Slow Fires with bonus story Alligators & Orgasms

by Sarah Black

  They got back to the apartment about six in the morning. Russ went straight to the computer and checked his email. Mia ran a hand over his back as he bent over the screen. “Anything?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing from the parents.” He turned his head and smiled up at her. “Looks like there’s a love note from you.”

  “I’m so sorry about what’s happened with your parents, Russ. Kevin’s, too.”

  He straightened and pulled her close against his chest. “Yeah, I’m sorry, too. But don’t worry about it, Mia. I’m a grown man. I’ve got to walk my own path. Kevin feels the same way, too. We don’t want to hurt anyone. But, the three of us being together, we make that decision for ourselves.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist. “I admire your strength, Russ. I don’t feel quite so courageous all the time, but I feel strong with you two around me. Or maybe what I feel is protected.”

  “That’s good, baby.” He stroked her back. “We like that ‘protecting you’ bit. Makes us feel strong and manly. Anytime you feel faint, anything like that, you just let me know and I’ll carry you around.”

  He reached down and slid a hand behind her knees and picked her up. Mia laughed at him in surprise. “Nobody ever carried me before.”

  “Where shall I put you? Hmmm, let’s see. I guess the bed.”

  He carried her into the bedroom and put her down on the bed, then leaned in and kissed her. “Mia. We’ll protect you the best we can. I can’t keep the world from thinking whatever they want to think about us, but I’ll do everything I can to give you a good life. You can trust me and Kevin to never betray you. We might be slobs and drop our clothes on the floor, and Kevin’s a damn hothead, but I promise we won’t ever take you for granted, and we won’t ever betray you. If I could give you everything in the world, I would. What I can give you is that promise and my heart, and I just hope it’s enough.”

  She looked up into his face, ran her hand back through his brown curls. He was strong and steady enough for a lifetime. “It’s more than enough.”

  Mia woke up about ten and crawled out of bed over Kevin. He stirred, then slid into the warm center of the bed where she had just been lying. Russ reached out for Kevin in his sleep and pulled him up to his chest. Kevin’s blonde head was nestled under Russ’s chin, and he was curled in a ball, knees tucked up. Russ rolled over to his side and draped a big arm across Kevin’s waist.

  Mia studied them for a few minutes, then went into the living room and turned up the heat. A few minutes later she went back into the bedroom with her sketchpad and pulled the covers gently back.

  She quickly sketched the lines of their bodies, squared it off. Hmmm. Nice. She reached out and tugged Kevin’s foot. He blinked up at her, sleepy-eyed.

  “Roll over,” she said, quietly. Kevin closed his eyes again and turned in Russ’s arms. When they had finished rustling around, and had settled themselves again, she did another sketch. This was good. She was an artist. Finally she felt like an artist, with a vision of her own. It was a bit of a shock to realize that her vision involved naked men curled up together in bed, but they were utterly fascinating to her. She could draw them and carve them and think about them all day. God, she was making sexpots!

  Mia studied them, their gestures and the lines of their bodies so resonant of tenderness. That’s what she wanted to show. She didn’t want to exploit them for prurient interest. Well, not really. But like Luke had said, they did want to make a living. And Kevin and Russ were so totally hot that half the women in America would feel that tingle, looking at these two making love to each other. Happiness was bubbling up in her chest, warm and sweet.

  These last couple of years she had been taking tiny, tentative steps in her art. Her natural inclination was to make art that was like running your fingers over the lines and slopes of a man’s body. But she’d felt too timid to really let herself go. Disapproval all around her ‑‑ cold, judgmental, disparaging eyes that shriveled her heart and stilled her hand. But here, with them, and among this community of artists, she felt the encouragement to try the next thing, and then the next. She wasn’t sure what she was working toward, but she could see her path for the first time.

