The Shower

by Kay Bigelow

  “Yes.”

  “Do you love her?” Ciara asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “She slept with the patron,” Lauren said again.

  “Did it make her love you any less?”

  “No.”

  “I hate having to keep repeating this, but what’s the problem? Are you prepared to become her patron?”

  That stopped Lauren in her tracks. She’d kind of asked herself most of the questions Ciara had just asked. But becoming Alex’s patron hadn’t occurred to her.

  “If you aren’t prepared to be Alex’s patron, you’ve got no business demanding she dismiss the patron. Can she make a living yet with her painting?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why don’t you know the answer to that question? It seems to me if she’s not able to make a living at it yet, you are asking her to give up painting. You once had a passion for writing. If someone had asked you to give up your passion, would you have? Are you prepared to ask Alex to give up her art for you?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “But you are. You’re upset she’s sleeping with her patron. Whether you’ll admit it or not, you’re asking her to give up the patron. If she does that, she’ll have to give up painting, won’t she?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Bullshit. You don’t guess so. You know so.”

  “All right, then. Yes, she’ll have to give up painting if she gives up the patron.”

  “So I’ll ask you again, are you prepared to demand Alex to give up painting to be with you?”

  “No.”

  “Then you’d best either learn to live with the fact she has a patron who wants sex from Alex in return for supporting her while she paints, or you need to let her go with the understanding you want her to give up her patron, but you don’t want to be her patron.”

  “But—”

  “There are no buts here, Lauren. Be honest about this with yourself. Now get your butt dressed and let’s go downstairs to see if Shevaun has rearranged both your living room and your kitchen.”

  Shevaun prided herself on being super-organized. She was willing to make everyone in her orbit super-organized, too, just as long as it was organized like she wanted it to be.

  “God forbid,” Lauren said, laughing.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Alex had the good sense to listen to what April and Evita had to say about “the Lauren situation,” as they’d started calling it. She stayed away from Lauren, but it was hard. She’d seen her in town one afternoon while she was taking a break from painting. She was standing at the large window in her condo that looked down on the center of town. Lauren had been with four other women, none of them locals, on the sidewalk across the street. All four looked familiar, but Alex couldn’t figure out where she’d seen them before. She switched her focus to Lauren.

  Lauren looked thinner. Her clothes didn’t fit with the same made-for-her look, and she looked tired, as if she hadn’t been sleeping well for a while. She looked like she was forcing herself to have a good time. The five women stopped directly across the street from Alex’s condo, when one of them pointed at something in one of the shops at street level. Four of them were looking at what was being pointed out. The fifth one, Lauren, looked up.

  Alex and Lauren locked eyes. Neither made an effort to acknowledge the other. When the woman who had been walking with Lauren saw Lauren looking up, she, too, looked up. The unknown woman nodded at her. Alex took a step back. What the fuck does that mean?

  She returned to the window when she heard the women laughing. She willed Lauren to look at her again, but her will was lacking. Lauren didn’t even glance her way before following the others up the street. I wonder who those women are. Friends from the City, probably. Why wouldn’t she look at me again? Maybe she didn’t want the women knowing she knew me. Yeah, and maybe she just didn’t want to see me. Then why had she looked up in the first place? Why had the woman she was with looked up, too? And why had she nodded? When one of the two women stopped to say something to Lauren, Alex suddenly knew why they looked familiar. She remembered Lauren said she had four sisters spread across the country. Those women were Lauren’s sisters, Alex was sure. There was just enough family resemblance to indicate they were related.

  Alex quickly grabbed her camera and began taking photos of the five women. When the women moved on, Alex studied the photographs. She knew she had her next painting sitting in her hand. She made a mental note to go to Walgreens and get the photos printed. She found her sketchbook, sat down in her rocker, and began sketching. She entitled the painting-to-be Five Sisters.

  When her phone began ringing, she muttered, “Not now.” Curiosity got the better of her, though, so she glanced at her phone. Caller ID told her it was Lucia and not Lauren. She ignored it, and when the phone indicated Lucia had left a message, she ignored that, too. Then a text message came in with only three numbers listed: 911. It meant Lucia really wanted to speak with her.

  She hit the call back number. When Lucia answered, Alex said, “Lucia, I’m working. This had better be a real emergency.”

  “How would you like to move your show at the Bonnehomme Gallery up by six months? Simone Bonnehomme just called and said the artist she had scheduled for next month has canceled on her and she’s offering his spot to you. Alex, it’s a prime time. You’re new and talented. Collectors will want in on the ground floor, while non-collectors will recognize your talent and will buy one of your paintings while they’re still cheap enough to be affordable. Some may even buy a special someone one of your paintings for Christmas. Are you ready for this?”

  What Lucia was really asking was whether Alex had enough to fill the small gallery with her paintings. She, Lucia, and Simone had done a walkthrough of the gallery a few months earlier to determine how many paintings she’d need to have a solo show. Alex had had more than enough to satisfy both of the other women’s requirements.

  “Yes, I am ready for this.”

