The Exhibit: Love, Bondage and Control

OOC: Riley's husband James will be played by magbeam. James's friend will be played by OnHarry.

Riley Davenport

Riley stood under the pounding hot water of the shower. Her long dark hair was slicked to her skin. Her ivory skin pinkened by the heat of the water. She was lingering. Tonight was the big exhibit at the gallery downtown. James hadn't been home much the last few days. He was finalizing every detail. He was rearranging the prints and putting in his final selections. She had to smile, his passion for his work had always been alluring to her.

Riley was a small town girl. She had grown up with out very much culture. Her parents still lived in the trailer park where she had been raised. Her two older sisters had married young, had babies right away. The eldest having her first baby long before she married. Riley had known all along that she didn't belong there. She had collected pages out of magazines when she was a little girl. She put them inside of her wish book. She collected pictures of furniture and artwork, apartments and houses. She cut out pictures of well dressed women looking as if they were headed to important and glamorous places. Riley had been looking for a way out since she was small.

High school had provided that. She got involved in student government, she joined the theater department and the choir. And her senior year she had been offered a large scholarship to a liberal arts university out of state. She had arrived in town on a Greyhound bus. Riley had managed to fit in pretty well. WIth her slender, petite frame and her well studied, sophisiticated synse of style, visually, she blended in. She didn't talk about home much and she had studied the lives of others well enough to keep up with a conversation about a country club or vacationing in the Hamptons. If the other girls suspected that she was the first one in her family to go to college, they never let on.

Her favorite thing about the University was that she had the opportunity to experience the culture that she hadn't ever had the chance to be exposed to. She went to student art exhibits and student recitals. She wandered the galleries and music halls like an art student. She was studying early childhood education. That is what piqued her interest in James's photo exhibit. "Through the Eyes of a Child" was posted on the gallery door. The walls in the gallery were a stark black, the prints were black and white. It had been his graduate show. From the large prints stared back the eyes of children in poverty. Hollowed faces and tear streaks moved her to tears. She had thought she was alone in the gallery. She hadn't fought the tears off. She knew these images were meant to be moving. What person could look at the children in these pictures and not cry?

She had felt a hand on her shoulder and she almost jumped out of her skin. It had been James. And that had been their start. Just a few months later she was moving into his house. He had loved and protected her in a way she had never felt before. The summer after her sophomore year, they married. The wedding had been elegant but small. Her family had not traveled to be at the wedding. It was an intimate gathering of their friends and James's parents. Her dress had been James's wedding gift to her. It was a gorgeous dutchess satin strapless gown that had matched the one in her secret wishbook.

The exhibit at the gallery tonight was of pictures he had taken of her in her gown. They weren't wedding pictures by any means. They had a definite erotic edge to them. Her face was barely visible. Mostly in shadow or profile, the pictures could have been anyone. But it was exciting to be James's muse. He was tired of chronicling the ills of the world. He wanted to explore love and intimacy.

Riley dressed carefully for the exhibit. She dried her hair and left it down, since that is how James liked it best. She slipped on her little black dress. The sleeveless sheath fit her perfectly. She didn't wear any jewelery but her wedding rings. She had only worn the wedding band for sixth months now, but she loved to watch it gleam in the light. Even with his sleepless nights and artistic frenzies, she had married the perfect man.

Corbin Buchanan

When Riley got to the gallery, it was mayhem. James had left to go back to his studio to get one last framed picture that had been over looked and while there were very few people in evidence, the gallery director was in a lather. “I am so glad to see you Riley,” he said sounding out of breath, possibly due to his asthma, or perhaps his high level of nervousness.

“Why.” She asked?

“James had to go and fetch one of his prints, and he is here.”

“He?” she said.

“Corbin Buchanan, he is over there holding court with a couple of dowagers, I haven’t got time to deal with him right now and I can’t afford to ignore him for long, would you be a dear and keep him occupied till James gets back?”

Looking where the director indicated, Riley saw the object of his frenzy. There standing next to a pair of older women, maybe in their sixties, was James’s friend. Riley had heard some things about him, from James, but even though James called him his friend there was some sort of animosity between them.

Going towards him Riley detected a distinct drawl, as he spoke to the two ladies, he was tall over six foot, with thick dark hair that was combed straight back without a part. He had on a very expensive but tasteful suit, and the closer she got the more she could detect a certain cologne that was totally new to her.

Holding out her hand as she came up to him she said, “Mr Buchanan I am Riley, so pleased to finally meet you.”

Corbin stopped in mid sentence and looked at her, flashing a smile with perfect teeth, and he accepted her proffered hand, and instead of shaking it as Riley intended, he grasped it firmly in his own large hand and raised it to his lips, kissing the back with the faintest touch of his lips. “Corbin Buchanan, formerly of Danville Kentucky, and currently of New York and the world at large, at your service.” All the time he spoke and kissed her hand he never took his eyes off Riley’s face, as his blue grey eyes regarded her, boring into her.

“Ladies, you will have to excuse me while this lovely lady escorts me about, we shall talk later.” Then turning back to Riley he put his arm through hers, and walked away with her as Riley felt some heat rise to her cheeks, this fellow was so unexpected.

“That is an unusual name Corbin,” she said trying to get her bearings as she was whisked away.

He sighed and said in his heavily accented drawl, “yes it is, you see my parents being from the lower social strata, tended to lack cognitive skills, and so when I was born the seventh of ten children, they were stumped for a name, and finally settled on my mama’s hometown Corbin Kentucky. I suppose I should be grateful that she was not from Kalamazoo Michigan.”

“How long have you and James been friends,” she asked him as he walked up to the first picture.

“Well, considering our age difference, I have inhabited the planet for just past four decades, I would say I am more of a mentor, but feel free to call me friend if you wish Riley, my that is a lovely name, and now let’s see this picture.”

The first picture showed Riley in the dress, recumbent on a leather sofa, her face almost completely in shadow, with the only part lit being her ear and lower jaw line, down to her bare shoulder. The top of her breast under the dress was fully lit while the lower half was shadowed. The remainder of the dress was shadowy and indistinct, and there was only the bit around her breast that showed clearly.

Corbin regarded it for almost a full two minutes saying nothing, merely stroking his nose, or tapping his mouth with his thick forefinger. When he had taken Riley’s arm she had been immediately aware that he possessed a fair amount of physical strength, despite being gentle, and his hands while manicured with polished nails were hard and strong.

Finally he finished his examination of the picture, and said to Riley’s relief and surprise, “I do love the way that James uses shadow and light to emphasise specific points while he leaves the rest ambiguous. He does it well, and yet as you look you crave the ambiguity, even though he gives you a specific detail that leaps out at you, and yet, unsatisfied greedy ingrates that we are, we desire the ambiguity, the mystery not what is offered. He has a real talent.”

Riley was relieved that he had finally spoken and was impressed with his depth of analysis, and surprised that his drawl had softened considerably. It appeared that he put it on for the general public but that when he was alone with his thoughts or intimates he had a much pleasanter less cornpone accent.

“You like it then?” asked Riley.

“I do indeed though I would have preferred it to be a nude.” Riley looked at him, and he went on, “imagine the same photograph, with you undressed naked to the world, and yet all we would see would be the line of your collar bone, your shoulder, the little bit of your ear and jaw line, and only the top and profile of your exquisite breast, with your nipple,” here he turned to examine her breasts in depth for a second, then turning to the photo, he pointed to where he figured her areola would be and said, “that would be pointed away from the lens, and the light source, the ambiguity would call out to me, and I poor wretch would only be able to imagine, the perfect curve of that exquisite orb. I believe I might weep with sadness at the thought of what James denied me in the image and what delight lay just out of reach, there but unfathomable save only in my imagination.”

