“Sorry,” she said. “I sounded a little defensive there, didn’t I?”
“With good reason,” he said. “You’re the artist. You’re well-known for the quality of the special work you do.”
They pulled away from the curb. She sank back into the leather seat, loving the little bit of luxury that was available in the seating. Maybe it was more the fact that somebody was taking care of her.
She couldn’t even remember the last time that had happened. She had staff who looked after her to a certain extent, but it was obvious that they were staff. This was something different. She didn’t know what he wanted, and that part of her was being judgmental. Of course he wanted something. Everybody wanted something. But, at the same time, she didn’t know what it was.
She pointed at the corner light coming up. “If you turn right here, it’s the fastest way home.”
He nodded. “But, if I take you home, you won’t eat, will you? Remember? We ate most of your food last night.”
She turned to him in surprise. “Well, I would have a shower and then eat.”
“I’m taking you for dinner.”
“Oh no, you’re not,” she gasped in horror. “Look at me.”
He looked at her, smiled, and said, “Believe me. You’ll be very welcome at this place.”
“No, no, no,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere with paint in my hair!”
“Do you realize that you almost always have paint in your hair?” he asked with an affectionate chuckle.
She was still protesting when he pulled up outside a small brick restaurant. Italian from the looks of it. She shook her head. “Nope, nope, nope, no way, not happening.”
“Yes, yes,” he said. “Absolutely yes. Come on. It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
At the end, her voice rose in a wail.
He laughed, got out, and circled to her side, where he opened her door and held out a hand. He said, “Remember who you are.”
She shook her head. “I’m an idiot, apparently,” she said. But nevertheless, she placed her hand in his, wondering at herself for doing so, and stepped from the vehicle. “You do realize my clothes have paint on them, and I’ve got paint on my fingernails.” She held them up for him to see.
He didn’t even look at them.
“Why is this so important?” she asked.
“Because you don’t look after yourself,” he said. “I’ll take you home afterward. You can have a shower and get a good night’s sleep.”
Feeling embarrassed and horribly put out, she somehow allowed him to lead her into the restaurant. As soon as they entered, she realized that the lights were dim, and the ambience was much more subtle than what she had expected. That was still no excuse for his behavior though. She gave him a good frown to prove it. But his teeth flashed white in the smooth, silky atmosphere. They were immediately led to a corner in the back of the room.
She shook her head. “How do you get that kind of treatment?”
He leaned down and whispered, “I have connections.”
She just rolled her eyes at him.
Cayce was seated in the dark corner, so just he could stare at her hair. And she realized he’d also done that deliberately. “Well, you get points for consideration,” she said, “but not for not allowing me to come out in my best.”
“If you were really hungry, would you have cared?”
“I’ve been known to go to a coffee shop,” she said cautiously, “but not anywhere else if I looked a mess.”
He nodded. “This place won’t care. They already know who you are. They’re absolutely thrilled to have you.”
She shook her head. “They don’t know me. Unless you just told them, they wouldn’t have known either.”
“I told them a while ago.”
Just then another woman appeared with two menus. She placed them down, held open her arms, and he hopped up, gave her a big hug, then turned and introduced Cayce to Rosita. The woman beamed.
And yet poor Cayce felt terrible. She immediately apologized for her appearance.
The woman in front of her shook her head. “You honor us with your presence. The fact that you have just come from yet another masterpiece is also an honor. You must never feel that you need to put on airs or be anything other than who you are here. We have known Richard for decades. Now, what can I get you to eat?”
Cayce hadn’t even had a chance to look at the menu. Richard looked over at her and asked, “Do you have any objection to spaghetti and meatballs?”
She shrugged and said, “This appears to be your show. Go for it.” Her tone was dry.
Rosita laughed with great merriment. “At least you understand Richard. That’s good.” She quickly removed the menus and disappeared, coming back a moment later.
They hadn’t said a word to each other while the woman returned with a basket of what appeared to be fresh sourdough bread, the aroma wafting up from the basket and making her stomach growl. And then Rosita came back with a pot of whipped butter.
Richard picked up the loaf, slicing off thick slabs. He took one for himself from the center and left her the rest, for whatever choice piece she wanted. She couldn’t help herself. She reached for a crust, buttered it, and took a bite, then sank back and ate it slowly in complete silence. She just loved the warm, yeasty bread, as it slid down her throat wrapped up in fresh butter. “That is delicious,” she said.
“I’m glad you think so,” Richard said. He left her to just sit and enjoy.
When she had a second slice of bread now buttered, she put down her knife, and then ate it with a smile.
He leaned forward and asked, “Feel better?”
She nodded. “But now the fatigue is setting in, and I’m a long way from home.”
“You’re only a few blocks away, and I promise that I’ll get you home again.”
She smiled at him. “It’s not your job to look after me.”
“Well,
