Second Chance for Romance

Chapter 17

Wren cornered me after she came home from the pool on Thursday. She bounced up the stairs and stuck her head into Christy’s studio. Then, as if on a whim, she poked her nose into mine.

I looked up from my painting. “Seriously? You can’t think of anything more clever than that?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You can hear the water running downstairs. Christy’s in the shower. So if you’re up here, you’re looking for me.”

The pipes hammered as the water shut off. I gritted my teeth and imagined what I’d like to do to shoddy contractors.

“Well, now that you mention it…,” Wren said, completely transparent.

“Who were you talking to last night?”

I cleaned my brush and dipped it in the fresh water. Then I loaded it with brown paint and started applying it to the heavy paper. The tree trunks and branches had to dry before I could add the foliage. And I had to shade and color the building itself before I did that. I also had to put the finishing touches on an interior watercolor, so it was going to be a long night.

I’d missed Wren’s question completely. “I’m sorry… what?”

“Who were you talking to last night?”

“A friend,” I said absently. “In California.”

“Aha! I knew it.”

I looked up and automatically moved my brush to the dirty paper towels.

(You learn things like that when you accidentally drip paint on an almost-finished watercolor because you aren’t paying attention. But I digress.)

“What’re you talking about?” I said.

“You were talking to Gina!”

“No.”

“Don’t try to hide it.”

“Wren, I wasn’t talking to Gina. Besides, why do you care if I was?”

“You know why. Christy’s really upset.”

“How is that my fault? Never mind. I know how.”

“Exactly. You were a real jerk to her.”

“Yeah, I know. I’d try to explain it to her, but I think it’d only make things worse.”

“Then maybe you can explain to me.”

I sighed and dropped my brush into the dirty water. I wasn’t going to get any more work done until I satisfied Wren, and not in the way I wanted. Still, I took my time cleaning the brush and putting away the watercolors. Then I wiped my hands on a rag and hung it from a hook on the side of my desk. I still needed a real drafting table, but it would have to go on the list with all the other things I wanted to do around the house.

Downstairs, Christy turned on the water.

“Ugh! Like finding those damn loose pipes and strapping them down!”

“Huh?”

“That knocking sound,” I explained. “Every time someone turns the water on or off.”

“I hardly even notice anymore.”

“Well I do. And I’ll bet Trip does too. Stuff like that bothers us.”

“What’s this have to do with you being a jerk to Christy?”

“Nothing,” I said. “It’s just one more thing on the list of things I can’t fix until I have some time… which I’m not going to get if I keep talking to you about my love life.” I flung myself into the easy chair and sulked.

“If you’d just give in to the inevitable,” Wren said with exaggerated sweetness, “then you’d have plenty of time.”

“Yeah, well…,” I said. “On that count, your nefarious plan is starting to work.” I waved at the door. “Might as well close that. I have a feeling this is going to get serious.”

She locked it for good measure. Then she sank into the other chair and crossed her legs. “It isn’t nefarious. My plan.”

“It is to me.” My lips twisted into a grimace. “Okay, maybe it isn’t,” I admitted. “But it really galls me to let you win.”

“You haven’t ‘let’ me do anything,” she muttered.

“And you know why? Because I don’t like you meddling with my life.

It’s my life, Wren. Not some recipe or pet project. It’s real people with real feelings.”

She deftly skewered my outrage. “Like Christy?”

“Yeah.” I fell back in the chair. “Like Christy.”

“Whose feelings you hurt?”

“Whose feelings I hurt,” I agreed.

“Why do you get so upset at her?” Wren asked in a much softer voice.

“You know church makes her happy.”

“The part that bugs me is where she feels guilty when she hasn’t done anything. Worse, it makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong. It’s like she’s saying, ‘You did this to me! It’s your fault!’”

“That isn’t what she means.”

“I know. But that’s how I feel.”

She nodded. “She really likes you, you know.”

“Yeah. I do. And I really like her.”