“Are you a photographer?” she asked with interest despite her bit of discomfort at his examination and discussion of her breasts.

He laughed softly and said, “ I am like a eunuch in a harem, I see the activity, I understand the mechanics of the situation, I know what goes on, but I am unable to participate or do it myself.” Riley laughed aloud at his analogy, and smiling he said to her, “I would love to take credit for that bit of wisdom but I believe Oscar Wilde said it first, in reference to a review of one of his plays and the critic who wrote it.”

Then taking her arm once again Corbin walked away from that wall to another one saying “I prefer to gaze in gallery shows at random rather than the way that the director or artist suggests I should look. Call me an anarchist but there you are,” he said this as they came to another picture on a half wall behind their original vantage point. “Here is an item of interest,” he said, as he gazed at the picture they had arrived at.

Riley was still blushing after the analysis of her breasts in the last picture. Her peaches and cream complextion could really keep no secrets. Her big brown eyes scanned the next print. This one had been an issue between her and James. It felt too raw and too private to be in the show, but he had loved it. He had insisted.

The shoot had lasted for hours. Retakes, lighting changes, lens adjustments. It had felt endless. She had taken off the pretty heels he had chosen for these photos and curled in a corner while she waited for him to get a set right. Her feet were bare on the hard wood floor. Her hair was down spilling over her shoulders. The dress was bunched up and crumpled. Her legs were visible up to the knee. They were sort of tucken under her, the way children sit on the floor. But she was crying.

Riley remembered that night. She was tired and the romance of posing in her wedding dress was fading. SHe was hungry and tired and hot. James was getting short tempered. His assistant, Molly, was getting snippy. And Riley thought she was having a moment alone and all of that emotion slipped out. She hadn't even heard James take the photo. Her eyes were closed, but her cheeks streaked with tears in the photo.

Even though she had been crying, the photograph still had a faintly erotic feel to it. The arch of her back, still showed off her breasts. The locket she had worn was nestled in her cleavage. Between her hair falling down around her face and her closed eyes, there was still a touch of anonymity to the picture.

Riley sighed as she looked at the print. It was large, one of the larger peices in the show.

"James felt like it fit into the exhibit." She said firmly. "It isn't every woman that gets wedding photos like these." She offered with a very fake smile. It still felt somewhat of a betrayal to see those tears on the wall. But that was between her and James. James believed in the name of art, those emotions had to be exposed.

Riley looked to the door, wondering when James was going to return. The gallery had just opened for the night. The crowds wouldn't be there for a while. The waiters were just now beginning to make their rounds with the flutes of champagne and the canapes. Riley asked one of the waiters for a mineral water and then she looked at Mr. Buchanan with an arched eyebrow.

"What is it about this print that interests you? I had rather hoped the one of me on the iron bed nestling into the sheets, would keep most of the eyes off of this one."

"What is it about this print that interests you? I had rather hoped the one of me on the iron bed nestling into the sheets, would keep most of the eyes off of this one."

When Riley had asked the question, she had her back to Corbin, and as she turned to look at him after she asked she was surprised to see that he was staring straight at the picture, almost as if he was stunned, and there were tears running down his face.

”My god that is raw," he said quietly. "It looks like the embodiment of an exposed nerve."

"I didnt want that one in the show," she said just as quietly.

"I can understand why," he said, "but it is probably one of his best pictures. I understand why it would be hard for you to show this side of you, unguarded, fragile, and vulnerable. People could look at this and feel some common ground with the subject, it is such a powerful statement, even though it is a still, I can feel the heaving of your breasts with the sobs. You wouldn't be more exposed if you were naked."

Then as if snapping out of his trance Corbin asked with a smile, "so where is this one with you in the bed?"

Riley looked around for a moment and then pointed across the room, "there it is over there."

Corbin thought that Riley seemed glad to leave, as they walked to the next picture he said to her, "my, my, my our James does have a talent doesn't he?"

When they got to the picture that Riley had mentioned she wondered why she had pointed it out to this person she had just met and yet he seemed so in touch with her emotions and inner thoughts. The picture showed her as she had said nestled into the sheets on the bed her face tilted towards the camera, her hair hanging loose, covering one eye, while the other looked out at the viewer.

Corbin smiled at the picture and said, “if that isnt a come hither look I dont know what is. Your eye is smiling at us, and your mouth is pursed in such a way, that it is expecting to be put to some disreputable but highly erotic use.”

He looked at Riley and noted with an inner smile she was blushing yet again, and he decided to add to the moment by saying, “I must honestly say I feel stimulated by such an expression.”

"Stimulated?" said Riley in an absent minded fashion. Then it hit her what he meant and for some reason she looked down at his pants and blushed a deep red that made her feel flushed and hot.

“You are indeed a delightful hostess Riley and I am so glad to have met you, but as nice as this picture is I think we should move on”

They did that coming to another picture this one with her hair tied up in a loose bun, and her back to the camera, again the light was specifically directed to one area in this case her upper back, and the very top of the dress showing the back of her neck and again the bare shoulders. “this is nice I like this, it is simple yet it conveys a certain moment, perhaps not as strong as your nemesis over there,” and he indicated back towards the picture of her in tears, “but I still think it should have been nude.”

“How would you do it then” she asked.

"I would have you laying on your side, nude of course,” Riley blushed once again, “with your back to the camera, the light coming from in front of you, and below, so all that would show would be this light over your nude reclining body, the top of those perfect buttocks showing but not the cleft between them except perhaps in deep shadow. Almost as if the sun were rising over your reclining form.” As Riley blushed a bit more he added, “I would love to see that picture posed. Shall we go on?”

Riley led him to the next picture as she looked over her shoulder at the door to see if James had arrived yet, though to Corbin it seemed with less urgency than she had shown at first.

Riley felt exposed as she walked with Corbin. This was not the first time that she had been James's model. But this was the first time that someone had so openly discussed the photographs with her. She was so used to mindless comments, they are so pretty, or they are so romantic. Even the other photographers that James knew, they talked about specific lenses and light filters. Corbin was very different.

Riley smirked at what her parents would think of James's work. When Riley bothered to call home she still had to explain to her parents that James didn't take family portraits or take photos of pretty landscapes. "He tells stories, Mama. With pictures." Riley hissed a sigh just thinking about it.

The room was starting to fill. Buyers, decorators, critics, other artists, a few people just looking for free champagne and somewhere to be. The gallery owner turned up the music just a little. The gallery was starting to have the atmosphere of a party. Riley watched the crowd a little more closely now. It was the critics that needed to be watched. James was counting on a good review. They actually really needed to sell several of these prints. A good write up in one of the arts sections could mean the difference between Riley going to school full time on her scholarships next semester, or her having to pull down a second job.

Riley stiffened a little when she saw Dermot Massey walk in. He was a critic for a trendy Xine. His column was for the new rich, not the art world. He was a critic that didn't decide what was good, he decided what was hot. She hoped Dermot would like the work as much as Corbin.

"Are there any of the pictures where you would let me keep my clothes? The dress was part of the inspiration for the shoot, it has a special meaning other than the fact that it is a wedding gown."

Corbin looked at her, his intent gaze making her feel as if she didn't have a choice but to elaborate.

