I walk in and Spence directs me to take a seat at a round table surrounded by cheap vinyl chairs that look like they belong in a VFW and not the Shrike Bikes president's office. I do, and then wait patiently as he gathers up some binders on the filing cabinet behind his desk. I look around the office as I wait. It's a typical biker office. Eagles and American flags, and of course, black velvet girls with tits hanging out, adorn the walls. I have to chuckle behind my fist because seriously…
I take my attention away from the artwork and study the furniture. The desk is a monstrosity of dark wood, mostly scratched and filled with paperwork. His office chair says a lot about him as well. It's leather, but not pretentious, and it looks well-worn, not new.
Spencer is a clash of contradictions. But this is a good thing. It says he's a down-to-Earth guy, not some ass**le who gets off having the word president stenciled on his door.
He brings the binders over to the table and then takes a seat and looks over at me with a grin.
"What? You look nervous," I say.
He opens the book and there's an eight-by-ten glossy photograph of a naked girl. Except it's very hard to tell that she's naked on first glance because her entire body has been painted to look like she's wearing the sexy female version of an Elvis jumpsuit, complete with rhinestones and a nice sparkly belt.
I grin. "What's this?"
He turns the page and it's the same girl, only now she's wearing a roller derby outfit. He flips the page again and she's a cowgirl, complete with Wrangler jeans—it's an ass-shot—and a red checkered shirt.
The next page makes me gasp. Because it's a picture of Spencer, painting the girl.
"You!" I say, jumping up and grabbing the book from him.
"Me," he says proudly. "I paint on girls." We both laugh at that, hysterically almost. "I paint on girls," he says again. "And I want to paint a girl to match the custom bike I'm making for the Sturgis Rally this summer."
"Wow, you have blown me away, Spencer. Holy shit! Never in a million years did I think this was your secret. You're an artist!"
"Yeah, and I want to paint you, Rook. For the contract. I want to paint you to match all my bikes for the portfolio and advertising, but mostly, I want to paint you to match the custom bike I'm making special for Sturgis, because it's called the Shrike Raven. When I heard your name was Rook, well, that was it, girl. I just need it to be you."
"Wow," I say again. I nod at him. "I think I'm in, Spencer Shrike. This looks like the most fun I might ever have in my life."
"You'll be completely naked, Rook, just so you understand. When we do public performances, your ni**les will be covered with those pasties, and you'll wear a thong, but that's only for the public appearances. In the photoshoots and in the private show at Sturgis, you'll be painted everywhere. And even with the pasties and thong, you have to be painted up nude, first. So it matches up perfect."
I flip through more pictures. Each one is perfection. You cannot tell these girls are naked. Not one bit. "I'm OK with that, Spencer. I'm in."
"Ronin is not going to approve."
"Who cares?" I reply, still flipping through the book.
"Well, I got the impression he liked you yesterday, so I figured you liked him too."
I can't hold it in anymore so I spill it. "I think he's seeing that Clare girl, Spencer. I saw them together today, in a bed. And we slept together last night. I thought we were, I don't know, together or something? But he obviously doesn't see it the same way. Maybe he will hate it, but I can't be bothered with that right now. I have to make my own decisions."
"Fair enough. I'm not gonna stop you, so you wanna see the bike you'll be painted up to match?"
"Yeah!"
We go back out to the showroom and it's empty now. He takes me to a book on the front desk and opens it. "This here is the showroom, but I build the bikes in a shop just north of Fort Collins, about a half hour from here. I'm almost finished with it, so we'll shoot you on the other bikes first, all painted up to match each one, and then we'll take the new bike to Sturgis and do a presentation to kick off the Biker Channel show we're gonna film for next year's spring TV season."
"Wow. I realize I've said that like three times already, but Spencer, you're amazing. This bike is the shit." Most of it is still in pieces, but the rendering is beautiful. It's got curves, and chrome, and the gas tank has been molded and painted to look like a raven's head.
"Which bike out here, Rook? Which is your favorite? You can pick one to be in the show too, then keep it for yourself."
I turn around and check them out carefully. "Are you serious?" I look at him, astonished.
"It's no big deal, these are showroom bikes, not special customs like the Raven. But I'll have it customized a little and we'll take it to Sturgis for you."
I walk between the aisles, my fingertips lovingly touching the tanks of several very nice specimens. But if I get to keep it, I should be practical so I can actually ride it. I don't want a chopper, that's for sure, they look difficult. I go back over to the turquoise one I was sitting on earlier and try it out again. "This one," I say, looking up at Spence's beaming smile. "I like this one."
