Second Chance for Romance

Chapter 11

Wren was sitting on the living room couch in a warm circle of light cast by a table lamp. She was studying, but she closed her notes and textbook when I came through the front door.

I made a point of looking at my watch.

“All right, fine,” she admitted. “I was waiting up for you. Welcome home, by the way.”

“Um… thanks?”

“Why do you have to be so suspicious?”

“Gee, I dunno. Maybe because you’re usually up to something?”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Wren, it’s late,” I said. “I’ve had a long day, and I just wanna go to bed.”

“Have you eaten?”

I blinked at the non sequitur.

“Did you eat dinner?” She read the answer in my expression. “Want me to fix you something?”

“Sure,” I said after a moment. And let’s get this interrogation over, I added, but kept it to myself.

I sat at the kitchen table while she toasted bread and made a roast beef and tomato sandwich. I took the first bite and looked at it in surprise.

“Creamy horseradish,” she said before I could ask. “Gives it a little kick.”

“It’s good.”

She shrugged. “It’s simple.”

“Maybe. But you make even simple things special.”

“Why, thank you,” she said sincerely.

“You’re welcome.” I ate another bite and looked at her. “But before you ask, the answer is ‘no comment.’”

“Ask what?” she said unconvincingly.

“You know, you’re not the only person who can read people.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You knew I was hungry. And I know you’re dying to ask about the weekend. It’s obvious.”

“Okay. Did you have fun?”

“Of course I did. The bride was beautiful, the ceremony was blissfully short, and everyone got drunk at the reception. End of story.”

“And did you—?”

“No comment.”

“I was going to ask, ‘Did you see Gina?’”

“Sure you were.”

“Well, did you?”

“You know I did.”

“How’d it go?”

“Fine.”

“That’s all?”

“No comment.”

“So you slept with her?”

“No comment.”

“Are you back together now?”

“No comment.”

She huffed. “Seriously? That’s all you’re going to say? ‘No comment’?”

“Might as well get used to it,” I said lightly. “If you’re going to be in PR, you’re going to say it a lot. Especially if you go into politics.”

“For your information, my focus is corporate communications. But don’t try to change the subject.”

I finished the sandwich and tossed my napkin onto the plate. “Thanks.

That was good. Exactly what I needed.”

“You’re welcome. You’re still dodging the question.”

“And I’m going to keep dodging it every time you ask.”

“Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

“Why do you? ”

“See,” she sniped, “this is why it’d never work between us.”

“You’re probably right,” I agreed. “But it does make me devilishly

attractive.”

“So you think.”

“So I know.” I grinned at her. “You wouldn’t give me the time of day if I were a pushover. And that’s why you’re with Trip. You can control him, but only sometimes, when he wants you to. So he’s the best of both worlds for you: someone who lets you have your way, but pushes back enough to keep you interested.”

“Now you’re a psychologist too?”

“No, but I dated one for a while. Well, she wanted to be a psychiatrist—

there’s a difference—but I learned a thing or two. And,” I added before she could cut me off, “I’ve been watching people a long time.”

“So have I.”

“Then you know I’m right. About you.”

“So?”

“Well, it’s also the thing that I find so attractive. About you. You’re intense.” I reflected for a moment. “I think that’s one of the big things I didn’t like about Gracie. She was never assertive, never confident. Not like you. She was competitive and ambitious, but always in a way that made me think she was… I dunno, deeply insecure. Anyway, that’s in the past.”

“Thank God for that,” Wren said. “None of us could stand her.” She leaned forward. “And you may be right about me, but—”

“I am.”

“—you’re wrong about one thing.”

“Oh?”

“Christy.”

I looked at the ceiling and took a deep breath.

“She isn’t a goody-goody. Not even close. She just wants to think she is.”

I looked at her, interested in spite of myself. “What’s that s’posed to mean? Does she want us to think she is?”

“Uh-uh. She tries to be a good Catholic girl because that’s what she thinks she’s supposed to be. But she’s more like us than you realize.”

“Oh, really? And you think this because…?”

“You’re not the only one who knows a thing or two about people.”

