Page 92 of Lochlan

“That's right, you're managing the winery with Fiona. If you're going to discuss my proposed exhibition, why don't we also exhibit your photographs at the same time?”

I haven't thought about exposing my work to the public since I've been in America, but the idea appeals to me now. It would be a way to involve myself in something other than the family business.

He pushes his plate away to lean his arms on the table to make his point. “I thought about using your series of photographs of Kenzie, along with my sketches and final paintings. That would only be a section. I would like to contribute other works with a Scottish theme, and I think you should do the same.”

“How long would it take to get the project ready?” I’m warming to the idea.

He glances at the other diners, considering. “My current exhibition will run at the gallery for about three weeks. It's possible to be ready in a few months.”

“Could you be finished in time for the opening of the first phase of Catriona?”

“I don't see why not; it's far enough away. At least it would give us a firm deadline.”

We talk with enthusiasm about the project and likely locations for the art show in Catriona until Logan calls for the check.

“Do you need a ride up to my studio?”

“In this weather, I've driven the Range Rover. It's the only vehicle that can withstand these conditions. The news says we could have flash floods tonight.”

“A friend dropped me off, and I was just about to call a rideshare, so I'll ride with you.”

The rain continues to pepper the windshield, the wipers removing the specks intermittently until I pull up in front of the studio.

“Could you take the Rover around to the back?” Logan asks. “The garage is connected to the house and we can avoid this heavy rain.”

We enter a large modern cottage with a fire already crackling in the enormous stone fireplace. What makes this place unique is his studio. Floor-to-ceiling industrial-size windows occupy one side of the room. These windows slide open to the forest-like backyard. With the enormous windows and skylight overhead, the room is flooded with natural light during the day. Logan jokingly calls his studio the nature room.

Further up the hill is his real home, a five-thousand-foot mansion sitting on a couple of acres with a pool, as well as tennis and bocce ball courts. A place that's too big for one man, but not too big for one who likes to throw parties.

That's a polite way to describe his hedonistic, drunken orgies. I've attended a couple of these infamous events and found it a convenient way to find my next tryst. I know my friend is a successful painter, but I suspect that much of his wealth is trust fund money.

“Why don't you go into the nature room? I have all the paintings I'm considering lined up around the perimeter. You can study the pieces while I return some phone calls. And open one of those bottles you brought. I want to continue my buzz.”

CHAPTER39

SAME DAY DELIVERY

KENZIE

Three women, which is the entire staff of the Aquarius Beachwear Concept, or ABC for short, are waiting in rapt anticipation for a reveal. This surfing boutique has several shops around California, but this is their premier store. You can find anything beachy, from T-shirts to flops in the latest styles. I've wedged my back between a display of two mannequins in hot-pink bikinis while two of the saleswomen are resting against the counter. The third woman just returned from the back room with XX-large men's T-shirts. There's no one in the store and that's a good thing, because our focus is on a blue-striped curtain in the store's rear.

“Geordie, have you got the shorts and tank on yet?” I yell at the curtain.

“Aye, it's a bit more colorful than I'm used to,” he calls back.

“You said you would trust me. I need to see it before I can make a judgment. That means you need to come out.”

The curtain swishes right and Geordie steps out, as one woman at the counter audibly sucks in a breath. The shoulders on Geordie alone could make anyone swoon. He's a big man, Jesus, he's 6'5”—all cut muscle and looks hella fine in a pair of neon-green long shorts and tank.

The women and I are silent for a few moments as we take in this red-haired god. He keeps his hair short on the side, longer on top, with a neat beard. Dressed in these clothes, he'll look like any of the other guys playing the beach circuit.

I'm the first to wake from my trance and move away from my perch. “I think the cut of the shorts and tank are fine,” I say, walking around Geordie. His gaze follows me like a finalist at a beauty pageant. “It's the color that's all wrong.” I turn to the women. “Which clothing label has faded stuff, the kind that looks like you've been wearing it for years? Dan Thompson favors that brand; I think he was the spokesmodel for a while.”

The woman who's been helping us gives a smile of recognition. “That's got to be the Beach Bros line. You're right, those colors and styles would look perfect on him. I'll go pull some things in his size.”

Geordie motions me over to him, turns his back on his audience, and drops his voice. “Does everyone have an audience when they try on clothes here?”

“We've come in the middle of the week,” I whisper back. “It's slow, and they probably have little to do. Just humor them.”

---