Draw Me A Picture Read Online Free Page B

a haunting beauty that William could not shake from his mind; not that he tried. He appreciated a bona fide distraction the same as any man, let alone a lovely mystery-girl; one whom might need rescuing. Perhaps she would return to her corner; it was also probable that she may never come back.
    “Perhaps she wants to be found,” William murmured, looking down; his window went all the way to the floor, offering a substantial view of the streets, far below. As he stared as the moving cars, he wondered about the girl. Why was she out there? The young woman certainly didn’t like her unemployed situation and was clearly mortified at being called ‘homeless’.
    The heated words she shouted earlier came floating back to him; William returned to his desk. When angered, people usually give out far more information than they intend to.
    “A nice hotel... CPA... Stanford,” he said, as if reciting notes in a meeting. In his profession, remembering all the minute details meant the difference between losing a client and making the deal of the century. Picking up the phone, William decided that if the mystery-girl could draw an exact portrait of him without even meeting him, he could find her with just a bit of effort.
    Taking out his cell, he dialed his mother’s number.
    “It’s William. Fine. Is there a name on the back of that portrait you got today? Yes, I’ll wait.” He tapped his foot on the wood flooring, impatient to put a name to the face in his mind. “Yes? Got it…” William wrote something on a nearby notepad. “Thank you. No, no… I’ll be working late. Alfred will drive you to the station. You as well. Get plenty of rest. Good bye.”
    Hanging up, William read the name he’d hastily scrawled, a boyish look of satisfaction crossing his eyes. “Michelle Gregory,” he said, to himself. The name fit her; she looked like a Michelle. Ambling absent-mindedly to the window again, William fingered the paper awhile before folding it and putting it into his pocket. Looking down at the streets, he smiled to himself. He had no idea what he’d say to her if he ever saw her again.
    “First,” he thought, “I have to find her.”  
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER THREE
     
     
     
    Michelle settled in at her new corner with surprising ease. No other drawing artists frequented the place, only the occasional food vendor cart and one, aging guitarist named Patrick. The singer’s ‘art’ consisted of warbling through all the Simon & Garfunkle songs he could remember. Michelle was amazed at how many there were; she best liked The Sound of Silence, mostly because it was the only one she knew. Any initial suspicion felt by Patrick was thwarted by Michelle’s daily offering of an apple or orange. He reminded her a little of her grandfather, with his pronounced features and false teeth. Over the ensuing weeks, Michelle allowed him to sit next to her while they ate lunch; Patrick was full of amusing stories and opinions of those whom daily favored him with musical ‘criticism’.
    The corner lay several blocks from her old one, in an entirely different direction. Michelle knew she probably would not see William here; she reason that his lunchtime routine was fairly fixed and the new location was too far out of the way to accidentally stumble upon her. Once again, Michelle was lost in a sea of unfamiliar faces, hidden in the swirling bustle of walking, work, lights and food that made up New York City. Her contact with humans now broadened slightly to include noontime conversations with the elderly Patrick. In these small ways, Michelle felt somewhat distracted; she was grateful not to be left alone with thoughts of William.
    At night, however, memories of his deep, blue eyes and his last, shocked expression haunted her. Each time these thoughts re-emerged tears of remorse and loneliness fell to her pillow for what might have been. As silly as it was to think on it--and torture herself, the situation left Michelle with a feeling