by E. J. Noyes
Sorry to bug you but your dinner is even better reheated.
You’re not bugging me I’ll take your word for it. I went with old faithful. Pizza.
Oh good call, but I still think I got the better deal.
Trying to juggle pizza box, glass, and phone was proving troublesome after a couple of glasses of champagne. So I called her, put my phone on speaker and set it on the couch arm. She answered with an exuberant, “Jana! Ahoy!”
“Ahoy. Wait, am I supposed to follow up with some more pirate stuff? Because I pretty much used up my entire repertoire just then.”
“Ha! No, just ignore me. I’m a weirdo, and also two and a half glasses of red down. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”
“My clumsiness. I only have two hands and they’re currently occupied with food and drink.”
“Ah. Well in that case, I’m glad you have busy hands.”
Oh, you have no idea. Though apparently not as busy as hers if my subconscious was to be believed. With my brain stuck on how talented Subconscious Brooke was, I could do little more than offer a lame, “Mhmmm.”
There was a brief pause, then her quick, “A quiet Friday night then?”
“You know it. I mean I have work to do but I’m trying to be a normal human so I’m ignoring it.”
“Sounds like a good strategy. Hey, on that note, do you have plans tomorrow?”
Trying not to think about the fact I keep having erotic dreams about you. You know, the usual. I cleared my throat before answering, “Yoga in the morning, then some work so I can have a gloriously free Sunday. Why?”
“I have an Ultimate match in the afternoon and I could use a cheerleader. Do you want to come and help a gal out?”
“And what makes you think I’m qualified to cheer for you?” I’d known right away when she asked that I’d agree but for some reason wanted to make her work for it.
Brooke laughed. “Well, you seem pretty upbeat and I get the feeling you’re good at screaming when you want to be.” Hmm, yeah there was a definite undertone.
Or maybe I was just reading into it. See aforementioned erotic dreams. I decided to test the water a little, see if I could get a better read on the situation. “Oh, I am…with the right motivation.”
There was a long pause, a clearing of her throat. “Mmm, I bet you are. So can I count you in?”
Oh yeah. She was flustered. The thought was pleasing, and also made me feel slightly better about my runaway thoughts. “You can. Where will I meet you?”
“We play at the community park a few blocks from my house, so if you want to come by I can take you.”
“Perfect.”
“I’ll have to leave around two fifteen so why don’t you drop by any time before then and maybe we can have lunch? Though I doubt it’ll be anything near as tasty as this pasta I’m currently inhaling.”
“Ms. Donnelly, if I didn’t know better I’d think you were trying to flatter me into cooking for you again.”
“Shit, am I that obvious?”
“Totally.”
“Mmm, I’ll have to work on my subtlety.”
“Oh no, please don’t. I spend my whole life trying to tease the truth out of people and even then I’m pretty sure most of what I’m told is twisted. I adore your no bullshit, good communication approach.”
“Oh…well that’s good to know,” she said softly and I could hear the relief.
“Why don’t you text me your address and I’ll call before I leave.”
“If you want, but no need to call, really. If I don’t answer the door, I’m probably working out the back. The side gate will be unlocked, so come on through to the yard and find me.” There was a pause and I could hear her shuffling something around. “Some of us go for a beer afterward to celebrate or drown our sorrows. You’re more than welcome to come along.”
“You sure? I don’t want to push in on your team thing.”
“You won’t. Plenty of the others bring their girlfriends.” She spluttered, made an almost choking sound and before I could say anything, words rushed out of her in a jumble. “Fuck, I didn’t mean that you and me, or anything like that, uh…just that…um…the others bring people along and it’s totally not a big deal at all so don’t worry about being a non-player because nobody else will care. That’s all. Jana? Are you there?”
“Of course I am.” While she’d been rambling, I’d been primed to tease her about her slip of the tongue. But the rising panic in her voice had reined in my reply, and I decided that rather than draw attention to it, I’d just steamroll past like she’d never said it. “If you’re sure then that’s good enough for me.”
