Sculpture Gardens, Our Love Is Set in Stone

By B.L Wilson

Through a series of misunderstandings, female sculptor Dana Nixon loses her job as a server when a diner complains about her attitude to the owner. The complaining diner, Kenya Smithson, turns out to be a patron of the arts that Dana meets again at a gallery opening for local artists. Kenya finds it difficult to believe the rude, on the make, and extremely opinionated woman is the artist who makes such beautiful objects.

Since Dana lost her job as a server, she now drives a cab nights because it pays more while she creates artworks during the day. In an odd turn of fate, Dana becomes seriously injured on the job and Kenya feels responsible. Can Kenya make amends to Dana and make her whole again, as well as admit the feelings she has for the artist are not just about her sculptures?

• Language: English
• Publisher: B.L Wilson
• Release date: Jul 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310153259

B.L Wilson

B.L. has always been in love with books and the words in them. She never thought she could create something with the words she knew. When she read ‘To Kill A Mocking Bird,’ she realized everyday experiences could be written about in a powerful, memorable way. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with that knowledge so she kept on reading.Walter Mosley’s short stories about Easy Rawlins and his friends encouraged BL to start writing in earnest. She felt she had a story to tell...maybe several of them. She’d always kept a diary of some sort, scraps of paper, pocketsize, notepads, blank backs of agency forms, or in the margins of books. It was her habit to make these little notes to herself. She thought someday she’d make them into a book.She wrote a workplace memoir based on the people she met during her 20 years as a property manager of city-owned buildings. Writing the memoir, led her to consider writing books that were not job-related. Once again, she did...producing romance novels with African American lesbians as main characters. She wrote the novels because she couldn’t find stories that matched who she wanted to read about ...over forty, African American and female.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

"My friend and I—see that woman over there? Her name is Rae Lyn Wilson. She’s the owner of this gallery. The woman in the baggy jeans and tight leather vest pointed to a well-dressed woman in a navy blue suit with an open-at-the-neck pink button-down blouse. Anyway, we were wondering if you like that piece you’ve been staring at. If you do like it, why do you like it? We noticed you standing there looking at it for quite a while."

The woman in the navy suit waved at her friend in the jeans and leather vest, then grinned broadly.

Leather Vest spoke again. Oh yeah, I forgot to introduce myself. She patted an impressive chest. There were sparkling silver rings on every finger of the broad brown hand. I’m Dana Nixon. So tell me, ah… She studied the profile of the attractive woman who hadn’t turned to look at her yet. Dana liked what she saw: the full lips, slightly hooked nose, arched brows, and the large luminous eyes. She couldn’t decide if they were hazelnut or green, but they were set in a warm earth-brown complexion. She liked how the dark, springy, short braided twists complemented her complexion.

Why do you like that piece?

The woman turned around to face Dana and her eyebrow flew up in angry recognition. Humph! I know you. You’re that rude, opinionated waitress who is always peeking over my computer making unsolicited comments about my writing when you should be serving food.

Dana rubbed her chin. This introduction wasn’t going too well, she mused. She decided to try the pity route. She grinned. Yeah, my boss didn’t think I should be serving food either. After you complained, he fired me. Five minutes longer and you would have had the pleasure of seeing me leave with my tail between my legs.

The woman studied Dana, then looked back at the sculpture and sighed. This is your work, isn’t it? she asked softly. It’s beautiful. She raised a hand and then dropped it. She looks so real. I want to touch her to see if her skin is warm. How could anyone as ill-mannered as you create something as wonderful as this?

Dana grinned. I have my moments. As the artist, I’m giving you permission to see if she is real. Go ahead, touch her and see how she feels. She watched the woman tentatively reach out with a fingertip to touch the marble head and then she stepped closer to use her full hand to stroke thighs, arms, and legs. She closed her eyes and ran fingers up and down black marble thighs. Hmm, she feels so good, smooth, and hard.

Dana stepped closer to make an offer. Would you like to see more? The woman’s eyes flew open. She flushed and dropped her hands, ashamed to be caught in such a state of enjoyment. She adjusted her suit jacket, unbuttoning the top two buttons as if she had suddenly grown hot. You said you had more of these. She looked around the small gallery. I don’t see more of your work. Did I miss a display?

No. I only brought her for this gallery. I’m working on several more in my studio. Why don’t you take a look?

Oh, I see. The woman studied the statue thoughtfully, tapping her lower lip as she did. Is this your clever way of asking me out, Ms. Nixon?

It could be, but right now, I need clients more than I need dates, Ms. ah… Dana snapped her fingers, hoping to jog her memory. Carla had told her the woman’s name and that she was a major contributor to the world of art. Why couldn’t she remember it? It’s, ah, Ms. Smithson, right? Your name is Kenya Smithson.