  Mia went into the kitchen and put a pot of coffee on, then sat down on the couch and started a sketch of Rafe and Luke from memory. They both had such interesting faces. She wondered how they interacted in private. Would they be the same in bed as they were at their work? She probably ought to just go home with them, sketch them in their own place. That way they’d be more comfortable, and would relax and be themselves. That would make the best tiles. Mia worked on the sketch a little until she got the lines of Luke’s long jaw just right. She went into the kitchen and filled her coffee cup, then stuck her head into the bedroom. Russ was still slumbering, looking more bear-like than usual with his chest thick with brown hair and the breath rumbling out of his nose. Kevin had pushed back the covers and was nestled between his legs, Russ’s cock in his mouth.

  Russ was erect, even in sleep, and Kevin was working the head of his cock between his lips, his fingers circling the base, moving gently back and forth. Kevin’s long hair was across Russ’s thigh, and his eyes were closed. He was moving in slow motion, barely awake.

  She got the sketchpad and drew them again, sure for the first time in as long as she could remember that she had found her place, and found herself.

  Mia walked across the mesa with Mr. Benally. Russ and Kevin were with them, carrying shovels. They were getting ready to dig a fire pit of sufficient size for a community-wide pottery firing. Also, hopefully, to use up the approximately twenty bushels of dried cow dung that were taking over Mia’s garage and studio and truck. She was going to be tough from now on to refuse to buy any more dung from sweet-faced, gap-toothed, grinning kids.

  Mr. Benally had gone with her to talk to some of the elders. There were still potters who knew the old ways. Several agreed to do demonstrations for the students and for those white boys and girls from Flagstaff. The grad program had agreed to hire some local women to cook fry bread, chili beans and mutton stew for the day, so everyone would have food. It was cool, and the sun was rising over the mesa, and Mia was happy.

  Mr. Benally flung an arm out to stop her. “Wait, Mia. Boy, come up here.” He gestured for Russ. “There’s been a snake over our ground. We can’t fire here.” Russ stepped up. “You know that weed, what do you call it in English?” Mr. Benally closed his eyes, thinking. “Bearclaw root! That’s it. We need some to make the ground safe.”

  Russ looked around. “Where do I get it? Does it grow here?”

  Mr. Benally shook his head. “My wife has some. Did you see her? She’s got that squash blossom necklace, and her hair in a bun. And she’s wearing red glasses.”

  Russ nodded. “I’ve seen her. She’s making stew, right?” Mr. Benally nodded. “Okay, I’ll go get some.”

  Russ took off back down the mesa, and Mia looked around for the snake. “Look, baby.” Kevin pointed to the tracks in the sand.

  “What should we do, Mr. Benally?”

  He stroked his chin. “We could start cutting wood, or find some fire rocks for the hole.”

  “What? Cutting wood? We aren’t using the dung?” Mia felt a little flutter of panic in her throat.

  Mr. Benally chuckled quietly under his breath. “We’ll use all the dung. But we need to put fire rocks in the bottom of the pit, use juniper to heat the hole. Then it will be warm, with a nice bed of ashes to rest the pots.”

  “Okay.” She had her hand pressed to her chest.

  Kevin was grinning at her. “Let’s go find some fire rocks!”

  She and Kevin hunted among the scrub sage and junipers for the rocks. After a while they collected enough, and they could stop and watch Russ and Mr. Benally. They were walking in a circle, sprinkling some clear greenish fluid from a water bottle onto the ground. The fluid had what looked like little brown sticks floating in it. They completed the circle, walking together, the
n Mr. Benally raised his hand and gestured for Mia and Kevin to join them.

  They stepped into the circle, and he sprinkled a bit of water into his palm. “Smell it,” he said, holding his hand toward them. Mia and Kevin sniffed. It smelled good, a clean smell like herbs, growing things. He sprinkled all their shoes. “Snakes hate the smell.” He looked sternly at them. “Be careful. Snakes are around you.”

  By noon the studio and the demonstration areas were crowded with people, local Navajo people and Anglos from the city, sitting around and making little pots the old way out of tiny coils of clay. One potter was leading a group down into the arroyo, showing students how to find and dig the local clay. Another tiny brown woman, her face like a dried apple, slowly and carefully burnished a round clay pot with an old silver spoon. The kids were crawling all over the mesa, looking for smooth burnishing stones.

