by Landra Graf
“You stopped talking.”
Murph looked back at her from his canvas. “Sorry, I’m trying to nail down the curls of your hair. I never noticed the natural curl in the back.”
“Probably because I’ve been keeping your focus on my front.”
He smiled at her comment but went back to sketching.
“Will I ever get to see the final paintings?” She’d posed for at least three so far and he’d shown her nothing, not even a peek at the sketches.
“You’ll see them at the show.”
A show over a month and a half away, and she planned to be done imposing on Murph’s hospitality by then. In fact, she’d avoided thinking so far into the future. No, she’d focused on the now, living in the moment. Her savings account was the only thing affected since moving in. If things kept going this way, she’d have the money for a place and more long before the two months were up. Maybe she could start paying rent here and stay. Strong women pay their own way, unless a man is willing to do it for them.
She wouldn’t be her mother if she could help it, and if she didn’t pay her way, she’d be like her in multiple ways. But how did she broach the topic without offending Murph or throwing his generosity in his face?
Better to discuss something else, for now. “How long have you known Trix?”
“Since grade school. We rode the same bus but roamed in different circles. She hung out with a bad crowd.”
“Like the cool kids smoking?”
“More like the kids on meth. She was drugged out from middle school on. Then I ran into her after she had Seth. She looked awful and strung out. So, I helped her, gave her a place to stay, a chance to get into rehab and get clean, and she did.”
This man, who gave and gave, owned a heart of gold. Her own personal fears about being taken advantage of, or simple hesitance, stopped her from being similarly helpful to others. Funny, his own troubles didn’t stop him.
“Super nice of you, like more-than-normal nice. And you weren’t worried?”
“About what?”
“Your issues getting in the way.”
He chuckled. “If anything, my issues, as you politely call them, make things easy for them. I’m the forgetful, idiot landlord with a very forgiving nature. I don’t ask for rent sometimes, and don’t make my tenants sign lease agreements. If they wanted to, they could take over the other building by possession being nine-tenths of the law or some nonsense. But because I’ve been a help to them, they take care of me.”
“How so?”
“Trix makes me food and my grandmother’s friend on the bottom floor takes care of the yards, pest control, and any maintenance if I’m too busy to get to it. It works.”
“You’re lucky to have nice people around you, even if one of them is a little obsessive.”
He focused back on the canvas, sketching away before saying, “Do you really think so?”
“The day I moved in, she made sure to tell me you had dinner plans with each other.” It would’ve been easy to be oblivious if she were Murph. Simple to get wrapped up in a painting project and never see people closing in, stifling, or staking a claim—something that made her angry on his behalf. At least, that was what she’d call the emotion beating her chest.
“She’s never acted this way before. At least, I’ve never had any women over, no one I showed an interested in, anyway.”
But they’d kept their bedroom activities private. “How would she know?”
“The painting. She’s seen it before, asked about you. I never told anyone you existed in the real world.”
A thread of heartfelt emotion worked its way through her, sparking the hairs on the back of her neck. The first time she ever heard a man’s voice in such a humble whisper. Almost as if he feared her reaction. “You make me sound like something special.”
The pencil in his hand dropped and Murph moved to a standing position, causing his chair leg to scrape against the carpet. He walked over to her, slow, deliberate steps paired with his words. “You are special. You’re inspiring.”
Wrapping his hands around her arms, Murph pulled her to a standing position.
“You make the room brighter when you walk in. I breathe easier, and dealing with my shit is so much simpler. Even in group, the conversations went better with you there.”
She shook her head. “That can’t be true for everyone, maybe for you, but most people don’t think the same.”
“Do you need everyone to think the way I do?”
His question made her blush. She wasn’t selfish or vain and craved anything besides attention. “No. I just—your observations surprise me. I don’t see myself the way you do.”
“I said it before and I meant it.”
She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips. A soft, gentle touch and she couldn’t stop with one. Those lips of his always needed to meet hers for a second and third time, until tongues came out to mingle and get reacquainted. This time, though, she stopped things or else they’d never get anything accomplished beyond a romp on the couch or possibly the bed.
“Where’s the image release?”
“Hmm?” Murph leaned back in, his pursed lips touching hers once more.
She responded on instinct and then pulled away. “The paper you need me to sign for the approval to use any paintings with my likeness.”
“It’s on the coffee table. We can mess with it later.”
Extracting herself from his arms, she clicked her tongue. “Unlike your tenants, who don’t mind taking advantage when they can, I refuse to let you distract yourself from getting business taken care of.”
Searching on the coffee table, through a few small stacks of papers, she found it near the top of the last pile with a nice cup ring stain on it.
“This it?” She waved it in the air.
He nodded. “You don’t need to. It’s a formality.”
“You’ve done so much for me, for everyone living here. Let me do this for you, my way of keeping everything above board, taking care of you. Besides, this is for a painting on display.”
“And the ones I’m working on.”
That sentence came as she gave the last curlicue on the s of Kakos. “You’ll be displaying those?” The thought made her anxious. She hadn’t even seen them.
