by Unknown
“Painting is going really well. I’ve been working on a couple of pieces. When I’m painting time just flies by and before I know it, it’s one in the morning. I’m glad to have the time off from work to really focus on everything. But enough about painting and my stuff, are you ready for our trip to Florida? I know we are taking two trips this year, but shoot, it’s Miami!” I propped up on my knees in bed and pulled up the web browser on my laptop. It was still active on the page about skydiving in Florida.
“Girl, yes! You know I am more than ready to leave cold-ass Chicago even if it is just for a few days. It sounds like the perfect way to spend Veteran’s Day weekend. So what’s on the agenda because I know you have one?!” I looked down at the phone. Damn, can she see me? There was no way I was letting the cat out of the bag until the moment we all set foot in Miami, so instead, I lied. “Just some fun in the sun and relaxation with my girls and of course, we have to go hard for Angie’s birthday! I’ve already reserved a VIP spot for us at a club!” Lies! All lies! I hadn’t planned squat, except for going to the nude beach and skydiving.
“Well, that sounds cool! I haven’t had any experience with Miami nightlife so I’ll bring my hottest, sexiest duds so I can fit in with the Miami Tamales!” I laughed and she did too. My upcoming therapy sessions served as the perfect excuse for me to hurry off the phone with Feliz. The last thing I wanted to do was slip up and say anything that might clue her in.
“Ok, girl. I’ve gotta run before I’m late. I’ll talk to you soon.” I dropped the phone into my purse, grabbed my keys and was on my way.
*****
Once again I had faced a dreaded therapy session. This week was so much better. I assured myself. It felt good to be able to tell Dr. Stevenson about my progress and how well I was doing emotionally. I avoided telling her how hard I fought against Ms. Kitty and her impulses to jump the bones of Mike and Josh respectively. I was slowly beginning to find the answer to questions I’d been too afraid to ask before. Everything I’d done thus far was showing me just how different my life would have been if Emily were still alive. Though parts of it hurt me deeply and I was still struggling with the idea of letting her go, each day I found a new piece of myself and it surged new energy and life into me. I wanted to live. I wanted to live my life on my terms, in my own way and for the first time, I felt like I was really doing it.
Dr. Stevenson had actually seemed impressed with my growth and even said that weekly sessions would no longer be necessary and that we could meet biweekly from then on and intermittently if I felt the need. That was music to my ears. Therapy was hard, but I was glad that I was making enough progress to go it on my own for a while. There was so much that I had to look forward to; painting, traveling and even performing. I sighed deeply as I relished the idea of having more things to think about than medicine and patients. Up to now I’d always thought I loved my work. Recent events had me thinking otherwise. I loved being in control. I loved being the boss and the job I did come naturally to me, because I was a perfectionist and driven by success. That had all worked in my favor for years, but today I wanted more. I wanted to be thrilled with my life and all it had to offer. I wanted to be elated to do what I did each day, even if I wasn’t the most successful person in my field. I wanted to be happy.
When I got home from my session, I went straight upstairs and put on my painting clothes. I had reserved a pair of sweats I’d had since college and an oversized t-shirt as my “work clothes” when I was painting. They were loose, allowed me the freedom to move and were well-worn and cozy against my skin. As always, I turned on the record player and today Miles Davis was my muse of choice. I was still putting the finishing touched on the blue jay, but hoped to finish in time to start a piece I had planned in my mind called “Sunset Through My Window.” In order for me to start I needed to time things just right so that I could see the sunset that matched the image in my mind. Truthfully, I could begin without it. A photographic memory afforded me that luxury and had been my saving grace in Statistics in undergrad. It was like once I committed something to memory it was etched in my DNA and forever a part of my carnal fabric. I could recall things vividly from my childhood and could sketch them perfectly if I ever had the notion, but when it came to art, even though I could remember the images, I always wanted to see them live before I began painting.