"Can you really ride?" he asks as I lean forward on the tank and rest my cheek against the cool metal. I let my arms drop and a long sigh comes out.
I take my attention away from the artwork and study the furniture. The desk is a monstrosity of dark wood, mostly scratched and filled with paperwork. His office chair says a lot about him as well. It's leather, but not pretentious, and it looks well-worn, not new.
Spencer is a clash of contradictions. But this is a good thing. It says he's a down-to-Earth guy, not some ass**le who gets off having the word president stenciled on his door.
He brings the binders over to the table and then takes a seat and looks over at me with a grin.
"What? You look nervous," I say.
He opens the book and there's an eight-by-ten glossy photograph of a naked girl. Except it's very hard to tell that she's naked on first glance because her entire body has been painted to look like she's wearing the sexy female version of an Elvis jumpsuit, complete with rhinestones and a nice sparkly belt.
I grin. "What's this?"
He turns the page and it's the same girl, only now she's wearing a roller derby outfit. He flips the page again and she's a cowgirl, complete with Wrangler jeans—it's an ass-shot—and a red checkered shirt.
The next page makes me gasp. Because it's a picture of Spencer, painting the girl.
"You!" I say, jumping up and grabbing the book from him.
"Me," he says proudly. "I paint on girls." We both laugh at that, hysterically almost. "I paint on girls," he says again. "And I want to paint a girl to match the custom bike I'm making for the Sturgis Rally this summer."
"Wow, you have blown me away, Spencer. Holy shit! Never in a million years did I think this was your secret. You're an artist!"
"Yeah, and I want to paint you, Rook. For the contract. I want to paint you to match all my bikes for the portfolio and advertising, but mostly, I want to paint you to match the custom bike I'm making special for Sturgis, because it's called the Shrike Raven. When I heard your name was Rook, well, that was it, girl. I just need it to be you."
"Wow," I say again. I nod at him. "I think I'm in, Spencer Shrike. This looks like the most fun I might ever have in my life."
"You'll be completely naked, Rook, just so you understand. When we do public performances, your ni**les will be covered with those pasties, and you'll wear a thong, but that's only for the public appearances. In the photoshoots and in the private show at Sturgis, you'll be painted everywhere. And even with the pasties and thong, you have to be painted up nude, first. So it matches up perfect."
I flip through more pictures. Each one is perfection. You cannot tell these girls are naked. Not one bit. "I'm OK with that, Spencer. I'm in."
"Ronin is not going to approve."
"Who cares?" I reply, still flipping through the book.
"Well, I got the impression he liked you yesterday, so I figured you liked him too."
I can't hold it in anymore so I spill it. "I think he's seeing that Clare girl, Spencer. I saw them together today, in a bed. And we slept together last night. I thought we were, I don't know, together or something? But he obviously doesn't see it the same way. Maybe he will hate it, but I can't be bothered with that right now. I have to make my own decisions."
"Fair enough. I'm not gonna stop you, so you wanna see the bike you'll be painted up to match?"
"Yeah!"
We go back out to the showroom and it's empty now. He takes me to a book on the front desk and opens it. "This here is the showroom, but I build the bikes in a shop just north of Fort Collins, about a half hour from here. I'm almost finished with it, so we'll shoot you on the other bikes first, all painted up to match each one, and then we'll take the new bike to Sturgis and do a presentation to kick off the Biker Channel show we're gonna film for next year's spring TV season."
"Wow. I realize I've said that like three times already, but Spencer, you're amazing. This bike is the shit." Most of it is still in pieces, but the rendering is beautiful. It's got curves, and chrome, and the gas tank has been molded and painted to look like a raven's head.
"Which bike out here, Rook? Which is your favorite? You can pick one to be in the show too, then keep it for yourself."
I turn around and check them out carefully. "Are you serious?" I look at him, astonished.
"It's no big deal, these are showroom bikes, not special customs like the Raven. But I'll have it customized a little and we'll take it to Sturgis for you."
I walk between the aisles, my fingertips lovingly touching the tanks of several very nice specimens. But if I get to keep it, I should be practical so I can actually ride it. I don't want a chopper, that's for sure, they look difficult. I go back over to the turquoise one I was sitting on earlier and try it out again. "This one," I say, looking up at Spence's beaming smile. "I like this one."
"Can you really ride?" he asks as I lean forward on the tank and rest my cheek against the cool metal. I let my arms drop and a long sigh comes out.