"It was the dress I had always wanted. James bought it for me. I wasn't going to get a really fancy dress because our wedding was so small and my family wasn't coming. I knew I could get something off the rack, but I came home from class and found this dress laid out on our bed. He had found my secret wishbook, I kept it from when I was a little girl. He bought me the dress and left a note on the bed that it was just the beginning of all of my dreams coming true." Riley straightened her shoulders with a happy smile.

She tilted her head playfully towards Corbin, wondering what he might have to say to that. She laughed lightly. It was fun to spar just a little with someone. James had been so busy with the show, for weeks Riley had felt very alone in their little house.

As the rooms filled with the curious the knowledgeable and the freeloaders, Corbin reverted more and more to his affected accent, rather than the softer version. Then when Riley said, "Are there any of the pictures where you would let me keep my clothes? The dress was part of the inspiration for the shoot, it has a special meaning other than the fact that it is a wedding gown."

“My dear, you should know that I say this strictly from the perspective of artistic merit, were I to seduce you, not that I would be so churlish, I would prefer to have your clothes on, at least to start.”

Riley finished her explanation of the dresses significance, and Corbin regarded her with his head tilted to one side ever so slightly and a smile began to cross his face, “why I had no idea, that is a charming story, James it seems is a knight in armour, on a white steed. Seems somewhat contrary to my idea of him, but who knew.” Then as Riley glanced about for probably the tenth time in a minute he asked her, “is there something distracting you my dear or am I boring you?”

Riley apologised and explained about Dermot Massey, as she blushed some more.

“What magazine does he scribble for, and what is his column concerning?”

“He writes for ‘The New Libertarian’ he is their art critic, and rather tough.”

Corbin glanced where Riley indicated and said, “don’t you think that an investment magazine having an art critic is somewhat oxymoronic? The readership for that rag are as you rightfully pointed out the nouveau riche, all flash and no style. I have been subjected to their ilk, more times than I care to recount, but the truth is we have to please them, hell they form half my customer base.”

“What do you do Corbin?” asked Riley suddenly as if she suddenly wondered what he was about.

“Well dear Riley, I got a fine arts degree in Interior Design from the University of Kentucky, and ended up interning with a decorator in New York, Alberto Conzani, you might have heard of him. At any rate my specialty was furniture, and I kept finding these disparate cabinet makers tucked away in various hick towns around the country. I started to act as an agent for them, as they wanted to be in the country so to speak but they wanted sales. Most of them were to be frank extremely avant garde and were struggling to make a living in their localities. The majority did kitchen cabinets to make ends meet.”

He paused here as now Corbin was watching Dermot Massey with interest to, and was tracking his orbit around the room. Then turning back to Riley he went on, “at any rate I decided to try and provide an outlet for their talent and find a market for this creativity. I should add that it was at a mutually agreeable price for all parties, though I did and continue to do rather well by the arrangement. After Alberto succumbed to the twentieth century plague, aids, and he was heterosexual can you believe that, I went on to do my own design work and have become fairly comfortable as a result. You might be surprised to know I am a contributing editor for Architectual Digest"

"At any rate," he continued after a swallow of champagne, domestic but decent, Corbin continued, "that is how I met James I was speaking at the university here about design as a visiting lecturer, it was a slow year, I met James and incorporated some of his shots into my interiors. He has done well by me I think and will continue to do so. Now to Dermot, god his parents must have hated him worse than mine did me, lets confront him and see what happens."

Riley was reluctant to follow Corbin to talk with such an influential local critic, but her arm was now firmly engaged in the iron like grasp of Corbin as he walked up to the dreaded Dermot.

Riley had a sense of dread as Corbin lead her across the room. She and James had never really spoken about it, but this was his world, and she felt it might be best for her not to speak to buyers and critics and gallery owners. This gallery owner was a friend of James's, a man that they knew socially. He had asked her to entertain Corbin and now Corbin had suggested almost every photograph in the exhibit would be better if she had been nude.

The whole evening felt a little surreal. Corbin knew this world better than she did though. Maybe he was right about approaching Massey? She had seen the owner fluttering about nervously. He had out his pad and pen. She beamed with delight. It was a sales slip. One of the pieces had sold. She sighed deeply relieved. James would be so excited to know that they had a sale even before the crowd packed in. She wondered which piece it was.

Corbin walked through the gallery as if he owned it. People nodded to him deferentially and she noticed their whispers behind ladylike hands everywhere they passed. She tried to look at Corbin through their eyes, he was good looking, tall and dashing, he had oodles of southern charm. Riley also noted that he exuded power. From the way he lead her through the crowd all the way to the way he dismissed the waiters politely but firmly, it was evident that Corbin was used to being in charge.

"Maybe we should let James talk to Mr. Massey first." Riley offered in a whispered hiss. She didn't like the expression that Massey had on his face. He was looking at the iron bed print. He looked.... Riley couldn't name it, but she could place it. He looked the son of the owner of the paper mill in the town where she grew up, that snotty expression he wore whenever he had to be around the people who actually worked in his father's mill.

Riley squeased Corbin's hand. "Please....I am.... scared to talk to him."

Riley squeezed Corbin's hand. "Please....I am.... scared to talk to him."

Corbin looked at her and smiled but said nothing, only pointing at her with his forefinger, and then touching his lip to as if to say do not speak.

When they arrived at the vantage point Massey had picked to scowl at the picture in the bed, Corbin stopped and looked himself. Massey pretended not to notice them but instead went on to look at the offending photo. Corbin said nothing just stood there looking, as if lost in thought, until Massey said aloud, “the trash they put in galleries these days.”

The statement was obviously meant for them as they were the only other two to be in the immediate vicinity. Turning his head to Dermot, Corbin asked him deferentially, in his most charming southern drawl. “I fail to see what you mean sir.”

In a tone that was both haughty and pretentious Massey replied, “it is so silly, no clarity, no social context, just a picture of a supposed adult playing dress up or something, in fact the entire exhibition is frankly a waste of my time.”

Looking at him directly now, Corbin who towered over him and who had on a suit that probably cost as much as Massey’s entire wardrobe said simply, “mah former employer, would have loved this picture for it’s childlike simplicity, it’s innocence and it’s direct appeal to the senses. Frankly Suh I cannot see what it is you are talking about.”

Massey regarded Corbin haughtily at first, and then suddenly seemed to notice that his clothes were very pricey indeed, his cologne was custom made or some esoteric blend known only to a few, and his entire presence was overpowering. It quickly occurred to him that this guy was money, and possibly influence. “might one ask who your former employer was?”

“Alberto Conzani, really though more of a friend than an employer, we were always on the best of terms even when we disagreed, though I can say with a high degree of certainty that on this,” and with a sweep of his arm and an open palm Corbin indicated the picture in question, “on this we would be in complete agreement, a tasteful, playful, and frankly potentially cheap investment like this was worth having in the best of houses.”

Then seeing the look of puzzlement and maybe a bit of worry on Masseys face Corbin introduced himself, "Corbin Buchanan at your service suh."

Suddenly Massey could not be deferential enough, talking of the investment potential and the projected growth factor of photographic reproductions and the art and photos he had purchased himself, and their sure fire ability to grow to great heights of value.

Corbin listened politely and after a suitable interval begged off to circulate and pay his respects around the room. After they left him he shook his head and Riley who had been silent all this time finally said, "I thought you would do something to make him feel small and insignificant."

