"Excited? About?"
Her cheeks flush. "It's nothing, really."
"Tell me."
"Well, you know how we've been rehearsing for our big spring performances? Well, the seniors also have the chance to put on their own show, and I got chosen. I get to choreograph a dance for the production!" She smiles sheepishly, trying to contain her excitement. "I mean, it's not that big of a deal, not really… not nearly as big of a deal as the real performances…"
"It's great," I say, reaching over and cupping her chin when she ducks her head shyly. Her smile is radiant, tempting me toward her lips, but I don't make a move to kiss her, even though I really fucking want to. "I remember what it felt like whenever I saw my work on display. It's different. It's original. It's a piece of you out in the world for everyone to see. It's… great."
Man, I miss those days… it doesn't happen anymore. Hell, I can't even remember the last time it did. Everyone knows exactly what they want from me now. It takes an implicit trust to let someone permanently mark you, but there isn't enough trust in the world to let that someone dictate the art, too.
So to be given that kind of opportunity, to be entrusted with complete control of your passion?
Yeah, I understand… and it is a big deal.
"Thank you," she whispers, reaching out and grasping my arm.
I slowly pull away from her, letting go of her chin, her hand slipping from my skin. "I should get going."
"Oh, yeah, of course." She looks away, biting down on her bottom lip as she picks up her drink. "Have a good weekend. I guess I'll see you next week."
Nodding, I turn to leave, but hesitate after a few steps and glance back. "Aphrodite?"
She cuts her eyes at me, half-amused, half-confused, that I still call her that name. "Huh?"
"You busy tomorrow?"
"Uh, no," she says, shaking her head. "We have no rehearsals this weekend."
"I'm taking Little Miss to the natural history museum in the morning," I say. "We'll probably leave around ten o'clock. So if you have nothing else to do, you know…"
Avery stares at me, her mouth open but no words come out. I've rendered her speechless. Nice. I don't stick around for a response. I give her a small smile, nodding my goodbye again, before walking out of the bar.
It takes me about twenty minutes to get to Lexie. I inhale deeply as I jog up the stone steps leading to the front door of the upscale brownstone in the Upper Westside. I knock before shoving my hands in my pockets and rocking on my heels, anxiously waiting.
It's like being on a roller coaster, these moments, knowing nothing bad will happen to you, but still not being able to steady your heartbeat every time you climb that first hill. I can hear the footsteps in the house, the methodic clicking of high heels toward the door, each one setting me further on edge.
I hate this shit… hate these moments. They lead to the best times of my life, my days with Lexie, but the lead-up is a bitch.
Literally.
The locks clang, the door tugging open, the blonde woman appearing in the doorway. I stare down at her blood-red high heels before my gaze shifts to meet her icy-blue eyes… eyes that never hold an ounce of warmth for me. "Rebecca."
"Rhys." Her voice is stony. "You're late."
"Only about ten minutes."
"You didn't call," she says. "Thought you weren't coming."
"Well, I'm here."
Those judgmental eyes scan me with disapproval. Rebecca lets out a deep sigh, her nose scrunching with disgust, before she turns away. "Alexis! Your father decided to show up, after all."
I hate how she words shit, like there's actually a chance in hell I won't come when I'm supposed to. In five years, I've never once missed a visit I've been granted… never. Neither rain, nor hail, nor blizzard, nor plague, nor bitch with a grudge will keep me from my little miss, regardless of how Rebecca feels about it.
I try not to hold it against the woman. After all, the man I've turned out to be is a far cry from the brilliant artist she screwed at a party back at Columbia. We're practically strangers, and that's the point. She doesn't fucking know me… she's never tried to get to know who I really am. She sees the tattered cover of the book she thought was a classic and never asks what the real story is about.
She fought hard to keep me away, blew tens of thousands of dollars on the best lawyers to fight her case, but I'm not easy to get rid of, and she hates that. She hates that her perfect little life is interrupted by someone like me.
