Countdown - Iris Johansen [2]
“Indeed? I can’t wait to hear your take on this.”
“Don’t be sarcastic. I can be perceptive on occasion. I’ve decided for some reason you’re afraid to reach out and grab the brass ring. Maybe you don’t think you deserve it.”
“What?”
“I’m not saying you’re not confident. I just think you’re not as sure of your talent as you should be. Good God, you won one of the most prestigious competitions in the country. That should tell you something.”
“It told me the judges liked my style. Art is subjective. If there had been another set of judges, I might not have fared so well.” She shrugged. “And that would have been okay. I paint what and who I want. It gives me pleasure. I don’t have to be first with anyone else.”
“Don’t you?”
“No, I don’t, Miss Freud. So back off.”
“Whatever you say.” Pat was still staring at the sketch. “You said he was an old friend?”
Friend? No way. Their relationship had been too volatile to involve friendship. “No, I said I knew him years ago. Hadn’t you better take your shower?”
Pat chuckled. “Am I treading on private ground again? Sorry, it’s my busybody nature. It comes from living in a small town all my life.” She got to her feet and stretched. “You have to admit I restrain myself most of the time.”
Jane smiled as she shook her head. “When you’re sleeping.”
“Well, you must not mind too much. You’ve roomed with me for two years and you’ve never put arsenic in my coffee.”
“It could still happen.”
“Nah, you’re used to me now. Actually, we complement each other. You’re guarded, hardworking, responsible, and intense. I’m open, lazy, spoiled, and a social butterfly.”
“That’s why you have a 4.0 average.”
“Well, I’m also competitive and you spur me on. That’s why I don’t find a roommate who’s a party girl like me.” She pulled her T-shirt over her head. “Besides, I’m hoping Mr. Wonderful is going to show up so that I can seduce him.”
“You’ll be disappointed. He’s not going to show up. He probably doesn’t remember I’m alive, and now he’s just an interesting face to me.”
“I’d make sure he remembered me. What did you say his name was?”
Jane smiled teasingly. “Mr. Wonderful. What else?”
“No, really. I know you told me but I—”
“Trevor. Mark Trevor.”
“That’s right.” Pat headed for the bathroom. “Trevor . . .”
Jane glanced down at the sketch pad. It was curious that Pat had suddenly zeroed in on Trevor again. In spite of what she’d said, she generally respected Jane’s privacy, and she’d backed off before when she’d seen Jane withdraw after she’d questioned her about him.
“Stop analyzing.” Pat stuck her head out of the bathroom. “I can hear the wheels turning even over the sound of the shower. I’ve just decided I need to take you in hand and find a hunk to screw you and release all that pent-up tension you’re storing. You’ve been living like a nun lately. This Trevor seems a good candidate.”
Jane shook her head.
Pat made a face. “Stubborn. Well, then I’ll skip him and go on to the local talent.” She disappeared back into the bathroom.
Skip Trevor? Not likely, Jane thought. She’d been trying to ignore him for the past four years, and succeeded at times. Yet he was always in the background, waiting to push into her consciousness. That was the reason she’d started sketching his face three years ago. Once the sketch was finished she could forget him again for a while and get on with her life.
And it was a good life, full and busy and definitely not empty. She didn’t need him. She was accomplishing her goals, and the only reason his memory still lingered was that their time together had taken place under such dramatic circumstances. Black sheep might be intriguing to Pat, but she’d led a sheltered life and didn’t realize how much—
Her cell phone rang.
She was being followed.
Jane glanced over her shoulder.
No one.
At least, no one suspicious. A couple college guys out for a good time were strolling across the street and eyeing a girl who had just gotten off the