"Unfortunately in my line of work I have to tolerate toads like that, he is so typical of what you find these days, he can tell you the price of everything in his house, but knows the value of nothing. Frankly my dear Riley he is small and insignificant, I don't have to make him feel that way."

After looking back to make sure that Massey was no where near, he said, "still I suspect that James will not have to worry about the review of the exhibition from that quarter, in fact I will make you a friendly wager."

"What wager?" asked Riley.

"Make a point of buying the next issue of that dreary rag he calls a magazine and I will bet you that in his highly favourable review he will cite the investment potential of these photos, and he will talk of them in glowing terms, and I guarantee that he will plagiarise some of the phrases I used to describe the work."

"That is awful,..... isn't it?" she asked.

"Why of course not, think about it you get a miserable little scribbler like that to toady up to you and then you write the review for him, I could care less if he uses my phraseology, as long as he spells James's name right. Speaking of James he isn't back yet, so show me another of his pictures, one you like this time."

Riley smiled a soft and tender smile at him. It had been a very great kindness to send Massey the message that James's work was worth promoting. She took Corbin's hand and led him to the back corner of the exhibit. This was a "filler" peice. It didn't make a profound statement, it wasn't very erotic either. Riley was perched on the edge of the iron bed. Her bare feet were swinging. The skirts of her dress were bunched up around her. She was smiling up at the camera, more than smiling. She was laughing. The smile went all the way up to her big brown eyes. Shot in black and white her eyes looked like deep, dark pools.

It was a very relaxed shot. Her hair was pulled over one shoulder.

"He was finishing off a roll of film. I love it because it is a snapshot. We don't have lots of snapshots at our house. It is just a happy moment between the two of us. It wasn't going to be in show, but James needed a picture for this spot. He thinks it is silly that it is my favorite." She offerered the tale to Corbin with a shrug of her shoulders. He was growing on her. He really was helping James's career.

"Thank you for talking to Massey. It will mean a lot to James. He was really hoping that he got some critical buzz." Riley absently twisted the rings on her finger as she surveyed the room.

James Davenport

James Davenport hurried back into the gallery, the framed picture in his hand. He was fuming. This was his first gallery in simply ages, and he had slaved over it so hard, sacrificing even time with his precious Riley, and for this - for them to forget to place one of his pictures out! He had left specific instructions, of course, and would have done it himself, but had been so busy getting the rest of the event prepared. James had assumed that a simple following of instructions on where to hang a portrait and how to illuminate it would be easy, but obviously he had been too optimistic.

Oh well. A lesson learned. Next time, he would just take it all into his hands, as he had done in the good old days when he had been an art student. Most of his help had been good, but of course it was the one or two mistakes that ruined it for the rest. He couldn't afford to take that risk again. So it would be James taking on even more authority and planning next time, and less time at home with Riley, but she would understand. She always did; that was part o the reason he loved her. She knew, unlike so many women, that because he became so passionate, so engrossed, in his work did not mean he loved her any less. On the contrary; James fancied the very reason he became so enamored with this presentation was the singular subject matter.

He was so lucky to have found someone like Riley. She was so emotional, so passionate, just like him. Too many girls were not like that, were fake and withdrawn; ironically, before Riley, the only woman he had ever found to match his own drive was a math student who would spend the nights pouring over geometry. It was unfortunate they had passed on by with nothing more than a few nights, or at least, so James had thought at the time; he was glad now, for as exciting as Moira had been, he could never have loved her a tenth of the way he loved Riley.

So charmingly innocent she was, as well, and vulnerable as he found her crying alone over his pictures that first time. James had a chivalrous streak in him, and had felt himself inexorably drawn towards the hauntingly beautiful damsel in distress. He had come from wealth, and Riley's own relative poverty had only contributed to his desire to protect her from everything he could. He was very protective of his women, something that was frowned upon in this world of female liberation and equality; but Riley had been charmed by his actions, excited that he had wanted to protect and defend her; not that he would ever have used those feelings against her, of course.

Although their courtship had begun in that gallery, they had not consummated their relationship until the first time he had had her pose for him, in the rain - it seemed appropriate, for what but heavenly deluge could swamp the flames she stirred in him? No woman had ever been so photogenic for him as Riley had been. It was as clear a sign as any, at least to James. Oh, of course even his friends and family had scoffed; he was too young, she even younger; he was too carefree; he was an artist, albeit one with independent wealth. But they knew nothing, as well-intentioned as they were, because of one thing: they were not James, and did not feel the indissoluble love, the absolute certainty that they were meant to be together. Dare he say it, Riley even meant as much to him as his art did. Unfortunately, art continued to consume his life, at least preparing for this exhibit had. She was patient, his Riley, but even James was looking forward to making some time off to spend with his student bride. He couldn't even remember the last time they had properly made love.

That was the problem with getting bigger in the art world, things seemed to get so much more complicated. Of course, he couldn't really complain. James fancied himself an honest man, and admitted he liked the exposure. The sight of the increasingly-crowded gallery, with both the older, richer crowd who patronised him and the poorer common people whose lives he had chronicled, sympathized with, and (or so he fancied) helped via exposure - as well the middle-class that he had little use for, but who bought much of his work - were all evident in abundance. He said a few hellos and shook a few hands with his close friends, and many more with people he did not know or did not care to know, all the while looking for the long waterfall of dark hair that was his.

Finally, he saw her, in a little black dress that set off her curves perfectly, looking away from him. Excellent. James approached her quickly from behind, Riley finishing talking just as he pressed himself against her back, his arm sneaking out around her waist as he nuzzled her neck, kissing it gently before speaking.

"There you are, my little Erato," James said, referring to the Greek Muse of eroticism. "Thought you could escape me, hmm? I hope you were not accosted too badly by this mob before I could arrive to beat them back." He kissed her ear, noticing for the first time that she was with someone. Corbin Buchanan. James' brow furrowed just a few centimeters, and he pulled his head up from his wife's neck, although he kept his back against her and slid his other arm around her waist as well.

"Corbin," he said in way of greeting. "I'm glad to see you here. I take it I have you to thank for making sure Riley didn't get too bored while I was away? Corbin has a way with words I'm afraid I'll never match," James explained to his wife, not sure if Corbin had had the chance to impress her with his analytical skills yet.

Corbin was a nice enough man for someone who was not an artist and who ran his own business. Still, there was something about him that James found grating. He owed much to the Southerner, who had gotten him into this gallery and several others. Perhaps that was it. But still, the fact remained that he had helped him, and he was polite - and to be honest, enjoyable - enough companionship that James was always happy to see him. But there was still that little facet that made James slightly happier to see him depart.

Corbin found it amusing that James had not at first noticed him, but he waited until he did before speaking.

"Corbin," he said in way of greeting. "I'm glad to see you here. I take it I have you to thank for making sure Riley didn't get too bored while I was away? Corbin has a way with words I'm afraid I'll never match," James explained to his wife, not sure if Corbin had had the chance to impress her with his analytical skills yet.

"Why James you do me too much homour, I merely have a gift for verbosity, and seem to be able to charm one and all as required."

Riley with shining eyes said, "you should see the way he charmed Dermot Massey."

James eyebrows went up even more and he looked at Corbin as if to say what is she talking about.

In answer to James's unspoken question, Corbin said, "nonsense James, I just pointed out a few truths to the afore mentioned Mr Massey, a rather unpleasant man if I may say so. However I charmed him and he should give you an excellent review for the nouveau riche his rag caters to."