Two hours passed and as I placed the finishing touches on my blue jay, the sky faded from blue to a muted yellow hue. It still wasn’t the color I was waiting for, but I started prepping my next canvas and washed out my brushes. When I returned to the bedroom from the guest bath, the sky had graduated from yellow to a perfect shade of pale pink that showed the promise of progression into a deeper shade on the horizon. There were already hints of red and orange surrounding a brilliant evening sun and I scanned every surrounding detail of treetops and rooftops against the sky’s backdrop. I watched as the street light on the corner began to glow with a dim hint of orange, as it buzzed to life before staring at the sun until the threat of blindness stung my eyes. I forced myself to break my gaze and blinked away the bright spots until my vision returned. I closed my eyes for a moment and committed it all to memory before I took a cleansing breath and propped myself up on the stool in front of the canvas. My muse Miles worked his magic and as he gave color and definition to his melodies, I matched him with each stroke of my paintbrush. I hummed along to the tunes as they played and let the music sweep me away. My hands played freely across the canvas with vibrant bursts of red, yellow, pink and orange.
When I finally broke away from staring at the painting, I found the sky blackened with night and speckled with stars. I reached for my phone to check the time and of course, I had again been painting into the early morning. I pulled myself away from the piece and took a quick shower before throwing on my fleece bottoms and a tank top. I’d gotten used to my bed being empty and sprawled across the California king, tucked a pillow beneath my head before forcing myself to sleep. There was only a week of training left before our 10K run and I wanted to be ready. Angie had agreed to fly down a day early with me to Orlando for the run and ride down to Miami afterward. I was fully sponsoring the trip as gift/bribe to my friends. For all the money I’m paying, I’d better damn well finish the race! It was my final admonishment before the peace of sleep shrouded me.
*****
On Friday, after returning to bed from my BGR stint, I got up and went to check out a venue Feliz had mentioned might work for my showcase. It turned out to be larger than what I thought I would need so I thanked the owner for his time and left to ride over to the address Mike had given me to meet him about our collaboration on the show.
To my surprise, I pulled up to a beautiful brick home. On the porch was Mike sitting on a white wooden porch-swing tussling with a little boy. Oh no! If I’d known, his son would be here, I would have brought him something! I made a mental note to give Mike a piece of my mind about springing Adrian on me like this!
“Hey Erin,” Mike said as he stepped down the concrete stairs toward me. “Come here Adrian. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” The most handsome boy with the biggest, brightest brown eyes walked toward me with his hand extended.
“Hi, my name is Adrian Larza. Nice to meet you.” I grabbed his tiny hand and gave it a shake.
“It’s nice to meet you too Adrian. My name is Erin.” I felt my cheeks plump from how hard I was smiling. As I looked down at him, I felt the familiarity of his gaze. He definitely has his father’s eyes.
“Come on in Erin. Adrian, pick up the toys off the porch and bring them inside. Make sure you put them inside the toy chest.” It felt weird to look at Mike as a father. At the same time, I found it endearing. He exhibited firm affection for his son and I could tell he wanted to teach him what was right without codling him. I was seeing a completely different side of Mike and I liked it.
I followed him into the house and was pleasantly surprised to find the décor to be stylish, though minimal. The f
irst thing I noticed was the upright cherry wood piano pushed against the far wall from the front room’s entrance. The space looked like what I would have made a formal living room, but it appeared to be Mike’s music room. As I scanned the room further, I noticed in addition to the piano he had both an electric and acoustic guitar as well as a bongo sitting off in a corner. There was also a large rust-colored couch coupled with a brown leather lounge chair and matching ottoman. The room was very… masculine. In the room to my left, there was an antique cherry wood dining room table with matching china cabinet and credenza.
“Most of this furniture was my grandmother’s, but the guitars and bongos are mine” Mike smiled warmly as he observed my surveillance of his space. “Come on into the kitchen. I’ll make us some coffee and we can get down to the business of making you a star!”
