The Artist's Mechanic

by J. D. Walker

  The Artist’s Mechanic

  By J.D. Walker

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2019 J.D. Walker

  ISBN 9781634869324

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  Never be afraid to do something outside your comfort zone. You might find your way to love.

  * * * *

  The Artist’s Mechanic

  By J.D. Walker

  What am I doing here?

  I sat in a small classroom, sun still shining bright through the windows at seven o’clock in the evening, since it was early summer. There were eleven women and men who all looked to be over the age of sixty milling around in front me, adjusting their easels and checking their paintbrushes and such. Everyone seemed excited to be there, while I felt like someone had just put diesel fuel in my gasoline tank, and now the engine wouldn’t start. How the hell did I end up in this predicament?

  Oh, yeah. My baby brother Marco had tricked me.

  Okay, so it wasn’t quite a trick, but he’d somehow shifted the blame for his lack of enthusiasm to attend school to me, saying, “Oh, well you never graduated, ergo, why should I?” after which I reminded him that I had gotten my diploma last year, ceremony or no. And then, he’d said, “Well why can’t I do the same thing?”

  My response was, “Because you can do better than that. You get A’s without even trying, and I want you to have a chance at something good in life, not settle because you made bad choices.” Or because life had knocked you on the ass with responsibilities you never asked for.

  After that, Marco had crossed his arms, narrowed his too-sharp brown eyes, and told me I’d have to do something really big and outside my comfort zone for him to agree, something I’d never do in a million years, just to prove that I was serious about him becoming a senior and graduating next year, for his own good. Naturally, it hadn’t taken him long to come up with the most embarrassing thing possible—being a nude model for his best friend’s brother’s drawing class for the rest of the summer at the university where said brother taught.

  I’d argued back and forth with Marco, but my brother, whether he’d admit it or not, was the smartest person I knew—if lazy—and he had me by the balls. If I wanted to demonstrate to him that I was serious about his future, I’d have to grow a bigger pair. So, here I was, showing that I could be the bigger man and hold up my end of the bargain if I really had his welfare at heart. Of course, I did, damn it. Always! I simply didn’t want to have to bare my fuzzy nuts to do it.

  Geez, the guys at the garage would bust a gut if they ever found out what I was doing on Tuesdays and Thursdays for the next two months. Marco owed me big time for this, the little squirt. His ass better be glued to that chair at school for the entire senior year. All I had to do was survive being gawked at for an hour and a half while people drew or painted or the what-the-fuck-ever.

  Christ, what a nightmare.

  * * * *

  I played with my phone for a few minutes while waiting for the instructor to arrive. I’d already received email confirmation and instructions as to how things would progress during the period where I posed for the class, thus I wore a bathrobe and slippers. I’d clipped my toenails because those claws just had to go. Hope they’d forgive my hammertoes, if they scrutinized me that closely.

  The instructor’s name was Wayne Rodriguez, and when I looked him up, I could admit the guy was smokin’. And his artwork was actually pretty good, in my humble opinion. Hey, I could appreciate works of art, the effort that went into creating the perfect masterpiece. A smooth-running car was like art to me, now that I thought about it.

  I loved being a mechanic, but didn’t necessarily want to be lauded for it. I preferred to remain behind the scenes, compared to Marco who was always loud and proud about everything. My little brother even complained that I was a fuddy-duddy at the ripe old age of thirty-eight. I never dated, never did anything fun, as far as he was concerned. Only thing I did was work. Oh, and hound his ass about staying in school, cleaning up his damn funky room, and doing the dishes. Had I been that bad when our parents were still alive? It’d been so long ago, I barely remembered anymore.

  As I answered a cheeky text from the runt who’d just gotten home from his summer job at the local fair, I heard the door to the classroom open. I glanced up to see Wayne enter the room, and he was even hotter in person, with a smile that would make even the most hardened cynic melt. That wasn’t me though, nuh-uh. I was completely in control of my reactions and was only here to prove a point to my pain in the ass sibling.

  Yup.

  Wayne greeted everyone as he walked to the front of the room where I sat. He grinned as he held out a hand in greeting. “Mr. Winston? Thanks so much for sacrificing your free time to help us this summer.”

  I shook his hand, aware how rough mine was compared to his lightly calloused palm, and replied gruffly, “It’s Logan, please.”

  “Fine. Logan. Call me Wayne, if you like. We’re pleased to have you with us. Aren’t we, class?” he said, pitching his voice to address the students.

  There were nods and grins from both sexes which made me decidedly uncomfortable. I hoped I wouldn’t have to fend off advances from sixty-year-old ladies or gentlemen. My heart couldn’t take it. Or any other part of me. Marco might call me an ageist. Perhaps I needed to work on that.

  “Okay,” Wayne said, clapping his hands together to get everyone to pay attention. “We’re here to study the human form in all its glory. Logan has taken time out of his busy schedule to help us.” He focused on me. “Logan, if you please.” He gestured to the robe I wore.

