SCULPTING DAVID:
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SCULPTING DAVID
Fate conspires to arrange a canvass of dramatic conflict for offspring of warring NYC art world royalty. The muses laugh as Romance takes center stage.
David Michaels, heir to an artistic legacy – his parents, Adrian Michaels, premier sculptor, and Elena Stefanova, patrician Russian impressionist – breaks away to start a Gallery in the shark infested waters of NYC’s art world. David and his General Manager/mistress, Janet, approach Jacqueline Maurer, the talented daughter of Adrian's archrival, to showcase the Gallery’s opening salvo. Jackie will not disrespect her Papa, the redoubtable Jacques Maurer, and declines.
David pursues Jacqueline using a fake identity and masquerading as a fellow student. Intent on pressing his case, he loses himself in his art and the incomparable talent of his prey. David volunteers to model in her oils class, leaving nothing to chance and nothing to the imagination.
Jacqueline has complications of her own – a relationship with her swimming coach – and a plea from Jacques to come home to Paris to work in his studio. Torn between opposing factions and unsure of her heart, Jacgueline embraces her dark yearnings to produce the image that will ultimately captivate David.
Elena Stefanova must enter stage left to manipulate the warring muses, star crossed lovers and irascible enemies. Romance smiles wisely as David’s creation, The Raging Bull, pulls free of its confines.
David pursues Jacqueline using a fake identity and masquerading as a fellow student. Intent on pressing his case, he loses himself in his art and the incomparable talent of his prey. David volunteers to model in her oils class, leaving nothing to chance and nothing to the imagination.
Jacqueline has complications of her own – a relationship with her swimming coach – and a plea from Jacques to come home to Paris to work in his studio. Torn between opposing factions and unsure of her heart, Jacgueline embraces her dark yearnings to produce the image that will ultimately captivate David.
Elena Stefanova must enter stage left to manipulate the warring muses, star crossed lovers and irascible enemies. Romance smiles wisely as David’s creation, The Raging Bull, pulls free of its confines.
EXCERPT
Chapter One: Fish out of Water
“Jackie! Jacqueline!” Sound reverberated throughout the cavernous space, echoing with cloying dampness, the tang of chlorine sharp and pungent.
Jackie waved to her coach and breast-stroked to the side of the indoor pool. With one smooth lift, she powered her lithe body out of the water and reached for the towel Tom held out, a smile creasing his face.
“What’s up, boss?”
“Phone call. From your dad’s assistant. No message, just call back asap.”
Jackie wrinkled her nose as she roughly rubbed the towel over her short cap of hair, leaving it in untamed, dark-brown spiky layers. The assistant was the latest in a long line of perky aides who managed Jacques Maurel’s various business interests, amongst other things.
“Thanks, Tom. I’ll give him a call back as soon as I shower.”
“Nice split, babe. But a little sloppy on the turn at the fifty-meter mark, don’t you think?”
Jackie stuck her tongue out and waggled her fingers in his direction. “I’m not competing anymore, Coach, so I can be sloppy if I want to.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s what you always say. Go on. Get showered. Call Daddy. We still on for breakfast?”
“Uh-huh. Give me twenty.”
Jackie threw the towel around her neck and quick-stepped to the showers. She pondered Tom’s observations about her technique, fully aware that she’d gotten lax in her training. His advice was always dead-on, had been since her freshman year. She’d apprenticed under his expert tutelage, blossoming into a pre-Olympic hopeful by the time she was a sophomore. After the car accident that left her shoulder in ruins, and her dreams of Olympic Gold shattered on the interstate, he’d been there for her, through a year of operations and unrelenting, painful rehab. They’d become lovers, then best friends, keeping company, sharing heartbreaks and dreams. She’d nursed him through his depression and drinking problems. Tom had given her the intestinal fortitude to pursue an independent path, to sidestep the incessant demands that she follow in her father’s footsteps.
Daddy. Have to call Daddy. Why? Would it be more of the same? Join me, Cherie chérie. Stop with that foolishness. Come home to Paris. Work with me in my studio. Follow your true destiny.
“Oh, where’d I put the doggone phone?” Jackie slipped into a pair of corduroy pants and a warm fleece hoodie, grabbed her quilted jacket and hustled to the courtyard. “Nuts, bet I left it in the car again.”
“Did you call him?” Tom came up behind her, encircling her with his arms and nuzzling her neck.
“No, I can’t find the stupid cell phone. I think it’s in the car, and I parked in the far lot. I’ll call him later. Come on. I’m starved, and I have to meet with my advisor at ten o’clock.”
Jackie grabbed Tom’s hand and pulled him along as she power-walked toward the Starbucks two blocks away. Few students moved about the campus, the hour and the temperature conspiring to keep the hardy souls staying for semester break off the streets.
