by Holley Trent
Matt closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Not my problem. I know the divorce isn’t final yet, but she does own half the shop so you’re going to have to deal with her. When are you going to install the dish?”
“God, why am I even friends with you? You’re a jackass.”
“Because I used to keep people from kicking your ass in high school.”
The old woman slammed her car door and then paused to examine the buttons on her key fob.
“Oh yeah … ”
“The dish?”
“I’ll do it tonight, I guess. Hope it doesn’t get dark before I have a chance to get out there.” The woman found the correct button and the car let out an anemic “beep!” as the doors locked.
“Good. I’ll hold you to it.” Matt pushed the door open and was just about to step through it when Chad called after him, “Hey! Is she cute?”
Matt shook his head, and as the door closed behind him he responded, “Not even a little bit. And way too smart for you, bud.”
*
Matt typically beat his sister home from work, and that day was no exception. He worked for the local fishery hauling in nets filled with flounder, trout, herring, and spot croakers from the Chowan River. He went to work before dawn, but was usually off for the day by two or so, which gave him plenty of daylight hours to ride his motorcycle and do maintenance on his thirty-year-old ranch house. The job was grueling and physically demanding, but Matt liked that he didn’t have to think too much while doing it. He did enough thinking at home, usually while showering the stink of fish off himself. That’s why his father had liked it, too.
He parked his truck next to the deck, leaving his lonely bike unaccompanied under the carport for the time being. Not that his sister Karen’s little coupe was much company, pathetic excuse for a vehicle it was. It wasn’t much heavier than a paperweight because it didn’t have an air conditioner, but it fit Karen’s meager budget and got excellent gas mileage. That car was the only thing Karen really had to pay for. Matt didn’t have to heart to make her chip in on household bills just yet, although he had recently drawn the line and given up on paying her exorbitant data charges on her cell phone. What the hell was she downloading all day, anyway?
Matt at age thirty-four had essentially been a single parent for the past ten years. His parents had died in a nighttime car accident on Highway 32 caused by a deer crossing the road. The driver of the truck approaching from the other direction said they didn’t have any good options. They could either hit the deer and lose control of the vehicle; swerve into oncoming traffic; or steer onto the narrow shoulder to the right of their lane. His dad chose the shoulder, but the jerk of the steering wheel made the tires lose traction on the rain-slick road and caused the car to fishtail toward the deep ditch. His dad hit the brakes to preempt their impact with the approaching guardrail, but the car not only drove into it, but over it. Fortunately, Karen, ten at the time, had been at summer camp and not in the car.
Their aunts and grandparents offered to take Karen in and the young man, living in a trailer near the fishery at the time, honestly considered letting them take her. Back then, Matt thought he was too young to be a parent, and resented the idea of spending a good part of his youth coddling a depressed preadolescent. In the end, Matt’s sense of fairness won out. Their parents hadn’t updated their will after Karen’s surprise birth and had left everything to their only child at the time. Matt knew that if they had anticipated an untimely departure that they would divided their assets fairly between the two. So, Matt moved back into his childhood home with his sister and thanked God regularly that she could get herself onto the school bus in the mornings without his assistance.
Living with his sister (he avoided saying that he “raised” her) had been a fairly easy chore until she turned sixteen and wanted to date. For the first five years of their living arrangement Matt didn’t date at all, which had been like going from a pack-a-day smoking habit to quitting cold turkey. Then he started to get, well, creative. A man had needs, so he had mastered the art of standing coitus in short order. During one particular camping trip with his girlfriend of the moment, who was sharing a tent with Karen and one of her friends, he and his lover took a nice half-mile hike into the woods in order to better “commune” with nature. Karen suspected nothing.