“I know.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Maybe not to everyone, but it is to me.”

“Does she know?”

“Uh-huh. That’s why it hurts her when you…”

“Behave like a complete and total jerk?”

“More or less.”

“How d’you think it makes me feel? I have to live with myself.”

“Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”

“Honestly? Till now it was because I didn’t want to admit it, even to myself.” I snorted a laugh. “You know that phone call last night? From the

‘friend’ in California?”

“What about it?”

“It really was a friend. Not Gina.”

“Then who?”

“You remember Sara and Daphne?”

“The strippers? Of course.”

I glared at her contempt. “Seriously? You too? You’re a swinger, for Christ’s sake! What moral high horse are you on?”

“Sorry! I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it? Think about it, Wren! Life’s hard enough as a woman sometimes. If she takes off her clothes for money, she’s a stripper or a whore. If a guy does it, he’s a fucking Chippendale! How’s that fair? A woman sleeps with more than one guy and she’s a slut. A guy does it and he’s a stud! Come on! I shouldn’t have to tell you this! You should know better!”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

I took a deep breath. “No, I’m sorry. You aren’t the problem. It’s society.

And I can’t change it by yelling at you.” I closed my eyes and found an island of peace. “I was talking to Sara,” I said at last. “The photographer.”

Wren nodded.

“We sorta became friends while I was dating Daphne. She needed a shoulder to cry on. Turns out I did too.”

“For real?”

“Yes and no. No, I wasn’t really crying. But yes, I needed someone to talk to.”

“About Christy?”

“And Gina.”

“Her.”

“Yes, ‘her.’ She was an important part of my life, Wren. She might be again. So you’d better get used to it.”

“I—”

“My life, Wren. Mine. Not yours.”

“You’ve made that very clear.”

“And you’ve made it very difficult.” I stared at the ceiling and ran my hand over my face. “Look, I don’t wanna get started again. I know you want me to be happy. I just wish you’d… let me figure it out for myself.”

“You don’t seem to be doing a good job.”

“You’re right about that.” I laughed, but softly. “You haven’t exactly helped, though. If anything, you’ve made my life more complicated.”

“How?”

“By throwing Christy into the mix. I was fine before you told me about her, about what she likes. Now she’s all I think about!”

“Seriously?”

“Yes and no. Again. I know I keep saying that, but I’m pretty mixed-up.”

“I’ll say.”

“I like Gina. I really do. Part of me still loves her. I wouldn’t have to

explain my lifestyle to her. I wouldn’t have to deal with her stupid Catholic guilt. And I wouldn’t have to convince her that I’m not Satan.”

“Christy doesn’t think you’re Satan.”

“She thinks I’m a bad influence.”

Wren shook her head. “She thinks she’s bad, for how you make her feel, what you make her want to do.”

“Did she tell you what happened after the party?”

She nodded.

“All of it?”

“All of it. Including stuff you probably didn’t realize.”

“Such as?”

“Such as… she wanted to do more.”

I quirked an eyebrow.

“Duh. Figure it out.”

I didn’t need to. I already knew.

“And I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but… She likes to be told what to do.”

Both eyebrows shot up.

“Like, give her orders. ‘Take off your clothes.’ ‘Spread your legs.’

‘Finger yourself.’ Stuff like that.”

“For real.”

“Mmm hmm. It gets her hot.”

“Listen, here’s the problem with that,” I said. “It’s fun once in a while, but it doesn’t make for a good long-term relationship. Kendall was like that.”

I laughed at a sudden realization. “Matter of fact, Christy is a lot like Kendall.

I never realized it before. The same religious background and hang-ups.

Baptist versus Catholic, but the result is the same.”

“How do you mean?”

“Kendall had a wild fantasy life. And we did some really crazy stuff together. But I always felt like she needed me to… I dunno… turn the key, so to speak. And she always went way too far when she got started. Like she had no control once I released the bad girl inside. I don’t really want that again. I don’t mean the wild sex. That was fun. But feeling like I was totally responsible for her behavior.”

