Pieces of Lies (6 page)

“Of course I do, I just didn’t know you were in the same circles as me.” He looked at me in wonder, like he was trying to figure me out, but I stayed as cool as a cucumber.

“Clint, we are not in the same circles, believe me,” and with that the elevator doors opened. I quickly rushed out, thankful to leave the conversation where it started.

I walked through the basement over to my BMW and then I clenched my teeth, realizing there would be even more questions now.

“This is the new model, BMW M5,” he said excitedly
. 

Yep, I knew it. Taking my car was a bad idea.

“I’ve got a Mercedes C63, the brand new model,” Clint stated, trying to impress me.

“That’s really fantastic Clint.” I was making fun of him but his smile was gone. I laughed as we both climbed into the car and nudged him from the driver’s seat, reassuring him I was just mucking around. He didn’t look happy at all. In fact, I think he was sulking that I had belittled the love he obviously had for cars. 

The air between us grew eerily silent as he watched me. I waited a moment before starting the engine, because he looked like he was deep in thought about what he was about to say.

“You know Norah, you have quite an apartment and quite a car for being just an artist.” There was a dark edge in the way he made his statement.

FUCK!!!

I felt a bead of sweat form on my brow as he waited for me to bite on that comment. He was looking for a reaction which would give something away, but I knew better than that. He wasn’t the first person to question the peculiarities of my lifestyle, and I had to give it him for picking up on them already. He was clearly paying close attention.

As he waited for me to respond, my heart rate moved at lightning speed, my head screamed to run away from Clint and his incessant need to poke into my private life, which was, as I knew, extremely dangerous to do.

Breathe Norah, breathe.
 

I turned, shrugged, gave him the sweetest smile I could, and simply just said, “Yes Clint, I suppose I do, don’t I?” and I started the car and drove out of the basement, having just won my hand in our game of poker face.

After driving for about twenty minutes, we pulled into a parking lot just on the outskirts of town. Clint stared out the car window, completely confused.

“A gun range. You brought me to a gun range?” He was looking at the sign over the top of the large industrial cement building which read ‘Seth’s Gun Range & Café’.

“I find it very relaxing.” I was already feeling more at ease just being in the car park. He was looking at me like I was some kind of alien.

“You like guns?” he asked, the shock evident in his voice.

“Clint, I’m a firm believer that having knowledge and respect for guns is an important part of everyday life. Everyone should know how to handle one, how to fire one, for their own protection. I think people are too ignorant about the fact that gun-related death is such a high killer in this country.” Clint was thinking, still looking a little unsure. “Plus,” I said, “it’s really fun and you can blow off a lot of steam in the process.”

His facial expression changed into a quirky grin. He then hopped out of the car, hurrying around to my door and opened it for me, “You know what Norah, I couldn’t agree more.”

Inside the range, Clint selected a couple of the bigger handguns and I chose a Glock. I liked the feel and the weight of the gun in my hands, and often resented myself for how comfortable I naturally felt holding the weapon. It gave me the worst possible thoughts, but holding it, firing it, controlling it, gave me the power I needed to overcome the constant feeling of darkness which swirled in the back of my head. Like my painting, shooting a gun was a very therapeutic way for me to vent when I felt overwhelmed by dark thoughts and feelings.

Clint and I fired our rounds with ease. He had quite a knack at shooting and almost hit his target on a few shots. I however, hit my target perfectly every time. After my third round, I looked over to Clint who was watching me with an odd look on his face. It was as if he wasn’t so sure about the girl he was on a date with and probably thinking about what I would do to him if he tried to pull something. The idea of his fear made me chuckle.

After our allocated rounds, we decided to grab a bite to eat in the range’s café. The gun range café was modern looking, with exposed brick walls and steel tables and chairs throughout, and on the walls were large framed posters of scantily clad women in bikinis, holding mostly machine guns and other assorted weapons. If I didn’t love firing a gun so much, I might have been offended by the degrading pictures, but I had to respect the business’s marketing gimmick. Their clientele was primarily men, who often hung around in the café after their time on the range. If the pictures helped drum up a little more business for their food service, then more power to them.