“Yes, all the paintings I’m working on will need to go on display to complete the show.”
“People will only look at them, not buy them?” A little challenging for her, outside of her comfort zone by far, even more than letting Murph put her visage to canvas. People would see her, her body...they would judge her.
“The paintings will be on sale.” This fact he imparted as he folded the release paper and tucked it into his back pocket.
“For sale? Why in the hell would you do that?”
“Artist’s work at a showing is always for visibility and for sale. It’s never been any different.”
Dread filled her, bone-chilling and with a gnawing sensation in her stomach. “Give me the paper back.”
Chapter Ten
Aggie spent the rest of her week away from Murph, retreating with the signed image release form and her body into the solitude of her own apartment. He’d let her run and didn’t chase her, which made her respect him and despise him in equal measure. She half-wanted him to convince her to take a risk with him, to be reckless. Yet, she wanted to avoid people laughing at her, at him.
She’d been an idiot, naively believing a show was similar to viewing paintings at a museum. Beyond those musings, her anxiety increased, thinking about people staring at her, breaking her apart as they would the Mona Lisa. What if no one liked the paintings? Even if one sat on display now, art patrons might not want to glimpse at least three or more additional paintings of her fat, stretch-marked self.
Better to spare anyone from such a fate, but she’d be lying if she didn’t miss spending her evenings with Murph. Eating, talking, even sitting for him kept her strong and committed to her own goals. Not mentioning the se
x...the sex happened to be the best she ever had.
Then, last night she woke from a horrible nightmare: everyone laughing, leaving, and walking away from her. Sleep proved elusive until her phone started buzzing around seven a.m.
The lit screen held her mother’s smiling face, that different face.
“Hello.” She left off the word mother and didn’t try to hide her exhaustion.
“Darling! It’s so good to hear your voice. I got your text about moving, but I’m concerned. What happened to getting Jordan back, showing him what he’s been missing?”
She’d forgotten about her mother’s horrible suggestion right after the woman made it. “Nope, I don’t care to go back to a cheating asshole.”
“Language, dear. Bad manners and coarse words will never help you land a man to take care of you. Take Mario, for instance, rich as a king, and I won him with a come-hither smile and my cultured background. You’re capable, darling. Strong women, like us, are always capable of landing their man.”
“Edith, I’m fine without a man. I’m doing well on my own.”
“Really? You don’t sound well. How is the landlord, the neighbors? Living near the Highlands is a great place to meet gentlemen. Have you been out much?”
Aggie rubbed her temples to stem off the beginnings of a headache. “Too many questions. Let’s go for one question at a time. My apartment is nice, the tenants I don’t see too often, and my landlord has been helpful. As for the neighborhood—”
“Hold on there, Agatha Celeste. I heard a note of hesitation in your voice about the landlord. Is he attractive?”
Damn her mother for having some sort of superpower to ferret out any sexual or romantic overtones in even the least obvious answers. She could play dumb or just spill all the details, and that was what always got her in deeper with this woman. A woman who’d been one of her only friends and who’d fucked her up mentally at the same time, but Aggie never had the heart to tell her to go away. She did find the urge to not want to drag things out.
“He’s cute, I’m fucking him, and that’s it.” Holy shit. She dropped the phone on the comforter and put her hands to her face, mouth in open horror. Her filter left the building and she needed to find it again.
She could barely make out her mother’s words, frustrated and soft, followed by yelling. “Agatha! Agatha, where are you?”
Grabbing the phone, she held it to her ear. “I’m here.”
“Good, I thought you’d hung up, which would have upset me greatly. You don’t need to be ashamed at needing release or seeking it. After what Jordan did, I understand. You needed to be reminded that you’re desirable, and you are, dear. But remember, a strong woman never gives more of herself than what is needed to secure her future.”
“Edith.” Aggie sighed.
“No, listen to me. This is where you went wrong with Jordan and I went wrong with your father. We gave up everything, all the love, all the emotion and they took it from us. I care about Mario, but I won’t risk everything. You shouldn’t either. Guard yourself, Agatha. Stay safe, my dear.”
“Yes, Edith.” What else could she say?
Another goodbye, a promise to call in a few weeks, and the call ended.
Hanging up the phone, she stared around her room, feeling a little lost, confused. She needed to get out, away for a bit. She decided to venture to the Bardstown Road Farmer’s Market, since it was Saturday. New stock, more vendors, and the best selection showed up at the market on the weekends. She was determined to select wholesome, delicious foods, and cook Murphy a healthy meal as a peace offering.
Maybe they could go back to their arrangement, no paintings or image releases, just sex. Sweaty, hot, and oh-so-helpful for her battle against the real world. If anything, her conversation with her mother reaffirmed the positive nature of fostering a sexual relationship with a man. Even if a part of her deep down wanted to save him, to help, to be needed by someone.
Standing in the middle of the crowded market, she pored over a lineup of fresh mushrooms, bean sprouts, and peppers. It’d be ideal to make some sort of Asian dish. Maybe brown fried rice with thin-sliced chicken or chicken lettuce wraps.
