by Tiana Laveen
“This is beautiful.”
Placing his empty glass upon a tray as a waiter sailed by, he stood by her to study a piece of calligraphy work on cream silk.
“It’s nice. I can’t read it, but yeah, it’s nice.” She stood staring at it for the longest, then pointed towards an area of the vast framed work that took up a good portion of the wall. To his surprise, she began to read the words written in Japanese. “It says here, ‘Fear is greater than the danger.’”
“Is that true?”
“I guess in some cases, yes, but not all the time.”
“Like you being afraid to let me pick you up from your house. You insisted I meet you in here instead when I called to arrange this date.”
“It wasn’t fear.” She smiled before sipping from her glass, her deep burgundy lipstick lining the rim. “It’s just how I do things.”
“What was it then? Safety? You know who I am now. We’ve seen each other practically every day for weeks. Couldn’t have been a stranger danger sort of thing.” He shrugged.
“I wanted us to drive separately just in case—”
“Things didn’t go well,” he finished her sentence for her and shook his head. “Fair enough.”
They moved about in silence, practically joined at the hip. Every now and again, they’d discuss in whispers a piece that struck either of them.
“I haven’t been to a museum in a long time.”
“Really? Why the hiatus?” She placed her empty glass on a table dressed in white cloth that had been set up for discarded items.
Hooking his arm around hers, he guided her forward to continue perusing the displays.
“Honestly?” He grimaced. “It’s not really something I get a lot from. I mean, I like art, I appreciate it obviously, it’s a part of my livelihood in an indirect way but I guess I’m more of a hands-on type of guy. I’d rather be creating than observing the finished creation.” She nodded in understanding. “See, standing here and looking at it is great. I get ideas from almost anything, but I have to find whatever I do in some way useful.”
“You should try to enjoy things just for what they are, regardless if they make sense. I couldn’t imagine having to analyze everything, figure out how it fits in my life. Some things just are, Tristan. They can’t be labeled or defined. It’s a mere expression of a person’s talents. What a shame.” She gave him a strange look, akin to pity, but her beautiful eyes smiled. “Sometimes, not being useful is being useful indeed.” She winked.
“It’s not a shame,” he said, enjoying their banter. “I get what I need and I bail. I like a point to stuff, point A leads to point B. I like for things to make sense, and nature makes sense, the land makes sense, space makes sense, mathematics and geometry make sense, but everything that someone splashes paint on doesn’t. Too much room for human error.”
“Really?” The woman’s brow rose as she seemed taken aback.
“Yeah. I think we sometimes make things into something they’re not, trying so hard to make them abstract or cool. It’s silly to me. I don’t operate that way. Like, I may not need to go down every aisle of a store; a few is enough. I don’t like wasting time, exerting energy unnecessarily. I prefer to work smart, you know?”
“Okay, tell me what you could take from this painting right here?” They paused and turned towards the wall on which hung a large work of art. The antique painting displayed a rendering of a Japanese man and woman from 1770, in the throes of lovemaking. Standing there for quite some time, his head cocked to the side, he studied it.
“Shades of orange, tan and yellow are the predominant colors giving a relaxed feel to the painting, also denoting the time of day is more than likely morning or early afternoon. There’s a bird in the vicinity, the mix of nature represented … bushes and shrubs. The couple is making love close to a window. People can see inside, and though no one is standing there, that’s the impression. There is no modesty, no shame. It’s like a regular afternoon and they are doing what humans do. We fight, we feed, we fuck.”
He walked away, leaving her to go to the next painting. She chased after him, her heels clicking against the floor.
“I like what you said.” She almost seemed surprised by that realization.
“Thank you.”
“But what you didn’t say is how you could use that as inspiration?”
“I did; you just didn’t hear it in a traditional answer.” He folded his arms over his chest and looked down at her, falling in love with the way her lips moved when she spoke and how they drew together, but remained ever so slightly apart when she quieted. “Basically, it incorporates everything I do. I merge nature with human desire.” He placed his fingers together. “The earth, the land, the plant life, the anima life, respect for the way the bodies would naturally move in a space… flesh, sunlight, food, slumber, use of color, sunny colors in this case, but muted so as not to give the feel of a juvenile gathering or attract children. The subdued sunny shades relay warmth, relaxation, love that is mature… something you can hang on to. This isn’t your little kid romance. The couple in that painting are probably middle-aged. They’ve lived, but still have a lot ahead of them, plenty of life to uncover and enjoy.”
“Yes.” She nodded in approval as she drew closer, until their lips were almost touching. “That’s right… that’s good. How do you think they feel?” She wore a crooked grin as she ran her hand up and down his shoulder.
“They are in the moment, enjoying it, enjoying their space, their home, each other. Making love is as natural as you and me talking right now. In fact, I want to make love to you now.” Her eyes hooded at his words. “That’s concrete. That’s a fact. That’s predictable given my strong attraction to you. Attraction is as much a part of landscape design and architecture as anything else. I make beautiful spaces. Parks that people can play in, homes that people can laugh in. Attraction is the key ingredient…”
“I concur. You’re an artist, a damn good one, and yet you don’t appreciate your destiny, your path. You don’t acknowledge your creativity because so much of what you do relies on straight lines and math. You only see the numbers, not the arch of the seven.” He was confused and intrigued at the same time. “You’re a blind sculptor, kidding yourself into believing that you don’t care because you can’t see. It’s like having sex with only half the sensation… no taste, no touch, but you can see and hear and smell.”
“Oh, no.” He grinned, their argument revving up his adrenaline, making his dick hard. “You’re wrong. The five senses are always important to me. I am fully aware of my primal needs and those are incorporated… in more ways than one.”
“I don’t believe you. I need you to show me.”
She grinned at him, and those saucy words sent his imagination into overdrive. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he kissed her, slicking his tongue into her mouth and never wishing to turn her loose. He forgot about the crowd, the music, the paintings. He forgot about professionalism and took shelter in the spectacle of their affections and unbridled attraction. Too soon, she broke their mutual trance, a dreamy look in her eyes.
“I can feel your passion, honey,” she said breathlessly, tracing his lips with the tip of her finger. “But you’ve crippled yourself. You’re not having the full experience. So that painting, Tristan, in your eyes is not inspiration; it’s a couple fucking. Nothing more, nothing less.”
She snatched herself away from his grasp like the harsh wind catching a leaf from the grip of a child.
“Isn’t a couple fucking inspiration enough? Why do we have to complicate it?”
“Sex, womanhood, birth, death, and love have to bleed in your work to create true passion. The only way to appreciate joy is to appreciate anger! That’s passion. Have you designed for passion alone?”
“Yeah. I make designs just for sex sometimes, too. When I help create a bedroom, I must bear all of that in mind. Sex in the morning, afternoon, or evening… that painting shows it happening in the afternoon, possib
ly the morning in front of a window. It shows no fear, no concerns… no dangers to be petrified about. We’re all just fuckin’ monsters wearing suits and ballgowns, Carmen. Every motherfucker in here, including me and you, is a monster that tries his damnedest not to drop down on all fours and scratch the ground, scratch his ass in public, scratch another’s eyes out and more.”
The woman’s eyes bucked at his words.
“Monsters wearing suits and ballgowns? That doesn’t sound very promising or optimistic.”
He clasped her hand in his. The softness of it was something he craved to feel against the back of his neck. He imagined how she’d look hooked to him, her long, brown legs clenching his waist, ankles locked against his ass, those soft hands rubbing all over his chest and shoulders as he plunged his cock deep inside of her wet pussy…
“Not everything is good or bad; it just is, right? It’s not always ‘me against you.’ But if you see something wrong, something that needs to be fixed, then that’s what you do. Otherwise, leave it the hell alone.”
“Basically, if it’s broke, don’t fix it?” She grinned.
“Exactly. Tell me why you became a doctor… an obstetrician at that.”
They continued on, scrutinizing the exhibits.
“Do you want the long version or the condensed one?”
He pulled his hand away from hers and glanced down at his watch.
“How about somewhere in between?”
She burst out laughing. “You know what’s interesting about you?”
“What?”
“You never say what I think you’re going to say or do.”
“That’s hilarious.” He laughed. “Because I feel the same way about you…”
They drew quiet and stared at one another, the sexual tension about to explode.
“The office, the landscaping, everything was totally different than I expected, even with the aspect that you presented drawings and computer renderings in advance. You exceeded my expectations, Tristan. That’s an example of what I’m talking about.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Despite the fact that I feel my bank account is screaming after dealing with you; it was well worth it.” She chuckled before landing a kiss on his cheek. He warmed from the affection, wishing for more.
“It’s worth it, trust me, and you’ll get the money back through new patients.”
She nodded. Just then a waiter approached with a tray full of colorful hors d’oeuvres. Plucking what appeared to be caviar on a cracker from the tray, he motioned for her to open her mouth. She hesitated for a spell, then gave in. He watched her chew, observing the cute way her mouth moved until she swallowed it. He took one for himself then reminded her he was waiting to hear all about her.
“Ahhh yes, we got sidetracked.” She dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her knuckle. When she moved a few feet ahead of him, he slowed his gait. He ushered in a spell of quiet, a much-needed reprieve to just fall back and appreciate what stood before him. Damn, she’s fucking beautiful…
He didn’t miss the way her hips suddenly swayed when the faint music, an instrumental fusion of Jazz, Classical, and R&B grew a bit louder through the speakers.
I wonder if she moves like that when she’s mounted on a hard cock? I hope to find out soon.
“Sidetracked we were, but it was a good detour.”
She smiled at his words.
“So, I have to first start with my family. My parents have been together since my father was fifteen, and my mother twelve. Their fathers were best friends and both were pastors. My father was also a dairy farmer. My brother, sister, and me were raised on forty-three acres of land in Mille Lac County.”
“Milaca?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I know where that is. It’s real peaceful out there.”
“It is. So, I would get up early with my father and help before school. You would think that I fell in love with animals because of the cows I had to feed but no.” She laughed lightly and shook her head. “What I fell in love with was watching the calves with their mothers… that bond, that interaction. It was beautiful.”
“Motherly moments… interesting. Cows… Heifers and bulls. How old are you, Carmen? I’m guessing thirty-five or so.” She blinked several times, seemingly confused at his questioning. Perhaps his timing wasn’t the best, but his interest in her story had taken another turn.
“Uh, I’m thirty-six.” She held her chin high, smiled, and clasped her hands.
“Sorry for interrupting, but the reason I asked is because you became a doctor thanks to that bond between child and baby, in the animal world basically, and yet here you are at thirty-six, not married and no children. I find that fascinating.”
“Fascinating or strange? There’s a difference.” Her brow furrowed.
“A bit of both. I hope that I don’t come across as rude but since the door has already been opened, why don’t you have children? Is this like part of your women’s’ lib stance or something? Your womb is off limits to prove a point of some sort?” He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, waiting…
“Tristan?”
“Yes?”
“I can tell by your facial expression that you think that what you’ve said is okay. That’s disturbing.” She took a step back. Within a nanosecond, the air was sucked out of the room.
“Disturbing? How so? I’m asking you a question, Carmen, but joking with you a little, too.” He smiled, hoping the warmth of his grin would allow her to see his true intentions. Her brows rutted once more and she crossed her arms over her chest.
He’d failed.
“Is this your typical conversational manner?”
“I mean,” he said with a shrug. “If you’re asking if I just say things that I feel are pertinent to a conversation, then yes.” He threw up his hands. Here we go with this thin skin shit… “If you feel I was rude and it wasn’t funny, I apologize and we can drop it but to me, it was a normal question.”
“It’s not the question that was abnormal, it was your presentation and wording. The whole thing was out of place and it threw me off. I’ve noticed, even when working with you, that you have this talent… no, it’s a gift… truly a gift, to see a mess and turn it into magic.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I’m just getting started. You’ve got a great eye, just like you said, and you’re definitely a pro at what you do, but when it comes to decorum, you are seriously lacking. You’re inconsiderate and hypercritical to the point of nausea. You also give off negative energy when you do this. You say it like it’s a joke, but I don’t believe you’re kidding around. You meant exactly what the hell you said, straight, no chaser.”
He was unmoved by her anger; in fact, he wondered why he wasn’t concerned. Should he have been?
“You’re blowin’ this way out of proportion.” He smiled. “I was kidding, but the negative energy?” He ran his forefinger along his chin. “Do I?” He was truly surprised at such an assessment. He’d been accused of being many things – brash, stubborn, possessive, argumentative, but never negative. Perhaps it was because he was so opinionated.
“Yes, you do. I don’t think it’s intentional, but it’s jarring, and I don’t like it. You have so many appealing qualities, but a Debbie Downer? Someone who picks fights for sport and then stands there looking unphased when I’m telling him what he’s done that’s offensive and why, and he pretends to not understand. You’re quite intelligent. I refuse to believe you’re that idiotic. No, your energy is too adverse. That’s where I draw the line. I think I’m ready to go home.”
The woman turned her back to him and proceeded to leave him where he stood. A part of him wanted to let her go… watch her walk away.
But the pain of her leaving somehow felt real, awakening a part of him he kept guarded. He rarely let others see him in need; he only begged within, in secret. No one was allowed to see him sweat. He couldn’t belie
ve that he was actually upset by this… perhaps even fearful. How could he have such a beautiful connection with someone and cut it off at the root by poking fun? Being thoughtless? She was right; he hadn’t been joking. He found her ideologies perplexing. Loved motherhood but refused to get knocked up? Perhaps he was assuming all of this, since she wouldn’t answer the damn question. As he stood there searching his mind and sifting through old mental files and tapes, digging around for the right response, he came up blank. She kept walking, farther and farther away. Feelings? Those ugly things were no one’s business.
Instead of saying ‘Please don’t go,’ he tucked the unsaid phrase away, and now here he was… dying inside. He’d driven the knife in his own heart. How was this happening? How could he feel so bonded to someone he’d never fucked? And yet… it was happening. Then again, how could someone so beautiful cut herself off the way she had? Perhaps she was his mirror reflection, just as Darryl suggested.
STOP. BEING. SO. STUBBORN! She’s getting away!
He saw red…
Fisting his palms, head down, nostrils flared, he stormed after her.
Oh no… this was not how it was going to end. Tristan was many things, but a quitter? No fucking way. This is not how he envisioned his evening, and come hell or high water, the boat he set to sail wouldn’t sink. He’d built that shit from the ground up. It was time to tame the raging waters, the ones he’d created with a few careless, cruel, monsoonal words…
The cool air hit her face as soon as she opened the gallery doors. Freedom was imminent but before she could make her grand exit, leaving the hurtful bastard behind, she felt a strong grip around her arm.
“Wait! I’m… I’m sorry.” From the look in those stormy blue eyes of his, it was obvious it took all of God, the Son, and the Holy Ghost for him to say those words. He looked damn near frantic with his eyes wide, nostrils flared, and breathing heavy like some bull chasing a mocking matador…
“Thank you for your apology. Look, it’s been nice tonight, but I don’t think we’re a good match, Tristan. You’re just—”