Little feet scamper through the house as Lexie runs straight for the door. She doesn't pause, doesn't hesitate, merely slipping right past her mother. I crouch down, holding my arms open, as she launches herself right at me. "Daddy!"
"Hey, Little Miss."
Rebecca snatches up a little pink backpack and holds it out to me. "I packed her some toys, you know, so she has something to do."
I take it, even as I shake my head. "She has plenty to do at my place."
"I'm sure." Rebecca's bitter voice negates her words. "You prove that every time you bring her back home with her skin all drawn on, telling stories about those troublemakers at that shop of yours. That's—"
"No place for a kid," I say, cutting her off. "Got it."
I hear the argument over and over again.
"You ready?" I ask, looking at Lexie. "Let's get out of here."
Lexie barely gives her mother a glance as she drags me down the steps. I clutch her hand, swinging her pink backpack onto my shoulder, as the two of us stroll down the sidewalk.
"You were late, Daddy," Lexie says.
"I know," I say. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay." She shrugs. "Mommy said you got at the shop and would stay there all night."
"Sounds like your mother."
"She said that's all you ever do."
"Sounds like your mother again."
"She said you didn't wanna leave your friends for me."
I abruptly stop walking, tugging her hand to make her halt at the sound of that bullshit. "You know that's not true, right? Nobody's more important to me than you, Lexie. Nobody."
"I know, Daddy," she says. "But Mommy says—"
"I know what your mother says," I reply. I know it all, have heard it all, and none of it is pleasant. "But what does Daddy say? Huh? What did I tell you about people's opinions?"
"Not to listen to what they say and to form my own 'pinions."
"Except for…?"
"'Cept for strangers with candy, and the weatherman on TV, and police that won't show you their badges, and people who don't like music, 'cause we can't trust those people."
I laugh. "You forgot boys who want to date you. You should always trust your daddy's opinion on them."
I stand in front of the sink in the kitchen, scrubbing syrup off our plates from breakfast. Near me, just out in the hall, Lexie lays on her stomach on the floor, playing with a bucket of old toys—little dinosaurs, plastic army men, and hot wheels are spread out as she acts out her own little version of Jurassic Park. Her backpack lays discarded somewhere in the living room, the Barbie dolls inside of it untouched.
I watch her as I clean up. I've just finished and am drying my hands with a towel when there's a timid knock. Sighing, I walk out of the kitchen, stepping over my daughter and being sure not to knock over any of her toys as I head for the apartment door. I glance through the peep hole, seeing Avery standing out in the hall.
I'll be damned… she actually came.
"Lexie, you know how I said we'd go to the museum today?"
She glances up, pausing what she's doing. "Yeah."
"Well, Daddy invited a friend to go along with us."
Lexie's eyes narrow, her fist tightly clutching the metal car in her hand. For a second, I almost think she's going to throw it at me.
"So I need you to be a good girl, okay? Can you do that for me?"
Lexie says nothing, turning back to her toys and picking up right where she left off playing.
Avery k
nocks again. Sighing, I open the door, startling her mid-knock, her fist still raised. She drops it quickly, smiling. "Hey."
"Hey," I say, motioning past me. "Come on in."
She steps inside, her eyes nervously darting around the apartment, her gaze settling on Lexie in the hallway.
"Lexie, you remember Avery?"
Lexie regards Avery carefully, nodding, before her eyes suspiciously seek me out. I've never brought a woman home like this before, have never invited them on outings with the two of us. I don't blame her for being skeptical. Hell, I'm just as surprised by it all.
Avery slowly approaches her. "Hey there."
Lexie clenches her fist around the car again. I tense. Oh, fuck, please don't throw it at her.
It takes a moment for Lexie to respond, finally letting go of the toy. Her voice is timid, more reserved than I've ever heard from my little spitfire before. "Hi."
Avery crouches down in front of her and glances around. "What are you doing?"
"Playing," Lexie replies, holding up an orange dinosaur. "The people are trying to go home but the dinosaurs keep eating everyone in all the cars."
"Oh no!" Avery gasps with mock horror. "What are they gonna do?"
