Inky (18 page)

“You know me” he interrupted my dreamy train of thought, “you can trust me and I won’t take no for an answer.”

When we arrived at my house, he turned off the car, came to my door and opened it.

“How very chivalrous of you. Thanks.”

“Give me your keys.” When we walked in, he entered the alarm code.

“How do you know the code?” I asked, surprised.

“Aimes told me.”

“Right. I’ll just be a few minutes. Make yourself at home.”

“Take your time, Anika.”

I went into my bedroom, my new bedroom and called the bar.

“Rusty’s.” I heard Aimes shout into the phone over what must’ve been a rush of people after I had left.

“Aimes? What the fuck?”

“Dude, I’m slammed. It’s just me and Jesus. You made Lisa cry. Oh my God, you made her cry! I didn’t even know she had tears. Everyone’s all pumped now, I think that did wonders for sales – that’ll be twelve fifty, thanks – I can’t believe you bedazzled Evan’s shirt and, Inky, it was like you were possessed or something! That was fuckin’ Girls Gone Wild. I wish I had it on video…”

“Aimes, I’m supposedly going home with Cole, with your blessing?”

“Inky, go, have a good time, get laid. Just have a little vacation. He has your bag and your phone. If you have any problems, call us and we’ll come and get you. See what it is about this guy, have mindless sex, whatever, just try to have some fun and don’t start overanalyzing this and thinking you don’t want him around. I love you, but that guy keeps coming up in conversation and he keeps showing up like your knight in shining armor. Just, go.” She hung up. Just like that, she had thrown me to the, well, Cole Carlyle isn’t exactly a wolf.

Looking through my laundry basket, I was thankful I’d washed and folded my clothes. I grabbed a denim skirt and undies, a matching grey tank and panty set that I liked to sleep in and flannel pajama pants. I found a new black bra which left very little to the imagination but figured, hey, what the hell, just in case. I decided to go with a simple baby doll tee from the Chris Isaak concert I saw last year and topped it off with a U.C. L.A. hoodie. I didn’t know anyone who went there, but the color matched my Converse. I put my toothbrush in my bag along with some chap-stick and my sleepwear and left to go find Cole. I almost thought he’d changed his mind and left when he wasn’t waiting in the kitchen or living room. The only place I hadn’t looked was my studio.

I took a deep breath and sighed. Looking through the doorway, his back was to me. He wore black dress slacks, expertly tailored, black dress shoes, a thick leather belt, almost not matching the ensemble. His hands were in his pockets, lifting his suit jacket just enough that I could see that he must work out. A lot. Then I remembered he’d carried me to the car with ease. He wasn’t a huge man, not like Gus, but he was lean and strong. I wondered what he’d look like without a shirt on. I wondered if he had a Jacuzzi tub. Snapping myself out of my daydream, I cleared my throat, “I’m ready to go…against my better judgment.”

He didn’t turn around. For what felt like years he just stood there and studied my painting. He tilted his head to the right, as if he was trying a new angle. Finally, he spoke staring straight ahead. “How do you do this? What gets this out of you? Does it just happen?” I never imagined I’d be discussing my creative process with him but he was a paying customer and he truly seemed to have an interest in my work.

“Hang on a minute.” I went to the table that held my pallet, three huge containers of brushes, a jar of murky water, an empty wine glass covered in paint, a small stereo equally covered in paint and my iPod. I put my hands on his hips and moved him to the center of the painting and handed him the headphones, “Here. Watch.” I sat down behind him on my big green love seat and pressed play. As I watched him, I also thought that when the time came, maybe this is how I could convince Olaf Evist to choose a song to inspire a commission.

By the end of the song, I watched his shoulders slump and his hands fall to his sides. He reached out his right hand and pulled me from the couch, “Let’s go.”

Chapter 18

When we pulled into the gated community, I felt like an imposter. “What exactly is it you do, Cole?”

“Can we not talk about that tonight? You can ask me anything you want tomorrow but right now, can we just not talk about that?”

“If you’re a musician, you can take me home right now.”

He chuckle escaped him before he said, “No, I’m not a musician, Anika.”

“Why do you call me that?” I noticed he always used my proper name. I didn’t mind necessarily, but it did have a sort of emphasis about it. At least the way he said it did.