  With a barely suppressed sigh, I removed it and, fully naked, I turned to my left, one leg on the upper wrung of the stool while the other dangled near the floor. I leaned forward, my chin on my elbow, the other in my lap just barely covering my crotch. The cool air in the room kept things shriveled, which worked in my favor. There were still grease stains on my nails and hands, though, since there was only so much I could do to get rid of all that.

  I knew what I looked like. A light-skinned black dude with dreads that hung down my back, a no-nonsense scowl ever-present on a face with a broken nose from too many street fights as a teenager, and light brown eyes. I’d always been good at tinkering with engines of all kinds, but not so good with people. Shocked the shit out of me when I had to step up and raise Marco, but I loved the little brat, and he was family. I’d adjusted.

  Marco wasn’t so little these days, since he was my height, if skinny. I totally got why he acted out, from time to tim
e. Deep down, Marco still seemed to be afraid that I would abandon him like he felt our parents had, when they died. He was better about it, for the most part, but he kept pushing the boundaries, to keep me on my toes. No matter what he did, however, I would never leave. He was stuck with me.

  I remained as still as possible, listening to Wayne as he moved from person to person, critiquing drawing techniques and making suggestions as necessary. His voice was soothing and deep, and I found it almost hypnotic.

  I’d noticed he had laughing gray eyes and wavy black hair almost to his shoulders, with a few streaks of silver. There were the beginnings of crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. He had a face that seemed to inspire trust. He was so different from the tough guys I worked with or had hung around growing up. I wondered if he’d ever known hardship, or had it rough. And why did I care?

  By the time it was over, I was stiff from being in one position for that length of time, though I’d had a couple of breaks. I quickly donned my robe and grabbed my backpack, which held my clothing. Before I could disappear, though, Wayne stopped me by the door.

  “Thanks so much for doing this. I know it’s not that comfortable, but you really are an important part of the creative process. We couldn’t do this without you.” He smiled. “See you on Thursday?”

  I nodded. “Sure. Uh, gotta go. Bye.” I tried hard not to notice the speculation in his eyes as I walked past him, heading for the restroom so I could get dressed and head home. I wasn’t interested in a hookup. I wasn’t. I didn’t have time, and I had things to do, and his eyes changed color in the light…I was so screwed.

  * * * *

  “So, how’s it feel having your bare ass being immortalized on paper?” Marco asked, smirking as he flipped through channels on TV in search of something to watch for an hour before bed.

  I shot back, “Feels like you’ll be going to school in the fall, half-pint.”

  He scowled as he settled on a sitcom. “I’m as tall as you. Whatever.”

  I smiled to myself because Marco had always been a sore loser. Still, there was no way I was letting him get away with skating by through life when he had an above average brain to put to use. I’d barely managed to eke out a living because of the choices I’d made. He shouldn’t have to do that. “Make sure you do the dishes before bed, little man,” was all I said before heading to my tiny bedroom in the back of our apartment, easily dodging the pillow Marco threw after me.

  I quickly used the bathroom and hopped into bed. I was two chapters into a book called Car Country: An Environmental History. I picked it up and read a few pages, the words failing to make sense before I set the hardcover aside in defeat. Images of Wayne Rodriguez kept intruding and I wondered what was the big deal? I’d seen better-looking men than he, but right away, I’d felt an ease and peace in his presence that I’d never experienced in my lifetime. I didn’t know what to do with that.

  At the very least, it wouldn’t be too much of a hardship being around him. I punched my pillows a few times and moved around on the mattress before I got comfortable. It had been a while since I’d let anything more than mere sexual attraction, with the aim of a quickie, take hold of my psyche.

  With thoughts of a laughing Wayne in my head, I fell asleep.

  * * * *

  I’d just finished replacing the brake pads on Mrs. Brewington’s Toyota—she’d worn them down almost to the metal—when Roy got my attention. “Hey, Logan. Got a customer here who needs new spark plugs, and Scott’s in the middle of something right now.”

  “Got it.” I wiped my hands on an already dirty towel and wandered out back to where the customers usually left their cars to be worked on.

  There was only one vehicle waiting, and wouldn’t you know it? The guy leaning against the driver’s side door was the instructor from my twice-a-week night class. I felt dirty in Wayne’s presence, with a huge grease stain on the right leg of my overalls while he wore clean, pressed cargo shorts and a plain red T-shirt that fit too well on his toned, muscular build for my sanity. There were sweat stains under his armpits.

  Wayne’s eyes widened and he smiled with pleasure when he recognized me. Grinning, he wiped his forehead with a paint-splattered rag and said, “Logan! I didn’t realize you worked at this garage, man. Marco only mentioned that you were a mechanic, not where.”

  I shrugged, feeling a little off-kilter. “Yeah. You need new spark plugs?”

  Wayne nodded and handed over the keys. “And could you please check the air filter and give me new windshield wipers, too?”

  “Sure thing.” I walked around his car. He drove an older model Toyota—a lot of that make going around today—which seemed to be in good shape.