She let out a long exhalation. “Mhmm, totally. Excellent. I, uh, guess I’ll let you get back to your pizza and I’ll see you some time tomorrow?” Her voice rose hopefully at the end.
“That you will. I look forward to it.”
“Me too. Oh, wear something purple.” With a quick goodbye, she hung up.
I slid my phone back onto the coffee table, my urge to find a guy to sate my libido well and truly evaporated.
Chapter Thirteen
Brooke’s house was a cute double-story, smoky-blue and white house in Clarendon, a little over twenty minutes’ drive across the Potomac from my place in Logan Circle. Nestled in the pointed roof was a small dormer that reminded me of my childhood bedroom. Her front lawn was recently mown, a large tree shading the patterned brick driveway.
I checked my watch, slightly anxious about the fact it was only twelve thirty. I’d finished my yoga class plus all my work, and hanging around the house was only boring me. She’d said come around whenever, and this was whenever. Stop worrying. There was no answer when I rang her doorbell and after waiting a minute to make sure she wasn’t about to open the door, I backtracked down the brick stairs and around the side to the low paling gate.
Her backyard was as neat as the front, or rather what wasn’t taken up by a huge metal shed painted to match the house. The roller door was all the way up and a coveralls-clad Brooke was bent over a pile of metal, her back to me as she welded. Not wanting to startle her into an accident, I waited and watched her working.
When she’d said she did art as a hobby, it had made me think of something casual and second-rate. She was selling herself way short and despite having seen that painting in her office, I had mistakenly underestimated her talent. I shifted slightly to get a better look at the angles of her piece. It was incredible, mesmerizing.
It was a metal frame upon which she’d welded closely-packed wire and pieces of metal to give the sculpture depth. The life-sized person—a woman I realized upon closer inspection—was curvy and full-breasted. Though the figure wasn’t anywhere near complete, it immediately conjured an image of an Amazon. Proud, chin up and a hand on her hip as she gazed into the distance as though readying for battle.
Brooke moved around to the back of the sculpture until she was facing me. She straightened and held up a hand, fingers splayed wide. Apparently satisfied I’d stay put, she fiddled with a boxy device that showed digital numbers, turned valves on the tall gas cylinders, did something with the thing in her hand and set it down. She checked everything again, flipped some switches, then finally turned to me. Complicated.
The welding mask came off first, then the faded backward baseball cap and finally her thick leather gloves, all of which she set down on a nearby bench. After wiping her face with a forearm, she grinned. “Hey, you’re early.”
“I am,” I answered, holding up a six-pack of beer. “And I brought gifts for now or after the game.”
Her mouth fell open, shoulders dropping in relief. “You’re a lifesaver, and a mind reader. I was just thinking I’d kill for a cold beer. It’s hot as hell in here. Come on through but there’s not much free space so watch out for things that might snag you.”
I picked my way around benches and neat stacks of wire and scrap metal. The overwhelming smell of steel and something akin to fireworks was pleasant and
earthy, and I breathed in deeply, savoring it. Now I was closer, I could see the sculpture remained upright with rods that were actually her calves affixed to a large metal plate. Gesturing to the mass of metal, I said, “This is absolutely fabulous, seriously mind boggling. How long does something like this take from start to finish?”
Her cheeks pinked. “Ah, thank you.” Brooke glanced at the sculpture, rubbed the back of her neck. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her, so instead of working on a few things I’ve been focused only on this one. Usually it’d take three months or so but I think I could have her done in another few weeks.”
“How do you make the face like that?” Though rough and almost mask-like, the features were clearly visible. I tried to figure out how to get something so three-dimensional from all the one-dimensional pieces around me.
“Oh, uh, I cut up a bunch of metal into small geometric shapes, lay them out like a face and then weld them together. I build the features up with weld too, then grind it back to shape it. It’s basically endless welding, grinding, welding, grinding. It’ll be way neater than this once it’s finished, ground smooth and polished,” she added quickly.
