Lexi slid into the leather passenger seat of the polished black Jaguar. It was a magnificent vehicle in spite of the stench of rancid cigar smoke. They headed north toward Barrington Hills.

     “Ya know, I didn’t get breakfast. How ’bout we grab something to eat before we head out?” Judd asked her.

     Lexi was agreeable to the idea. It was almost noon and she felt an uneasy gnawing in her stomach. Besides, he seemed like a gentleman. Not exactly gracious, but then again, he was the client.

     She was at that unwelcome juncture every aspiring artist must eventually face. Sales. She was a talented artist and excellent at her craft, but mostly when in the safe confines of her home studio.

     Lexi was passionate about her work. Creativity was a fiery experience, especially in a potter’s world, where in the end it is the kiln that consumes your work, with no promise of what it will return back to you whole. For Lexi, the entire process represented freedom and spirituality. It was a purity inextricably combined with decadence and debauchery. It became symbiotic in the one single action of coaxing her back into her studio, day after day, morning into night, and back into her all of creation, again and again.      She loved creating. She loved the feel of wet clay on her fingers and under her nails. She loved breathing in the distinct tang of the fumes the fiery kiln threw off. She nurtured her pieces as if they were her babies, always mourning the many that didn’t survive the harsh firing process.

     Reality relentlessly sauntered back in. The rent check was due. Sales. Time to venture out of her little ecosystem of creation to become a peddler of her meager wares. Today she was nothing but a vendor. A pot peddler.

     Might as well get a meal out of the deal, Lexi thought.

Judd made a couple of sharp turns and they drove for another five minutes in complete silence. It was overwhelmingly awkward for Lexi, and the longer they drove together in silence, the harder it became for her to initiate conversation.

             Lexi watched as Judd eye’s focused on the road. She decided the silence was fine with Judd. Maybe preferable.

     They arrived at the restaurant and Judd pulled the sleek Jaguar under the porte-cochere. The doorman greeted him by name as Lexi followed inside. Smoke distorted the dim lighting. Judd led the way past the bar and to a red leather booth in the back. He grabbed a waitress and gave her a quick groping hug and a juicy kiss. Even before sitting down he ordered his double Jack on the rocks from the girl. Lexi asked for an iced tea, but Judd scowled at the notion, snapping at the waitress he had just groped, ordering her to make it two Jacks.

     Drinks came immediately, and soon afterward two plates arrived with pastrami on rye sandwiches. Lexi never saw a menu and never asked for the pastrami. She hated pastrami. Judd observed her hesitation. “I eat only pastrami and the waitress damn well knows it.”

     She took a sip of the dark liquid on ice. Grace’s dad, Lawrence Traynor, had taught her how to drink a scotch, but she had never tasted anything quite so awful as this thing called a Jack. There was no way she could drink the whole thing, and never, ever, for lunch. Judd ate half of his sandwich and ordered another double Jack for himself. He gulped it down, along with the rest of the pastrami, and it was time to go. Guzzle and go. This suited Lexi immensely as she was anxious to leave the smell of smoke, liquor, and pastrami behind.

     Judd’s demeanor changed. No surprise, Lexi thought, considering all the lunchtime booze he had just consumed. He was much more talkative, narcissistically jabbering on about his fast life of wheeling and dealing. And he was driving fast, too. Way too fast. Like a Jaguar fast.

Judd lived on a small piece of acreage in a secluded Barrington Hills neighborhood. He pulled up the long concrete drive, the wrought-iron gate opening slowly at the push of a button from his car. The stately white colonial home ahead rose nestled amongst tall oak trees. It stood in stark contrast to the botched contemporary designs of his office. Judd swerved the Jaguar up to the huge pillars that announced the entrance to the home. Lexi tried to quiet a sigh when he stopped the car and finally turned the ignition key off.

     Once inside Judd excused himself. “I’m going to change my clothes. Mind pouring me a Jack? Double.” his voice commanded more than asked. “The bar’s in through there. And you might as well pour yourself something, too.” He pointed the way.