  “You were a big hit with the students yesterday, by the way,” Wayne said as he stepped out of my way. “They can’t stop talking about your, um, attributes.”

  “As long as none of them ask me out on a date to investigate those attributes, I’m cool,” I said with a grunt.

  Wayne laughed, and my stomach went flip-flop. “They’re harmless, really. We’re all so excited to have a live subject for a change. I’d do it, but I can’t teach and pose at the same time.” And that image of him in the buff wasn’t something I needed in my head right now.

  “I bet,” I said, grumbling as I hopped into the driver’s seat. “It’ll be about an hour. You can go out front or sit in the waiting room. There’s a vending machine, if you want…whatever.”

  “Thanks.” His sweet smile made me think of things a hardened cynic should never contemplate, like how soft his lips would feel on my skin. Would he scream if I fucked him against a wall? Shit!

  It took me a little longer than sixty minutes to finish because I was distracted by thoughts of Wayne beneath me. Or above. Any position, really. I gave Tricia the bill at the front desk—minus the time I’d dithered like an idiot—so she could do the invoice.

  I cleaned up as best I could and tried not to overthink why I was doing it. When I drove the car back outside, I saw Wayne propped up against the lone light post on the lot. Guess he paid already. I put the car in park and hopped out, leaving the door open.

  “All done?” he asked, and I nodded.

  He settled in the driver’s seat and closed the door before rolling down the window. “Appreciate it, Logan. Maybe I’ll get you to work on my air-conditioning. Damn thing is on the fritz and it’s the middle of summer.” He grinned, though, so, apparently it didn’t bother him too much, despite the moisture on his face and neck.

  I shrugged. “Bring it by whenever you want. I work here Monday through Saturday. Sometimes Sunday, if we’re behind.” Before I could babble anymore, I stepped back. “See you Thursday.” I turned and hustled back to the building before I could say something even more stupid than I already had.

  Wayne could be the death of me, and I might actually enjoy it.

  * * * *

  Halfway through Thursday’s class, one of the students—Mrs. Moses, who’d introduced herself before the session began—somehow twisted and fell off her stool, landing hard on her left hip. I heard a loud pop, and she cried out in pain. I was wearing a towel—a prop for this evening’s class—when I rushed over to check on her, along with Wayne, while the rest of the students looked on and offered their opinions on the matter, helpful or not.

  Wayne called 911 and I did my best to make the old lady comfortable on the cement floor, a few bunched up rags underneath her head to serve as a sort of pillow. As much pain as she was likely experiencing, Mrs. Moses still managed to retain a sense of humor. “You know, if I were a few years younger, you’d have me knocking on your door.”

  I rolled my eyes and gave her a mild glare and she chuckled, then winced in pain. It seemed to take forever before paramedics arrived with a stretcher and prepared Mrs. Moses to go to the hospital. When they left with a couple of students following behind, Wayne told the others that class would resume next week, and I helped him clean up after I dressed in the bathroom.

 
“Was Mrs. Moses flirting with you?” Wayne asked as I placed the last easel in the far corner of the room with the others.

  I glanced at him and saw he was grinning. “Yes.”

  “I don’t blame her.” He winked at me and then moved to turn off the lights.

  I groaned as I followed him out the door. “Not you, too.” And why was I complaining?

  “You gotta know how hot you are, whether or not you’re in the buff. You probably get hit on all the time.”

  When we were in the parking lot, I said, “If I have, then I was oblivious or uninterested. I’m too busy raising my brother to think about things like that.”

  My car was parked next to his. Opening the door, Wayne said, “That’s kind of sad, though I’m happy your brother has you in his corner. Must be hard, taking care of him on your own.”

  “He’s a pill, but I love him anyway. I just need to get his stubborn ass through high school, and then I’ll take a breather. Maybe.” I stashed my bag in the old VW bug, and got in. “Have a nice weekend.”

  “I will. Though…” Wayne hesitated then seemed to make a decision, because he said, “I’m having a house party this weekend. Kind of an art/music/poetry kind of thing. It’ll be on Saturday night, say eight o’clock? Is that something you’d be interested in? You can bring your brother with you. He and Brian can hang out together, like they usually do. What do you say?”

  I rubbed the back of my neck. I barely knew this guy, and this was so far outside my comfort zone. What the hell did I know about art or hipsters, or whatever? But maybe that was just stereotypes talking, and God, had I been the victim of those, over the years. “Um, well, okay. Sure. Uh, I guess I’ll see you then.”

  The smile Wayne gave me made my heart lurch. “Wonderful! You’ll have fun, I promise.”

  * * * *

  I was not having fun.

  Sure, the artwork on display was cool, though I didn’t understand half of what people said about the strokes used or whatever. The music was eclectic, and I liked some of it, but could do without electronica. And some of the spoken word was downright weird…I didn’t need to know that much information about the performer’s yearning for sex—and the graphic descriptions—as told in such a public forum. Was that a thing?