“You can’t keep putting it off, babe. He’s going to pester the hell out of you unless you put your foot down and tell him this is what you want.”
“Oh yeah, like he’s going to think an MFA in oils and mixed media will mean squat. If it’s not the Sorbonne … well, you know. And it’s not like he’s really been a dad to me, for crying out loud. I grew up here, not in Paris. Why this whole my-daughter’s-gotta-follow-in-Daddy’s-footsteps crap? Why now?”
Tom pulled her to a halt and spun her around. “I told you before. He’s lonely. Ever since your mom passed away, he’s been on a tear. The parade of assistants, the ungodly amount of work he’s been putting out, losing that bid for the Dubai hotel to that Michaels guy. I think it’s all been a bit much for him.”
“Yeah, but it’s always about him! What about me, what I want? Why can’t he acknowledge that I have my own goals that don’t include him? I’ve got my work in galleries already. And he never once came to see an opening, like it doesn’t matter.” Jackie tried hard to keep the hitch out of her voice, but the pain was too raw, too real and immediate.
Tom gathered her in his arms and stroked her still damp hair. “Shush, babe. He loves you, is all. Talk to him. Listen to what he has to say; but then let him know, firmly, that you have your life here. He’ll come around eventually.”
Jackie leaned into him, thankful for his caring. He felt good and strong, his swimmer’s build long and still lean. She backed away and looked up at his lined face, no longer youthful at forty-five, the creases a roadmap to a life that had known great sorrow. She’d been a part of that life for nearly four years now, occasionally as his lover, mostly as his confidante. He’d teased out the athlete lurking in her body and the artist residing in her soul. He was the anchor, the guiding light, the spirit that kept her moving forward when her heart and her body struggled against the pain that threatened to cast her adrift.
Tom held the door open as Jackie entered into the fragrant warmth of coffee nirvana.
“White chocolate mocha, whipped cream. Two, vente, please.” Tom paid and they waited impatiently for their first hit of caffeine for the day. “Let’s sit over by the window.”
Jackie sighed with pleasure at the first succulent sip. The whipped cream lined her lips momentarily, then she lazily tongued the creamy goodness as she stared into Tom’s hungry green eyes.
“Jesus, stop that. You’re making me hard, for crying out loud,” Tom whispered harshly, glancing around quickly before snatching at Jackie’s hand. “You are such a tease.” He slowly stroked her fingers as a small grin played at the corners of his mouth. “Come over tonight. It’s been awhile. I’ll make a pizza. Yes? Please?”
Jackie nodded and smiled. “Pizza sounds good.”
“Uh-huh. Pizza. Anything else?”
“Well, maybe if you add something to it.”
“Yeah, I can do that.” He turned her hand palm up and brought it to his mouth, brushing the smooth skin with his lips, the scent of chlorine on her hand faint but comforting.
Jackie flicked a look at her watch. “Gotta go. I’ll see you later. Be around seven if that’s okay.”
“Babe. Make the call.”
Tom watched her stride purposefully out the door and rose slowly, making small adjustments to his jeans. He grinned as he began the countdown toward evening. He sometimes wished he didn’t love her so much, too much to allow his demons to trap her into making a life with him. He was ever thankful for how their lives intersected. She never asked for more than he could give; and he realized that, someday, he would have to let her go. But until that day … if he were lucky, very lucky indeed, he could put it off indefinitely.
“Jackie! Jacqueline!” Sound reverberated throughout the cavernous space, echoing with cloying dampness, the tang of chlorine sharp and pungent.
Jackie waved to her coach and breast-stroked to the side of the indoor pool. With one smooth lift, she powered her lithe body out of the water and reached for the towel Tom held out, a smile creasing his face.
“What’s up, boss?”
“Phone call. From your dad’s assistant. No message, just call back asap.”
Jackie wrinkled her nose as she roughly rubbed the towel over her short cap of hair, leaving it in untamed, dark-brown spiky layers. The assistant was the latest in a long line of perky aides who managed Jacques Maurel’s various business interests, amongst other things.
“Thanks, Tom. I’ll give him a call back as soon as I shower.”
“Nice split, babe. But a little sloppy on the turn at the fifty-meter mark, don’t you think?”
Jackie stuck her tongue out and waggled her fingers in his direction. “I’m not competing anymore, Coach, so I can be sloppy if I want to.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s what you always say. Go on. Get showered. Call Daddy. We still on for breakfast?”
“Uh-huh. Give me twenty.”
