Then Kiss Me (9 page)

Something Barry didn’t know was that I’d grown to prefer my freedom.  I hadn’t realized how much marriage had been holding me back.  I was on my own, all by myself now, responsible only for me, with no one to answer to, no one to worry about.  And I’ll admit it…the first
few weeks
or so, I just let myself do nothing, be nothing.  I think I was just kind of getting used to being with myself again, learning who I was
once more
, without any pressure.

But then I realized I didn’t want to spend my entire life just working for a restaurant and
partying
ever
y
spare chance I got.  That kind of scene
had been
fine in college, but I was an adult now, and I had to act like one…at least for most of the time.  And that’s when I decided to get my ass back to
creating art
on a regular basis.  More than that, though, I had to market myself.  One of my dreams was to, at some point, set up a website to sell my art, but
first
I needed to become recognized, at least on a local level.  In Denver, it
had been
hard, because I was what my mom called “a little fish in a big pond.”  Winchester, she insisted, would have the opposite effect.  I’d be a bigger fish in a littler pond.  And, I had to admit, in spite of the way my mother chafed me, her analogy made sense.  But
I
had to get out there.  I had to market my art; I had to sell myself.  So at my first opportunity, I went
back to the Main Street Art Gallery.

The tall, tight woman whom I’d given my application to before was still manning the desk.  She smiled and I thought she might have recognized me.  This time, though, I’d walked in armed with framed paintings—two acrylics, one oil, and three watercolors.  My oil
painting
was abstract and strange—if I dropped acid on a regular basis, I would have blamed that painting on my fractured
LSD
mind, but that was not the case.  I’d just been particularly inspired one day.  The background was vivid red
s
and blue
s
, swirled together but not blending, so there was no purple. 
Instead, they were clashing. 
In the foreground was a long, thin arm that looked like it was covered in an old-fashioned
black
evening glove and in between the woman’s index and middle fingers was an equally old-fashioned cigarette filter holding a lit, smoldering
thin white
cigarette with a glowing tip.  But the edges of everything were fuzzy and muted and the background was just…unsettling.
  And on top of the blue and red swirls was a trail of gray smoke to the top of the painting.
  I don’t know what had inspired that picture, aside from the fact that my smoking addiction must have been bothering me subconsciously.
  It was a disturbing painting—why exactly I don’t know, but I was damn proud of it.

The two acrylics were kind of boring, actually, but I hadn’t been able to get a good feel for what
kind of art
the gallery liked or what
types
of art the owner preferred.  Looking around her gallery, I couldn’t be sure.  And she spent a lot of time looking at those two still
l
ifes
…one a stupid bowl of fruit,
the other, a collection of different shapes and colors of drinking glasses.  What I liked about that one, though, was how I was able to capture the light playing on the glass. 
And the watercolors were nature scenes.  Why I preferred doing those in watercolor, I’ll never know.  Probably because of the precision they required.  With acrylic and oil, I could correct my mistakes over and over, but the watercolors demanded perfection from the get go.  I had to sketch out the scene first and there, of course, I could make some mistakes, because I could erase the pencil, but once I started painting, I was committed.  It was kind of exciting, actually.

Well, the owner (
Isabel
) perused my works for quite some time, and I was sure she was just humoring me.  I finally started looking around the gallery at the art there for something to do while she toyed with my emotions
(well, and to try to get a good feel for what she was looking for)
.
  But then as I made my way back to the front, she said, “I’ll take this one.”  I couldn’t believe my ears.  She took my acid trip painting (which I’d entitled “The Party”) and offered to sell it on commission.  I didn’t even care what her cut would be.  I was just thrilled she was going to give me a chance.  And after I left, I decided that once a week, I would
try to
put myself out there.  Next week, I’d go
back
to the Arts Center and the week after, I’d go to one of the restaurants that sold art. 
I’d never become a famous artist (or anything even resembling one) if I didn’t get my work out there.  So I determined I’d stop being shy (or whatever the fuck the weird embarrassed emotion was I’d feel when I was showing my stuff off) and do my best to get my work seen.

As I was leaving, Isabel said, “If I don’t have problems selling this one, I’ll want more like it.”

Ahhhh
…so she
liked
my weird shit. 
Can do
, I thought.  Maybe I could shop my tamer stuff to other places.

In the meantime, I’d keep the cooking job because it was paying the bills.

Oh, and there was Scott, of course.  I liked being forced to see him several days a week.

And the next day at work, the three lunch cooks were me, Scott, and lecherous Jim.  I really didn’t like working with that guy, but at least Scott
’s presence was like
a buffer.  I was stuck on the fryer that day, Jim was support, and Scott was on the grill.  That was nice, because he was
literally
between Jim and me.  Better, though, I was able to sneak several glances at him.  I loved seeing half his swollen bicep peeking out from underneath the white sleeve of his t-shirt.  And I liked seeing the tips of
more
tattoos peeking out from underneath it.  And when it got hot in the kitchen—and,
believe
me, it
always
did—his skin glistened.  He hadn’t said much
so far
, but his green eyes were full of sparkle.  He was a mischievous shit, and I suspected he was just glad he hadn’t had to train anyone in a couple of months.

This was the first time I’d worked with Scott since the party.
  I was going to have to say something at some point to let him know I was impressed with his band…but I didn’t want Jim involved, so I’d wait till later.

