by K B Cinder
“I’m sorry. I’m taking my frustrations out on the wrong person.” He flashed a smile, revealing sparkling white teeth that only came from copious amounts of chemicals and a dentist’s chair.
“It’s okay.” It wasn’t, but I wanted him out of my hair sooner rather than later. I didn’t have time for gossip hounds anymore. That was my past life.
“No, it’s not,” he pushed back with a frown. “I came in here raving like a lunatic about a magazine. You probably think I’m nuts.”
“A little,” I admitted with a smile.
“Maybe I am, but I’m sure you are too,” he laughed, shoulders deflating. “I really am sorry. Forgive me for being a butthead?”
“Sure.” I obliged, unable to stay ticked at a grown man that called himself a butthead. More people needed to own up to being one. Myself included. “So how can I help you?”
He leaned against the counter, his spicy cologne overpowering the stagnant basement smell that lingered regardless of what plug-ins or sprays I deployed. “I ran into a roadblock in my research. What databases are available here?”
“Public records like marriage and death certificates, property data, and the like.” Basically, I was the keeper of all life’s crappy paperwork, not that I’d say that to a visitor.
He pressed his lips together as he studied me for a long moment, eyes seeming to stare through me as he leaned closer. I’d never seen such a dark shade of green before, as beautiful as it was haunting. “Can I review DMV or passport records?”
I leaned back, uncomfortable with just how close he was getting. Someone hadn’t learned about personal space. “I’m sorry. Those are for law enforcement purposes only.”
He blew out a breath, shaking his head as the wave of mint met my nose. “Shoot.”
“You can look up passport travel records online via the Department of Homeland Security’s site,” I suggested.
“Oh yeah?” he asked, raising a perfectly sculpted brow. God he was pretty. He’d probably had his waxed more recently than mine. “What would I need for that?”
“It shouldn’t require anything more than your name and passport number.”
His lips twisted as he looked me over again, running a hand along his squared jaw, the scrape of stubble loud and clear. “Hm. Okay.”
“Depending what you’re looking for, you could search public records with me.” He might as well try after hiking downstairs, our building’s elevator down for maintenance for at least another week. Who knew elevator parts were so hard to come by?
His nostrils flared as his hands rolled the magazine tight again. For a split second, I worried he’d whack me with it like a bug. “Been there, done that.”
“Is there anything specific you’re looking for?” I was used to fielding requests for everything from lawsuits to research papers, but I had no clue what the gossip-rag reader wanted.
A rough sigh exploded from his lips, jingling my guts all the more. “I’m trying to piece history together for my own sanity.”
I couldn’t be sure, but I swore I saw a bit of myself in his eyes, his frustration obvious. I knew how it felt to have unanswered questions. “The archives are great for searching family records.”
He nodded, glancing down as he shifted the rolled magazine to his left hand nervously. “You’d need a name for that, right?”
I nodded, offering a smile. Clearly he was worked up, and sometimes a smile was all someone needed for a bit of hope. “Yes, but your own can help piece things together.”
In my time on the job, I’d helped people figure out everything from their birth parents to deep, dark, ugly family secrets. With how gloomy the man looked, it seemed like he’d be one of the latter.
The harshness of his face softened at my words. “It’s alright. I appreciate the suggestion. What’s your name, kid?”
Kid? Really? He was older than me, but not by much. “It’s Keely.”
A smile crept across his lips. “Keely? Such a beautiful name.” His eyes didn’t leave mine as he extended a hand. “I’m Rick. Thank you so much for your help.”
* * *
“Shoo!” I flicked my wrist at the seagull perched on the chair opposite of mine, the bird releasing a shrieking cry in response before flying off, leaving a line of white goop down the back as a parting gift.
Mother Nature could be so delightful. Not.
It was way too hot to be eating outside, but I needed sunlight before I withered away in the office. Thankfully, it was only a short walk to a row of bayside restaurants from the building, my favorite Italian eatery calling my name the whole way with the scent of oregano heaven.
