Black, White and Colors
 By Pete 

Pete looked at the beachfront entrance car park and sighed.
There was no sign of her.
Janet was getting unusually late to his appointments these days. He looked away from the window at the canvas and paint crayons.
He still had lot to do with the portrait of hers.

Pete was fairly good with his work of painting portraits of his female models.
He had started about four years ago as a hobby painter and had then turned commercial slowly and he found his paintings sold quite well in Europe and South Africa already at moderately good prices.
He had made his mark.

Janet was one of the newer models to have entered his studio. She was good and after a little bit of persuasion had agreed to do become clad in only with a silken veil on her shoulders with bare breasts and erect dark nipples hidden and revealed at the same time beneath the translucent fabric.
This is what Pete was good at. Not too naked but enough hint of hidden nakedness that made his painting neither just classic nor purely erotic. The mysterious Latinas in semi naked or tribal attire sold very well. It was a purely commercial decision, when he painted her portrait thus. 
But then well into the evening and surely at bedtime, when he could recall all her delicate curves and the seductive angles he had seen and painted with keenness.  They would flash across his mind’s eye; now as a man would become aroused.

Pete used to get confused at those times.
Was he an ethical painter, he would ask himself?
Was he completely professional as a painter or not? Was it right to harbor such feelings about his models?

 All said and done he could not erase the memories of Janet and other women who caused feelings of sexual arousal in him and finally he would relieve himself by masturbation and go to a disturbed sleep.

She was a Latina, quite rare in Kenya and that was one of the reasons he could not find replacement quickly too if she really quit his work.

He sighed and reached for the half empty coke bottle.

He was living in a calm area off the Mombassa beach and was quite alone in his small fruits farm.
At 27 years of age, 6 ft 3 in tall, he was the colour of dark ebony, had cheerful calm face and gentle eyes and sported a gymnasium trained athletic body. He earned well and lived well.

His last girlfriend was one Mary, his old school mate and he had caught her cheating with another guy and that was that. The six-month courting brought to a painful halt.

He had no courage to test another romantic relationship with any woman as yet.
But he was a young man with a normal quota of sexual needs.  But for the fear of spreading AIDS in the country, he had sustained himself on a daily quota of masturbation than going to bed with some hookers and risk death by such an infection.

Suddenly breaking his reverie, the phone rang. He started, calmed down and reached for it.
"Hello, Is this the residence of Peter MBB...” The lilting female voice struggled with his surname.

" Its Mbewe. You can call me Peter.." He completed it for her.
"Oh…Ok and Thanks. So you are the artist who does those lovely portraits I saw in Johannesburg shops the other day, isn’t it?" She sounded amusingly musical in the question.

Peter swallowed." I am a painter and I sign off on the canvass as Pete..Yes, Is that what you saw, madam?"

" It's Dolly McDowell.. Call me Dolly...Yes, Those female portraits, the shopkeeper told me you are Peter who lives in Kenya"

Peter straightened himself and said," Ok, thanks...How can I help you?"

Dolly chortled on the line," Help, young man? You may recall the name McDowell Industries in UK and South Africa in the textiles field?"

 Peter blinked," Of Course..Yes. Who hasn't...Its the leading brand. It.."

She cut him off with a swift " Yes. We own it. I mean my late husband used to and I am now the CEO"

Peter sat down. He needed to drink that Coke badly now, but he couldn't as the woman went on,
" I need for you some work actually...I need a portrait of mine done...Can you do it?"

She was not a woman given to waiting. She jumped on people and got her work done, he gathered.
The CEO, after all, of McDowell’s...

Peter couldn't think fast enough "Yes, why sure. But when?".

Dolly's calm and collected voice came across," I am there tomorrow evening by South African airlines flight From Jo'burg to Mombassa. If you can give me specific driving instructions to my secretary how to reach you, I will drive down to meet you"

Peter hastened to reply," That won't be necessary. I am coming to meet you at the airport. The pleasure is mine."
Dolly was silent, but only for a second," Well I guess that’s OK then...Come to the Airport by a Taxi. We will drive back in my Rolls to your place. Lets talk during the journey...

I have only two hours for you tomorrow...So see you there in the Airport at 6". She paused." How will you know me”?

Peter blinked. Was she joking? " I will know you. Seen you on papers and TV"

Dolly persisted," Peter, How will I know you?"

“I will wait in the VIP lounge and when you come out, I will come to you myself...I will have twin yellow roses with me to offer you".
He was sweating by the time he completed this. His mind was in a whirl.

" OK.. So sweet to hear that...Then see you at 6. The airport. Bye"

The click of the phone dropping on the other side was like a shot to his heart. Abrupt. No time wasting in even one extra word.

Whew!

He drank all his Coke in one gulp and swore " YAYAYA" to himself! < The African equivalent of' Man, man, Man'! >

After awhile his mind cleared and noted that Janet hadn’t come at all. Hell, she hadn't even called him.He didn't want to call on her Mobile. Not now.

His mind became preoccupied with the thoughts of the phone call.
Dolly McDowell. Big Name. Big Woman.

He had seen her umpteen times on the Newspapers, magazines and on TV news clippings. Most times with her husband George.
She was a white Anglo Saxon lady, the ones he had never done a portrait of before. That was the first hurdle.

She was a redhead and he could recall a plump smiling aristocratic face and thinking hard, he thought she had a voluptuous figure, may be slightly on the fleshy side. Couldn't be more than forty, he guessed. He had never thought of her as his model and even now couldn't even to begin to. He thought there was a big class difference between them.

He was free spirit and was used to getting the best out of his models by making them pose out of his choice and for durations of his liking.
But, Dolly McDowell? The CEO and a rich aristocratic lady.. How do you command her to accept his way of working?
Would she like it?
But he could work only HIS way. And She HERS. Then how could this work out?

His mind became fuzzy and he switched on the TV but he barely watched it. The cook called out to him hours later that the dinner was ready and would he please come?

He was silent during dinner and could hardly remember what he ate or how much afterwards.

When at last he hit the bed that night, for the first time in many days he did not get an erection. Nor sleep.

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