“That was lots of fun,” Clint stated, looking genuinely happy as he pulled out my chair for me like a gentleman.

“When I’m not painting or studying, I’m usually here. I find it very, peaceful.”

Clint smiled again as he took his seat, “Interesting choice of words Norah.”

I grinned back at him, “I’m an interesting kind of girl.”

Clint cleared his throat, “Yes, I’m starting to see that.”

A waitress came over to take our lunch order. We decided to share the cafe's signature cheese platter and both ordered sodas. When she left, Clint leaned back into his chair and rested his head on one of his arms getting comfortable.

“So, have you always been an artist?”

My heart was nodding her approval.  I liked when guys took an interest.  It told me that thought about someone other then themselves.

“If by that you mean, have I always explored my artistic side, then yes, I suppose you can say that. I was kind of a loner as a kid, so I threw myself into books as well as drawing and painting. I really love painting.”

Clint nodded and then listened as I started to ramble on about painting and various artists that I was influenced by and appreciated.  It surprised me even more that he was hanging onto every word that came out of my mouth.  Soon, our dinks arrived and I managed to stop talking about myself, turning my attention to Clint.

“And what kind of interests does Clint Weston have? I know you’re in the Lappell and I’m not really interested in ‘those’ kind of activities, so what else do you like?” I asked.

He leaned back into his chair assessing my question. “I don’t know. I like art, cars, sailing, fishing up at my family’s cabin…”

“Women.”

Filter Norah, filter!

“What!” He almost choked on his own breath. I already regretted the word leaving my lips but it popped into my mind like a flashing neon warning sign. I secretly cursed Tess for bringing it up yesterday because now it was all I could think about.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to blurt that out like an accusation. I’ve just heard about your reputation,” I said, unable to cover it up. Suddenly he looked like I had slapped his face.

Was he really that surprised?

“From Josh?” Clint asked, a clear hint of hostility in his voice, not happy with my statement.

“No, Tess actually. Not that she called you a man-whore or anything, she just said she’s never seen you with a steady girlfriend,” I confirmed. He studied me for more of a reaction but I offered none.

“Does that bother you?”

Well at least he didn’t lie and deny it. That’s certainly saying something.

I shrugged, “Who am I to tell you how to live your life, but I hope you don’t think this,” and I pointed my index finger towards him and then back to myself, “will lead to being part of your casual conquests.”

Clint leaned across the table so our eyes were looking directly into one another, “Do you think I asked you out as some elaborate ploy to get into your virginal panties?”

I moved even closer, showing him that I was not at all intimidated by his little stare down.

“Why did you ask me out then?” I questioned, not convinced.

He cocked his head to the side, his lips mischievously curling up. “What if I told you I just wanted to be friends, Norah?” 

I imitated his movements exactly in my response. “Then I’d tell you I’m very selective with my friends, Clint.”

He placed both hands on his chest like he was offended. “So I’m not good enough to be your friend?”

I eyed him, “Do you want to just be my friend?”

He opened his mouth to respond and then clamped it shut. He then pushed himself back from the table, placing some distance between us, like he had exposed something he wasn’t supposed to. It was confusing because he had said nothing to suggest otherwise.

What game is he playing?

The waitress returned with our cheese platter. I immediately reached for one of the cubes of cheese and threw it in my mouth. Clint kept his eyes fixated on my movements. I liked the way he looked at me. 

“You’re very different, you know that. Very, brazen.” Clint observed, as he watched me pick at the platter.

I took a stuffed olive, and held it to my lips, thinking about his words. “Your point being?”

“It’s unexpected,” he stated.

I shrugged, “That’s not a bad thing you know.”

“Yes, I know.”

This time I watched Clint pick at the plate, selecting a slice of the brie and cracker to go with it.

“So about what you heard. My reputation I mean.”

I felt my stomach churn as he returned to the subject. “What about it?”