  “Good. Simone and I want to come to you next week. Simone will help you choose the paintings she thinks are most likely to be bought by her regular clientele. Will you make yourself available on Thursday around eleven?”

  “I’ll be here,” Alex said.

  “Good. See you Thursday.” Lucia had hung up before Alex could say goodbye.

  Alex did a happy dance around her condo. Lucia, who had arranged for the showing, had told her that a good outing at the Bonnehomme & Penman Gallery could very well be the beginning of her career. Alex pumped her fist in the air a couple of times. She picked up her phone to call Lauren to tell her the wonderful news, and only barely stopped herself from having her phone dial her number. Instead, she called her grandmother.

  When April answered her phone, Alex said, “Where are you?”

  “I’m at Mamacita’s.”

  “Stay there. I’m coming to you. I have wondrous news.”

  Alex didn’t bother to change out of her paint-stained shirt or even to make sure she didn’t have paint in her hair or on her nose. She grabbed her jacket and her keys, rushed out of the condo, and ran down the stairs to the first floor. She drove too fast to Mamacita’s and barreled into the restaurant that was crowded with people enjoying their dinners.

  She quickly found April sitting at the end of the bar talking with Evita. She rushed to her grandmother’s side just as Evita was called away by the restaurant’s manager.

  “What is it, Alex? What’s your wondrous news?”

  “My showing at the Bonnehomme Gallery has been moved up six months! My very own show has been moved to the twenty-sixth, Sobo.”

  “Oh, baby, that is good news,” she said and drew her into her arms where they did the back-and-forth hugging equivalent of a happy dance.

  “Can I get in on some of this happiness?” Evita asked when she returned to them.

  April and Alex made room for Evita in the tribal dance. “What are we celebrating?�
��

  “My Alex is having her first solo show on the twenty-sixth!”

  “Wait. I thought that wasn’t for another six months.”

  Alex explained what Lucia had told her.

  “That calls for a celebratory margarita,” Evita said, and waved the bartender over.

  The only thing that would have made the day perfect was if she had been able to celebrate the night away by making love to Lauren. That night she dreamt of Lauren again. They were making love, Lauren was aroused, wet, and inviting. Just before she had the first of many orgasms that night she whispered “I love you” just as she’d done the first night they’d made love.

  ****

  Lauren’s sisters stayed for six days, then dispersed to their homes in San Francisco, Phoenix, Denver, and Raleigh. Those six days were the longest time the five of them had spent together since forever. It was fun, frustrating, and fruitful. By the time they left, Lauren knew what she needed to do. She didn’t know, however, if she would.

  While they’d been staying with Lauren, October had begun and the weather was no longer warm; it was decidedly cool during the day and cooler at night. She needed a sweater or jacket if she was going out in the evening or early morning.

  Lauren sat in her office a week after her sisters left contemplating her life. She acknowledged things had always come her way without having to do much work to get them. Her first job as an attorney had materialized because a friend from law school knew someone in a high-tier law firm who was looking for a first-year associate. She’d applied for and gotten the job. Promotions came at expected regular intervals. Before she knew it, she was a partner, then a named partner, then a partner with her name on the door.

  Lauren had finally asked the dreaded question that had been lurking in the back of her mind for years and every time it had come up, she’d tamped it back down: Am I happy? She had forced herself to not only think about the question, but to answer it as well. The answer had been a resounding, “no.” Her work had not been exciting; she hadn’t been a trial lawyer since she’d become a partner, she had been more of an administrator, which had not been why she’d gone to law school. Her relationship with Sandy had been, well, lacking in passion for years. They had been like two old friends who stayed friends because they were too lazy to do anything else. Lauren loved her, but they’d become an old married couple long before they should have. How sad is all that?

  If Lauren were to ask herself that same question now on a quiet October Sunday afternoon, what would she say? She’d say she was, for the most part, content. But am I happy? Not really. What am I going to do about it?

  First, she had to figure out what would make her happy. She sat looking out over her property and knew what had made her happier than at any other time in her life had been being with Alex. Other than that one thing, she couldn’t think of anything else that made her as happy. Spending time looking out over her property made her feel content. Watching a cougar walk majestically down her driveway awed her. But being with Alex was the epitome of happiness.

  She’d only had one other profound epiphany like this, and that was when she had admitted she no longer liked being a lawyer, if indeed she ever had. Her sister had reminded her that, at one time, she’d really wanted to be an author and a professor. She hadn’t written anything but law-related documents since the day she entered law school. What happened to those two dreams? Why haven’t I made either of them come true?

  Lauren was committed to being of counsel to Jane’s law firm, and was glad to be able to do that, but she knew it wasn’t going to be enough.

  Don’t I have a file somewhere with saved tidbits I thought would make interesting storylines? She’d saved bits of newspapers, magazine articles, anything she came across, for years. When did I stop doing that? And what did I do with that file? Please don’t tell me I threw it out.