All around the seagulls cried, a symphony of desperation unfolding as diners refused to share their grub with the winged pests. The birds were a small price to pay for the view though, the bay a gorgeous backdrop for lunch hour.
Working in a basement wasn't for everyone, but for me, it was tolerable. The job paid my tuition, and in return, I gave up sunlight. It wasn’t that bad of a trade. Besides, when it was slow, I could read or catch up on homework.
Another seagull wandered beneath the table as I took a bite of veggie panini. The bird desperately pecked at the concrete for traces of crumbs, the tapping of its beak continuing closer to my feet, toes bared in my heels. Just as it ventured a bit too close for my liking, my phone rang loudly to save the day, Ethan’s ringer sending it scurrying to another table.
I finished chewing before pressing the phone to my ear, not entirely sure he’d be able to hear me with the breeze coming off the water. “Hey, Eth!”
“Quick question.”
“Quick answer.” I was used to his rapid-fire talk, time a precious commodity during his workday. I couldn’t picture the relaxed man I knew working in such high-pressure setting, but somehow he managed to while juggling a ridiculous travel schedule. I hoped it’d rub off on me, because there was no telling what I’d face in the future as a social worker in the field.
“Do you have plans Saturday night?”
“Not sure. What’s up?” I had a few papers to finish, but a night with Tall, Dark, and Sexy was way more appealing. I could always play catchup Sunday morning before heading to my parents’ house for family dinner.
He ignored the question, barking off, “Are you unavailable?"
"Do you need me for something?” I tried to steady my voice, batting away the butterflies with an inner baseball bat. Not today, Satan. He wasn’t asking me on a date no matter what my heart hoped.
"I need a favor."
A wee bit of air leaked out of my happiness balloon - the one I hadn’t realized inflated in my chest. “Sure.”
I’d find a way to walk on water if he needed me to, as pathetic as it was to admit. And the way my heart was hammering against my ribs? Well, that was just as ridiculous.
He was a man, not a God. Sure he smelled like heaven and made my knees weak, but he wasn’t the end all be all. I needed to knock him off the pedestal I’d stuck him on if I ever wanted the stupid crush to go away. He was my friend, and clearly, that’s where it ended for us.
“I’m sorry, nevermind. I just remembered that I already have it taken care of.”
Pop. There went the balloon entirely. “Are you sure? I don’t mind.” God. I sounded desperate to my own ears.
“Positive.”
Mega pop. “Oh, okay then.” I didn’t know what else to say, not that I had a chance to think of anything.
“Gotta run. I’ll talk to you later, Kee.” The words came shooting out like bullets from a machine gun, ripping through my brain fog. And before I could blink, he hung up, leaving my lunch hour just as quickly as he’d interrupted it.
Only now I almost wished he hadn’t called at all.
* * *
Armed with a latte, the train ride home wasn’t as bad, nor was assembling a spinach and artichoke lasagna from scratch. Ordering a pizza was more up my alley after a crappy day, but it was my turn to host Thot Thursday as Jorge coined it.
“Fine,” I answered, grabbing potholders and reaching in the oven to extract my pride and joy - a recipe that scored over a thousand hits on my blog. Just looking at the melted cheese had my mouth watering. “How was your day? Stanley behave?”
The chubby Chihuahua waddled in to join us, red nails clicking on the tile. As usual, they were painted to match Lil’s.
“He’s always an angel!” she gushed, lying through her teeth. Stanley was a hellion, especially if he had a bone. “We walked the Greenway and had ice cream.”
I glanced down at the tan terror, his waistline vanishing by the day. I wasn’t a dog expert, but I was pretty sure Chihuahuas were supposed to have a shape other than round. “Let’s hope he got his steps in.”
She pointed at the fitness tracker on her wrist with a proud grin, the black band blending in with her collection of bangles. “He got at least a thousand in.”