Yes, that’s right. About your work, when could I see it?

Dana grinned. Now, if you aren’t busy with those artsy fartsy people you hang with or gorgeous women that seem to find their way into your bedroom.

Kenya frowned, wrinkling her forehead and raising those famous arched eyebrows. Are you this rude to all your potential clients or just me?

Dana scratched the hair on an eyebrow with her thumb and then shoved a hand into the back pocket of baggy black jeans. Sorry. Sometimes I forget my manners. Look, you don’t have to come to my studio. I could bring some pieces to you if you’d like.

Why would you do that?

Dana chuckled. So I could get a look at that infamous bedroom.

Kenya’s eyes narrowed. She glared at the sturdy artist who was trying to make her feel like crap. You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the papers, Ms. Nixon.

Which part shouldn’t I believe, Ms. Smithson … that you bed beautiful women or that you appreciate good art?

Kenya’s eyes turned into slits. It seems to me you’re rude no matter what the setting, waiting tables or making wonderful statues. Right, Ms. Nixon?

Dana bounced up and down nervously on her heels. Damn it. Why couldn’t she just shut up and let her artwork sell itself? She nearly turned to walk away when she felt a heavy hand on her elbow, squeezing hard and encouraging her not to move.

Hello, Ms. Smithson, I’m Rae Lyn Wilson. I’m also the gallery owner. I’m so glad you could make it tonight. I see you’ve met my friend, Dana. That’s her piece you’ve been studying. She offered a hand, which Kenya shook with a tentative smile. Why don’t I introduce you to some of our other artists? If you like Dana’s work, I can show you some similar pieces in my catalogue.

Kenya cut her eyes at Dana, then brightly smiled at Rae Lyn as they walked off together. Thank you. I’d love to see more work like this. I’ve been looking for up and coming artists to invest in. You sound like just the expert I need.

Follow me to my office, Ms. Smithson, unless you’d like to look around some more.

Kenya directed an evil look at Dana’s retreating backside. I’ll be right there. Please give me a minute. I’d like to speak to Ms. Nixon. She strode swiftly after Dana, catching up with her outside in the dreary night. Ms. Nixon, I believe you owe me an apology. You can make up for your poor behavior if you’ll show me more of your work.

Dana looked up at the dark sky, shook the rain from her closely cropped hair, and turned up the collar of her leather jacket. She turned around in time to see deep green eyes the color of basil leaves studying her curiously from the tips of her biker boots to her nearly bald head. She decided to move closer and see how the woman reacted. She drew closer until she was in the other woman’s space, crowding her. Funny thing, Kenya Smithson didn’t blink, lower her head, or back away. Instead, she stood her ground, continuing to stare into interested dark eyes without blinking.

Dana broke eye contact first, pulling a hanky out of a back pocket, then reaching over to dab at the dripping face in front of her. She wiped raindrops from a smooth forehead and then damp cheeks, nose, and chin. She smiled at Kenya. You’re getting all wet. This cloth isn’t doing you good. I don’t have enough hankies to dry the rest of you. She cleared her throat. My studio is around the corner. She unzipped her jacket and removed it to hold over both of them like an umbrella. Put an arm around my waist and keep in step with me. She felt the sudden warmth of a body next to hers, running when she ran, avoiding the large puddles of water as she did and leaping over them and laughing.

That’s me two doors ahead.

They ran to the building entrance with the weatherworn awning and stepped under it. Dana lowered the leather jacket covering them to unzip a pocket and then dig through it for keys. Ah. I got them, she remarked, dangling the ring of them on a finger and then using them to unlock the front door. A few feet inside the hallway, a wooden staircase confronted them.

I walk up five flights for exercise, but we have a freight elevator in the back for artwork, models, and clients, Ms. Smithson. Nothing kills a client’s interest faster than hauling ass up five flights. I lost several clients between the third and fourth floor when I first moved in. Then I watched somebody bring up a couch and a recliner on the freight elevator I didn’t know about. I coulda kicked myself when I found out.

Kenya chuckled. Better late than never, isn’t it, Ms. Nixon?

Dana turned to face her potential client. Hey, you just smiled, then you even laughed. She stared at her without saying anything more.

You are staring at me with a look I don’t like. I’ve made a few of them myself.

Oh, and what look is that?

I believe that’s the look I usually give a woman when I’m ready to take her.

Take her where?

Anywhere she wants to go, Kenya remarked, pushing past Dana to climb the stairs. Your studio, it’s on the fifth floor?