Everything she was saying was like a foreign language, but I still knew one thing. “It’s fucking incredible. Do you sell them?”
“Mostly, yes.” Her face softened into reverence as she gazed at the sculpture. “But I think I might keep her. The image kind of just hit me and I can’t get her out of my head.”
“I can understand that.” I passed her a beer before opening one myself.
Brooke took a deep swallow and raised the bottle to me in salute. “Seriously, you’re a goddess. Thank you.”
“No problem.” I glanced around, and finding a bench that seemed safe, leaned against it. “Do you do commissions?”
“Sure, I’ve made some things for friends. And not just naked women. Animals, objects, I can do pretty much anything.”
“Could I commission you? Paid of course.”
Her voice pitched up an octave. “Absolutely, what are you thinking?”
“I still haven’t bought Sabine and Bec a wedding gift. I think in this case, naked woman or women would be apt. Probably something small that could fit on their coffee table or in their bedroom?”
“I can do that. When’s the wedding? In four weeks?”
“Mhmm.”
Slowly she nodded. “That’ll be fine. This one is just a vanity project so I can put her down and pick her up again. I’ll get you some concept sketches in a few days and do up a quote. Do you have any idea of what materials you’d like?”
“Not a clue, I’m art-inept. All I know is that looks amazing and I’m sure whatever you come up with will be perfect. You can do up a quote if you want, but I’m sure whatever you’re asking is more than fair.” I dug in my handbag for my checkbook. “Do you need a deposit or something?”
“Nope.” She grinned, lazily tipping the bottle toward her mouth. After a long swig of beer she said, “I’ve seen your car, I know you’re good for it.”
True, but I still would have paid Brooke whatever she wanted to create something for me to give to two of the most important people in my life. Because I wanted her to make art, to be fulfilled by it, to see that people were interested in what she had to offer. Because if I did that, then maybe she’d do it more and maybe that little sparkle in her eyes would stay longer.
“I’m starving. Have you had lunch yet?” Brooke set the beer on a nearby bench and shucked her torso out of the coveralls, absently tying the sleeves together at her waist. But it wasn’t the way the faded red tank top clung to her body, or the glistening sweat on her bare skin that drew my attention and made my answer stick in my throat.
What caused my brain to stall were the rows and rows of neat scars encircling both biceps, ending a few inches above her elbows. Unable to help myself, I simply stared, also noticing lettering I couldn’t quite make out tattooed in black on the inside of her left bicep. When I realized how long I’d been staring I raised my eyes to find her gentle ones.
Brooke lifted her arm. “It’s Latin. Dum spiro spero. While I breathe, I hope.”
“Oh. That’s powerful. Profound. I like it.”
Her smile was almost facetious. “Me too, that’s why I had it permanently marked on my body.”
Dumbly, I nodded, unable to think of anything else to say because what could I say? I knew about this sort of mental health issue, knew intellectually how she’d gotten the scars, but I couldn’t quite reconcile the whole picture. Though I knew she suffered anxiety, this just didn’t seem like Brooke, which was such a stupid thing to think.
“It’s all right, Jana,” she murmured. “You can ask.”
So many questions sprung into my head. Did you do that to yourself? Why? When? But there was really only one question that mattered, and it came out shakily. “Are you okay?”
Her eyebrows rose fleetingly. “Mhmm, I am. Just emo teen stuff that I got over a long time ago. I had a pretty hard time coming out, if you could even call it that. Maybe coming to terms is the better way to phrase it.”
“What do you mean?” I moved closer.
She blew out a breath. “My father is a homophobe. Actually…I’m not sure if that’s totally true. I don’t know if he’s a homophobe or if it’s just me who he can’t stand being gay. He refuses to acknowledge that I’m a lesbian. I’ve never introduced him to my girlfriends, and so we pretty much just ignore the entire thing. My mom’s incredibly religious and her reaction was much the same as my dad’s, with some added disgusting sinful daughter and going to hell stuff thrown into the mix. Oh, and you know—her trying to keep my brother away from me. Just the usual unaccepting family stuff.” She laughed humorlessly.