“Fair enough. But that still doesn’t make Christy a swinger.”

“Maybe not, but she could be.”

My eyebrows shot up.

“She’s a lot wilder than you realize. She just hides it better than the rest

of us.” She nodded at my disbelief. “I should know. We were more than just roommates. Remember?”

“I remember.”

“And I used to think the same as you, that she was all sweet and innocent.

I mean, she went to Catholic school. And I figured she was pretty sheltered until she left for college. So when we first moved in together, back in the dorm, I thought I’d have some fun and corrupt the naïve Catholic girl.”

“And…?”

“She seduced me.”

“Hold on… did I hear that right?”

“I swear to God, Paul. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it since then, and I know I’m right. At the time I thought I was luring her into bed. But she wanted it all along. I thought she’d be ‘Oh, this is all so new. We shouldn’t be doing this. But it feels so good!’”

“And…?” I was repeating myself, but I couldn’t help it.

“She knew exactly what she was doing. Wasn’t the least bit naïve. On top of that, she could make me come like nobody’s business. Faster and harder than Trip, even.” She grimaced and added, “Please don’t tell him that.

Okay?”

“I won’t. But… seriously? Christy?”

“Mmm hmm. She told me later she’s had a steady girlfriend since she was thirteen. Never a girlfriend-girlfriend, like lesbians or anything, but always a best friend she fooled around with.”

“Good for her, I guess. I still don’t—”

“That’s not all.”

I tried to tell myself I wasn’t interested. I didn’t want a girlfriend like Christy, with all her religious baggage. I wanted Gina. But I literally couldn’t stop myself from saying, “Oh? What?”

“She has an oral fixation.”

I didn’t think my eyebrows could climb any higher, but I knew the truth of it as soon as she said it. I’d noticed the same thing myself.

“Mmm hmm. She likes to put things in her mouth. Watch her sometime.

Pens, pencils, her hair. She’ll suck her thumb sometimes if she isn’t paying attention. Just the tip, but she does it.”

“I don’t see what it has to do with me.”

She scoffed. “Sure you don’t.”

Of course I did, but I didn’t want to admit it.

“She likes giving head, Paul.” She smirked. “And I mean really likes.”

“Maybe girls…,” I said feebly.

“Uh-uh. Guys too. Probably more than girls. I mean, think about it…

there’s more to put in her mouth.”

I deliberately didn’t adjust my hard-on. The discomfort was good for me, I told myself.

“We used to laugh and joke,” Wren continued, “after we’d been together for a couple of months. We’d talk about things we’d done and guys we wanted to do.”

“And…?” Dammit. Really? Again?

“She always talked about their dicks, what she thought they were like.

And you remember her sketchbook, don’t you? The one wi—?”

“I remember.” Vividly.

“I’m telling you, Paul… she likes guys. And not in some idealized biblical way, like you think. I mean like your hottest fantasy come true.” She plowed over my disbelief. “No, you don’t understand. Not like some generic fantasy from Penthouse Forum. I mean your hottest fantasy. Like, you personally.”

I swallowed to moisten my tongue. I tried to speak, but nothing came out.

“Exactly. Like, suck you all day and into the night.”

“So?” I finally managed.

“Watch her sometime,” she said cannily. “You’ll see. She puts things in her mouth. It calms her down or something.”

“I don’t—”

“And think about what I said. She isn’t a goody-goody. Not even close.”

She knew when to stop selling. She stood and moved behind me. Then she put a hand on my shoulder and bent her lips to my ear. “I’m glad you’re home safe.” She kissed my cheek. “There’s extra Kleenex in the linen closet.”

And with that, she left. Damn her.

Christy was in another of her bouncy moods after aerobics on Monday. And this time Wren wasn’t a killjoy. If anything, she encouraged her.

“So I was thinking,” Christy said. “Over the weekend. While you were in

Atlanta.” She absently handed me her duffel bag and danced ahead of us. “I want to completely redo my Dying Paul sculpture.” She stuck out her arms and twirled.

“Do you have time?”

“If you help me I will.”

“Okay,” I said cautiously.