A few weeks after turning sixteen, Karen had asked her big brother to take her to the gynecologist so that she could be put on birth control. Matt had nearly choked on his beer at the out-of-the-blue request. All that time he had no idea his dorky kid sister had any interest whatsoever in the opposite sex. She still had teddy bears on her bed, for Christ sake. The look on her face when he’d said as much quickly pacified him, and as he had no interest in being an uncle in addition to a stand-in dad at the moment, he made an appointment for the very next week.
As adults, they studiously avoided any discussion whatsoever about their sex lives and neither ever brought an overnight date home. Karen had tried once and Matt successfully scared the fear of God into the guy over the breakfast table the next morning. He didn’t even have to say a word: he just kept staring at the little twerp over the top of his coffee mug, having been annoyed at the giggling from his sister’s room that had kept him awake for much of the previous night.
Matt stripped out of his smelly clothes and piled it all in the washer with a scoop of triple-action detergent. While the geriatric machine filled, he locked himself in the master bathroom with a wide-toothed comb and mound of Karen’s gel to tame his hair, thinking he should just cut the shit off.
His first impression with his new neighbor hadn’t gone according to plan, but perhaps the second one would. And screw the bears. Nora was the game he wanted to bag.
Chapter Two
Nora tightened the nozzle joining a bit more and tried the tap again, hoping she didn’t get another blast of cold water in her face for all the trouble. Hot damn, it worked. There was a small trickle coming from some invisible crack in the spray gun’s plastic, but it was actually now capable of shooting a stream of water in a specified direction. She gave a silent cheer and aimed the nozzle at her collection of soiled plastic paint pallets and went to town on them. The force from the hose was violent enough that the stuck-on acrylic melted right off without the aid of her tired fingers. Nora had grown sloppy since her move and had let the mess in her sunroom studio pile up. She normally cleaned her brushes and paint trays after each use, but so much had been going on that it was just easier to handle it all in batches. Fortunately she wasn’t working with oils at the moment or she would have probably lost a few of her favorite sable brushes as a result of her negligence.
When Nora’s phone bleated from the pocket of her plaid overshirt, she shut off the tap and abandoned her mess for the moment, walking toward the road as she answered. The cellular connectivity in Eastern North Carolina was hit or miss with her carrier, and she discovered while taking out the mail one day that she needed to stand in certain parts of the yard to get a decent signal. As long as she was standing near the road, her calls didn’t drop. It was the only place the pines didn’t get in the way.
“Nora Fredrickson,” she answered.
“Nora! It’s Bennie.”
Nora pulled the phone back from her face and squinted at the display again. She didn’t recognize the number, although she knew the person calling from it very well. “Whose phone are you calling me from, Bennie?”
“I’m in this new gallery in D.C. that invited me to a sneak peek of their upcoming show. They let me use their office phone.”
Nora sat on a dry pine stump at the very end of her driveway and waved at a semi-truck as it barreled by. The driver pulled the air horn in response. “Really? You got invited?”
“Well, no. Actually you got invited and I found the postcard in your P.O. box so I just helped myself. I figured you weren’t going to use it.”
“That’s not the point. By the way, I thought you put
in a forwarding request for that box.”
“I did. This invite came two months ago.”
“I was in Baltimore two months ago.”
“I know! You should really check your mail more often. It’s not wise to leave things in the box overnight. Stuff gets stolen.”
“No shit?”
“For real. Anyway, I’m here at the gallery and I overheard a little bird tweeting about the gap they have in their upcoming show and how they are missing approximately five works.”
“That many, huh?” Nora used the nail of her thumb to scrape a spot of gesso off her forearm.
“Yes. Five large works. Like, sofa-sized.”
“Poor dears. What’s that got to do with me?”
“Well, you know me. I butted into the little birdie’s conversation and started talking you up. Gave them one of your fancy business cards and the dude turned out to be the owner. He went straight to his office and pulled up your website. He’s piqued, hon. Like, super-stoked. He’s curating pieces that show scenes from East Coast slices of life and your stuff fits right in there.”