“Agatha?” The sound of her name, in that voice...
She’d never planned to hear it again. Turning, she got her second look at her ex and the woman who’d taken her place.
“I thought it was you. I could never forget the color of your hair or the way it curls—”
“Fancy seeing you here, Jordan.” She balled her fists, willing the memory of her ex with his fingers in her hair to hell.
Jordan chuckled. “Well, not all my doing. Lucy wanted me to show her where the organic food is sold. At least the best in the city, and thanks to our excursions to all the farmer’s markets when we were together, I’m capable.” He hugged the blonde, petite woman at his side and she hugged him back, all googly eyes trained on the man Aggie lost.
“Glad I imparted some knowledge to you.” How those words made it past her lips, she didn’t know, but the grated, painful sound of her voice was impossible to miss. “You know, I realize I left my wallet in the car. I need to grab it.”
She turned and started walking away. Fast.
“Wait, Aggie. Let us take you out to lunch,” Jordan called out after her.
Better not to respond to the offer. They’d already drawn the attention of a few folks thanks to her awkward reaction and abrupt departure. If she responded to him now, it wouldn’t be cordial. Tucking tail and getting out of there, with a stop at a local gas station for something to dull the pain, was a much-preferred plan.
Fifteen minutes later, she’d fallen off the strong-woman wagon with a bag of cheesy puffs and a half-dozen donuts in her lap. She’d purchased everything from the gas station. Her car sat motionless in the parking lot and the driver’s seat gave her a safe space to drown her pain. Each bite of glazed perfection dulled the anger raging through her. The first and second ones helped dry up the tears, the third, she stopped thinking about pounding her fists into Lucy’s face.
After the fourth and fifth, she got a craving for salt and ripped open into the cheesy puffs. The crunch of the puff between her teeth, fake cheese goodness resting against her tongue, and she sighed in relief. Happy to be in a place once again without judgment, at least for a few moments, when she got lost in the idea that food loved her and provided more appreciation and comfort than a pair of human arms or a man ever could.
Jordan was not nearly as reliable as her junk food lovers over the course of their relationship. Halfway through the bag was when everything took a turn south. She remembered why Jordan left her, for being needy, dependent, incapable of keeping his attention, and most likely nothing like skinny Lucy.
Aggie constantly lived in a state of overweight. All the healthy food and exercising only got her down one pant size, and she struggled to stay in those. So fuck it. Two more handfuls of cheesy puffs entered her mouth and were swallowed down like sacrifices, meant to appease the black hole inside her; the gnawing thing eating away at her sanity and willpower.
After a few more handfuls, and another donut, she started her drive home. Each stoplight, she regretted more her decision to inhale the junk food. Her stomach stuffed and aching, all she could think about was how she’d consumed enough calories to cover an entire day’s worth of meals and more.
By the time she’d parked her car, she’d already made up her mind, not like the situation hadn’t been headed there, but still...she could’ve sucked it up and crawled into bed. Yet, as much as the awkward run-in with Jordan made her angry, her binge eating made her shameful—shame for wrecking her body in his name. She’d do best with purging.
Opening the front door, she took note of how Murph failed to secure the alarm system again, a bad habit of his, to be sure. Instead of being able to privately take her ready-to-puke self upstairs, the very man she’d been thinking of sat on the bottom foyer step waiting for her outside his apartment.
“Aggie, I wa
nt to apologize.”
She shook her head. “I can’t right now. Can we talk about this tomorrow or later?”
“No, I don’t want to let this linger between us. I feel like an ass.”
“You lied to me, at least hid the truth about those paintings. Showing people is one thing, but selling them—someone having me on display in their home...I can’t.” She ran up the staircase, clutching her purse like a talisman capable of warding off more harmful things. Not quite the conversation she’d originally planned on, and now her emotions were scrubbed raw.
Reckoning was what she was on course for. Once inside her apartment, she made sure to lock the door and headed straight for the bathroom. She’d get rid of her demons and problems in the next few minutes, take a hot shower, and then curl up in bed.
The purging hurt more than usual, burned more than it did in the past. It had been a long time since she’d given in to her personal crutch. Today made her hit the limit of her strength. Then, a knock came at the front door.
“Aggie? I can’t let this go any longer. We need to talk.”
Damn. The one time he got the courage to come after her, she sat at her worst. No way could she let him in.
“Go away, Murphy.” The words came out choked as she gagged again.
“I can’t go away, and are you okay?” He’d heard her, which didn’t make anything any better.
“I’m not feeling well. It could be contagious.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Let me in. I make excellent chicken noodle soup from a can and I’m good at tucking people in.”
She hadn’t experienced this side of him and damn her traitorous mind for wanting to. This was a time to be alone and recover alone. People generally wanted to be around women who owned enough strength to handle their own shit. “You don’t want to see me like this.”
“I call bullshit and if you don’t let me in, I’ll get my landlord’s key.”
She dragged herself to a standing position. Her throat was raw and ached. Water needed to top her list of priorities after she cracked open the door and proved to Murph he didn’t need to help her.