  When they took a break for supper, Mia leaned back against a juniper tree, Kevin and Russ on either side of her, and they ate fry bread and shared a bowl of mutton stew. She leaned her head against the rough bark, feeling the peace of this place, and this day. She liked having the bearclaw root on her shoes. Mia opened her eyes suddenly. Mrs. Miller was standing about a hundred yards away, staring at her, her mouth twisted. Russ and Kevin both had a hand on her, one thigh each. Russ stood slowly, took a couple of steps forward until he stood between the woman and Kevin and Mia. Mrs. Miller stared at him, then turned around and disappeared.

  About sundown they loaded the pots into the firing pit, and as the night sky got darker, the pit began glowing, deep red and yellow as the dung started burning. It looked like a dragon’s mouth, flames and sparks shooting up with each breath. They heard the hiss and pop of breaking clay a time or two. The old potters just shrugged. Part of the making.

  By midnight everyone was lying on blankets, warmed by the fire, staring up at the star-filled sky. Families lay together, holding their babies, holding each other. Mia heard the musical sound of young Navajo voices, heard someone strumming a guitar. She fell asleep between Russ and Kevin, their arms around her, listened to an old woman explain to a bunch of kids that you couldn’t roast marshmallows over a dung fire.

  Early the next Saturday morning, the three of them walked to the university with Luke and Rafe to start unloading the kiln. Luke and Kevin were arguing about the value of going to art shows to sell pottery. Russ was sleepwalking in his usual early morning fog, and Rafe walked along beside Mia.

  “I’m into human forms, like you, Mia,” he said. “But I like vessels. I don’t know why I’m obsessed with lidded vessels right now, but this whole last year everything I’ve made has had a functional lid. Storage jars, water jars, funerary urns. They’re all very Korean looking, for some reason.”

  “Maybe you want to save things,” she suggested. “Store up food and water. Are you nervous about graduating and leaving school?”

  He took his time answering. “Could be,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “It’s a big step. Neither Luke nor I want to teach, so that means we’re looking at a good bit of financial instability. Maybe all these storage jars are so we can save grain for the winter.”

  “With all of us working together it will be easier, Rafe. We can support each other. If I make a pot of chili, it’s easy to make enough for all of us. But I worry about money as well, and security. Especially health insurance. I’m not quite sure why, other than my mother was obsessed with health insurance, retirement benefits, all those things. I think I picked it up from her.”

  Russ glanced over at them. “Mia, you ever want to stop teaching and just work as an artist, I’ll go to work so you can have your health insurance.”

  Kevin looked back at the two of them, his face complicated and full of love. “We can make Sexpots a business and get small business health insurance,” he suggested. “That way we stay together.”

  Russ nodded. “That’s a good idea, Kevin. We’ll figure it out.”

  Kevin looked at Luke, then turned back to Rafe. “Just so you guys know, we want kids. If you’ve got a problem with little feet in the clay, we better talk about it now.”

  Rafe put his arm around Mia. “Mia, let us draw you with a big belly, okay? You’ll be so beautiful pregnant.”

  “I think that’s the perfect vessel form,” Russ said. “That rounded curve of a pregnant belly. That’s the best shape in the fire, because it’s strong and it has so much horizontal surface area to collect the ash.”

  Luke sighed. “Mia, are you going to be able to stand living with all these men? I mean, listen to us. You’ll be the only woman.”

  “Maybe we can lure a couple of potter girls up to the mountains.”

  Luke shook his head. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. The girls will fall in love with Kevin or Rafe. They’re so pretty, it happens all the time. And I don’t know why, but girls don’t like the fire as much.”

  Russ shook his head. “I think they just don’t have the experience with it. But all decent potters, men and women, fall in love with the fire.” He looked over at them, daring anyone to disagree. