by Jamie Knight
“Workin' hard?” I asked with a smile, sidling up to Camilla's desk. My new best friend and my cousin were recently engaged. Cammy and I had met as children, but as adults, we had grown extremely close.
“Hardly workin', it's my lunch break, thank Odin.” The Sure Thing receptionist flipped her long brown hair over her shoulder and rolled her chair back some.
“The Norse king of gods?” I asked, surprised by the evocation.
“I like to hedge my bets,” Camilla said with a wink. She rubbed her hands over her small, taut baby bump.
“How's my little second cousin?” I asked, feeling a slight pang of longing. I really wanted a baby of my own.
“Good as far as I can tell, it hasn't really kicked in yet. No cravings or anything,” Cammy said, gliding her hands up and down.
“So, your request for raw fish in seaweed followed by caramel pastries was just a whim.”
“The sushi is for Aden!” she protested, pointing towards my cousin’s office.
“Relax, hon, I'm just playing,” I said, putting the bags down on her desk and glancing around.
“Looking for Chris?” Camilla asked in a whisper, leaning forward slightly.
“Is he around?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
I was, in fact, there to see Mr. Christopher Stewart, Chris to his friends and lovers, art director for the entire firm. The tall hunk and I had gotten to talking at an office celebration Aden had invited me to that suddenly turned into an engagement party when the bonehead thought that it would be a good time to propose to Camilla. It was hardly romantic. Not that proposing was a bad idea. They were a great pair, and I was starting to love Camilla almost as much as I loved Aden. She was quickly getting to be one of the family.
I couldn't quite remember who had started the conversation, Chris or me, but it had gone off like gangbusters. We had so much in common, particularly families who didn't really understand why we chose the careers we had. My family thought I should be content to be a housewife. Chris was the only non-musician. That made us both oddballs, sparking an instant connection.
It also didn't hurt that the art director was really handsome and quiet. Standing about six-foot with jet black hair, Chris was the embodiment of nerdy hot. From his glasses to his well-tailored clothing. Although I wouldn't call him charming. He was a bit too awkward for that. Though that was fine with me. I loved an authentic man. I'd fallen for charming before and had the emotional scars to prove it. I could stand a bit of humility. I craved it, honestly.
“The troops have been fed, thanks to me, so Chris should be in his office,” Camilla broke through my thoughts.
“He has an office?”
She snort laughed. “After a sort. It is the biggest cubicle on the end. The one with the name plaque screwed into the wall. He's between clients right now,” she said, making it clear she was onto my intentions.
“Clear his schedule,” I blurted without thinking.
“You got it,” she said with a sly wink.
“Thanks, kiddo.”
“No problem.”
We hugged briefly, and I left Camilla to her lunch, setting forth to find where Chris had hunkered himself. This was a risk, but I was willing to be a little bold to get what I wanted. And I was pretty sure I wanted him.
I found the sexy art director hunched over his drafting table, drawing out a storyboard with charcoal and parchment, making exacting marks in pitch black on the sheer white surface as though conjuring the images from within the paper itself, like a sculptor or a sorcerer. The images were a bit rough but showed real talent.
Aden was the only one who I had seen that was better, and he was a bit weird to begin with. He'd been drawing for years and had formal training. I didn't know if Chris had had any formal schooling. If he was an amateur, he was doing really well.
“Oh, hello,” he said, taking out one of his earbuds.
Was he into music after all? I had gotten the impression that he was from a family of professional musicians but didn't really get it the way they did. Then I paid attention to the sound of the tiny headphone and realized that he was listening to an audiobook… in Swedish.
“You speak Swedish?” I asked bluntly, realizing it might not have been the most appropriate reply to his greeting.
“Not as well as I would like. However, it is always good to have practice,” Chris said with an amused smile. His big brown eyes lit up a bit.
“What is it?” I took a seat on the rolling stool by his drafting table.
“Hanteringen av Ododa.”
“Huh?” Blinking at him, I felt a little impressed.
“Handling the Dead. It's a horror novel by John Ajvide Lindqvist,” Chris said, with what sounded to me like a perfect Swedish accent.
“Everybody has to have a hobby,” I said, with a casual shrug, as though it wasn't the strangest thing I'd heard all week.
“Very true,” Chris said seriously. “Can't work all the time. That way leads madness.”
“Darn' tootin',” I said, reflecting on my own long hours at the hospital.
“What's yours?”
“What's my what?” I asked, coming back to earth.
“What's your hobby?” he clarified. Sexy brown eyes looked into my face, making me feel like blushing.
“Oh, I… I can't, it's weird,” I said, dropping Chris’s gaze.
His straight black eyebrows lifted in mock shock. “Weirder than listening to post-modern Swedish zombie audiobooks in the original?”
“Okay, point taken, I collect teddy bears. Jeepers doesn't like them much. I keep them out of reach.”
“Jeepers?” Chris asked, standing up fully and crossing his arms over his chest.
“My kitten,” I clarified, to keep him from thinking Jeepers was the name of my son or some such.
“Oh, how old?”
“Six months. He’s a little tuxedo cat. Black and white.”
“Oh, almost a full-grown cat.”
“Yeah, I guess. He still acts like a kitten, though. Gets into absolutely everything. One day I came home from a swing shift to find he had gotten the ficus out of the pot. To be fair, I hadn't cleaned his litter box in a while.”
“Fair play to Jeepers,” Chris agreed, with a slight laugh.
“Took a week for him to forgive me. Hid under the couch and refused to eat, but eventually, he came around.”
“Yep, definitely a cat,” Chris agreed.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, indicating the storyboard.
“Oh, storyboards for the new campaign for Circus Circus. Something for the designers to work from. I'm trying a new technique I got out of a book of 19th-century illustrations. It's difficult, but I think I'm getting it. See how those curves swoop.”
“Yeah,” I said. I hadn't really, but I just couldn't bear to disappoint him. Besides which, now he had pointed it out they were quite lovely. Almost luscious.
“I'm trying to really make it pop. Aden and Cooper are the only ones who are ever really going to see it, but I still try to do my best. I just figured if I do half-assed work, it will show, and the resulting product will suffer. It is too important for that.”
“Advertising is important?”
“It is for me. I mean the way I see it. Basically, there are two kinds of advertising. Advertising that lies and advertising that shows. Advertising that lies makes promises it can't keep and fools people into buying things that they likely don’t need. Advertising that shows presents a product in a flattering but realistic light and says 'hey, here is a thing that exists' and it could well be something good. Have you ever seen the old coke posters?”
I shook my head. It was interesting to see Chris so impassioned about his work. “Um, no, I can't say I have.”
“Here,” Chris said, hauling a hefty book up from under his desk. The book was a big, old, hardcover festooned with bright yellow post-it notes. The cover was made up of several images of old-fashioned posters. “Here it is,” he said, g
etting to the right page.
What was on the page was a beautiful, hand-painted ad for coke-a-cola from the 1940s that looked like it was drawn by Norman Rockwell.
“Looks like a Rockwell,” I said off-handedly.
“It is a Rockwell.”
“Oh!”
“And there's this one,” Chris said.
Flipping a few pages back, he revealed a gorgeous ad for Absinthe featuring a beautiful green fairy I could have sworn was Tinker bell's big sister.
“Beautiful, right?”
I nodded, not quite able to find the right words to express how transcendentally awesome I thought the image was. Take out the words, and it looked like it could have been hanging in a gallery or illustrating a classic fairy story. I loved it and how much Chris seemed to enjoy such exquisite examples of advertising from a time when they were gorgeous and the beauty and potential he still saw in them. He was like an advertising version of a Pre-Raphaelite, trying to resurrect the techniques of the old masters. No wonder the firm had won so many awards with him at the helm.
“Isn't that illegal here?” I asked.
“Absinthe? Yeah, technically, but nobody really cares anymore.”
“Would you like to go for a drink?” I continued quickly. This was as good of a chance as any.
Chris’s eyes widened. “Of Absinthe?”
“If you like,” I said, giggling. Something I hadn't done since I was about fifteen.
“I have to work tonight, but I'll take a rain check, yeah?”
“O-okay,” I said, feeling my heart break a bit.
It was the third time he had declined my invitation. I had to wonder if maybe Chris wasn't into me despite the signals he was clearly giving off. Or perhaps he really was just that into work. He certainly did seem passionate about it, and I didn't begrudge him that. I just wouldn't have minded a bit of that passion for myself as well. He made me feel in ways no man had since - well, ever. All I wanted was a chance.
I left the building trying not to cry. I was better than that. Though that didn't stop my pussy from being wet. I was frustrated and horny and about to go on a swing shift at the hospital. Not my best day ever.
Chapter Two - Chris
I called it “The Zone”. The semi-Zen state that I got into when focused on work, every scrap of my attention dedicated to rendering the best images it was within my ability to create. I was pretty much self-taught out of books and later videos. Though I did seem to have some natural talent, which kept me from being completely frustrated, there were still times that I envied Aden for his raw ability — but to be fair, there were few people who were able to draw like our top graphics designer. He had a natural attention to detail that made his renderings, either in terms of illustration, cooking or music, almost impossible to match. Something that made even more sense when I found out his history in the army.
My interest in both art and commercial illustration went back years. I couldn't quite pinpoint when it started, probably around the time I discovered Andy Warhol, but it had always spoken to me. The art was usually quite beautiful, which appealed. Though something else that appealed a lot was the commercial side, particularly the fact that it was one of a few ways that an artist could make real money. The perfect balance of art and pragmatism. In part proven by the number of painters who started out their careers of commercial artists. Including the core members of the Group of Seven who met while working for the Eaton's catalog, literally painting images of the products for sale just after the First World War. All of it beautiful as well as functional.
I jumped with surprise at the tap on my shoulder, taking me out of my reverie.
“Oh, hey Aden,” I said, taking out my earbud and looking up at my coworker.
“Is that Swedish?” Aden asked.
“Yeah, I'm working on it.”
“Cool. May we talk?” Aden asked, dripping with gravitas. The former soldier looked stern.
“Sure,” I said, knowing better to contradict him when he was in one of his serious moods. I waved for him to take a chair, but he ignored the gesture, instead choosing to pace the confines of my office.
“I'm concern about Shae.”
I startled. She seemed fine when she was visiting earlier. Did I miss something?
“Why, what's happened?” I asked her cousin.
“You,” Aden said bluntly.
“Oh?” I dropped down into my chair, feeling a bit guilty.
“She is really into you, and you are torturing her.”
“I'm what?”
“How many times have you turned down her invitation for drinks?”
“I —”
“How many, Chris?”
“Three,” I said, with no small measure of shame.
“Is that fair?”
“No, not really, and I do like her, but you know me. We've been friends long enough for you to know that it is hard for me to open up to people. It is better to avoid entanglements at all rather than ending up with someone who might not understand me or might hurt me.”
He huffed a sigh. “Does Shae really seem like she would do that?”
No, she didn't. I had honestly felt more comfortable around Shae than any other woman in recent memory. She could even touch me without me flinching away. I wasn't quite ready to open up to her, at least not in a significant way, but it might be worth pursuing a relationship with her after all.
Aden ran a hand through his hair and relaxed with an exhalation of breath. “I'm not threatening you or anything, just bringing it to your attention. Either say yes to Shae, if that is what you really want. I know she does. Or do your best to let her down gently, okay?”
“Okay,” I agreed, already deciding on the first option. I just had to figure out what to do to make it up to her.
****
I had been serious about working that night and was still at my drafting table long after everyone else had gone home. I wanted to get the storyboards done so I could have the weekend off. It would be the first time in about a month that I'd had any days off. Which, as I understood it wasn't really healthy.
After nine PM, I left the office and headed to the hospital, keen on getting there as soon as possible. It would have been most logical to wait till the next day and call Shae when I was reasonably sure that we would both be awake. But I didn't have her phone number, so I had to come up with something else.
The hospital had pay parking, of course. What was a hospital that didn't try and make as much money as it possibly could in every way imaginable? Closed, that's what. I parked as close to the ticket machine as I could and paid for eight hours, hedging my bets. Getting back into the car, I got a spot as close to the door as I could before rushing in, leaving the ticket on the dash before taking off, making sure I had my phone with me before departing.
I figured Shae would be on a swing shift, so there was no way to tell when she would be leaving, but I was determined to be there when she did. My nickname in high school was The Badger. Because once I got a hold of a notion, I didn't let it go unless acted upon by an outside force. A law of physics Newton never quite got around to.
I was afraid I might be noticed, or someone would ask what I was doing there. Though apparently unless you actually go up to the triage counter and demand attention, no one really took much notice. Noticing an on-site coffee shop, I ensconced myself at a corner table with an MP3 file, a large cup of mediocre coffee that still did the job, and some of the best cinnamon buns I had ever tasted.
It was 3 a.m. by the time Shae came out front, looking very much the worse for wear. I hadn't seen her in her scrubs before — clean and bright blue, worn with an adorable pair of sneakers. The overall effect was surprisingly sexy.
Finishing off the last dregs of the cinnamon buns, the coffee distant memory, I pocketed the phone and went to meet her as she headed for the door.
“Hey!” I said, catching up to her before she reached the parking lot.
“Oh, Jesus!” Shae jumped, clutching
at her chest.
“Sorry,” I said as she caught her breath.
“It's okay, you surprised me is all. What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I felt bad about declining your invitation for a drink. I really did have to work tonight. I wasn't just putting you off or anything. The thing is, I really like you, maybe not the same way Aden says you like me, but I would definitely like to go for a drink and see where things go, nothing ventured nothing gained, right?”
“Ever heard of a run-on sentence?” Shae asked, with a raised eyebrow and a crooked smile.
Her eyebrows were a golden blonde color, which I assumed was her natural hair color. At the moment, her locks were a delightful bubblegum pink color. She seemed to like to change it often.
“Sorry.”
“It's okay,” she said, putting her hand gently on my chest. “Just calm down, Chris. Okay?”
“Okay,” I agreed.
She looked down at her hand, which was still fixed on my chest. “Man, your heart is really racing.”
“I —”
“It's not me, is it?” she teased, lowering her long eyelashes some.
“A bit, yeah,” I agreed, feeling bashful.
“You charmer, you.” Her smile lit up her whole face.
“Would you like to go for a drink,” I asked when my heart had returned to a more regular rhythm.
“I'd prefer breakfast at this point,” she said.
“I know a diner,” I said, a bit too excitedly.
“Lead the way.”
I went back to my car, and Shae followed me to the all-night diner I knew about a few blocks away. I had discovered it during my insomniac phase. Though it was something of a matter of debate whether or not that phase ever actually ended.
“Swanky,” Shae said, getting out of her car.
“Not really, but the club sandwich is good.”
Inside, we slid into a booth near the front window. Las Vegas was flowing on beyond the blacked glass. The booth was so small that our knees occasionally touched. Something Shae didn't seem to mind at all. After a while, I didn't either. It was effortless to be around her. She put on a tough exterior but could also seem to nearly radiate calm, at least with those she liked. I had seen it with Aden and later Camilla when she joined their family.