“Well, I don’t know about the star part, but coffee sounds nice.” I followed him down the hall, past a staircase and into the kitchen. It was decorated with lime, yellow and tan colors. There was a wooden bowl filled with lemons on the counter and a larger wooden bowl of green apples centered on the solid oak kitchen table. The fragrance of both filled the room giving it a fresh, light scent. This man has bowls filled with real fruit in his kitchen. Impressive. I thought to myself. Although I couldn’t imagine what he did with all those lemons. The windows were draped in curtains that complimented the matching kitchen rugs and dish towels. This was the first moment I considered whether Mike had a girlfriend because the kitchen clearly had a woman’s touch. As though reading my thoughts Mike said, “My sister Ebony helped me decorate. By the way, I have a sister named Ebony and a brother named Aaron. I am the oldest but my sister thinks she’s the boss.” Mike curled his mouth into an affectionate grin as he thought of his sister. “Do you like the table? I actually made it myself.”
My thoughts breezed right past the table comment and zoned in on the first part of his statement. “I thought you said you were an only child?” I was bracing myself for an elaborate tale that would backpedal him out of me catching him in what I immediately thought was a lie.
“Well, on my mother’s side, I’m the only child but my father had other children when they divorced. They’re all my family even though they are technically my ‘half brother and sister.’ I guess it’s safe to assume you don’t like the table then, huh?”
I had already averted my gaze to the bowl of apples on the table once he dispelled my feelings of doubt and replaced them with guilt as he explained about his siblings. I really need to stop expecting the worst from people. Mike has proven to be pretty genuine so far. I glanced over in Mike’s direction and caught him running his tongue across his lip thoughtfully. Instantly my emotions shifted again from guilt to desire as I redirected my gaze and focused intently on the patterns engrained in the wood.
“Helloooo? Erin?” Mike tilted his head enough to put his face into my field of view.
“Oh, the table is very nice Mike. You made this yourself? Impressive!” Mike’s expression showed he knew my haphazard answer wasn’t what was milling around in my head. Truthfully, I’d dismissed thoughts of anything but the table. Sturdy. I thought.
“So, do you want the grand tour first or should we just get to it?” I stood there watching his mouth move as I thought about his proposition. I’d love to “get to it” right here on this handmade table. That thought quickly evolved into images of Mike scooping me up and carrying me up the wooden staircase in the hall to his bedroom. Images flashed of him taking me in his bed in his home. In my mind, we christened every inch of the space until it was filled with the scent of our sex and remnant body heat. We could recreate every scene of our Vegas encounter from the shower to the desk. I bit my lip intently as I ran my hand across the smooth lacquer of the wooden tabletop. This would be a great place to start.
“So did you want a tour or…” Mike’s voice trailed off and his silence gripped my attention as I looked over to see why he’d stopped talking. His expression said it all and I knew he’d caught me living out the fantasy in my mind as he focused intently on my bottom lip that was still tucked behind my teeth. There was a huge part of me that wanted him to call me out and then make every vivid image a reality, but despite the fact that I’d worked myself into quite a lather, I managed to maintain a measure of professionalism.
“We can go ahead and get to work on the show. Maybe you can show me the house later.” Heaven help me!
I’d actually been thankful when I heard little feet come trotting down the stairs. Mike and I sat down at the kitchen table and got to work while Adrian ran toy cars around the kitchen floor. I watched nervously as Mike flipped through my notebook. I stuffed down the feelings of vulnerability and exposure as I watched him scan my work. His face showed no traces of approval or disdain so I couldn’t get a read on what he was thinking. When he’d skimmed every page, he flipped back to a poem I’d written titled When Love Calls. Of course, he would pick my most heartfelt, soul-baring piece. I winced. I let out an exasperated huff. I brought the book over so I’ll have to suck it up. I cajoled.
“This one is really powerful Erin. If you’re comfortable, I’d love to do something with it.”
I nodded reluctantly. “Well, let’s see what you have in mind.”
Upon my approval, Mike pushed his chair back from the table and strode away toward the front room with my notebook in hand. I jumped up to follow him and glanced back briefly at Adrian who was still intently racing cars back and forth across the kitchen floor.