A hint of a smile touches Lexie's lips before forcing itself into an unstoppable full-blown grin. "It's okay, though, because the army will stop them!"
"Whew." Avery relaxes. "You had me scared there for a minute."
Lexie giggles. "You don't have to be scared. They won't eat us, 'cause my daddy won't let them. Right, Daddy?"
"Right," I say. "You can count on me."
"Well," Avery says, reaching over and picking up one of the green toy soldiers. "Good thing he's around then, huh?"
Chuckling, I stroll past them, reaching down and ruffling Lexie's hair as I navigate the maze of toys. "I'll get ready and we'll head out."
"Hurry up," Lexie says, smacking my hand away. "I've been ready all day!"
"Yeah," Avery says playfully. "Hurry it up, slow poke."
Despite their orders, I take my time, leaving the bedroom door cracked open so I can listen to the two of them in the hallway, letting Lexie get accustomed to Avery's presence before we venture out in public anywhere. Twenty minutes later, I'm slipping on my shoes and finally rejoining them.
"You brush your teeth, Little Miss?"
"Yes."
"And your hair?"
"Yes."
"I can't tell it."
Lexie rolls her eyes as I grab a brush and take a seat on the couch, waving her over to me. I run the brush through her hair, sloppily pulling it back. Avery stands just inside the living room, eyeing us warily. "What are you doing to her head?"
"Fixing her hair."
"It looks like you're torturing the kid."
Before I can come back with anything, Avery takes over, sitting down beside me and pulling Lexie between her legs. Lexie doesn't resist, standing still as Avery runs her fingers through the messy locks. "What do you like? Ponytail? Pigtails? Bun? French braid?"
"You can braid?" Lexie asks, excited. "Daddy can't braid."
"Not surprised," Avery jokes as she starts braiding. "Look at his hair."
I instinctively run my hand through my hair. "What's wrong with it?"
Lexie giggles. "It looks all crazy!"
Avery swiftly whips up a French braid, securing the end of it with a black hair tie. "There you go."
Lexie immediately runs off, stumbling over her discarded toys as she scampers to the bathroom to look in the mirror. I grab my Yankees hat and put it on before picking up my keys. I glance over at Avery as she watches me, offering her a small smile in thanks as Lexie runs back out of the bathroom. "Let's go… let's go… let's go!"
"We're going," I say, motioning toward the door. "Ladies first."
I have been to the American Museum of Natural History so many times the employees recognize us and greet Lexie by name when we arrive. As soon as we're inside, we bypass nearly everything and head straight up to the fourth floor.
Dinosaurs.
I stroll along behind, letting Lexie take the lead and drag Avery with her straight toward the orientation hall.
We take seats in the very front of the theater, and Lexie quotes along with the video, knowing every word. Despite having seen it over and over again, she looks just as captivated as she had the first time, her eyes wide. Avery looks just as enthralled, while I can't keep my eyes off the two of them.
Fascinating.
We spend most of the morning exploring the fossil halls, repeatedly visiting the same ones, as Lexie rambles on and on, spewing facts and telling Avery everything she has ever heard about dinosaurs before.
Do you know dinosaur means terrible lizard?
Do you know the Stegosaurus had a brain the size of a walnut?
Do you know the Velociraptor was the size of a turkey?
Gobble fucking gobble…
I'm always amazed she remembers all that shit.
We stroll through the vertebrae hall, not dwelling like we did with the others, but Avery pauses near the doorway.
"Oh, look!" she says, pointing toward the ceiling. "A pterodactyl!"
"It's called a pterosaurs," Lexie corrects her, and I keep my lips sealed, not correcting her for pronouncing the silent 'p'.
"Is it?" Avery asks. "Huh, I never knew, and it's my favorite dinosaur."
Lexie giggles. "It's not a dinosaur!"
"It's not?"
"No," Lexie says, shaking her head exaggeratedly. "You're silly!"
Lexie walks off ahead as Avery turns to me, her brow furrowed. "It's really not a dinosaur?"
"It's apparently a flying reptile," I explain. "Don't worry... I made the same mistake."