“That’s great and all, but I don’t let my stuff hang just anywhere, Bennie. I’ve lost too many pieces to businesses that closed up shop without warning and took my art without paying me.”
“I totally feel you on that. Hey, you can pull up their website and vet them and stuff, and see if you’re interested. Just thought I’d let you know they wanted to see more of your stuff like ASAP. He wanted to know why your website hadn’t been updated since spring and if you’d stopped painting.”
Nora blew out a frustrated razzing sound through her lips. “I don’t have Internet right now. I’m working on it. I’ve got about a half-gig of images to upload as soon as I get my satellite dish installed. So, who are these people?”
“Hold on.” Nora could hear her friend rustling some paper on her end of the connection and then she brought her mouth back to the receiver. “They told me their names but I couldn’t remember them. Had to look in their brochure. Their names are Ann Magee and Spencer — ”
“Abraham? Spence Abraham?” Now Nora was standing, charged like a pen coil waiting to be sprung.
“That’s the one! Know him?”
“I most certainly do. Or at least I know of him. He was one of the long-time curators at The Met. He’s written a bunch of books on contemporary art. He’s considered to be something of an expert on living artists. He’s even written me up once or twice. Tiny little blurbs, but still.”
“So, you’re interested I take it?”
“Uh, yeah! I don’t have anything ready right now that would fit the show, though.”
“Oh, that’s okay. They’re doing this staggered introduction thing where they’re going to put up a new work every Monday for five weeks. So really, you’d only need to have the first one immediately.”
“Even so, that’s pushing it, Ben. For a work that size I’d have to be moving non-stop and hoping it doesn’t rain and screw up my dry times. We’ve got perfect humidity here now for painting. But, five in a row? I don’t know about that, lady.”
“Well, I kinda already told them you’d do it. They’re sending you the contract via overnight courier.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Cool, right? Say, what kind of a cut does an artist agent get, anyway? Twenty percent? Thirty sounds good.”
“You’re lucky if I don’t pay you with a swift kick up the ass.” Nora tried to grab a handful of her own hair to pull it but was deterred by her tightly knotted scarf. Just as well. It was a habit she was trying to break, anyway.
“Come on, it’s a great gig and you wouldn’t even have to come to the gallery to stand by your work until the fifth week.”
“Which is when?”
“Around Valentine’s Day.”
Nora groaned and started the trek back down her long driveway, eager to get into the house to look at her planner. As she stepped onto the wooden stairs leading up to her porch, she could hear gravel crunching behind her and turned to see a late-model pick-up truck making its way slowly up the driveway. The man behind the wheel, a blond wearing a huge grin, was waving one hand out his open window for her. She ignored him, figuring it was another hunter. “So, the first would be due, when? Second week of January?”
“Yep.”
“Hmm.”
Bennie cackled on her end. “A-ha! I know that ‘hmm.’ You’re thinking about doing it, aren’t you? You could totally get a few done in the next three months. It’s not all that taxing, right?”
Nora rolled her eyes at the implication and made a note in pencil in her planner. “Have you ever painted anything in your life, Bennie?”
“I painted my bathroom last spring.”
“That so doesn’t count. Look, I’ll do it. I’m going to have to put some other projects aside to make it happen and I have no idea what I’m going to paint, but I’ll come up with something.”
“Yes!” Nora imagined her friend doing a fairly classless fist-pump amidst the well-heeled art perusers at the preview. “Now, about my fee … ”
“Bye, Bennie. There’s someone at my door.” Nora ended the call before Bennie could react.
“Can I help you?” she asked the smiling man whose fist was poised, ready to knock on her storm door.
He held up a clipboard and pointed to something circled on the page. “Got an order to install a satellite dish.” He smiled a little broader, showing at least four more teeth. He was going to run out if he kept it up.
“Well, it’s about time. I’m dying to get online,” she said without opening the door. Nora didn’t like the lecherous gaze she was receiving from the tech. She pulled the edges of her shirt together to cover her ribbed tank top. She hadn’t put on a bra that morning. “Uh … where do you want to put it?”