     “I think I’ll pass,” Lexi said.

     “Nonsense! I've got the finest stocked bar in Chicago. Fix yourself a damn drink.”

     Judd disappeared up the stairs and Lexi turned to find the bar. Not exactly familiar with the large selection of wines and spirits, she felt relieved to see the bottle of Jack Daniels already sitting out on the bar. She figured that had to be the drink of choice he was calling a Jack. She took a sniff of it and knew it was, for sure. The ice cubes were out in a bucket, slightly melted and stuck together, requiring her to test her skills with the ice pick. She wondered who had set the ice out, and when. There was no sign of anyone around, but he must have had a housekeeper with regular ice duty. Ridiculous. Lexi scoffed at her own thought.

     It was only 2:00 P.M., but unnerved from Judd’s reckless driving, and the imminent sales pitch still facing her, Lexi silently declared Lawrence Traynor an angel for teaching her how to drink a Glenlivet. She poured a small amount into an ice-filled glass and, although Traynor would have disapproved, she topped it off with plenty of water.

     She glanced around the room and its furnishings. Professionally decorated, she thought. Each piece was perfect and in its place, and not at all what she would have imagined his home to look like.

     The winged chairs boasted hunt scene upholstery. The adjacent sofas were finished in a complimentary colonial plaid, as were the large panels of draperies. Tapestry area rugs warmed the oak floors, and carved walnut and brass tables hosted several hardbound fine art books.

     Judd waltzed back into the room. He had exchanged his black wool dress pants for black denim jeans. A black cashmere sweater replaced the charcoal silk shirt. Snatching the glass of Jack waiting for him at the bar, he took a slug of it, and then turned to the sound system. He selected Rachmaninoff, incongruent with the man Lexi thought she saw in front of her. Turning the volume up high, he slugged down more bourbon, then slid into a large club chair. He seemed agitated, but Lexi wrote it off as a case of her own nerves. His eyes fixated on her, but he said nothing.

     Lexi couldn’t endure the uncomfortable lack of conversation. She struggled for words, fearful that her naïveté would appear through the cracks of silence. Anxious to get on with her appointed sales task and return home to her dog, Moe, who would be missing her by now, she forced her herself. “Your furnishings are impeccable. Everything. Who was your designer?”

     “Bill of Sale.”

     Lexi felt his pleasure in her dumbfounded expression.

     “The house came furnished,” he smirked, scooting an ottoman over to prop his feet upon.

     Lexi’s eyes fell back upon the center cocktail table, and the thick spines of art books.

     “Yes, Ms. Collins. Even the books. You see, taste really is for sale, if you can afford to pay the price.”

     Lexi poised herself, still at the bar, selecting her words with care. “I’m surprised you would be interested in my raku pieces for your home. I don’t know that they suit your décor.”

     “No, I don’t suppose they do. But you do.”

     She watched him watch her. He enjoyed her frustration. He relished in watching her fidget. She felt her neck tighten and she swallowed hard, and Nathan Judd watched it all.

     "I'd like to take you to my bedroom now," he said.

            Lexi put down her glass of scotch. She didn’t want it anyway. She glanced away.

     Judd wasn't pleased with her response. It pushed the wrong button. He shoved the ottoman aside. Sprung to his feet. At her side. He caught her off guard and she instinctively stepped back, far against the backbar.

     “You didn’t really think you were selling me your stupid pots, did you, Ms. Collins? I was at one of your gallery openings. That's when I first saw you. My God, you were magnificent. Virgin, I'm sure.”

     Seconds became painful eternities. She slowly reached for her purse, but maybe only in her mind. She wasn’t sure. Didn’t really matter. Stupid her. Stupid. Keys. No good keys. Her car, left back at his damn high-rise offices. Stupid her.

     “I don’t think this is going to work out, Nathan,” Lexi said, raising her head high, summoning a false sense of strength and control.

     “I think things are going to work out just fine, my sweet Lexi