Wren didn’t even try to hide her smirk.

I sent dark thoughts in her direction.

She ignored me.

“I don’t want a pose like the Gaul. Maybe you can try a bunch of different ones, so I can see what I like.”

“I know what she’ll like,” Wren muttered beside me.

I shot her a glare, which she also ignored.

“Can we start tonight?”

“I dunno,” I said. I wanted to write a letter to Gina.

“Please, please, please, Paul. I really wanna start.”

“Okay, I guess. As long as it doesn’t take too long.”

“Will you help me carry up some lamps?” Christy asked after dinner. “I need more light to sketch.”

“Can do.” I said, and gathered all three lamps from the living room.

“And would you mind grabbing a bottle of wine?” she added.

“I’m kinda running out of hands here. Okay if we leave the lampshades?”

“Sure. We don’t need them. I’ll get the wine.”

I returned the shades to the tables where the lamps belonged.

“Anything else, your highness?”

She missed the sarcasm. “No. Just you.”

I hauled the lamps upstairs and nearly ran her over at the door to her studio.

“Oh, rats! I forgot a corkscrew. You set up the lamps. I’ll be right back.”

She scampered down the stairs.

I plugged in the first lamp and turned it on, followed by the second. The third plunged the entire floor into darkness.

Trip looked up when I stomped through the dining room. “I thought I

heard—”

“Blew a fuse.” I added a few choice curses for the original contractor.

“Yeah, thought so.” He joined me.

I grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen drawer and opened the door to the basement. I cursed the contractor all the way down the stairs.

“We need to upgrade the entire service,” Trip said as I opened the fuse box. “This thing’s older than we are.”

“Add it to the list,” I groused. We’d been halfheartedly making a list of all the things we wanted to fix around the house.

“We need to start working on it,” he said. “For real.”

“Then add the list to the list. Classes, projects, workouts, football, judo, Sayuri’s house… am I missing anything?”

“Sleeping and eating?”

“Sex,” I added.

“Can’t forget that.” He hesitated. “And on that note…”

“Yeah…?”

“Wren wants me to find out if you slept with Gina.”

“I—”

“Chill, dude. I told her you wouldn’t tell me. And even if you did, it’s none of her business.”

“Thanks.”

“But she made me promise to ask. So… I asked. You told me ‘no comment.’ Sound good?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” I looked at him sharply. “Did she tell you about our conversation last night?”

“Um… yeah. Woke me up, in fact.”

My eyebrows rose.

He blushed. “She was in the mood.”

I laughed.

“I swear, dude, she’s been wearin’ me out lately. Every time she talks about Christy, she gets worked up and takes it out on me.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” I teased.

“Yeah, well, you try having sex a couple of times a night, every night.

See if you have any energy the next day. I’ve thought about calling for a pinch hitter.”

“Batter up!”

“Laugh all you like, man, but I’m serious.”

“Oh. Okay. Then let me know. You wanna plan something?”

“Wish we could. But Wren says we can’t until after you and Christy…

you know.”

“Oh, you’re fucking kidding me.”

“’Fraid not. Sorry. She has a plan…”

“Lemme guess,” I said. “I get together with Christy. We convince her to become a swinger. Then Wren can fool around with whomever she likes.”

“It’s almost like you’re in her head,” he said dryly.

We laughed, and I replaced the fuse.

“That did it!” Wren shouted from the kitchen.

“How can you tell?” Trip called back.

“Duh! Christy yelled down.”

“Oh,” he said conversationally. “Christy yelled down.”

“She’s actually pretty helpful.”

“Don’t underestimate Wren,” he said. “You know how she is. She usually gets what she wants.”

“Usually.” I closed the fuse box. “I don’t think she will this time. Gina and I had a really, really good weekend, if you know what I mean.”

He laughed and clapped me on the back. “Still, Wren’s on a mission. And she won’t stop till she gets what she wants.”

“Point taken.”

“All right. Let’s go up. Oh, and if you have time, I still want to go over Renaissance and Baroque. And you’ll have to explain the difference between it and Rococo.”