"Thanks," was all that James said.

Then Corbin said, "if you and your delightful, and may I say erudite wife will excuse me just for a few minutes I have to go and do some business while I am here and I believe the gallery owner is free just now." Then he took Riley's hand and kissed it again, a bit more lingering this time, and with a polite and graceful bow departed, leaving the two to talk.

While he spoke to the gallery owner James and Riley talked but both of them watched him for some reason, he seemed to draw stares from all quarters, and before long he returned, interrupting the couple in their conversation.

"I do declare James you are a hit, half the pictures are sold already, I myself bought that one over there for a client of mine in Chicago, he is redecorating and it should be perfect." Corbin indicated the one picture where Riley was sitting on the edge of the bed laughing.

"It seems that someone bought that one of you weeping my dear, I believe congratulations are in order. I tell you what if you two would be so kind as to dine with me after the exhibition closes for the evening, my treat. I believe I have an open table at La Porte d'or whenever I am in town. Pricey little bistro I know but they do put on a good feed. What do you think care to join me?"

Riley flinched when she heard that the picture of her weeping had sold. It had been such a raw moment in time, and now it would be hanging in some random home some where...or an office. She tried to shake off the thought. She had argued with James about it being in the show, but she had never considered that someone would buy it. The other shots were so much more appealing.

Riley could feel tension emanating from James. Was he just keyed up for the show? The room was packed now and the gallery owner and his assistants were taking little signs with SOLD written is curlicued script and placing them on many of the photographs. It really was surreal. She had never seen anything like it at a show. Riley tried to shake off her feelings about the photograph and she nestled against James. "I think we should go to dinner. We have every reason to celebrate." Her delighted tone really didn't give James much of a choice.

Riley watched a group of well dressed older women work their way through the gallery. They were sipping champagne and praising James's work loudly. Riley knew from the cut of their dresses and the height of their heels, that they were serious money, and they were there to buy. One of them had frowned when she saw the SOLD sign on her favorite photograph. She quickly found a second choice and had it tagged as SOLD.

Riley hugged James tightly. "This is amazing. I knew they were brilliant. The gallery is going to want to book your next show immediately. A few more shows like this and everyone will know your name, James Davenport." She really was thrilled for him. Riley believed in James. She loved to see the world through his lens.

James Davenport

"Bah, who cares if they know my name," he said modestly, kissing her neck again. "All I care about is that they know my work. That is what's truly important. At least, as long as you know my name, my dove."

James looked around him at the words of Corbin and his wife. James' head was in the clouds for many things, this he knew; but he also knew when it came to art and how good he was, he was a realist. Of course, that meant he was aware that he was rather good, but even he had never dared hope that his work might sell out like this. James was a bit miffed that the picture of Riley crying had sold, although not for the same reason as she. It had been such a raw, visceral picture, one that had never failed to touch him as he looked it over before today - his Riley, her emotions boiling over, a perfect example of what he wanted to protect her from, to enspire and urge him on.

Although, perhaps it was for the best. Riley didn't seem to like it anyways, she would likely be glad it was gone. But the idea of creating a new copy to hang for his personal collection did have merit...

James was also rather less than pleased to hear that Corbin had bought a picture, for a client of his own or otherwise, although he couldn't quite put a finger on why that was. Perhaps in part of that, he was less than eager to go to dinner with the man. Now that the adrenaline, the surge of divine inspiration and total immersion that had carried, or rather compelled him fully, to spend every bit of waking energy into this exhibit was fading now that it had come and was near its end, and like every other big event he prepared himself for, James could feel his energy sapping away, his body preparing to exact its revenge for being unable to fully handle his spirit.

He expected to spend the next day or two doing very little else but sleep, and the warm back of Riley pressed against his front reminded him that sleep wasn't all he had been missing. Going to sleep next to Riley would be wonderful; but making passionate love to the woman he loved for several hours after he had finally awakened sounded even better. And then a nice picnic, and perhaps for once he would actually manage to leave the camera behind.

But he could tell from Riley's voice that she very much wanted to go to dinner; James could never say no to his Erato, especially not after (he realized with a twinge of guilt) how little time he had spent with her lately. Even if Corbin would be there, no one else would be; and after her putting up with his weeks of absenses, him putting up with an hour or two of an extra presence was more than fair, especially since Riley would still be all his tomorrow morning. And truth be told, although he had never been a starving artist, James was certainly not the type to pass up free food, especially when it came from the type of establshment Corbin would frequent.

"All right then, Corbin," he assented. "If you don't mind spending a bit more money on a poor starving artist like me after buying that picture, I think I could manage a peck or two. I always seem to forget to eat when I'm preparing for something like this. Get swept up, you know, like it takes me over, leaves no room for any of the other important things of life." James' hand moved to take Riley's in his own, squeezing it and giving her a faint, apologetic grin at that.

"Rest assured my dear James, I have no hesitation to provide you and the exquisite Riley with whatever it is that suits your fancy. I suspect you want to do some administrative clean up before you adjourn to the afore mentioned restaurent, so perhaps I will leave now, as my carriage awaits without. I shall blaze a path for you both and set up a little enclave of civilzation at our destination."

Just then one of the two older ladies Corbin had been talking to when Riley had entered tugged at his arm, "Excuse me Mr Buchanan but I hope you are not slipping away just now?"

"Why dear lady I am indeed, striking my tent, and going off into the dark night." He waited a few seconds for the inevitable reaction, and it came, a pouty look from the lady, and when it did Corbin smiled with such warmth it would have melted a glacier, "but be assured Edwina, I may call you Edwina," he asked and Edwina nodded. "well then be assured I will make the trek out to your lonely house in the heights, you recall there was the small matter of your great room and it's impending transformation."

"I thought you had forgotten," Edwina answered now smiling.

"No, no good lady, I never foget a potential contract, I'm just a poor country boy and have to make my way in this world."

Edwina who was a youngish looking sixty possibly due to facial restoration, saw through Corbin's routine and said matter of factly, "seems that Sears sells better suits these days than they used to."

Corbin, seldom one to get caught off gaurd, smiled at her saying, "you know me too well, and we just met, so maybe tomorrow I will journey to your abode, around noonish and we could perhaps partake of a luncheon while we discuss your great room."

"I look forward to it Corbin, and I am sure we can come to terms on the redecorating."

Taking her hand and kissing it as he had Riley's he smiled and said, "until tomorrow then." She smiled back at him and departed. After she left Corbin said to no one in particular, I must bear in mind she is not one to succumb to idle flattery."

"Did you meet her here?" asked James.

"I did indeed right after I arrived," he answered suddenly coming around to James and Riley, "she had read an article of mine and wanted to discuss some redecorating, or so she said. You know her?" James and Riley shook their heads, and Corbin went on, "seems she is recently widowed, from one John Hargreaves."

Riley looked open mouthed after her and said, "that is Edwina Hargreaves, her husband's family owned half the city at one time."

"Yes she did say she was connected to local real estate and such, should be profitable then."

Corbin was aware that his put on southern gentleman routine which charmed so many, rubbed James the wrong way at times, and he being of a playful nature sometimes laid it on a little thick in his presense. For some reason tonight he decided to push the envelope a bit further than usual.

"Well as I said I will go before you and create a place for you," and once more kissing Riley's hand he turned away after shaking James hand. He walked perhaps two steps and then turned around and said, "you know James, these gallery shows get rather tedious when you have to start dealing with the finite details and, well I just wondered since it is almost done anyway, why don't I take Riley with me in the trasportation I have laid on, and you can follow in yours when you are done.? I assure you I will protect her from all and sundry, it seems such a shame to leave her here while you do business."