“Shit,” I breathed. “Brooke, I’m so sorry. That must be awful.” My family had been nothing but supportive of me and Sabs our entire lives. Sabine always knew she was same-sex attracted, and when she was ten told Mom that she was going to marry Wonder Woman. Mom had told her matter-of-factly that unfortunately Wonder Woman was a fictional character, so maybe Sabine should aim to marry the actress instead, when she was old enough. My older sister’s sexuality had been a complete nonissue from the time she’d officially declared what we’d pretty much known for years.
No matter what we did, Mom and Dad had always been there to support us and love us. They’d practically adopted Sabine’s best friend, Mitch, into the family when Sabs had brought him home at Thanksgiving their first year of med school. His family want nothing to do with him because he’s gay. Mom nearly had a stroke, and I’m certain my father considered marching into Texas to give Mitch’s family a piece of his mind. My whole family, close and extended on both sides, had also absorbed Bec—an orphan with no living relatives—into the fold from the get-go. My family just loved family.
“It’s fine, really. Well it’s not fine, it’s kind of shitty but it’s also just the way things have always been, so…” Brooke shrugged. “C’est la vie.” She glanced at the large metal clock on the wall, one I suspected she’d made, and asked again, “So, did you eat lunch?”
“Not yet.”
“Shall we take this beer inside and have something to eat before we have to go?”
“Sounds good.”
Brooke pretended to crack her knuckles. “Right. Guess I’d better try to wow you with my expert food-ordering skills because I have fuck all to eat in my fridge.”
The interior of Brooke’s house had a homey, old-world kind of vibe and as she ushered me through the back door I felt immediately at ease. There wasn’t a lot of furniture cluttering the living room, just a gray suede couch opposite a huge television on the wall and an amazing coffee table that looked like it was made from an old wooden door with glass laid over the top. The walls were full of bright paintings, poster-sized photographs of European architecture and an incredible black-and-white photo of a group of some sort of nomadic people with their horses, against a backdrop of snow-tipped mountains.
“Could you give me five minutes to shower off this sweat so I’m ready to get sweaty again at the game? Make yourself at home, help yourself to anything, not that there’s much to eat. Would you mind putting those beers in the fridge?” She pointed. “Kitchen is just through there.”
“Mhmm, sure,” I murmured, absorbed in a baseball bat-sized metal artwork in the corner. A mermaid this time. “You made this?” Dumb question.
She walked backward as she talked. “I did. Just whipped her up quickly, one of my sanity-saving projects where I just have to make something.”
Sanity-saving…
I watched her backing down the narrow hall and just before she disappeared I said, “Brooke?”
She stopped immediately. “Yeah?”
I ducked around the couch and rushed toward her, wanting to be near her rather than calling across her living room. The question felt so shallow but I had to ask. And I had to touch her, to give myself the small comfort of knowing she was there. I grasped her hand, knowing even as I did it, the gesture was entirely inadequate. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
She squeezed my hand, her thumb sliding over my knuckles. “Yes. Right now, I’m perfect.” With a smile, she let go, and left me to hang around while she got cleaned up.
I exhaled a few long breaths, hoping to settle the uncomfortable feeling in my body, then put the rest of the beers in the fridge, sneakily checking out her small neat kitchen and her fridge which was indeed bare. As I wandered around her house, I felt angsty and out of sorts, and knew exactly why. I was upset about what I’d recently learned about her.
I’d seen Sabs struggle with her PTSD, knew quite a few friends with other mental health issues, had even had a touch of anxiety myself on occasion. But the thought of teenaged Brooke hurting herself like that and not having family support made me want to barge into her bathroom, pull her into my arms and hug her for the rest of the day. Then ask Mom and Dad to pseudo-adopt her like they had done with Mitch.