When I stepped into the music room, Mike was seated at the piano, pecking out a melody as he recited the words of my poem. I couldn’t believe he’d captured the essence of the emotions intended in my words in such a short time. The song he was composing was a ballad and as I watched him create, I was both awed and aroused. His fingers danced skillfully across the ivory and black keys as he embellished single notes into chords that ebbed and flowed with the emotion and intensity he put behind them. I watched Mike rock from side-to-side, eyes closed as he parted his lips and began to sing the melody he’d written. I’d never really heard him sing before, at least not stripped down without his band and other instruments. He had immersed himself in the music and I couldn’t help but join him. I began singing the harmony to his chorus and our voices matched perfectly. As he went on to put a tune with the second verse, I ad-libbed between his vocals. At the climax of the song, I watched as Mike closed his eyes again tightly and belted out high tenor notes in conjunction with perfect piano chord progressions to match his passion. I closed my eyes and sang out in full voice and wrapped his tone with my harmony. I could feel the low hum as our voices resonated throughout the room. As the song ended, Mike stood up from the piano and grabbed me by my shoulders. “That was phenomenal! Erin, your voice! You have no idea. I don’t know what to say! Do you have any idea how talented you are?!” His eyes darted wildly as he searched mine for some hint of understanding. I couldn’t reply because I was frozen in place, weighted by insurmountable emotions that covered me, like a metal blanket. I was overcome and before the tears that brimmed in my eyes could fall, Mike leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. Instinctively I kissed him back, parting my lips for his awaiting tongue. Instantly I felt the weight being lifted as he kissed me slow and deep. Now I was floating. Effervescing like a million tiny bubbles. I grew limp in his arms and felt him grasp me tightly around my waist as he pressed his body against mine. I could feel the dim embers below becoming a raging inferno as the tingling ache grew in my middle. I wanted to command Mike to put out the fire he had ignited, but a small voice doused the flame before it could set my body ablaze.
“Daddy can I have pizza?”
Neither of us were sure how long Adrian had been standing there, but we were certain it had been divine intervention that kept us from being engaged in something completely risqué when he’d walked in. We straightened our posture and Mike stepped away from me after giving my shoulders a firm squeeze. It was his way of telling me I�
�d gotten lucky to receive a way of escape from my impending sexual demise. Shit, he’s the lucky one. I smirked to myself and shot him a glance. Mike nodded as if to say, “We’ll see.” Then turned his attention to Adrian.
“Sure thing Little Man. Daddy will fix you a pizza right now. Go on upstairs and I’ll call you when it’s done.” Mike walked out of the music room and into the kitchen. I didn’t move to follow him. I’d better stay here for the sake of all of us. I heard Mike shuffling around in the kitchen and seized the opportunity to pack up my things.
“Hey Mike, I’d better get going. This was really good. I love what you did with the poem. Well, I guess it’s technically lyrics now. Either way, you made it beautiful.”
I heard the oven close and Mike’s boots making their way up the hallway. “You made it beautiful Erin. I just put your beauty to music. By the way,” he said as he approached me and his voice softened. “I just have to tell you that you are fucking sexy when you sing. I’m not sure I can promise to behave if we have another session like the one we had today. It’s a good thing I’ll be gone a while. Otherwise, you’d be in serious trouble.” Again he was pressed up against me and now I was pinned between him and the wall. This time Mike kissed me deep and hungrily and I closed my eyes as my tongue matched the motion of his. His hands were at my waist and a soft pant wisped from my lips as mounting desire look my breath away. Slowly Mike slipped his fingers beneath the fabric of my thin cashmere sweater and made his way up from my waist to the cusp of my breast. He gently squeezed the lacy cup between his fingers and grazed the perky nipple that begged for release against the fabric. “Damn I have missed your body,” he breathed into my ear as he nibbled at the nape of my neck. His words were incomprehensible. All I could hear was the pounding of my heart and alternating shallow breaths. The sounds had created a rhythm and as much as I wanted to feel Mike within me, grinding in matched, syncopated strokes, I reluctantly pushed him away.