“I get it,” Wren said. “I think.”

“One of the things I really like about Gina is that she’ll start things sometimes. Same with you. Leah and Susan too. And I guess that’s what I

find most attractive about all of you. You aren’t wallflowers. Don’t get me wrong, Kendall wasn’t either. But she wanted people to think she was.”

“That’s Christy, all right.”

“Maybe that’s why I’ve been fighting you so hard,” I said. “And why I couldn’t admit that I even liked her until I was talking to Sara.”

“But you do like her?”

“What’s not to like? If she’s really like you say she is—”

“She is.”

“—then you’re right, she’s my wildest fantasy. But here’s the catch… I don’t want to live with a fantasy. I tried that once, with Kendall. It was kind of boring in the end. And frustrating. She never could break out of her shell.

Worse, it was her own making. She had this dumb idea that she had to be one way in public and another way in private.”

“So… what’s the solution? With Christy, I mean.”

“No clue. But I don’t want an altar girl. Real women have flaws.” I laughed and gestured. “Take you, for example. You’re smart, sexy, and incredibly motivated. But you’re a meddling matchmaker who won’t take no for an answer. You’re also convinced that your way is best, to hell with what anyone else wants. You’re smug when you get what you want but irritable when you don’t. And in spite of all that—or maybe because of it—I love you.

Not romantic love, but you know what I mean. I love your virtues and your vices.”

“Thank you. I think.”

“You can also tell Christy I don’t want a madonna. Or a whore,” I added with a frown.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s a psychology thing. Kendall told me about it. Sigmund Freud, I think. Some guys want a whore in bed, but they’ll never marry her. They marry a madonna instead, but she doesn’t excite them in bed, so they end up cheating with a whore type. I didn’t choose those words, by the way. It really bugs me that a woman who likes sex is a ‘whore,’ but that’s Sigmund Freud for you.”

“Man, you talked about some weird stuff with Kendall.”

“And the stuff you and I talk about is normal?” I laughed. “Seriously?

We’re talking about your best friend and what I want in a sexual relationship with her. How is that normal?”

“Don’t use logic on me when I know I’m right.” She tried to look cross.

“The problem is,” I said, “I really am at a crossroads. Do I choose Gina or Christy?”

“I know who I’d choose.”

“Yeah,” I said dryly, “I got that.”

“Is there anything I can do to help you make the right choice?”

“Tell Christy to ease up on the guilt. I really don’t mind her going to church or confession or any of that. Heck, if it makes her happy, I support it.

But I don’t like feeling that I’ve done something wrong, just for being who I am. And if she’s really like us, as much as you think, then she shouldn’t feel bad about it either.” I took a deep breath and gazed up at the corner again. “I spent a long time by myself this summer…”

“I know. I think it rotted your brain.”

“But one thing I learned is how to live with myself. I am who I am. You know? I don’t have a public face and a private one. You get what you get; take it or leave it.” I chuckled at a minor epiphany. “I think that’s why I’m making a point to be more open and accepting with guys like Andy and Jamie.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask about them,” Wren said. “Christy thinks they’re… you know.”

“Gay,” I said simply. “They are. But think about it… is being gay really that different than being a swinger?”

“Well… yeah.”

“Oh? How?”

“I dunno. It just is.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s a stupid society thing, like how we treat women. Do you wanna be shamed and rejected simply because you like sex with different people, men and women?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then how do you think they feel? They like sex with men. So what?

Heck, you told me yourself that your mother’s practically a lesbian. Is she a candidate for public humiliation?”

“No!”

“Exactly! So maybe you can add guys like Andy and Jamie to the list of people like us—not wrong, just different.”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“And that’s what I mean about learning to live with myself, being true to who I am. ‘Real men’ are supposed to be macho and hate ‘fags,’ right? What

a crock of shit! A real man has the courage to accept people who’re different.

