Coveted [New/Revised Version]

SOME THINGS OFF. . .

     Iris treaded carefully through the art district with her wrapped painting safely tucked under her arm. Paranoia kept her eyes darting every so often. It was Saturday so it was typical that so many people milled the streets. On a weekday, probably only artists and investors or maybe the occasional photographers were out and about. As it turned out, Iris was making good on her promise.

She was hand delivering her painting to Freddie.

The small piece of paper where she'd written the address he gave her rustled between her fingertips in the breeze. His studio was on the top floor of an old warehouse downtown, the livelier part of Westmyth. The warehouse itself had been newly renovated and made into pleasant lofts. The elevator remained the typical service elevator with a gate that had to be pulled up or down manually.

She got off on his floor and knocked on Freddie's door.

"Freddie?" Iris called out despite the door already being slightly ajar.

She didn't want to just barge in and impose on his personal space. God knew how much she hated it when people were senseless enough to do it to her.

"Iris? Come right on in!"

Iris entered the studio, which apparently doubled as his apartment. She didn't immediately see him. Instead, she saw lots of open, white space and wood paneling. She couldn't help but think of her own room. Her parents had been laissez-faire about that, allowing her to decorate and paint it as she saw fit. As luck would have it, she never decided. Not really.

Alternatively, she'd left the room its bland white and taken to spattering innumerable paints anywhere, anyhow she could. There was no real pattern followed. Then again, most of her true pieces never followed one. They just were. Her mind marveled at what could be done with all the expanse of empty white. Entire murals, possibly.

She'd seen some of Freddie's work before. Talented was a modest description.

Iris noticed an array of canvases lined against a wall. Oilcloth shrouded each of them. One, however, was still on the easel. Her gaze wandered the space she was in again before she approached it. Slowly, she lifted the oilcloth covering the piece and stared.

She was never really one to think about herself through the eyes of others but the lifelike image that met her was unreal. Every detail about it said that Freddie took extra care in producing this piece. Her eyes, her hair, her skin, her smile... Iris lightly traced the lips of the painting. Her lips.

It seemed impossible but she barely remembered her last genuine smile. One that wasn't a conscious decision for the benefit of others. One that was pure like the one Freddie illustrated. Had she ever smiled like that in front of him? She didn't think so.

"Mrs. Laney," Freddie appeared at the top of the steps, a towel between his paint-covered hands, and his eyes finding hers straightaway. "She's going through this god-awful phase where she wants a 'good, representative' portrait of all original families. I've just finished yours. Cromwells are next."

"Sorry for snooping," Iris replaced the cloth. Indicating to her own canvas under her arm, she said, "I came to drop this off."

"Ah," He smirked and descended in clomps of engineer boots against metal. "You delivered, as I knew you would."

"Of course you did," Iris propped the canvas against the kitchen island.

"Wait just a sec," Freddie said before Iris made to move for the door. He motioned toward her artwork. "Unveil the masterpiece for me, would you?"