“Roof’s easiest, but I can put it anywhere the line won’t get chewed up.”
“I’m going to be doing some demo work on the house soon, but, uh … ” she pushed the door out just a bit to indicate that he should move, and when he stood there staring dumbly, she cleared her throat. He obviously didn’t understand subtle. Nora was about to tell him to move his idiot self out of the way when a “thump!” at the side of the porch made the tech look over and his eyes go wide. Heavy footsteps clomped across the wood, then one behemoth of a man named Matt Vogel appeared just outside the doorway. Nora sucked her teeth.
“I think she’s trying to get out, Chad,” he said, smirking at the smaller man.
Chad seemed to break free of his hypnotic trance and mouthed “Oh,” before taking a couple of steps back to let Nora out. She gave Matt a wary look as she passed both men and proceeded to the end of the porch to jump off the same edge Matt had obviously snuck up on. When the two men stood frozen by the door she groaned and stabbed a finger in the direction of her roofline.
“Hel-lo, satellite guy!”
Matt gave Chad a nudge and he followed with his clipboard, nearly falling off the porch because he wasn’t aware enough to step down. Matt grabbed him by the back of the shirt just in time. “Hey, man. Watch it!” Chad looked down at his boots and found that his toes were hanging over the edge.
Nora put her hands on her hips and stared at the two men on her porch. “I heard Hollywood was rebooting The Keystone Cops, but you two are on the wrong coast for auditions,” she said, voice sotto.
“Sorry, he’s usually not this hapless,” Matt offered, easily lowering himself the three feet to the ground and joining Nora at the side of the house. Chad followed in his wake, dragging his feet like a shamed toddler.
“Not to sound rude, Mr. Vogel, but what can I do for you? It’s getting crowded in this yard.” Nora knew her voice bore a slight taint o’ bitch, but she was feeling a bit overwhelmed at having to divide her attention between the two goofballs. The blond goofball was staring at her brazenly and chewing his pen cap. The other was mirroring her standoffish posture and stood with his arms crossed over his barrel chest, smirking at her. She
glowered at him. She didn’t like feeling like the butt of a joke.
“Just wanted to talk. See if you’d given any more thought to what we talked about on Saturday.” He smiled for real then, showcasing his cavernous dimples again. Oh, boy, but did she have a thing for dimples and sideburns, and his were perfect. He’d shaved since his last visit. As a painter, she noticed those small things, or at least tried to. Nora didn’t have time to itemize the intricacies of the man’s face, especially not how the cleft over his upper lip acted as some sort of arrow drawing attention to his wide mouth and white teeth. She certainly didn’t notice the perfect chiseling of his jaw or the high forehead that so many cultures thought indicated intelligence. Of course she didn’t notice the eyes that were a shade of light green only found in nature in the first intrepid sprouts following the spring thaw.
She cleared her throat and straightened her posture. Focus, Nora. Don’t go there. “What part of ‘no’ did you think merited further discussion?” Her voice was nasty, but as she studied Matt’s friendly face, her own face began to soften. She could tell when she was being messed with. He was poking at her, but why?
“I thought maybe if I could show you how we hunt you might be more open to it. I’d love to take you hunting. The waiting around is actually kind of meditative.”
“Do I look like I need meditation?”
Matt just smiled.
Nora ignored him for the time being and moved on with the matter at hand, pointing to the roofline again. “Do not install it anywhere on this front half because I’m having some construction done.” She pointed a ways back. “Anywhere over the glassed-in porch is fine.”
“Got it,” Chad said, finally finding his voice again. “Let me go get some tools out of the truck.” He turned on his heel and started walking around the porch and then stopped by the stairs. “You want to give me a hand, Matt?”
“Nope.” The big man held his ground and slipped his gaze back toward Nora.