The same goes for Christy. A real woman should accept who she is. If she’s a good Catholic girl, that’s fine. But if she isn’t, hiding behind a rosary won’t make her feel any better.”

“I’ll… tell her. I dunno how, but I will.”

“Tell her I enjoyed sleeping with her too. Best no-sex not-date I’ve ever had.”

Wren frowned in puzzlement.

“Inside joke. Never mind. I’ll tell her. I need to apologize for the other night anyway. I’ll try to tell her the other stuff too.”

“Don’t,” Wren said immediately.

I looked a question at her.

“She… wants to impress you.”

My eyes widened.

“And I think she’ll be too embarrassed if you tell her.”

“You really are devious,” I said.

“Maybe. But I get what I want. And the results are usually worth it. They were in your case.” She dared me to disagree.

“Fine. But just remember… I’m not entirely sure who I want. I like them both, but for different reasons.”

“Then we’ll just have to make sure Christy comes out on top.” She shot me a grin. “And on the bottom. And on her knees. Oh, especially on her knees.”

“Get out of here,” I said. “I’ll never finish my illustrations if I don’t get back to work. And since they’re fifteen percent of my project grade, I’m going to finish.”

She smiled and stood.

I stood as well, and we leaned together.

She kissed my cheek and then turned mischievous. “On top,” she whispered, “on the bottom, on her knees…”

“Out!”

Christy looked back as I followed her into the kitchen with a stack of dishes.

“I thought it was Trip’s turn,” she said.

“I traded with him.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I turned on the water. While it heated up, I scraped the plates into the trash can under the sink. Then I put the stopper in the drain and added dish soap. The dirty plates went into the water with a clatter of silverware.

Christy brandished a clean towel. “Ready to dry, captain!”

“You are sunny,” I said with a smile. “One of the things I like about you.”

“A light heart lives long, my Granny Carmichael says.”

“Well, I appreciate it. Even when I don’t deserve it.”

Her smile faded a bit.

“I’m… sorry about the other night,” I said. “With the poem.”

“Oh.”

“I was childish and rude. I was upset, but that’s no excuse.”

She nodded and took the first plate after I rinsed it.

“I’m sorry about Sunday too. I know going to Mass makes you happy.”

“I can’t explain it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You are who you are. Never be ashamed of that.” I glanced at her sideways.

She felt it and furrowed her brow.

“There’s something else I want to say, but I don’t want to upset you. I’m going to risk it, though, ’cause it’s important. To me, at least.”

“What is it?” She took another plate and dried it absently.

“I really enjoyed spending time with you after the party.”

She blushed and set the plate on top of the first.

“And not for the reasons you think.”

“Then… why?”

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say it, but I think this is best: you’re my church.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You make me happy. I don’t really understand it myself, but I think that’s why I get so upset when one of us does something stupid and hurts the other’s feelings.”

“That I understand.”

“I thought you might.” I passed her the next plate.

“I had fun too. After the party.”

“I thought so.”

“I was really drunk though.”

“Don’t use that as an excuse.”

Her forehead creased.

“Alcohol doesn’t make you do anything you wouldn’t normally do. It just lowers your inhibitions.”

“But I’m not really like that.”

“Like what? Not the girl who sat on my lap and talked about how good

‘nipple’ feels in her mouth?”

She turned rosy and polished the plate to a high gloss.

I chuckled. “I like that girl. In some weird way, I like this one too, the one standing next to me trying to figure out how to turn invisible.”

She made a strangled noise.

“But here’s the thing…” I stopped washing and turned to her. “They’re the same girl. The flirty one and the shy one. The flirty one just needs alcohol to come out.” I faced the sink again and finished washing the last plate. I handed it to her and started on the serving platter.

She dried in silence.

“I need to work on a couple of watercolors tonight,” I said when I finished with the platter. I rinsed it and handed it to her. “Do you wanna hang out? I probably won’t be much conversation, but I’d enjoy your company. I think my drawings’ll be better for it.”