“Who did what?” Jorge’s voice came booming from the front door. He shut it just as loudly behind him, his keys jingling from the clip on his belt. But that was Jorge. Everything about him was loud, from his words to his fashion.
I waved a dismissive hand at him as I carved the lasagna. “Just talking about Stanley.”
“Aw, my meatball!” He rushed in, scooping Stanley to his chest, a grumble sounding the little guy’s displeasure. Jorge’s black button down was soon covered in little hairs courtesy of the pudgy pup.
“How are you?” I asked as I dished everyone’s food, Lil already pouring a glass of white wine for each of us. By the looks of it, I’d be writing my communication patterns essay a little tipsy later that night.
“I had a phone interview for a restaurant in Brooklyn, and the owner was such a sweetheart!”
My heart warmed at his words while my guts twisted, sad to think of him moving away but happy he was making the leap he’d talked about since we’d met. The New York restaurant scene was gaining more than a great manager; they were gaining one of my best friends. “How’d it go?”
“Great! I can start as soon as I find a place. The owner knows some guys in Chelsea that have a room available, so I’m looking into that. I leave tomorrow to meet with them.”
“Congratulations! I’m so happy for you!” I plastered the best smile I could muster on my face, knowing I probably looked like a Halloween skeleton.
He ventured closer while kissing Stanley’s forehead, the tapping of his heeled Oxfords echoing. “Don’t give me that voice, girl. I’m not dying. I’ll be a train ride away. You can visit anytime.”
“Be careful what you promise,” I teased, extending a plate to him piled high with lasagna. “I’m like a stray if you feed me.”
“Like I’d mind! You should move down when you finish school! We could be the new bitches on the block!” He winked before strutting to the table, leaving nothing but sass and expensive cologne in his wake.
Psh, I wished. There was no way I could move so far from home. He was a cultured hospitality god with wanderlust. I… wasn’t.
I shook my head, turning to Lil who was already getting her drink on, looking every part the femme fatale she was in her lacy black frock, a ruby pendant hanging from her neck. “I can’t leave my Lil.”
I’d hit the jackpot when I found my apartment, a basement unit in her brownstone. When I met the fine wine as she called herself, I had no idea she’d become such a good friend. But soon after, I found myself drinking wine with the world’s coolest granny in her parlor, and the rest was history.
“Well, you hags better visit and go man-seeing with me.” Jorge sat holding Stanley on his lap like a fat toddler, his stumpy legs sticking straight out.
“Haven’t we done enough of that here?” Anytime we went out it turned into an epic game of man-prowling, Lil schooling us in the sport she could win a hundred gold medals in.
She shot me a dirty look over her wine glass, the rim red from her lips. “No such thing!”
“Uh, yeah, there is.” I appreciated a hot guy as much as the next girl, but staring at them got old and a little creepy, honestly.
“Maybe because you regularly bask in the presence of glory,” Jorge teased. “When you’ve seen the best, you don’t need the rest. How’d last night go, by the way, Keely Casanova?”
“She blew it!” Lil exploded, shuffling over to hand Jorge his wine, her glass already half-empty.
Way to out me, jeez. I’d shot her a text after Ethan left looking for a friend, not a mega phone to spout my problems.
Jorge’s brown eyes almost bulged out of his head, his fork falling to his plate with a loud clank. “Keely! What the hell? You didn’t stick to the plan?”
The plan he was referring to was something I’d never do. It was hard enough wrapping my arms around Ethan’s neck to see how he’d react. I couldn’t imagine straddling him as Jorge had suggested. Let alone licking his ear and telling him to take me there on the couch. It just wasn’t my style.
“I panicked!” I grabbed Lil and I’s plates, walking over to join them, knowing I was about to be dragged to filth for being a big, fat chicken.
“You two need to bone already.” Lil sat in the seat beside Jorge, her platinum blond curls bouncing as she did. “Enough is enough already. You’re crazy about him, and he has eyes for you. Just talk to him!”
