by Gina Watson
When she finished her ablutions she went to find Gabe, hoping she could talk him into going to breakfast at her favorite greasy spoon. She could use a short stack of pancakes right about now. In mockery her stomach panged loudly and she caressed the empty organ with her hand, blushing at its assertiveness.
“Gabe?”
She checked the kitchen, living room, and bathroom, but couldn’t find him. Finally, she walked into his room, noticing immediately that the bed had been made and the clothing usually piled in the corner chair was gone. She skidded to the front door and opened it to reveal that his truck was no longer parked in the drive.
Frowning, Mirabelle picked her cell phone up from the kitchen counter and searched his name, tapping when she located his image. Her call was sent to a voice mailbox that hadn’t been setup. She opted for a text:
Where R U?
An hour later the message still had not been read.
Two hours later the unread message stared at her in mockery. She threw the phone across the room, hearing it shatter against the brick hearth in the living room. Her head went down on her arms at the kitchen counter and she cried.
Four hours later she reached for a shot of whiskey. Once she had a significant amount of alcohol running through her veins she carried the remains of the bottle with her to his bedroom, unable to even consider sleeping in her own bed after what they’d shared. Tired, she climbed on the bed and rested her head. She’d take a nap and maybe when she woke he’d be back. The last thing she saw before her eyes closed was the empty corner chair. He wasn’t coming back.
Chapter Ten
Gabe sat back and admired the finished product that had consumed all thought for the last eight days.
“It is finished,” he said as he used a fine-tipped brush to apply his signature to the corner of the last canvas in the lineup. He’d managed to complete seven works of art. His muse stared back at him.
“Mirabelle.” Shit, he missed her. Needed her. He’d said it before: being an artist was a lonely business. He couldn’t wait to show her what he’d created all because of the spark of inspiration that she created in him.
He grabbed his keys and jacket, and then caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror that hung above the entryway table. His hand reached up to scrub his face and a scruffy, unkempt beard. He realized he’d been isolated in his New Orleans studio for eight days. His stomach growled at him, giving credence to his drawn, gaunt face. When had he last eaten? He couldn’t recall. His greasy hair and skin confirmed his lack of hygiene for the past eight days. He smelled his armpits, grimacing. He headed straight for the bathroom.
He turned the shower faucet on and while he waited for it to get hot he shaved his face. When inspiration hit, his body shut down. He became consumed by the images in his mind. All sensory information focused on the lines and color of those images. Things like hunger, thirst, pain, longing had no place to manifest. As such, he lost all track of time and circumstance.
He brushed his teeth and then stood under the scalding rainfall shower for a good twenty minutes. After his shower he donned fresh clothes and felt marginally better. What he really needed was the blonde beauty he’d left back in Baton Rouge and a greasy meal of steak and eggs from their favorite greasy spoon.
He piled into his SUV and drove nonstop until he reached her driveway. He walked up to the door and decided that since he’d been gone for eight days he should knock. When Mirabelle didn’t answer, he let himself in. He walked to the kitchen where she kept a calendar pinned to the wall. She religiously updated the calendar and he knew it was his best hope for isolating her whereabouts. He was disappointed to find today’s date blank.
He walked through the house and out to the fenced backyard. The yard hadn’t been mowed and badly needed a cut. Now that he thought about it, the front yard had been high as well. It struck him as odd because he knew how much she enjoyed yard work.
Back inside he walked to her bedroom. The bed was unmade and on the nightstand was an open pill bottle, and next to it an empty bottle of bourbon. He frowned and picked up the pill bottle: Xanax. As he stood in her bedroom faced with vices that he’d not seen her use before he wondered what had changed in the eight days since he’d been gone. He became instantly worried and pulled his phone from the pocket of his jeans. He’d called and texted several times already but he still hadn’t heard from her. He texted again:
Please call me. Need to know you’re ok.
He brought Max’s contact up and put a call through to him. It went straight to voicemail. “Shit!” Max had been MIA for a while now.
Gabe locked up the quaint home, and then drove to Max’s place. He had no idea if Max would be there but he needed answers. As he drove his stomach made it known that it was in desperate need of sustenance. He didn’t care. He’d starve. It was more important that he find Mirabelle.
Pulling into the long drive at Max’s, confusion hit. The images of construction workers, yard workers, nuns, and children didn’t make sense.
“What the hell?”
Gabe exited his SUV and walked past the fountain that graced the circular drive. Children used nets to fish colored balls from the water.
“Excuse me,” Gabe cleared his throat and the kids turned. “I’m looking for Max.”
One of the older children spoke up first, “Headmaster David is not home.”
Headmaster? “Where is he?”
“Court.”
Two younger children pulled the informant into the water, severing Gabe’s link to information.
Gabe walked through the large home considering the facts: Max was at court and a herd of children and nuns had moved into his house. Gabe stood on the threshold that led from the house to the backyard. Children slid into the pool using the attached slide and splashed water over the sides. He walked outside and over to a nun who seemed to be in charge of the children.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for Max.”