“It’s your name isn’t it?”

“You’re kind of a smart ass, aren’t ya?”

“We’re here.” Another automatic gate opened, this one appeared to be heavy solid wood. Tiny lights illuminated the driveway and we came to a stop in front of a garage. “I’ll get your door.”

Taking my hand in his, he led me down a curved stone path, lined with small copper lamps and perfectly manicured, soft grass. It looked like fairies lived there, magical and lush. Trees above us formed a canopy over the path until we reached the two front doors made of the same dark wood as the front gate.

“Welcome to my home.” The first thing I noticed was his use of nature throughout the house – the part I could see anyway. The floors were a light stained wood... not pine; oak maybe. The walls in the entrance area a creamy color, like vanilla ice cream. Beyond that, down two landings were five large windows looking out at the ocean.

I was actually in my dream house. Not the one I always admired from main beach but similar…and better.

“Oh my. Oh.” All the air went out of me.

“Do you want something to drink? I was gonna have a beer. You like Corona, right?”

“Yep.” I went straight to the windows and spied two lounge chairs and wow – a pool! He handed me the beer and clinked it.

“Cheers. To an excellent performance and to the most awesome chick/bar brawl I’ve ever seen. Here... I brought you an ice pack for your hand.” We both took a swig and I laid the ice pack across my hand. I hadn’t even noticed it hurt until he gave it to me. I knew he could feel my discomfort so I let him do all the talking. “It’s a heated patio if you get cold. Do you want to sit out there?”

“Sure.” He slid a large panel to the side, opening the entire room to the sea. “Wow, this is an artist’s paradise. How long have you lived here?” He led me toward a chaise.

“Here, have a seat. Do you want a throw?” I shook my head no. “After my ex asked me to move out. I’d always wanted to live by the beach. She hated it. That should’ve been my first clue. Who hates the beach?”

“I knew a girl in school that hated The Beatles. I could never work that one out either. I don’t like everything they sang, but come on?”

“That is weird.” He shook his head. “So you and Evan are no longer ‘you and Evan’?”

“How’d you guess?” I smiled sarcastically.

“What was the whole thing with the shirt?”

“Have you ever heard of the band, Rush?”

Say no, say no, say no.

“Eighties, right?”

Damn. At least he wasn’t a die-hard fan.

“That right there, your reaction, proves you’re not a musician. Thank the Lord. I actually like them, but Evan worshiped them. I know their names, I know all sorts of strange little factoids about them. They are incredible musicians but, anyway, he got to meet the band, go backstage and sit and talk with the bass player who also happens to be the singer and keyboard player. Anyway, he would go on and on about him. I decided to wear that shirt one day, all sexy like and surprise him. I could see he was having this internal struggle... sex or my autographed shirt? Sex? Or my autographed shirt?”

“Which one did he choose?”

“Not the shirt.” I took another sip, smiling, thankful our conversation was flowing easily.

“What happened?”

“You mean between me and Evan?”

“Yeah.”

“He did me a huge favor, that’s what happened.” He just stared at me, “Oh alright, but if I tell you mine, you have to tell me yours.”

“Deal.” He nodded in agreement.

“I kinda have,” I sighed, “baggage. Evan never seemed to mind that I was a little closed off. He flirted with me all the time. I dated casually and each time things started to get serious with a guy, he would start telling me how he would do this differently and that differently. Then I started dating Gerry who’s one if the nicest guys you’d ever meet. He’s sweet. Too sweet for me; he knew I wasn’t forthcoming with him about my past so I always kept him at a distance. I was never really myself. Evan used to come into the bar during the day when he wasn’t up in L.A. auditioning for a project – he’s a bass player, a studio musician if you didn’t get that before.”

“Oh, I got it.” He said taking a pull of the beer.

“So, anyway, sometimes he would come in on a Friday or Saturday night…the only nights I work there…he always seemed to talk me into leaving with him. He’d give me a ride home, one thing would lead to another…I know this doesn’t put me in the best light, but I thought you should know what kind of person you’re dealing with here. Especially since I suspect your marriage didn’t end well.”