I wonder where he is going with this?

“See, I just don’t have time for a girlfriend. I have priorities, directions. Orders. Plus the girls here are all the same. All they want is to be linked to my family name and all that goes with it. You wouldn’t understand what that is like.”

Then at that moment, and I don’t know if it was because I could understand where he was coming from, I looked Clint square in the eyes and simply said, “Yes I would understand that, more than you know.”

He waited for me to continue but I quickly realigned my head back into its safety zone. I kept forgetting myself around Clint and that was sheer stupidity on my behalf. I mentally slapped my face.

“Look Clint, I’m really sorry I mentioned it in the first place. It’s not my place to try and be judgmental. Please don’t feel the need to explain yourself because you certainly don’t owe me any kind of explanation about your personal life.” I tried to end the subject and move on.  

“It obviously must be bothering you though.”

He’s thinking I care. Damn it. Did I?

“And I know I don’t have to give you an explanation, but for some reason I want to give you one Norah. You know, it hasn’t been easy for me.”

That made me laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure sleeping with countless beautiful women with no strings attached has been a horrible experience for you.” I rolled my eyes at his lame excuse to play up the ‘poor little rich boy who can’t find real love’ routine.

“You’re being sarcastic aren’t you?” he noted matter-of-factly.

“Look, I don’t how ‘hard’ it’s been for you, but if you are concerned that it puts you in a bad light with me, then don’t worry about that. If anything, I feel sorry for you.”

“Sorry for me?” He bridged the space he had created earlier, leaning in on the table, genuinely intrigued about what I was about to say next.

“Yes, I think it’s sad that you haven’t met anyone you felt you could take a chance on. To me, it would be like being stuck in the shallow end of a pool, scared to jump into the deep.” 

His face switched from slightly amused to hard and cold, “Oh well, since we’re speaking in metaphors, I suppose you can say you’ve jumped into the deep end have you?” There was bitterness in the way he questioned me. Perhaps I touched on a sore spot. I shouldn’t make so many assumptions about him, but I couldn’t help but try and draw out the truth in him, even if it meant offending him or pushing his buttons.

“I’ve not only jumped into the deep end Clint, I almost drowned.” I declared.

I was venturing into dangerous territory even hinting at ‘that’ relationship.

“What happened to him then?” Clint looked away like it was going to hurt him to know the answer. The way he came at me and then backed off was very confusing. It was hard to interpret if he liked me or not, especially since he clearly indicated that he was not in the frame of mind to get attached to anyone.

“That’s another story for another day Clint.” My eyes held back tears but I knew they were already stained red. The mere mention of 'him' squeezed my heart. I felt at a loss about what to say next and just started to play with my fingers on the table, keeping my head hung low. All I could do was just continue to stare blankly at my twitching thumbs, trying as best as I could not to get emotional.

How did we go from shooting guns and smiling, to some kind of conversation where I almost got into my most recent heartbreak? I didn’t even know why I had brought up Clint’s sex life. It was none of my business who he slept with and how many. It wasn’t my concern, but truth be told, I was intrigued about the guy I met in front of Chagall’s
Three Candles
, the guy who whisked me off the floor in my apartment and whose eyes didn’t leave mine when he carried me to safety. I needed to try and understand why he was jumping from girl to girl when there was clearly a hint of a romantic heart hidden inside him. 

Then Clint did something I didn’t expect. He placed his hands on top of mine and just held them there. He gripped my hands and stroked my fingers with both his thumbs. It was a small gesture of comfort and yet, was so intimate and kind. My fingers stopped moving and froze. My head flicked up to meet his eyes, and there it was again, that feeling of inexplicable warmth and comfort, combined with high intensity craving and desire. I felt my entire body ignite, warming completely to his touch, and I wanted more. I was entertaining thoughts I normally didn’t entertain about someone new. My last relationship developed over time into something more intense, but I was already getting that same intense feeling from Clint, and I knew next to nothing about him. It was kind of blinding and exciting all at once.