The rush still hadn’t consumed us yet.  Things were steady but not overbearing, so my mind and eyes weren’t completely focused on the job.  Jim said, “
Whatcha
lookin
’ at, Casey?”

His words pulled me out of my trance. 
“Hmmm?”
 
Fuck
.  I’d been staring at Scott’s bicep again.  Jesus.  I’d have to work on
my
subtlety.  Well, at least I hadn’t been drooling or biting my
knuckles
, right?
  When I’d been married, I’d somehow managed to turn off the part of me that admired
the beauty of
men.  Out of respect for my husband, I’d been able to just turn off that switch.  Yep, I could still
spot
a hot guy a mile away, but I didn’t comment about it and didn’t think about it
…and I
certainly
ha
dn’t stare
d
.

But I wasn’t married anymore, and I was beginning to appreciate the scenery again.

Yeah…I definitely needed to work on keeping it in check, much like teenage boys master the art of not staring at a girl’s boobs.

Still…I had to save myself right now.  I knew there were plenty of ways I could handle
it,
and playing dumb and out of it was going to be my defense.  I didn’t want to look guilty.  I mean…it’s not like I was staring at his
ass
, for God’s sake.  It was just his
arm
.  That doesn’t
have
to be sexual.  So, the question now was if I could pull it off.  First, I had to pull my
eyes
off, so I looked over at Jim. 
“Hmmm?”
  There. 
Innocent.
  Inside, I nodded, feeling pretty smug about now.

But Jim knew.  I’m not kidding when I
say the guy was a
slimeball
.  I suspect he knew what I was thinking in the “takes one to know one” vein.  He recognized th
e look…I was lusting after Scott and Jim caught it.  “I asked what you were looking at.”

Still…I wasn’t giving up my cover that easily.  I shrugged.  “Just staring off into space, I guess.”

Scott became interested and stood back to watch our repartee.  He had five burgers and one small steak on the grill, none of which was in immediate danger of going up in smoke.  Jim said, “
Oh,
is
that
what they’re calling it nowadays?”

Inside, I was a seething pool of lava.  Man, I would love to tell this guy off.  But I didn’t want Scott thinking I was objectifying him.  Granted, I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded, but he wasn’t the kind of guy I just wanted to fuck and leave.  Yeah, I didn’t know him that well…
yet
…but there seemed to be so much to him, especially after discovering such a huge secret about him.  He’d managed to keep from me the fact that he was a drummer in a local heavy metal band
for
well over a
month.  How many other surprises did he have in store for me?  I’d never find out if I didn’t try to get to know him.  So…continue to play dumb.  That was the plan. 
That and a little bit of subterfuge to throw him off the scent.
  So I raised my right eyebrow and said, “Exactly who are
they
?”

Jim was too sly for me. 
“Oh, no.
  You’re not getting off the hook that easy.  What were you staring at?”

Oh, my God
.  I realized, at Jim’s angle, the fucking pervert probably thought I’d been staring at Scott’s junk! 
Holy shit.
  It didn’t matter that my eyes had been looking nowhere
near
that area, Jim was going to make a big deal out of it anyway.
  I managed to keep the cool exterior—how, I don’t know.  But now I knew I was fighting for my life. 
Fine
…call his bluff…the
fucker
.  I was going to try to play it to my advantage then.  “If you really must know, I was looking at the edge of Scott’s sleeve.  He has a tattoo peeking out there, and I wondered what it was.”

Shit.  I could feel the blush crawling from the center of my chest up my neck
,
and my cheeks were about to start burning.  It wasn’t hot enough in the kitchen to play that off as heat related yet.  But the look on Scott’s face stopped my blush dead in its tracks.  He wasn’t offended
or freaked out
at all.  And I could tell from the look on Jim’s face too that I’d thwarted whatever plan he’d had.  I couldn’t read his emotion, though, and now that I’d captured Scott’s interest, I really didn’t care.

Scott set down the tongs, the tips on the grill its
elf, and pulled
the sleeve on
his left arm up to his shoulder, inviting me closer.  So I did…I took two steps over and, if the kitchen hadn’t been so warm already, I suspect I would’ve been able to feel his body heat.  I certainly felt some sort of vibration.  There was
something
there between us.  I just didn’t know when one of us would act on it.  We were both hesitant.  I know why I was.  After failing at love in such an epic way, I was afraid to try again.  I didn’t want to lose
once more
.  And David had said something about Scott the night we’d been drinking.  He
’d
said Scott had been
used
by women in the past, if I could properly recall our drunken conversation.
  So we were both hesitant.  I guessed Scott’s hesitation was a good sign.  It meant he didn’t just want to love me and leave me either.

But now I had a chance to salivate over his body art without stealing a peek
,
so I was going to enjoy it.  At first, I couldn’t tell what I was looking at.  He had some kind of tribal tattoo, all lines and swirls, bold, thick, and dark.  But then I saw…what was that?  I was going to use my question as an excuse to touch him.

I ran my finger up the length of a tattoo mixed in with others, just above the tribal one that had been peeking out of his sleeve.  “What’s that?”  It looked like the bottom of a letter
X
.  Was it maybe like the tattoo on Sully Erna’s back?  There were lots of pictures of the
Godsmack
vocalist’s back, whereupon he’d had his penchant for pornography
inked
.  It was a guy thing, and I’d respect it, but I was curious as hell.