James Davenport

For all his exhaustion and attempts to position himself beyond such 'petty' concerns, James felt his jaw drop alongside Riley's when Corbin so casually revealed the identity of the older woman he had been flirting with. Edwina Hargreaves. Of the Hargreaves family. The closest thing to American nobility this side of the Kennedys. It struck James again just how below Corbin he was, at least financially. James had never gone hungry as a child or even had to worry about college; Corbin...was a whole 'nother league, and for a moment, James imagined what he might be like if he married the former Mrs. Hargreaves.

It was enough to make him dizzy. It was a good thing James wasn't the jealous sort, at least over something as materialistic as money, but it was still staggering to know how much money was in this room - and that they had all come to see, if not buy, his work. His, James Martin Davenport. Riley was right in her assumption, this truly was a step up for him in the world.

And of course, he owed it all to Corbin, who had arranged this. Even James knew his talent would be nothing (well, all right, just a lesser something) without the man with the Kentuckian accent setting this up.

That did get him...not jealous, but a bit prickly. And Corbin asking to take Riley with him only added to it. The old man seemed to forget that Riley was his wife, and that she enjoyed his work, was as thrilled with it as he was.

However, as before, James did not want to be rude, and after a glance at Riley, saw that she was perhaps getting somewhat bored as well. Well, why shouldn't see? She had been here alone before he arrived, James felt with another guilty pang, and as arrogant and annoying with his money and accent, Corbin was right about the end of gallery shows.

But James still felt a small instinct telling him there was Something Wrong about this.

He turned his gaze back to his wife. "Well, I suppose you do have a point there, Corbin. The end of these things are dull even for me, I certainly wouldn't want Riley to doze off...at least before I got a chance to do so with her." Another grin, but this one rogueish instead of guilty: a promise for what would be waiting for them at home.

"And I suppose if a Southern gent like yourself can't be trusted with another man's wife, what is this world coming to?" James finally assented. "At least, that is if you don't mind going on without me, Riley?"

Riley smiled up at James with her charming smile. "I am famished, darling. I was too nervous to eat before I came to the gallery. I am sure this restaurant of Corbin's can manage some soup or something until you arrive." Riley had been so excited for him. She had desperately wanted everything to go perfectly. She knew how important this show was to James. In all honesty, the show was very important to her. She loved being James's Erato. It was a heady feeling to inspire his art, to infuse his work with passion. She had missed him desperately. Tonight was supposed to make it all worth while. Riley brushed her lips against James's. She leant in against his ear. "I know you are exhausted, but you need to get your strength up before we get home."

Riley offered him her cheekiest smile as she stepped away. "Please don't be too long, James. I can't wait to hear all about who bought what and who loved what."

Riley wasn't exactly sure why she let Corbin usher her toward the door. She was hungry and wanted to get off of her feet. She had worn her sexiest heels, she wanted to look amazing for James. Now her feet were tired and she was a little tired of seeing herself plastered on the walls. It was a little bit of a relief to be leaving the gallery.

Riley looked up to Corbin and raised an eyebrow. "Can we please have the real Corbin as a dining companion? I find the hokey, aw shucks ma'am version, so less entertaining." She offered James a conspiritorial wink as she walked to the door with Corbin.

When they hit the night air Riley mused aloud. "I wonder who bought the picture of me crying. I can't imagine where someone would hang such a sad picture." She shook her head at the thought. She felt the tiniest bit exposed thinking that sometime in the next few days someone would be coming to pick up that photograph and they would own that moment, that piece of her heart.

When they got outside Riley mused aloud about who might have bought the picture of herself crying, Corbin did not hear her or at least did not acknowledge that he had.

As soon as they got to the taxi stand the doorman signaled and by the time they were at the curb an old early 50's Cadillac limousine pulled up and a huge man got out to open their doors. He was a good head taller than Corbin and very thickly built, not the sort of person you would willingly cross. "Thank you Billy prompt and attentive as usual."

Billy merely nodded saying nothing at first, but when they got inside the car, Corbin sitting at a respectful distance, from Riley as she seated herself on the dark red leather, he said, "if you will excuse me for a moment sir, I have to attend to somethnig."

Corbin smiled his charming smile and waved the gorilla away, but when the door of the car closed it seemed as if a mask fell away and Corbin grew quiet and thoughtful. Perhaps feeling a little uneasy Riley said "James never said anything about your past Corbin."

Corbin looked up at Riley and smiled, saying "I doubt James knows much about me, other than what pertains to his art and such. The truth is I am the seventh of ten children, and my daddy was a coal miner, my mama she was a homemaker, and she somtimes did cleaning for people with more money."

Riley nodded, but said nothing, and after an interval Corbin went on, "I attended the University of Kentucky at Lexington, on a scholarship, but it only covered the tuition, so every time school ended I returned to Danville, and I worked in the same mine my daddy and two of my brothers worked in. It was hard work and dirty, but it was enough to cover my expenses over and above." Then he held his right hand out and opened the palm, "touch the palm," Riley did so, "hard isn't it." Riley nodded noting the hand was like leather.

I worked there long enough to get hard and fit, but not long enough to get black lung, unfortunatly my daddy wasn't so lucky, he passed about two years ago."

Riley nodded and said "ten children it must have been fairly tough growing up."

Corbin nodded almost wearily it seemed to Riley, "there were many times when all we had to eat was turnips or potatos, no meat or fruit. I swore I would never be hungry when I grew up and I have stayed that course. I know what it is like to feel truly hungry, not just peckish but deep down inside knawing hunger."

Then looking straight at Riley Corbin said, "I don't know why, but I suspect that in some respect, you and I Riley share a common experience, but I don't go hungry, and I don't mine coal anymore. Those four years were like a prison sentence, and every fall I got probation to the university, but every spring I had to return to the prison and do my time." Corbin sighed and looked out the window possibly embarrassed to have revealed so much of himself.

Then before Riley could speak, he opened his jacket pocket and took out a business card, giving it to Riley he said, "take this card, it has my cell phone, and my home phone number on it, if you are ever in dire need or need a friend or confidant call those numbers one of them will get me."

Riley smiled as she took the card saying, "James has your card already."

"The card James has, does not have those private numbers on them, only my business numbers, there are only a half dozen people in the country who have those numbers."

Just then Builly returned and Corbin's mask went back on again as he greeted him. "Take us to my favourite restaurant Billy." While they had talked alone in the car, Corbin's accent was much softer but as soon as Billy returned he reverted to the public personna, and chatted amiably as they drove to La Porte' D'or.

Riley watched Corbin as he spoke. Corbin was so very different than most men she knew. She also wondered why he played the part of the southern rube. No, that wasn't right either. He acted very polished, but almost as if it was by accident. That all of his culture had befallen him by happenstance and wasn't he blessed to be southern.

The large limosine glided through traffic to the restaruant and Corbin's driver opened the door for them. Corbin walked into the door and the maitre d' knew him by name and escorted them to their table. When they were seated Riley couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Why do you play up the southern bit? I have tried so hard to assimilate, to blend in with these people. The people who have. You seem to get some delight at tweaking them with your differences. I spent my whole freshman year wondering how I could make sure that no one found out that my parents work in a paper mill and live in a trailer. But you seem to lure them in with this whole routine. I want to understand it."