“Rococo is a more pastoral style,” I said as we climbed the basement stairs. “Think about Michelangelo versus Bernini versus Falconet. That’s the progression.”

“I only know one of those guys,” he said with a laugh.

“Okay, then check out the Pietà, the Ecstasy of Saint Teresa, and the Seated Cupid. I have a book you can borrow.”

“Awesome, thanks. I have a midterm this week, and I wanna knock it outta the park.”

I dashed up to the third floor and stuck my head into Christy’s studio.

“Quick art project. Be right back.” Then I grabbed a big coffee table book from my own studio and thundered back down.

“Here you go,” I told Trip. I found the pages. “These are sculptures, duh, but they’ll give you the general idea. Renaissance, Baroque, Rococo, in that

order. Just remember: rebirth, flourishes, pastoral. Got it?”

“Yep. Thanks.”

I nodded and headed back upstairs.

“Okay, sorry about that,” I told Christy as I caught my breath. “Where were we? Right. We can only do two lamps. The third overloads the circuit.

Sorry.”

“That’s okay. I think this is enough light.” She poured a glass of wine and handed it to me. She’d already finished half of hers. On top of the two glasses we’d each had with dinner, she had a healthy buzz.

Not tipsy, I decided. Just a little loose.

“Are you ready?”

“Sure,” I said. “Where do you want me?”

“Over by the couch. And… um…”

I arched an eyebrow.

“Do you mind…?”

“Taking off my shirt?” I suggested helpfully.

She nodded. “And maybe your…?”

“Pants too?”

“Um… yes, please. And could you…?”

“I’m running out of clothes here,” I joked.

“Well, the Gaul is nude.”

“I’m not the Gaul. Besides, I wasn’t nude for your first sketches.”

“About that…,” she ventured. “Siobhan thinks maybe you should be. For this one, I mean. I wasn’t sure, but she said yes. It’s better that way, she said.

More classical. And then I thought, it would make a better artistic statement.

Don’t you think? We want to show the replicant in pain, don’t we? To show that he’s human, too? He’s been stripped of his armor and even his clothes.

All he has left is his sword. He—”

“Whoa!” I said with a laugh. “Slow down. You’re chattering.”

“Sorry.”

“And he wouldn’t have a sword, I don’t think.”

“Why not?”

“The replicant is a futuristic warrior. He’d have a blaster rifle or something.”

She snapped her fingers. “You’re right! Let’s go. We need to find one.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now! Come on!”

So we headed downstairs. I stopped halfway to the front door.

“Better get a jacket.”

“Right,” she said, and skipped back up the stairs. “I still have yours,” she called back. “From the other night. I’ll get it too.”

Wren came out of the dining room. She didn’t smirk, exactly, but I could see it in her eyes.

“Where are you two off to?” she asked.

“To find a blaster rifle.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“For her project?”

I nodded.

“You’re going to pose nude, right?”

“How…?”

She grinned.

“But I thought Siobhan…?”

“Oh, Siobhan might’ve suggested it first, but I told her it was a good idea.

‘Paul will love it,’ I said. ‘It’ll make a great artistic statement.’” She laughed at my poleaxed expression. She turned to go and shot her index finger into the air. “Wren, 1. Paul, 0.”

Christy and I eventually found a Return of the Jedi Electronic Laser Rifle at Kmart. It was after nine o’clock when we returned home, so I thought we’d call it a night. I was wrong.

“I need to get started,” Christy said. “I don’t have much time.”

“But…” I wanted to write my letter.

“You said you’d help. Please? I need you. You’re my muse.”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

Upstairs in her studio she turned on the extra lights and reached to plug in the third.

“No! Not that one.”

“Why not?”

“Remember the fuse?”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

I wrapped the cord around the base and set it in the hall, just to be sure.

Christy picked up her wineglass and took a sip like we’d never left.

“That’s better,” she said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I suddenly felt self-conscious, especially since I knew Wren had set me up. “You sure I need to be nude? I mean, you can fudge the details, right?

You don’t really need to—?”

“Why are you shy all of a sudden?”

“I’m not,” I fibbed.

