Authors: Sandi Perry
"Ms.
Ross,"
he
interrupted,
"is
there
somewhere
we
could
have
our
conversation
in
private?"
He
looked
around
the
room
filled
with
browsers,
as
if
he
expected
someone
to
whip
out
a
phone
and
catch
their
conversation
for
later
replay
on
YouTube.
"Of
course,
I
apologize
for
the
oversight.
And
please
call
me
Allison."
Her
heart
raced.
She
knew
he
wanted
her
to
paint
his
daughter,
which
she
absolutely
could
not
do,
even
if
saying
no
to
him
would
be
a
major
career
misstep.
They
settled
down
in
her
office,
and
after
he
refused
her
offer
of
tea,
he
spoke.
"I
saw
your
work
at
Mr.
James'
office
and
I
was
greatly
taken
by
the
way
you
captured
the
essence
of
the
subject.
Is
the
young
girl
in
the
portrait
someone
you
were
close
with?"
Allison
was
unnerved
at
his
directness,
"She
was
a
best
friend
of
mine
from
grade
school."
He
nodded,
"It
seemed
that
way
to
me.
And
that's
why
I'd
like
you
to
paint
my
daughter,
Kaitlin."
"I'm
truly
flattered,"
Allison
paused,
choosing
her
words
carefully.
"But
I'm
not
a
portraitist.
I
can
give
you
names
of
several
talented
artists
who
specialize
in
that
venue."
He
waved
his
hand
at
her.
"No.
I
don't
want
some
cold
oil-rendered
work
that
has
my
daughter
frozen
like
some
wax
figure.
I
want
her
sparkling
eyes,
her
intelligence—I
want
for
her
soul
to
come
through."
"But...
I—"
"This
doesn't
have
anything
to
do
with
what's
written
about
me
in
the
papers,
I
hope?
I
can
assure
you
only
some
of
that
is
true."
She
gulped,
"Of
course
not.
It's
just
that
I'm
not
talented
enough.
I've
never
painted
a
live
subject.
I
paint
from
memory."
"Great.
It's
settled
then.
You'll
spend
some
time
with
Kaitlin.
You'll
get
to
know
her;
you'll
take
her
out
for
pizza,
some
ice-cream.
Then
you'll
start
with
a
charcoal
or
whatever
you'd
like
and
then
we'll
graduate
to
oil."
He
got
up
to
signal
the
end
of
the
interview.
"I
have
every
confidence
that
you'll
give
me
what
I
want."
He
smiled
disarmingly
as
he
reached
out
to
shake
her
hand
and
left
before
she
had
a
chance
to
recover
and
say
another
word.
It
seemed
to
her
that
what
she
read
in
the
tabloids
was
true—nobody
said
no
to
Michael
Essex.
Allison
knocked
on
Kenyon's
door
holding
a
bag
of
takeout.
She
thrust
it
at
him.
"I
come
in
peace,"
she
said.
"I
thought
you
deserved
the
night
off."
"Come
in,
you
silly
bird.
I'm
not
mad
at
you."
He
looked
at
the
bag,
"I
hope
they
had
spring
rolls
this
time.
They've
been
out
of
them."
"I
made
sure.
Nothing
is
too
good
for
my
bestie."
They
settled
down
to
their
food
with
Allison
voraciously
downing
copious
amounts
of
spicy
chicken
wings
and
a
healthy-sized
portion
of
veal
lo
mein.
She
spoke
as
she
had
her
head
immersed
in
the
folded
white
box,
"I
joined
an
online
dating
service
a
couple
of
days
ago."
"You
what!"
Kenyon
shrieked
his
response.
"You're
joshing
me,
right?"
She
shook
her
head.
"What's
gotten
into
you?"
he
demanded.
"You
said
I
had
to
do
something,
you
know,
get
out
of
my
comfort
zone.
And
I
can
tell
you
very
frankly
that
I'm
really
uncomfortable,
so
I
guess
that's
a
good
thing.
Right?"
She
looked
at
Kenyon
for
approval
and
frowned,
"I
thought
you'd
be
happy.
There's
no
pleasing
you."
"Online
dating
services
are
for
people
living
in
Iowa
where
there
is
more
livestock
than
people."
"What
is
it
with
you
and
the
people
of
Iowa?"
"I
didn't
mean
to
pick
on
them.
I
apologize.
Iowa
is
the
first
caucus
and
therefore
vital
to
our
democratic
practice.
Better?"
She
nodded,
"What's
wrong
with
what
I
did?
You
said
I
had
to
go
out,
and
the
dating
service
guarantees
me
a
date."
"Yes
it
would,
but
I
suspect
you
might
have
joined
to
satisfy
me
and
the
whole
point,
sweetie,
is
for
you
to
meet
someone
and
let
him
in.
You're
gorgeous,
putting
on
a
sexy
outfit
with
some
high
heels
and
going
down
to
Sam's Place
will
guarantee
you
a
date
just
the
same."