“Anika, you’ve mentioned this to me before. You resisted a very real, very tempting I should add, opportunity to be intimate with me and I was fairly confident you wanted to. You should give yourself some credit. He just wasn’t right for you, and neither was that Gerry guy. Want another beer? I’m gonna grab one.”

“If you’re trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me, I’ll tell you straight; the view, the ocean, the pool…I don’t think I’m gonna need a whole lot of convincing.” I wasn’t trying to be slutty. I was trying to be funny and, luckily, he got the joke and laughed all the way to the kitchen.

He returned with two beers and sat down on the chaise next to me again. “And you?” I asked.

“You didn’t finish your story. How did you go from engaged to bar fight?”

“Lisa was my roommate. She and Evan apparently used to date. Well, I guess they never really stopped. I thought she was a good friend but I thought he was a good friend too.” I looked out for a moment over the black water. No moon tonight. A good night for star watching.

“What are you thinking about?”

“How I trusted them both with something very personal and how they both, well, she threw it in my face and he allowed her to do it.”

“That’s what that painting’s about. The one in your studio? The betrayal.”

“You’re pretty good at that. You get it.”

“It helps when you have a soundtrack.” He smiled with the mouth of the bottle resting at his lips.

“Okay, I’ve done enough talking. Quit stalling. Spill.” I demanded.

He took a very long pull of his beer but didn’t quite finish it.

“The short answer. She married me for money. She convinced me she was one person and the longer we were together, I discovered she was somebody else. I never changed. My father insisted on a pre-nup which was a good thing in hindsight although I compromised with a contract and an agreed amount if the marriage failed. She didn’t love me. She told me she never loved me. The sad thing is, I knew. I knew she didn’t love me but I liked having the company. I just wanted someone to hang out with but she wanted to go to all the parties and events. Like that exhibit. She lived for that crap.”

“You don’t, I take it?”

“It’s part of my job. My father... well, why don’t we save our family stories for another time?”

“Agreed.”

“Do you still love her?” He looked out, a far away look I knew only too well.

“I don’t think I ever did, not really. Did you love him?”

“That’s just it. My whole idea of what I thought love was has changed.”

“What changed it?” He asked. I didn’t answer. He knew very well what changed.

“Come inside for a minute. I wanna show you something. Bring your beer.”

I followed him in and he veered to the right. A solid wall of pale gray was the backdrop for my painting. Pride of place, it was the focal point of the entire room. Below it was a wooden mantel and fireplace. It should have felt masculine but it didn’t. It felt warm and inviting. It felt like home. A long cream couch faced it. I sat down and stared at my creation. To my left was the ocean, how fitting that Cole should have his own soundtrack to this painting. To my right was a doorway to another room. But this area, this was probably meant to be a sitting room, maybe he read books or the paper here, or worked on his computer or something.

“Do you like it here?”

“It’s perfect. It’s so strange to see something I painted in someone’s home. It was one thing to see it in the gallery, and then the exhibit but this…it’s…special.” A lump had firmly planted itself in my throat. I wasn’t sure if I could keep myself together. I hadn’t even reacted to all the events of the evening. However, I had to give credit where credit was due, “Cole?”

“Yes, Anika?”

“Thank you.” A little sob escaped me. I tried to stop it but I couldn’t. He was suddenly next to me, taking my beer and setting it on a small end table.

“Look at me.” I looked up into his eyes, eyes I hadn’t really looked into since that day at the bar. “Do you know why I brought you here?” I shook my head, knowing what would happen if I tried to talk again. “I brought you here for the same reason I keep coming back to the bar in the hope of hearing you sing, the same reason I bought this and your other paintings. I need you. It scares the fuck out of me but I have never felt this in my entire life. I need to be near you, to hear your voice and see your face.” He never touched me as he spoke, but his eyes seemed to be making a map of where he was going to explore me. I longed to have his hands on me but he somehow refused.

“Why won’t you touch me?” I asked breathlessly.

“I’m savoring you.” I let the breath I was holding in anticipation go and pulled myself together.

“I have to tell you something; actually, more importantly I want to tell you but it might freak you out.”

“I doubt that very much.”

“I’m not sure what Lisa told you that day you came in…after I was …attacked?”