Jackie threw the towel around her neck and quick-stepped to the showers. She pondered Tom’s observations about her technique, fully aware that she’d gotten lax in her training. His advice was always dead-on, had been since her freshman year. She’d apprenticed under his expert tutelage, blossoming into a pre-Olympic hopeful by the time she was a sophomore. After the car accident that left her shoulder in ruins, and her dreams of Olympic Gold shattered on the interstate, he’d been there for her, through a year of operations and unrelenting, painful rehab. They’d become lovers, then best friends, keeping company, sharing heartbreaks and dreams. She’d nursed him through his depression and drinking problems. Tom had given her the intestinal fortitude to pursue an independent path, to sidestep the incessant demands that she follow in her father’s footsteps.
Daddy. Have to call Daddy. Why? Would it be more of the same? Join me, Cherie chérie. Stop with that foolishness. Come home to Paris. Work with me in my studio. Follow your true destiny.
“Oh, where’d I put the doggone phone?” Jackie slipped into a pair of corduroy pants and a warm fleece hoodie, grabbed her quilted jacket and hustled to the courtyard. “Nuts, bet I left it in the car again.”
“Did you call him?” Tom came up behind her, encircling her with his arms and nuzzling her neck.
“No, I can’t find the stupid cell phone. I think it’s in the car, and I parked in the far lot. I’ll call him later. Come on. I’m starved, and I have to meet with my advisor at ten o’clock.”
Jackie grabbed Tom’s hand and pulled him along as she power-walked toward the Starbucks two blocks away. Few students moved about the campus, the hour and the temperature conspiring to keep the hardy souls staying for semester break off the streets.
“You can’t keep putting it off, babe. He’s going to pester the hell out of you unless you put your foot down and tell him this is what you want.”
“Oh yeah, like he’s going to think an MFA in oils and mixed media will mean squat. If it’s not the Sorbonne … well, you know. And it’s not like he’s really been a dad to me, for crying out loud. I grew up here, not in Paris. Why this whole my-daughter’s-gotta-follow-in-Daddy’s-footsteps crap? Why now?”
Tom pulled her to a halt and spun her around. “I told you before. He’s lonely. Ever since your mom passed away, he’s been on a tear. The parade of assistants, the ungodly amount of work he’s been putting out, losing that bid for the Dubai hotel to that Michaels guy. I think it’s all been a bit much for him.”
“Yeah, but it’s always about him! What about me, what I want? Why can’t he acknowledge that I have my own goals that don’t include him? I’ve got my work in galleries already. And he never once came to see an opening, like it doesn’t matter.” Jackie tried hard to keep the hitch out of her voice, but the pain was too raw, too real and immediate.
Tom gathered her in his arms and stroked her still damp hair. “Shush, babe. He loves you, is all. Talk to him. Listen to what he has to say; but then let him know, firmly, that you have your life here. He’ll come around eventually.”
Jackie leaned into him, thankful for his caring. He felt good and strong, his swimmer’s build long and still lean. She backed away and looked up at his lined face, no longer youthful at forty-five, the creases a roadmap to a life that had known great sorrow. She’d been a part of that life for nearly four years now, occasionally as his lover, mostly as his confidante. He’d teased out the athlete lurking in her body and the artist residing in her soul. He was the anchor, the guiding light, the spirit that kept her moving forward when her heart and her body struggled against the pain that threatened to cast her adrift.
Tom held the door open as Jackie entered into the fragrant warmth of coffee nirvana.
“White chocolate mocha, whipped cream. Two, vente, please.” Tom paid and they waited impatiently for their first hit of caffeine for the day. “Let’s sit over by the window.”
Jackie sighed with pleasure at the first succulent sip. The whipped cream lined her lips momentarily, then she lazily tongued the creamy goodness as she stared into Tom’s hungry green eyes.
“Jesus, stop that. You’re making me hard, for crying out loud,” Tom whispered harshly, glancing around quickly before snatching at Jackie’s hand. “You are such a tease.” He slowly stroked her fingers as a small grin played at the corners of his mouth. “Come over tonight. It’s been awhile. I’ll make a pizza. Yes? Please?”
Jackie nodded and smiled. “Pizza sounds good.”
“Uh-huh. Pizza. Anything else?”
“Well, maybe if you add something to it.”
“Yeah, I can do that.” He turned her hand palm up and brought it to his mouth, brushing the smooth skin with his lips, the scent of chlorine on her hand faint but comforting.
Jackie flicked a look at her watch. “Gotta go. I’ll see you later. Be around seven if that’s okay.”
“Babe. Make the call.”
Tom watched her stride purposefully out the door and rose slowly, making small adjustments to his jeans. He grinned as he began the countdown toward evening. He sometimes wished he didn’t love her so much, too much to allow his demons to trap her into making a life with him. He was ever thankful for how their lives intersected. She never asked for more than he could give; and he realized that, someday, he would have to let her go. But until that day … if he were lucky, very lucky indeed, he could put it off indefinitely.