She shook her head. “I haven’t seen him.” She looked out across the yard and proceeded to holler at some misbehaving children. Just then Gabe caught Zach fussing at a young boy. “Now listen here, you’re not to be in the pool house. This equipment is worth more than you are.” He pushed the child out and closed the door.
Gabe walked with purpose to the pool house. He twisted the doorknob in his grip but it had been locked no doubt to keep out the barrage of children that had taken over the stately home. Gabe knocked.
“Get lost! I need you to leave this—”
“Zach, what the hell is going on?”
Zach opened the door wide, permitting Gabe’s entrance. “It’s bedlam. Max has gone mad.”
Looking around, Gabriel could see that Zach was in the process of breaking down his film equipment. “You’re finally moving out.”
“He hasn’t left me much of a choice.”
“I don’t know why you don’t buy your own place.”
Zach shook his head and scoffed. “Too much responsibility. Plus, I don’t want the ladies to have a place to kick off their stilettos, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I think I can crack that code.” Gabe held one end of a boom while Zach used a wrench to break the contraption into manageable parts. “Where’s Max?”
“He’s in court.”
“What for?”
Zach carefully laid a heavy metal pole across the couch. “He’s attempting to adopt a kindergartener.”
“Seriously?”
Zach sighed. “Yeah, dude. He’s insane.”
“That’s kind of cool.” Gabe nodded, impressed with his older brother’s current happenings. “So what’s the deal with the nuns and the kids running around?”
“You’re standing on sacred ground, brother. This has become the new site of Dopheine Orphanage and School.”
“No shit.”
“Hey, I can’t make this stuff up.” Zach held his hands out to his sides demonstrating just how insane he thought the situation to be.
There w
as a knock at the pool house door and Gabe turned to open it just as Zach uttered an expletive.
“Well hello Gabriel, I’ve sure missed seeing you at mass.”
“Sister Timber.” Gabe nodded. “Good to see you.”
“Little Thomas here is in need of a restroom and I don’t want to drag him through the house because he’s sopping wet.”
“Please, come in.” Gabe stepped aside, permitting them passage. When Thomas looked up at him with big blinking dark eyes, Gabe pointed to the bathroom door.
While Thomas availed himself of the facilities Sister Timber gushed about Max’s generous nature. That was news to Gabe, but he guessed Cara had a lot to do with Max’s new attitude.
“We were so relieved when Headmaster David opened his home to our children and staff and took the position we offered.” Sister Timber was ancient and had taught all of the David boys’ Sunday School classes. She cast her knowing glance from Gabe to Zach. “Sure would like to see you boys back in church.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Thomas emerged at just the right moment. While Gabriel had fond memories of his time at Catholic school, he really didn’t need a lecture from Sister Timber.
“Look what I found in the bathroom. It’s a bunny rabbit!” Thomas held up a sparkling pink dildo as thick as the hind leg of a bear cub.
“Christ,” Zach spat.
Buzzing filled the room. “Cool, it’s alive.”
“I’ll take that.” Zach’s hand closed around the vibrator, effectively dislodging it from the boy’s grip.
Sister Timber grasped the boy’s shoulders. “Let’s go, Thomas.” She’d crossed the threshold and then glanced back, “Sunday, church. I want to see both of you there.”
“Yes, Sister Timber,” they replied.
Zach exhaled, exasperatedly. “I need to use your New Orleans studio.”
“That’s fine.” Gabe chewed the inside of his lip. “Have you seen Cara or have you heard anything about Mirabelle?”
“No to both. Why?”
Gabe sat on the couch. “I’ve spent the last eight days completing the white horse exhibit. The two weeks before that I spent every waking moment with Mirabelle.”
“You spent two weeks with her?”
“At her house. We connected. Then I had to take off to paint the exhibit and haven’t heard from her since. I went to her house before coming here and she wasn’t there.”
“Did you check at The Loin of Venus?”
“No.” Why would he?
“I’m sure she’s just at work.”
“At eleven o’clock on a Wednesday?”
“That’s what time the place opens. They serve a lunch buffet.”
“They do? Doesn’t that violate the health code?”
“That’s why it’s buffet style…you serve yourself.” Zach held his hand to his stomach. I could go for some grub and a lap dance if you’d like to go take a look.”
As soon as he received the club information from Zach he was out the door. Zach followed behind. Gabe made short work of the drive over, haphazardly speeding the entire way. He parked the SUV and they walked toward the red door of the lounge. The place was packed. A lunch buffet. Gabe chuckled under his breath, but walked toward the buffet and grabbed a plate, filling it with chicken fettuccini and lasagna. His stomach growled in anticipation as he walked to find an empty table. He spotted Zach down in front next to the stage and surrounded by a bevy of women. The charmer—it happened wherever they went.
Gabe placed his plate on the table and pulled out a chair.
“Ladies, meet my brother Gabe. He’s looking for Mirabelle. Is she working the lunch shift?”
“You!”
A woman with long red hair and big brown eyes scowled at him as if he were Satan in the flesh.
“You broke her!”
“Do you know where she is?”
