear, the scent of jasmine wafted from behind, “What do you think of it?”
The jolt that shot through his body wasn’t one of surprise but of sexual awareness. “Interesting.”
“I’m not the artist for this one either. I am the inspiration.”
His eyes roved over the massive canvas then turned to look at her. Again she’d gone against the dress protocol. Instead of the required black she wore a midnight blue gown that appeared to flow like water accentuating her curves neck to feet.
He wondered if she felt the undercurrent of sexual tension that vibrated between them and looked into those amused emerald eyes and frowned severely. Apparently she did not feel it. “That represents you? “THE UNIVERSE” he read the artist’s title?
Swiftly before he had time to react she smoothed his brow with a gentle touch.
“You’re a very limber dancer?” His head bent to get a look from another angle to give himself a moment to recover from her touch.
She laughed, “Not me, it represents my work.”
“By another friend of the family?”
“My sister, and don’t think to be buying this one.”
He opened his mouth to deny any desire to own it when his instincts had him wisely shut it.
“I bought it for my office.”
Eying the hundred-thousand dollar price tag, “I hope you got the family discount.”
She braced her hand on his arm so her lips reached his ear, "I have it on good authority she’s an up and coming. A great investment, I can attest that the value will triple over the next several years.”
“There’s a woman with bright curly red hair bouncing and waving, I assume for you.”
“My sister, she got all the Irish.”
“The sister, this artist,” he waved toward the painting.”
“Yes, every single one on display.”
“I’ve tried to call you.”
She didn’t blink at the subject change, “I’m out or busy a lot.”
“Give me your cell and I will program my number in so you can call me when you are free, Sara.”
“You remembered my name.”
“You sound surprised? Had you forgotten mine?”
“Not exactly.”
“I told you I tried to call you. What do you mean ‘not exactly’?”
"Well its just, I. . .”
“Give me your cell phone?”
“I don’t have one.”
“With you.”
“At all.”
“Who doesn’t have a cell phone?”
“Me.”
“Why not?”
“They are irritating.”
“What if you have a flat or break down.”
“I’d fix it. Look, I must go. But do keep trying, Nick Constantine, I’m sure we’ll connect if we’re meant to.”
“What the hell does that mean?” but she had already been swallowed by the crowd.
He walked around the gallery examining each painting. By damn he was going to find one to buy. That gave him connection to the artist and the artist to Sara. He found it moments later titled “Lilacs.” It was nothing like his mother's lilacs but there was something soft and gentle about the flow of colors that reminded him of his mother.
He signaled to one of the galleries owners and made arrangements to have the painting delivered to his mother the following day. Though it was another hour before he was able to hustle his mother from her cronies he felt the night had been a success; though he’d never seen Sara or her sister again, unusual not to see the artist everywhere.
He sat back in the limo replaying their conversation over in his head. Hell, he didn’t even remember to get her last name. How long had it been since a woman flustered and intrigued him to such a degree? Sara had to feel the undercurrents flowing between them. And who found a cell phone unnecessary in this age of technology? How did the artist go about correlating Sara to “THE UNIVERSE?” Too many questions, but he was a man who could dig out the answers.
As his mother captured his attention, "Nicky, what has you so preoccupied?"
"Business, Mom," he wondered if Sara had even thought of him. Hell.
AUTHOR:basric
RATING:pg
WORD COUNT: 799
FEEDBACK: On || FEEDBACK TYPE: SERIOUS CRIT
WARNING: NONE
SUMMARY:Another chance meeting
PROMPTS:dancer, unnecessary, hustle, severe, limber, attest, undercurrent, correlating
He stared at the painting before him and sighed. Hell, he was Nick Constantine—he owned his own multi-billion dollar software company. At 36 he had been called a handsome man. He was in good shape; still had all his hair. He glanced around. HE had no reason to parade arm candy at these damn art exhibit openings. So why was he, master of his own life, doing here on a Friday night. Hell, he was staring at another piece of so-called art? Why?
Because as much as he despised these things, he loved his mother more. Even now she held court on the other side of the exhibit surrounded by other matrons and balding captains of industry with their latest trophy latched to their arm. At fifty-five she was still a beautiful woman who loved her family and," he grimaced fanfare and parties.
His step-father had managed to slither out of this by having sudden business out of town, the sneaky bastard. He was going to owe him.
“So,” gentle breath whispered behind his ear, the scent of jasmine wafted from behind, “What do you think of it?”
The jolt that shot through his body wasn’t one of surprise but of sexual awareness. “Interesting.”
“I’m not the artist for this one either. I am the inspiration.”
His eyes roved over the massive canvas then turned to look at her. Again she’d gone against the dress protocol. Instead of the required black she wore a midnight blue gown that appeared to flow like water accentuating her curves neck to feet.
He wondered if she felt the undercurrent of sexual tension that vibrated between them and looked into those amused emerald eyes and frowned severely. Apparently she did not feel it. “That represents you? “THE UNIVERSE” he read the artist’s title?
Swiftly before he had time to react she smoothed his brow with a gentle touch.
“You’re a very limber dancer?” His head bent to get a look from another angle to give himself a moment to recover from her touch.
She laughed, “Not me, it represents my work.”
“By another friend of the family?”
“My sister, and don’t think to be buying this one.”
He opened his mouth to deny any desire to own it when his instincts had him wisely shut it.
“I bought it for my office.”
Eying the hundred-thousand dollar price tag, “I hope you got the family discount.”
She braced her hand on his arm so her lips reached his ear, "I have it on good authority she’s an up and coming. A great investment, I can attest that the value will triple over the next several years.”
“There’s a woman with bright curly red hair bouncing and waving, I assume for you.”
“My sister, she got all the Irish.”
“The sister, this artist,” he waved toward the painting.”
“Yes, every single one on display.”
“I’ve tried to call you.”
She didn’t blink at the subject change, “I’m out or busy a lot.”
“Give me your cell and I will program my number in so you can call me when you are free, Sara.”
“You remembered my name.”
“You sound surprised? Had you forgotten mine?”
“Not exactly.”
“I told you I tried to call you. What do you mean ‘not exactly’?”
"Well its just, I. . .”
“Give me your cell phone?”
“I don’t have one.”
“With you.”
“At all.”
“Who doesn’t have a cell phone?”
“Me.”
“Why not?”
“They are irritating.”
“What if you have a flat or break down.”
“I’d fix it. Look, I must go. But do keep trying, Nick Constantine, I’m sure we’ll connect if we’re meant to.”
“What the hell does that mean?” but she had already been swallowed by the crowd.
He walked around the gallery examining each painting. By damn he was going to find one to buy. That gave him connection to the artist and the artist to Sara. He found it moments later titled “Lilacs.” It was nothing like his mother's lilacs but there was something soft and gentle about the flow of colors that reminded him of his mother.
He signaled to one of the galleries owners and made arrangements to have the painting delivered to his mother the following day. Though it was another hour before he was able to hustle his mother from her cronies he felt the night had been a success; though he’d never seen Sara or her sister again, unusual not to see the artist everywhere.
He sat back in the limo replaying their conversation over in his head. Hell, he didn’t even remember to get her last name. How long had it been since a woman flustered and intrigued him to such a degree? Sara had to feel the undercurrents flowing between them. And who found a cell phone unnecessary in this age of technology? How did the artist go about correlating Sara to “THE UNIVERSE?” Too many questions, but he was a man who could dig out the answers.
As his mother captured his attention, "Nicky, what has you so preoccupied?"
"Business, Mom," he wondered if Sara had even thought of him. Hell.
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