“It has to be realistic, Paul. That’s the only way to show pathos. It won’t work if you— if he has something to protect him. The replicant is dying.

Alone. With nothing left.”

“Including his dignity,” I muttered.

“No! That’s all he does have. He isn’t afraid to die. He’s facing it with courage. He doesn’t need a spacesuit or armor or anything. Everything he has left is on the inside, and they can’t take that away from him. Don’t you understand? It’s what makes him human.”

I really couldn’t argue with her logic, especially since I’d told her what Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? was about in the first place. Little did I know she’d use it against me, I groused as I filled my wineglass and drained it. Dutch courage.

I slowly undressed and folded my clothes on the brown beanbag. Then I picked up the toy blaster. I thought about using it to cover myself. I wasn’t used to being self-conscious. Christy had seen me before, I reminded myself.

But that was before I knew what she liked.

She studied me from several angles and had me change poses a half-dozen times. She was very serious, and never once made me feel like she was sizing me up.

“Why don’t you try kneeling on one knee?” she said at last. “You’re hurt.

You’re dying. You know it. Hold the gun loose in your hand. It can’t help you anymore. You have to face this alone.”

I sank to one knee.

“Hold it! Right there. Good. That’s good. But drop the gun. Right at your feet, like you just lost your grip.”

I did. Then I tried to look tired and humiliated.

“No! You aren’t defeated. They can take your life, but they can’t take what’s inside.”

“I have no idea how that looks.”

“Don’t worry, I do. I just need your body for now.”

I didn’t even ponder the subconscious intent behind that little gem.

She fell silent and started sketching.

I tried to think about my own project or Sayuri’s house or anything but what Wren had told me. Unfortunately, I kept watching Christy. She pursed her lips. Then she paused to study an angle. She nibbled her pencil.

I thought of her nibbling my pencil, and it reacted predictably.

I closed my eyes and started reciting architectural styles in chronological order. I listened with half my attention as Christy moved around. Would she notice that I was getting hard? What would she do if she did?

I finally managed to control my unruly penis, but then I opened my eyes.

Christy was sitting cross-legged on her beanbag. She was studying a sketch and absentmindedly sucking her left thumb.

Wrennnnn!

I managed to survive the next two hours, but not without a couple of close calls. If Christy noticed, she didn’t say anything. She was completely absorbed in her work. And she filled more than a dozen pages with sketches, from general ones to close-ups of things like my right hand as it curled loosely. I pulled on my boxers and shirt while she showed me.

“Hands are tough,” she said over the last one. “It took me a long time to get them right. Faces were easy by comparison.”

I almost asked about penises but stopped myself.

“Thanks for posing,” she said, demure all of a sudden. “Especially… you know.”

“Nude?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“I’d say ‘my pleasure,’ but to be honest, it was a little weird.”

Her eyes widened with concern. “Not ’cause of anything I did?”

“Yes and no. It was mostly ’cause I’d never posed for you before. I mean just you.”

“But you did before,” she said, perplexed.

“Not nude.”

“Oh. No.”

“This was more… intimate.”

She looked down and studied her pencil. She seemed to notice the teeth marks for the first time. She discreetly dropped it over the side of the beanbag.

I did my best not to smile. “Not intimate like, you know, but—”

“I know how you meant,” she said, too quickly. She looked down.

Why was I flirting with her?

“Do you mind if we do it again tomorrow? Oh my gosh! I didn’t mean it like that, like ‘ do it’ do it. I hope you didn’t think— I mean, not that you would, but— Of course, I wouldn’t— I’m not that kind of girl. Oh, gosh.

Why don’t I just shut up now?”

“It’s okay.” I chuckled. “I knew what you meant.”

“That’s a relief. I wouldn’t want you to think…”

“Think what?” I teased.

“That I’d…”

“You’d what?”

“Is it too late to shut up?”

“I think so,” I said with a laugh.

“I’m glad one of us thinks this is funny.”

I paused to let the sexual tension cool to a simmer. “Tomorrow evening?”

“Yes, please.”

“A date or a not-date?”

“A not-date.”

“Okay. Then it’s a not-date.”