That’s right. Dana watched a future client hustle up the stairs and prayed she wouldn’t collapse by the time she reached the fifth floor. At the third floor, she could see the woman’s pretty brown legs flashing a flight ahead of her. By the time she reached the studio, Kenya was pacing back and forth in front of the door. The charcoal gray business suit she wore was damp, whether from the rain or the exercise, it didn’t matter. It stuck to her like a second skin. She’d opened the jacket and was pulling a damp white silk tank top away from her chest.

One good glance and Dana could see why. Her saturated tank top emphasized firm breasts. Pebble hard nipples were clearly visible with the wet fabric sticking to her every curve. The woman had the upper torso of a model, which made Dana wonder what the lower half of her looked like without clothes.

Stop staring at me like that and open the door, please. I hope you have a bathroom or someplace where I can dry off.

Dana chuckled as she unlocked the door. I’m not a heathen, Ms. Smithson. I’m just a starving artist looking for a sponsor. There’s a bathroom inside with all the amenities. I’ve got a washer and dryer too. She opened the door and stepped aside for Kenya to enter. Welcome to Nixon Studios, Ms. Smithson.

A naked woman studied the intruder at the door and then nodded. Well, hello, Kenya. It’s so nice to see you again. She rose from the couch and sauntered into the bathroom with the knowledge that the two women were watching her journey in stunned silence.

Dana shook the rain from her leather jacket. I see you’ve met Carla before.

I guess you have too.

Dana grinned, then called out loudly, Should we share Carla stories since we seem to have her in common? She caught Kenya’s eye and put a finger up to her mouth, warning her to be quiet. Wonder what she’d do if she knew I told you the one about the night we …

Carla flung the bathroom door open and strode out in a robe too big for her but just the right fit for Dana. You say another word, Dana Nixon, and I swear I’ll slit your throat from ear to ear. Hello, Kenya, what are you doing here? I hope, no, I pray this was a date and I interrupted it for you, Dana. You bitch!

Kenya looked from Carla’s furious face to Dana’s relaxed one. I don’t want trouble. I just came up here to look at more of her artwork, Carla. The work she does is marvelous. There’s nothing between us, absolutely nothing! I mean, look at her, Carla. She spread a hand out. You know how I like my women dressed to kill in business suits or dresses, heels, thongs, and filmy outfits. Does she look like she could wear that, any of it?

Dana folded her arms across her chest and glared at Kenya. Humph, I was in agreement with you until you started making fun of my clothes, Madame Smithson. I wear what makes me feel comfortable. Today, it’s jeans and leather. Who knows? Tomorrow, you might see me in a suit or thong.

What no filmy outfits or dresses? Kenya remarked, making Carla giggle.

Wouldn’t you love to see her in a thong, Kenya? Imagine all that womanliness stuffed into a thong. She giggled again. A fitted suit would be nice too. I’m getting a little tired of seeing those paint-splattered overalls, ragged blue jeans, T-shirts, and tank tops. God, if I never take another T-shirt off her, it wouldn’t be too soon.

Kenya turned deep green eyes on Dana, studying her quietly with a hand underneath her chin. I’m trying to imagine you in a thong. That’s an impossible mission. She sighed. Well, I’ve had my fun today. This more than makes up for the restaurant fiasco, but I think I should leave.

Well, I don’t, Dana remarked. You said you wanted to see my work. You’re here. How about taking look before you go, Madame Smithson? Dana pointed to Carla. And you, Carla Thompson, ought to get dressed and leave so I can talk business with the lady. I don’t think so well with you standing around half naked.

Carla flounced back into the bathroom, then poked her head out. Since you said it that way, I’ll leave.

Dana pretended to swipe invisible sweat from her brow. Whew, that’s a model for you. You can’t live with them and you can’t live without them.

I’m not sure I like the implication, Ms. Nixon. Carla isn’t stupid. She just hasn’t had the opportunities for education that we’ve had.

And you would know this because?

Because I take the time to get to know a woman before I invite her into my infamous bed to do the dastardly do. Kenya studied Dana’s profile again.

You’re staring at me again, Madame Smithson. Why?

I can’t help but wonder how you can make that amazing marble woman but seem to know so little about flesh and blood women. Kenya giggled. And I’m still trying to imagine you in a thong or a suit.

Dana grinned and then shrugged. As I said before, who knows what’s possible tomorrow? She bowed with a flourish. Come into my studio, Madame Smithson. She strolled back to a large open area at the back of the loft.

Before Dana could point to her work, Kenya walked around her to examine a three-foot headless torso of a full-bodied female with full hanging breasts tipped with soft nipples, broad wide hips, and an indented waist with a slight paunch. She stood close to the figure with her hands behind her back. She wanted to touch the woman, to feel the cool firmness of the marble underneath her fingertips. God, she’s beautiful, Nixon, and so realistic. I love the little potbelly you gave her.

