Not only is there avelvetcouch in our storage closet, there’s also a Persian rug covering the cold concrete floor, stretching from the settee to the platform. I spot an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne sitting inside it, and is that… is thatmusic? Coming fromwhere?I look around, trying to find a source.
My eyes must look wide as saucers because Devlin’s rich laughter shakes me out of my stupor. “So, all of this”—he waves at the room with one hand while his other holds the back of his neck—“is actually supposed to make you more comfortable.” He squints his eyes at me slightly and tilts his head. “It’s not supposed to make you more on-edge.” Devlin offers me a sheepish smile.
Once again it feels like he’s heavily observing me, memorizing all my expressions and interpreting them all, well, correctly. Iama little on edge. And it’s frightening that he can just see through me so easily. “Stop perceiving me!” I blush as I force out the first joke that comes to mind. For the first time, it’s Devlin’s turn to look confused.
“Stop…?” he says with his head cocked.
“Yes, stop perceiving me, I don’t want to beperceived,” I emphasize, chuckling again and concurrently wishing I could just say normal things.
Devlin cuts my self-consciousness short though. In a quick but gentle movement, he pulls his jagged mask back up over his mouth and nose and steps toward me, causing me to bump up against the the doorframe to the converted storage room. He places one hand on my collarbone and one hand on the doorframe above us. The proximity forces me to tilt my head up to look into his light-colored eyes. They’re not quite as icy as they were in my dream, but I can see a definite hunger in the way his irises dance across my face, landing on my lips.
“Yes?” I whisper up to him, shaky—my senses heightened. This is a familiar position between the two of us, and I’d wanted more then just as I want more now.
“Hmm—” he muses, and moves in closer to my neck beforerunning his mouth down to my collarbone. I can feel his hot breath press through the mask and whisper down my bosom. “I certainly hope—” he continues, while shivers wrack my whole body. He moves back up in front of my face and holds a hand gently to my cheek— “that you’ll allow me to do more than just perceive you.”
He steps away and sweeps into the room. I pry myself off the doorframe and pray that at no point in time this man sees my underwear. He affects me more than anyone I can remember. Past boyfriends be damned. I gingerly step into the storage room and look back out into the larger space one more time to see if there’s anyone loitering about. This mysterious assistant, perhaps? Not a trace.
I close the door behind us.
“So, why are we working in here? If uh, no one is out there?”
Devlin’s back is turned, and he pours champagne into two fluted glasses he’s inexplicably procured.
“I thought it was cozier in here, more amenable to the type of environment I like to work in,” he replies over his shoulder.
“But then, why would you need the space cleared? Out there?” I gesture to the door.
“Precautionary measures,” he says turning around, handing me a flute of champagne—the effervescence is fresh and dampening my fingers. “Just in case there are sounds we want to keep private.” His lips quirk and his eyes alight upon my face for a reaction. My heart leaps but I try not to emote. Instead, I take a sip of my champagne and sit down, crossing my legs and pursing my lips.
“Are you now going to explain to me what exactly you’ve asked me here to do, Mr. Devo?” I try to take the bold, playful route; I don’t want to fall prey to my nerves. I came here of my own accord, and I’d like to remind myself to act with conviction when it comes to my own choices.
“Ah,‘Mister’.” He takes a step in front of me but remains standing, forcing me to tilt my head back to look up at him. Heplaces his pointer finger under my chin, and I see that his mask is no longer on. Now it’s his turn to take a swig of the sweet golden drink. “Not my first preference, but I can work with Mister.” He winks, and steps away, taking another large sip.
Once again, he’s left me confused. “What do you mean? What do you prefer?”
“That’s likely for another time.” Devlin comes back to sit beside me on the couch and brings up a slate of papers with a pen atop them. “First though, I must ask you to do something. I’m sorry.”
I look at the papers and take in snippets of legalese.
“So, an NDA is involved?” I raise my brows and search his eyes for validation.
“Unfortunately, I had an incident earlier on and it was strongly recommended to me that I have each, uh, collaborator I work with look this over and sign.”
I take a deep breath. Legal documents aren’t my strong suit, and I’d never been one to read the fine print.
“I don’t really—” I struggle to respond.
He waves his hand at me. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to sign it.” He looks at me with sincerity. “We just won’t collaborate on any art in that case, and that would be fine by me, Charlotte.”
I slowly nod as I weigh what he’s saying. He continues, “But even if you do sign it, we can still stop at any time.” He rubs the back of his neck. “And to be honest, I don’t think I’d act upon anything anyway”—he gestures to the paper—“but I’m told it’s a deterrent for talking to the press and I, well—” He looks around the room. “I value the privacy of my process.”
I think back through all the videos of the young women who’d claimed they’d been a “muse” for one of Devo’s paintings. Their eyes shone with the excitement of a secret kept, of a special nostalgia for something they’d never forget. They hadn’t seemed traumatized or frightened... or even upset that they weren’t Devo’s only muse.
ShouldIbe upset by that?I wonder. But no—I know I’m notthe first. Logically, I don’t see an issue. Emotionally… there’s something that makes me uncomfortable, and I don’t want to explore it.There is norealrelationship here, I think. I set my bristling feelings aside.
As much as I’ve acted like I’m too skittish to do this, I am here. I am all the way here, in this tiny, decked out room with THE Devo. Because I reached out to him, and continued to write to him, and asked him to come to Brooklyn, tomystudio, and then I’d found him charming, and mysterious and I’d wanted to touch his body with mine… I am here because of me. And I will continue to be here because it’s what I want.
“Let me take a look.” I put my hands out for the papers. His face lights up as he hands them over. It’s not that I don’t trust him… it’s just that I’ve never had to sign an NDA in order to proceed with an art project before… nor with anything for that matter! I’m just an amateur painter, a non-celebrity. A good ole’ fashioned, runaway transplant in an artsy pocket of a big city. I suppose I’ve gotten to this place in life by taking some risks, so what’s another one? I believe him when he says I can walk away at any time no matter what. I sign the document with a flourish and down the bottom half of my drink. Excitement rushes up my torso much like the bubbles that had rushed up my champagne flute.