The afternoon wears on as we make our way down to the other floors, checking out a few exhibits, before heading to the food court to grab lunch. Lexie chows down on dinosaur-shaped nuggets while Avery and I share a small pizza. The atmosphere is relaxed as we eat in a quiet comfort until Lexie shatters it with a blurted out question.
"Is she your girlfriend now, Daddy?"
I choke on a pepperoni and take a drink of my soda as I cough. I delay responding, not sure what to say.
"Well, I'm a girl," Avery chimes in, "and we're friends."
"Right," I agree. "Friends."
Lexie's eyes shift between us skeptically, but she doesn't question it any more.
The girl is too smart for her own good.
Lexie has her own room at my apartment. There's not much in it—a bed and a dresser, a toy box with some toys. Pictures cover every inch of the walls, though, sloppily taped there, mostly drawings of dinosaurs.
Across from her room is another, not much bigger than a walk-in closet, but it doesn't matter. Nobody ever goes in there. I haven't been into the room in a long time, but stepping inside again feels as natural, as easy, as breathing.
A broken canvas remains perched on the wooden easel, an array of paints and brushes strewn out along the small adjacent desk. Gobs of dried, cracked paint cake a white palette, hastily abandoned. I can still remember the last time I stood in here. I tried to paint but came up empty, so empty, always empty, an artistic block keeping my mind as blank as the canvas. I stared at it... and stared at it... and stared at it some more... before punching the fucking thing and walking away.
I haven't tried since.
That was a long time ago.
It used to be I could lock myself in this room for hours, sometimes even days, crashing on the futon along the side of the room whenever exhaustion drained me of creativity, but now? Now those days are nothing but a memory. It had been my sanctuary, and it shows, the floor streaked with old paint, the white walls splattered and stained.
Sure as fuck never getting my security deposit back on this place.
Dust tickles my nostrils when I inhale, making my nose twitch. I glance around, taking in the familiar sight of the room that once felt more like home than anywhere ever had before. Sighing, I shake the
black trash bag open and start tossing things into it—dried paints, ruined brushes, damaged canvases... everything I discarded and destroyed, ridding the room of the memory. After it's cleaned out, leaving only the bare essentials, a shell of what it used to be, I shut off the light and walk back out.
Not today. No, not tonight.
But someday, I think.
Someday it will come back to me.
"You… you have an art studio?"
Avery stands in the center of the room, nervously wringing her hands together in front of her. The lighting is dim, casting only a subtle, shadowy glow upon her. I haven't turned the light on, remembering she preferred the dark for whatever reason.
"I do," I reply. "Or I did, anyway."
I pause in front of her, eyes slowly scanning her. She's wearing the same pink dress she had on the night I first laid eyes on her at the shop. The sight of it does something to me, stirring up something deep inside of me.
Reaching over, I grasp the bottom of the dress, about to do what I wanted to do that very first day—take the motherfucker off. "Can I?"
Avery appears confused, eyeing me with caution, but slowly nods her approval. We skipped the bar—skipped the drinks—and headed straight to my place when I found out she didn't have to be up early for anything in the morning.
I pull the dress over her head when she willingly raises her arms in the air. I toss it aside, leaving her standing in front of me wearing nothing but a strapless black bra and a matching pair of panties. The dark garments make her skin look pale, a stark white in the moonlight, like a brand new blank canvas.
Perfect.
Slowly, I lean toward her, whispering, "don't move" before strolling over to the side of the room. I glance around at my old leftover art supplies and grab an empty palette, squirting an array of colors around it, before turning back toward her.
She hasn't moved. Not even an inch.
The scent of the paint washes through me. Man, it has been awhile since I've smelled that. I can't even explain it… it's like trying to describe the taste of water or the feel of air. They are subtle notes that most noses can barely detect, but it's like an aphrodisiac to me, a far cry from the tattoo ink I deal with every day, the sterilized odor making me feel like I exist in a giant bottle of hand sanitizer.
The Mad Tatter Page 8