  Before she went crazy and started going through all the boxes in her storage unit looking for that file, Lauren needed to get her emotional life straightened out first. If she didn’t, nothing was going to be satisfying. She needed to know whether she could be with Alex knowing she’d slept with another woman. Wait a second. I don’t know she’s slept with Lucia while she’d been sleeping with me, do I? No. So if she didn’t sleep with Lucia recently, what does it mean? It means you are a dumb shit who jumped to conclusions you had no business even thinking about. Oh, my God, did I dump Alex based on an assumption? It appears so. I should sue myself for being stupid and for being stuck on stupid way too long.

  Lauren hadn’t given a shit how many women Alex had slept with before they met. The only thing that mattered was that Lauren wanted to be the last woman Alex slept with.

  When Lauren realized what all that meant, it felt like a very heavy load had been lifted from her shoulders and her mind. The first thing she did was call Alex. Her call went directly to voice mail. She hung up without leaving a message because what she had to say had to be said in person.

  She knew she was the one who had to re-establish contact, but couldn’t decide how to best go about doing it until she decided to call April. She agreed to come to the house for tea later that afternoon.

  When April arrived, Lauren took her jacket and hung it on the coat tree she kept next to the door. April paused to say hello to Serena by rubbing her ears gently while murmuring sweet nothings to the big dog.

  “I’ll say this again, what a lovely home you have, Lauren. Would you mind showing me the rest of the house?”

  “Thank you. I’d love to show you my home.”

  Lauren took her upstairs and showed her the two guest rooms and the shared bathroom, the master bedroom, and the master bath.

  “I really like how you’ve decorated your space. I like the unclutteredness of it all. It almost seems to add space to the rooms.”

  “My oldest sister, Shevaun, thought it was too sparse.”

  “Nonsense. One woman’s unclutteredness is another’s sparseness.”

  Lauren laughed. “Shevaun has always believed her way was the right way even if it didn’t suit the other person.”

  When they went back downstairs, Lauren showed her the rest of the first floor and led her into the kitchen. The kettle was burbling merrily on the stove. She showed April her selection of tea bags. April said she wanted her favorite, Republic of Tea’s Ginger Peach, and so did Lauren. When their tea was ready, Lauren led April back into the living room and they sat on the couch facing the fireplace, which had a nice fire in it.

  “I know you didn’t invite me over just to share a cup of tea.”

  “I did, but I admit I also want to find out if Alex is still in Europe.”

  “Why?” April asked.

  “I want to talk to her.”

  “Call her.”

  “I have. My calls go immediately to voice mail.”

  “I’d guess she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  “And I wouldn’t blame her. But I need to try to reach her.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “No offense, April, but I need to hear it from Alex.”

  “You’re right, you do need that. She’s not in Europe. Lucia canceled the trip. She decided it was too dangerous for Americans to be traveling in Europe for the time being.”

  “Then where is she?”

  “She’s in the City getting ready for her show on the twenty-sixth.”

  “I thought that wasn’t happening until April.”

  “They moved it up for some reason.”

  “Which gallery is hosting the show?”

  “Bonnehomme and Penman.”

  “I know that gallery. I’ve been to a few showings there.”

  A plan was forming in the back of Lauren’s mind. She’d have to give it some deeper thought and run it by Lindsey and Ciara, but right then and there, it felt right.

  April and Lauren talked about inconsequential things for another hour. After she put on her jacket, April hugged Lauren and whispered, “Tread softly,
Lauren, if you want her back.”

  “Thanks for spending time with me, April. It means so much to me.”

  “Stay in touch,” April said as she went down the steps.

  Later that night, as Lauren was falling asleep, she found herself thinking that the age difference between she and Alex that had seemed almost insurmountable a few months earlier, had disappeared from her radar after Alex told her about her patron. It had suddenly become insignificant by comparison.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Once again, Alex couldn’t focus on her painting. She was being way too critical of each and every brush stroke. Even in the very dark days after Natalia’s death, she’d been able to paint. The paintings hadn’t been any good, but she’d been able to pick up a paintbrush and be lost in the act of painting for an hour or so. Not now.

  When Simone, the gallery’s owner, and Lucia had driven out to help Alex decide which paintings to show, Simone had asked to use the bathroom. While she was gone, Lucia said, “If this show is successful in terms of sales—not just the amount of the sales but the number of sales—you’ll be on your way within the year. We’ll need to sit down and evaluate our relationship.”

  “What does that mean?” Alex asked.

  “Perhaps it’s time to change the terms of our agreement. Perhaps, instead of being your patron, I should just be your agent. Think about it, and we’ll discuss it more when the time is right.”

  “I’d like for you to be my agent, Lucia. I trust you.”

  Lucia smiled, but there didn’t seem to be any joy in it. That doesn’t seem to be the answer she wanted or expected. I wonder why.

  When they made their selections, Simone and Lucia left the studio. Simone was back a minute later to retrieve her purse that she’d left lying on the kitchen counter. “Is the painting of the two women on your dresser in the bedroom one of yours?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “What is its title? I insist you hang it for the show.”

  “The Shower. Why?”

  “Because it shows your potential more than any other.”