“I’d like that very much,” she said softly.

I grinned. “Bring a bottle of wine.”

She rolled her eyes and swatted me with the towel.

I looked at my watch and rinsed my brush. I dried it and set it with the others, ready for more when the current paint dried.

“I need to make a call,” I said as I wiped my hands.

Christy looked up from her book. “This late?”

“Mmm hmm. To California. It’s three hours earlier. Duh. You know that.”

She nodded. Then her expression clouded. “Who’re you calling? Never mind. It’s none of my business.” She started to stand, but I stopped her with a gesture.

“Sara Gilman. You remember her?”

“Tall? Dark hair? Big b— um… chest? The photographer, right?”

I nodded and couldn’t help but smile at her description. Take that, Wren!

“Was she the one who called last night?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Oh. I thought it was—”

“Gina? No.” I paused to gauge her reaction. “So… you know about her?”

“How could I not? Wren talks about her like she’s just toying with you, though.”

I laughed. “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“Oh?”

“Ex-relationships always are.”

“You can say that again.”

“Ex-relationships always are.”

“I didn’t mean for real!” She laughed in spite of herself. “Always painting with words, aren’t you?”

“One of my many talents,” I said.

She took another sip of wine. Her blue eyes glittered over the rim and the pale golden liquid.

“Right. Well. I need to make this call. Sara’s going through a rough time and needs a friend. I don’t know how long I’ll be, but… you’re welcome to hang out.”

“You want me to hang out while you go talk to another woman?”

“It beats the alternative.”

“What’s that?”

“Um… doing something by yourself while I… uh… do my own thing?

Okay, so it’s lame. It sounded good in my head.”

She smiled indulgently and opened her book.

I went downstairs and closed my bedroom door. I dialed Sara’s number.

She picked up on the first ring.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“I was wondering if you’d really call.”

“Now you know. I really called.”

She laughed.

“So… how’s your day been? How’s Daphne?”

“Good and good. I had a shoot today. Boring fashion ad. The model was hot, but straight and a total airhead.”

“Too bad.”

“How was your day?”

“Surprisingly good. I had a talk with Wren, and…”

We chatted for almost an hour. It seemed like five minutes.

“I’d better go,” she said at last. “Daphne will be home soon. She spends time with Austin before her shift at the club. He’s trying to get her to quit, but he hasn’t said the magic words yet.”

“Magic words?”

“Will you marry me?”

“She’s that serious, huh?”

“Yeah, I think so. She’s ready to settle down. She wants a house and kids.

Normal stuff. Straight stuff.”

“And what do you want?”

“A big studio and one of those little dogs I can carry in a camera bag.”

I laughed. “Not a wife and kids?”

“Are you kidding? With Ronnie and Queen Nancy in the White House?

Right.” She held the phone away from her mouth. “Uh-oh. I hear her key in the door. Gotta go. Thanks for calling. Talk to you later. Bye!”

I chuckled and hung up.

Christy was asleep in my chair upstairs. The bottle of wine was empty. I fetched a blanket from her studio and covered her with it. Then I pulled out my stool and went back to work on my painting.

I spent an hour touching up the exterior painting and then another on the interior one. I used clothespins to hang them to dry. Christy hadn’t moved.

No wonder, since it was after two o’clock. And if I had to bet, my stupid internal clock would wake me before six.

I turned off the lights and scooped Christy into my arms, blanket and all. I carried her downstairs and into her bedroom. She woke up enough to mumble thanks.

“Want me to undress you for bed?” I teased.

“Uh-uh. Not till we’re married.”

I laughed softly. “Gonna happen long before then. But not tonight.”

I set her on the bed and pulled the blanket over her. Then I kissed her forehead. “Sleep tight.”

“You’re s’posed t’ say ‘sweet dreams.’”

“All right. Sweet dreams.”

“Mmm. Of penises.”

“And erections,” I added with a smile.