Riley sipped her water as she spoke. Her eyes never left him. "You are so much more than this whole 'at your service, ma'am' thing." Riley looked at home in the exclusive restaraunt, the cut of her dress suited her well, she cut an elegant enough of a figure. But really she looked at home because this was the world that she had wanted. From the time she was a little girl and she had begun to cut pictures out of catalogues and magazines, this was the world that she had created for herself.

Before Corbin could answer the waiter made his appearence suggesting a drink before supper. Corbin smlied once again and said "what's good in the cellar right now for a celebration."

The waiter who must have been fairly new seemed to be assesing Corbin as if to gauge just what sort of suggestion he should make when the sommelier, came by and shushed the waiter away. "Mr Buchanan so good to see you again."

"And you to Andrew, now as I said to your waiter, what do you have in the cellar that is drinking well, of a celebratory nature?"

The somellier considered for a moment and said "I have just released some really excellent Heidsieck 1992 I believe and it is drinking very well, one of our better champagnes I think."

"Excellent the very thing bring it on, with three glasses, tonight we drink stars."

" Very good sir I shall have it shortly."

After Andrew left Corbin turned to Riley who had remained silent throughout this exercise, "Why do I maintain this demeanour, well to be blunt Riley I am a whore. I prostitute myself to obtain my clientele, now don't get me wrong, I am a competant, no more than competant designer. I am talented I am knowledgeable, and I am damn good at what I do. The problem is there are probably a thousand others who are as good or better, so I need something to make the customers pay attention."

"So this routine then?"asked Riley.

"Yes, in a nutshell yes. I have a homework assignment for you Riley, the next time you are in a large public gathering, listen carefully, and if there is someone there with an English, or hell even Australian accent, watch around them. The Americans will lap it up, because he or she is different, and stands out from their normal existence. I simply accentuate my southerness, for their beneifit, That gets me in the door, but my talent and ability is what keeps me there."

He took a sip of water and went on "I make no apologies for my routine, as it has served me well. Do you honestly believe that they know, or care that for a few years I mined coal, nope. They know I am distinctive and that I am good at what I do. I can back it up you see," then winking at Riley he went on quietly, "you would be surprised at how many women, some your age, some Edwina's age want to spend a little intimate time with me."

"Edwina?" she said.

"She is business," he said coldly, "I won't mix that with whatever it is I do for her, but being forty two, well, she is not out of the question, but not if I do work for her. I would say she is maybe sixty sixty three or so, but not bad all things considered."

Riley looked aghast but before either could comment Andrew returned with the Charless Heidsieck 1992.

The champagne was brought in a silver ice bucket. The flutes were delicate with pretty stems. Riley watched it all with an appraising eye.

"This is all wasted on me, you know. I can't tell a great wine from a decent one. And to be terribly honest, much to James's chagrin I sometimes drink screw cap wine over ice at home. I doubt it is even REALLY wine, since it is peach flavored. Sadly, I only do it when I am homesick. Which really isn't that often." Riley's eyes met Corbin's.

"I didn't mean to criticize. I just hate that you have to feel as if you need to be someone you are not, when the person that you are is really so delightful." She offered that thought with a shrug of her shoulders. "I guess that is part of why I chose my field of study. I am studying early childhood education. I want to work in a public school in the city and help children on the path out. School was my salvation. Home was this smokey, loud, crowded place full of tired people. School was clean and quiet and full of books. It was an eight hour vacation. I was always the little girl in the back of the class begging to stay to clean the boards or grade papers."

Riley thought back for a moment to those days. She was always wearing some mended or shortened dress that had belonged to one of her older sisters. Her sisters were always stockier than she, so she always ended up looking like a little waif in their hand me downs. She had loved all of her teachers. She could remember the ones the young ones right out of college, filled with hope and vigor. They never stayed long. They usually got married or moved on to one of the nicer schools further away from the stink of the paper mill.

Riley left her reverie and smiled up at Corbin. "I am so proud of James. I don't think tonight's show could have gone better. Did Edwina buy anything?" Riley ran her finger around the rim of her water glass. Underneath the table she slipped off her heels and rested her feet. Her feet didn't touch the floor without her heels and her feet swung back and forth just a little under the linen tablecloth. She was relaxed and happy. It really had been the perfect show.

Corbin regarded Riley with a seemingly deep comprehension and then he said out of the blue, "Edwina bought nothing, save my services regarding her great room."

Then he seemed to sink for a moment into his own thoughts, and then said "I bet there is one teacher, one person who for whatever reason struck a chord with you and that inspired you on to do more than just finish high school, fuck, and raise lots of little trailer trash. I suspect that someone back there let you clean the boards over other students, that spoke to you, not of whatever, but of what if."

Riley looked askance as if Corbin had seen something that she had preferred remain hidden. However he went on, "so you want to assimilate, blend in, well okay then, Riley you are now in class. First thing, a very subtle thing, but it is like a Masonic hand shake, when you hold your wine glass, do not hold it by the body of the glass. Look around you, and you can see the nouveau riche from a mile simply by that little trait."

Riley looked around and sure enough most of the patrons were holding there glasses by the bowls, except one table where the occupants were holding their glasses by the stems. "what's the difference,?" she asked, interested in spite of herself.

"When you hold a glass by the stem it means the wine remains at the ambient temperature, your hands give off body heat, so to taste the wine unaffected you always hold the stem."

Riley nodded and then Corbin went on, "now Riley, take that flute of yourn, and hold it as I said." Riley complied wondering where this was going. "Now, swirl it in the glass." Riley did as directed and the champagne foamed ever so slightly. "Now close those beautiful eyes of yours, and swirl it again but hold it under your nose."

Riley did that and opened her eyes immediately, "that is different, I wish I was trained to know what it is."

"Now do it again and describe to me what you smell, everything and I mean everything."

Riley did as requested and then said somewhat sheepishly, "I am sorry Corbin all I smell is a potato sack"

Corbin smiled and nodded, “Wet burlap, that is what you smell, sort of earthy like a damp forest floor in the fall.” Riley was immediately taken back to when she was a girl wandering around the woods near her trailer park, and she nodded.

Corbin nodded in return and said, “It gets better. Now Riley do it again, but, this time while you have that forest floor in your head take some of the champagne in your mouth, and let it sit for a brief moment on your tongue, and then swirl it around a bit, just a little bit, and then swallow and tell me what you taste, no matter how outlandish.”

Riley did as requested to the letter and said after she had swallowed the champagne, “It tastes like baking or something, like mums rice pudding, then she said almost laughing sort of like sour apples.”

Corbin was almost beaming now, “baking that would be maybe vanilla,” Riley nodded and Corbin went on, ‘the sour apples, sort of a tart flavour followed by more of that forest floor.”

Riley nodded her eyes almost shining now and did the same thing over and over and came up with variations of the same theme , except she added, “My daddy got some wild mushrooms once, that he knew were safe, it smells like that.”

Corbin smiled at her and said, “Riley you are a wine connoisseur and you don’t even know it, I think what you are getting there is truffles, wild mushrooms, lord how I miss those.”

“Yes but this is expensive wine isn’t it Corbin, I mean I don’t drink this stuff on a regular basis.”

“True my dear true, but if you apply everything I just told you to every glass of wine, or beer even, then you will soon be an expert in what you like. Understand no expert can tell you what you like only what something tastes like to them. Even cheap wine has it’s merits.”