“Of course I do, she’s my best friend. I’ll never let you near her.”
“What are you talking about?”
The woman turned to walk away, but Gabe stood and grabbed her elbow. She made a big jerking move and pulled from his grip. “Wait, please. I need to see her.”
“You don’t deserve to breathe the same air.”
“I wholeheartedly agree.”
She pressed her lips together and glared at him.
“I know why I hate myself, but why do you hate me?”
She placed a hand on her waist. “Seriously, you can’t figure it out?”
“I’m sorry, no.”
“Fucking men!” She shot a disgusted look across the stage. “You left her after you claimed to be exclusive. She thought you were going to be there for a while.”
“I am. I want to be.”
She looked confused. “But you left her.”
“I didn’t leave her.”
“You want to explain why she thinks you did?”
“I don’t know. I only left so I could finish painting my exhibit.”
“I see.” She scratched her neck with purple glitter fingernails. “If you’re not going to make her the most important aspect of your life, you don’t deserve her. She’s never been anybody’s top priority.”
“But she is my top priority.” He leaned in and grabbed her elbow…anything to make her understand.
A large man came over, but she held her hand up to him. “It’s okay, Bubba.” She turned her attention to Gabe, “You left her without another thought.”
He shook his head. “No, she was right smack dab in the middle of my thoughts.”
“Excuse me, may I interject something?” Zach inserted himself between the arguing duo. “My brother is a complete idiot. He’s an artist.” Zach pointed to his own head and simultaneously rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue. “Totally fucked. When he gets an idea, it’s the only thing he can process. Everything else—everyone else—is toast. It’s especially dangerous when he’s driving. You don’t want to be next to him when inspiration hits.”
Zach worked his magic and soon he had Julie giggling like a Catholic schoolgirl at her first coed dance.
“So as you can see”—Zach squeezed Gabe’s shoulder—“he’s a right crazy bastard.”
“Yeah well, she’s pretty broken up.”
“How about you give me your phone number? Gabe and I are going to work on something that could potentially turn this thing around. When it’s ready, I’ll give you a call.”
“Sounds…interesting.” She smiled at him and pulled a pen from her cleavage. She wrote her number on his forearm.
“Great.” Zach flashed his perfect smile. “And you won’t mention any of this to Mirabelle?”
“No, of course not.”
“All right. I guess you better get back to work then.”
Julie leaned in and whispered something Gabe couldn’t hear in Zach’s ear.
When she turned to walk away Zach said, “Dude, you fuuuuuucked up.”
“I didn’t do anything.” Gabe shrugged, at a loss for understanding what had just happened.
“You took off on her.” They talked as they walked toward the club exit.
“I was coming back.”
“How was she supposed to know that? Did you tell her?”
“Maybe this tidbit will help put it into perspective for you—her own father and Cara’s father both walked out on her.”
“Left her?”
“That’s what Julie was telling me. When Belle was five, her father left. When Cara was five, her father left.”
Gabe’s face stung like he was being sandblasted with nails. “Did they ever come back?”
“No.”
“What can I do? There’s got to be something I can do,” Gabe pleaded.
At the SUV, Gabe pressed a button on the key fob to unlock the door.
“Define your relationship status.”
Gabe positioned himself behind the steering wheel. “There was no status. There was just this intensity that couldn’t be denied. We couldn’t be apart.”<
br />
Zach buckled his seatbelt “Dude. Did you use the L word?”
“The L word. I’ve never used the L word with anyone.” Gabe drove toward Max’s place.
“Did you communicate it in any other way?
“I don’t know what you’re asking. We were together. We enjoyed one another. We laughed and talked and fucked and I was hoping we would be together for the foreseeable future.”
“Is that what she felt too?
“Yes, I know for a fact it is. There’s no denying her affection for me. For us.”
“Well, damn.” Zach stared out of his window.
“How do I fix this?”
“Hmm, well you royally fucked up.”
“Will you stop saying that?”
“So you finished the white horse?”
“Yeah. Inspiration hit and I took off. I got one of those three-day migraines. My mind wasn’t my own. I thought she was right next to me. I mean, I was painting her every curve, her every freckle, her every cell.”
“That’s poignant, but you still fucked up. You needed to tell her where you were off to. Maybe invite her to go away with you. Women are funny—if you leave them without word they tend to think the worst.
“Really?”
Zach shrugged. “I think so.”
Gabe scrubbed his face with one hand. “I can’t believe I’m even listening to you. What do you even know about women?”
“I make porn. I know what women like.”
“Porn is for men.”
“You’re so fucking clueless.”
“Whatever.” Gabe slammed his fist into the steering wheel. “It never occurred to me to have her at the studio. I can get neglectful in that space.”
“You don’t have to tell me, I’ve smelled you during one of your artful benders.”
“I don’t think it’s any place for a woman. I wouldn’t be able to focus on her needs. Only mine.”
“You’re wrong. A good woman can always help. Take Ironman—Pepper Potts never disturbs his genius, but she does take care of his physical needs while he labors away underground.”