Dana quietly walked up behind her and pushed springy braids aside to whisper in an ear. I’d love to do one of you. What would you say if I asked you to model nude for me?

I’d say no. Modeling nude reveals too many scars, flaws, and imperfections. I’m not sure I’m ready to show the world what I look like underneath my clothes.

Aw, come on, Honey Lamb. It’d just be ours to treasure, Dana remarked, keeping her voice low in what she thought was an arousing tone.

Kenya turned around to look at Dana and smiled sweetly. What’s wrong with your voice? Are you catching a cold or something? You sounded normal before, but now you sound hoarse. God, I hope that wasn’t you trying to seduce me. As for me being your Honey Lamb, I’m allergic to lamb in its various forms. Let’s just keep this on a business level, huh?

Dana straightened up and backed away, holding a hand up in surrender. Yes, Ma’am. Feel free to look around my shop. I’ll be in the living room or the kitchen. She grinned. That’s the area we first came into. The bedroom is the area behind the shop. If I’m in the kitchen, I’ll be taking my foot out of my ass and cooking it for dinner. How do you like your foot cooked? Rare, medium, or well-done?

Kenya giggled. You are funny, Dana Nixon. If you hadn’t been so rude at the coffee shop or tried to mack me here, we might have ended up as friends. I like eccentric people and you’re certainly odd.

Dana smiled. You think this is odd, you should see me in a suit. That is truly a rare sight.

Kenya walked around the studio, picking up tools and putting them back. I take it that you don’t like suits.

Oh, I don’t mind suits as long as I’m not in one. For instance, I love the one you’re wearing, especially that silk tank top clinging to your chest. Dana stared at her potential sponsor’s chest. Did you know you have beautiful …

Kenya held up a hand. Don’t say it, Nixon. Go see to your other guest before you say something that makes you end up footless tonight.

Your wish is my command, My Queen. Dana bowed with a flourish, walked to the bathroom, and tapped on the door. Carla, can I come in?

I don’t know, Dana. Can you? Carla remarked, giggling, then opened the door and her borrowed robe simultaneously.

Dana stepped inside, grinning, and reached over to caress dangling breasts simultaneously. She leaned down to kiss soft nipples and then played with them, pinching them gently. Hmm, you feel good, Baby.

Carla groaned, then offered more of her nipple for Dana to suckle as she allowed the robe to drift to the floor. She pressed Dana’s face into her chest. O-o-o, you do that so well, Dee. Is she still here?

Dana stopped playing with her favorite girl toy to answer. Is who here? She frowned, realizing she’d left a potential sponsor roaming around her studio. Yeah, I think so.

Bad.

Why is that bad?

Once upon a time, she was into threesomes. Carla grinned. Go ask her if she still is.

Dana sighed as she playfully flicked a firm nipple. Honey Lamb, I’m the wrong representative to send out there to ask that. She’s not into women who look like me.

The hell she’s not. Her long-time girlfriend, the one who died in a fire two years ago, looked exactly like you. She was tall, dark, and thick. I heard the woman loved to fuck too. Good thing too, cuz she’d have to satisfy Kenya. Carla shook her hand loosely as though she’d touched something extremely hot and was trying to cool off. Whew, Kenya was something in bed. Lord, that woman sizzled.

Maybe the death of her lover did something to her. I tried some of my best moves on her and nothing.

You are an incorrigible two-timer, aren’t you? Carla remarked, hugging Dana’s neck and then kissing her lips. But I love you anyway. I know you’re not ready to settle down. I’m not either. I guess that’s why we work so well together. She smiled. Kenya did stare at me when I greeted you in the living room.

Well, you were naked as a newborn when I opened the door. I was looking too, by the way.

Carla giggled. I know you were looking, but she was too. So go ask her.

Dana shook her head. Nope, I’m perfectly satisfied with you right now.

Twinkling dark eyes studied Dana. Aw, Dee, we could have fun with her. Go ask her.

Don’t need her. Don’t want her. Dana cupped Carla’s face to kiss her deeply. Then she ran exploring hands down a familiar backside, kneading two round hips that reminded her of firm soccer balls. She played with the split in her ass that separated the two balls. When Dana heard Carla moan and felt her rub against her thigh, she knew through experience Carla would be screaming out her delight in four seconds if she didn’t plug delectable lips with her own. After Carla’s first climax of the evening, Dana knew she’d be ready for another one within minutes. All she’d have to do was smooth down her thighs, then play in her slick ruby-colored clit just she was doing.