Riley continued to swirl and sniff the sparkling wine and grew more confident, or perhaps more inebriated with each swallow. “Corbin smiled at her and said, if you think that is good wait till we order the main course.”

Riley looked at him and said “Corbin what did that bottle cost.”

“Lesson number two Riley never, ever, ever ask what it costs, that shows your plebeian background. Accept it gracefully and enjoy it for what it’s worth. Again if you meet up with a person who spends most of his or her time telling you the price of everything in their house then they are new money, no doubt. Forget the price, accept it at face value, and admire it or criticise it on it’s own merits not it’s price tag.”

"That is something I haven't been able to shake yet. I know it infuriates James's mother. I can't stop making sure that I have enough money to pay for things. I was determined not to spend too much of his family's money on our wedding... I didn't realize my cutting corners was some sort of insult. It is just a relic. Years of standing by my mother while she added up our groceries on a calculator as she rolled the cart through the store. I can calculate the price per ounce in no time flat." Riley took another slow sip of the champagne, letting the notes of flavor cross her palate and her memories.

"His name was Mr. Porter. He was my sixth grade teacher. We were reading aloud in class. He asked me out into the hall and told me that I could read better than any of the children he had taught before. He gave me books to read and he asked me to write my thoughts on index cards and stick them in the books so I could talk about them. It was like water in the damned desert. I would scrawl all of these notes and be desperate to meet with him again. My oldest sister had had her first baby by then. Her loser boyfriend and the baby just added to the crowdedness of the house, the noise. Mr. Porter would let me stay after school and wipe boards and grade papers."

Riley was lost for a moment in her reverie. She blinked hard to fight the tears that glossed her pretty brown eyes. She looked away from Corbin and watched the other diners for a moment. She was jarred to see he was still watching her when she turned her head back.

"Have you met Mr. and Mrs. Davenport? She is a little like Edwina without the edge. But she exudes wealth. They are very proud of James though." Riley tried to steer the conversation away from herself. It was odd to feel so transparent with someone she hadn't known for long.

James Davenport

James watched as Corbin, his manners old money as always, took Riley's arm in his own, escorting her out of the gallery, no doubt to whatever monstrously elegant, Truman-era limousine the Southerner had lined up to shuttle himself around the city. James' eyes narrowed at the sight. Corbin was a gentleman and played the part well with whomever he was with, and James had seen him escorting plenty of women in the same way as he was now escorting Riley, but something...Perhaps it was just the fact that this woman was his bride. A man had a right to be anxious over other men walking their wives around.

Especially ones so goddamned beautiful as Riley. James watched her low-cut back and high-heeled legs gracefull depart, and was still looking at the empty door, imagining how she'd put them to use later that night, when an older couple approached him, shaking his hands and wanting to talk with the man who had made two of the portaits they had just bought. He was snapped out of his reverie, once more in the role of the society man, but in the back of the head, as if lodged there, was the desire to get Riley back home. James supposed that this was common in all new couples, and eventually faded out in most - but not them. They were special.

It seemed like several hours, but was likely not more than one at the very most, before James finally felt able to excuse himself, most of the patrons already gone, the management promising to handle things as they had already settled. After the earlier debacle with the missing painting, James was sorely tempted to stay and manage things, but after promising Riley he would not take too long - and knowing what awaited him if he obeyed - James finally allowed himself to leave. Making his way to the entrance, the attendant called up his limo - rented for the night, unlike Corbin he had no need for such ostentatious shows - and got in, the door being closed behind him.

"A good night, Sir?" the driver asked.

"Good enough, I suppose...Do you know where the La Porte' D'or is?"

"Sure do, Sir," the driver said as they pulled out. "Sounds like you got quite a night planned."

"Let's hope so," James replied, rubbing his forehead. Usually his sense of noblesse oblige would promt him to speak further with the common people who aided in his life, but he was too exhausted to keep up the banter tonight, especially knowing that he still needed to make it through a dinner with Corbin.

Finally they arrived, and James entered, asking for Mr. Buchanan's table and that he was expected. The maitre de escorted him to the table - Corbin is definitely a high-roller here - and finally James could see his Riley again.

"I'm sorry about that, I hope-"

As he leaned in to kiss Riley's cheek, he noticed she seemed to be teary-eyed but holding it back, or at least trying in the manner he found so endearing but now found infuriating, his instincts warning him that his woman had been hurt when he had not been here to protect her.

"Riley, honey, are you all right?" James asked, flashing a look to Corbin, a mix of confusion and suspicion.

Riley nodded. "I am fine darling. It is silly for me to be crying. Corbin was training me a little in tasting wine... smelling the notes. It triggered some memories that is all. We were talking about our childhoods." A few tears streaked down Riley's cheeks. She started to take a sip of the champagne. She remembered right before she drank it, to slide her fingers down on the stem instead of holding the globe of the glass.

Riley wiped her tears away and lowered her eyes for a bit. She could feel tension from both men. It felt as if all of it was directed at her, when really the protectiveness and the jealousy was coming from both men. Riley leaned closer to James and nestled into his arms.

"What sold.... tell me all about it? Is the owner thrilled? Does he want to do another show?" Riley asked all of those questions with the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas day. She really did want James to succeed.

James Davenport

"Ah, I see," James said, still a bit glumly as he leaned over to wipe the tears from Riley's face. Perhaps she would get embarassed about him doing it in public, but dammit, he didn't care; she was his wife, and she was crying, and what else could he possibly do?

However, his feelings were dampened for another reason. He knew about Riley's childhood, much as she didn't want to talk about it. He ddin't begrudge it to her; James truly wished to meet her family no matter how poor they were, and had been adament about helping them fiscally, at least as much as he could without seeming to be condescending. And as rich as Corbin was now, James knew that his childhood had been spent in situations perhaps evenmore destitute than Riley's. If the two were talking about childhoods, it was likely a conversation that he could not have matched, and from Riley's tears, obviously one that had touched her deeply. It hurt James that another man would get so close to Riley; that it was in one of the few areas he could never truly share with her, and that the man in question was Corbin, only made it worse for him.

He watched as Riley picked up the champagne flute, shifting her hand to hold it properly. It was clear that Corbin had taught her something even in the short amount of time, despite their seeming childhood connections. And while James was glad that Riley was learning to fit into the high society she so wanted and deserved, he was again made slightly sad to see that an amount, however small, of her charming naivete was washing away - again, by Corbin.

However, his jealousy washed away instantly as Riley leaned back, snuggling against him as she asked her questions eagerly. James immediately felt foolish. Riley loved him and was as close to him as another person could be. She could have had any man in the world, and had chosen him. No matter how many lessons on etiquette or stories on lower-class upbringings he might share with her, this - physical proof of their love - was something Corbin would never get from his Riley, not in a million years.

"What sold? There was precious little that didn't," James said, taking a sip of champagne himself before recounting the prices of several of the pieces, finishing with, "and even the picture of you crying sold, Riley, the one you thought no one would like. Turned out to go for one of the highest prices yet." James smiled, happy at the outcome. He had been a big hit; finally, he was getting the recognition he deserved.

"So, yes, in conclusion, I believe another show would be very likely in the near future." He leaned in close to Riley, whispering in her ear. "And perhaps next time my muse might forego the dress entirely. Something to rehearse once we get home." His leg rubbed against her lower thigh as he pulled back, smiling at Corbin with just a gleam of triumph - although whether over his show's success, or his subtle reminder of his relation with Riley, he didn't know.

"So, what are we eating?"