I retreated to the kitchen for reinforcements, reemerging with my wine goblet. “He only sees us as friends, guys. He’s made that abundantly clear.”
Testing the waters with touch was as far as I’d go. Everyone knew talking about taking things further always made things weird going forward if it wasn’t mutual, and I didn’t want to lose our friendship.
Jorge groaned dramatically while Lil let loose an epic eye roll. “I’ve been on this Earth for eighty years. I know a man in love when I see it.”
I knew she was wrong. Ethan was a great friend, but he wasn’t in love with me. If he were, he wouldn't do everything in his power to keep me at arm's length. He gave me side hugs for crying out loud - the same one’s you’d give your Great Aunt Joan whose watermelon boobs made not copping a feel impossible.
“Try again.” Jorge shot me a sympathetic look. “One more shot, babygirl. Go to his place and make him a nice dinner. Maybe he needs to be on his own turf for the sparks to fly.”
I shook my head. “Never been.” At first it was a little weird that we always went somewhere, but eventually I figured he was either ultra private or lived with his parents. I didn’t care either way. It wasn’t my business.
“Well, invite yourself over! Chop! Chop!” Jorge clapped with each chop for emphasis.
“I don’t know. He probably thinks I’m too young.”
He’d just had his thirty-first birthday; I was twenty-two. He was a seasoned professional that traveled the world; I was a grad student who hadn’t traveled further than New York City.
“Oh, hush it!” Lil flung a hunk of spinach at me, the green blob sticking to my cheek with a splat. “Stop being a prude!”
“Really, dude?” I wiped the hot, cheesy goop from my skin. She was lucky it had cooled, otherwise I would’ve had a serious burn. “Did you have to go for the face?”
Lil tossed a napkin over with a laugh. “Just getting you primed and ready. God willing, you’ll have a lot worse things shooting at your face soon.”
Ethan
Wake up. Work out. Shower. Studio. Run. Shower. Sleep.
That had been my routine since I found a rhythm, interrupted only by scheduled outings or trips. A little chaos was needed to keep up appearances. The life of a hermit would stick out in my building of gossips.
And t
he last thing I needed was people talking.
But an ordinary Friday was going out with a bang, literally, a storm unleashing hell on the city. Rain furiously pounded the floor-to-ceiling windows as I worked, the occasional boom of thunder making my skin prickle.
Thunderstorms were bad enough on the ground, but perched high in the sky in the penthouse, I found myself anticipating a lightning strike straight through the window.
The belly of the brush did its magic while I kept an eye on the storm and another on the canvas, bringing the image in my head to life with each stroke. Black, blues, and grays streaked together, giving the background an anger the squall outside could only hope to achieve.
But no amount of clouds did the storm inside justice, so I called it quits before I ended up painting Armageddon.
A quick dip in water freed the brush of the darkness, a pop of pear bringing it back to life. There were a few more details to finish and the latest piece would be ready. I just had to find the perfect venue for its unveiling. It was my most personal to date, so not just any gallery would do. Distance was needed with the latest reveal happening right in the city. The move would hopefully throw off the trail of the motherfuckers that were wading through hell and high water trying to sniff me out.
Some thought Ever was a man; others thought it was a woman. So-called experts wrote op-eds about it in the papers nitpicking every painting for gender cues, while critics bitterly argued over the artist’s training. Regular folk just shut up and enjoyed the show. What was better than a bunch of rich people bickering and blowing money, anyway? All while the artist openly mocked them.
But some weren’t happy with that. They wanted more. It was the risk of Ever. People couldn’t be satisfied with the mystery. It wasn’t enough. They had to know, even if it ruined it all.
Wonder was as dead as imagination. It wasn’t hard to see why the arts were falling out of favor in schools. People weren’t creative anymore. They were too impatient to sit back and wait for magic to happen. They had to dissect things and spoil the fun.
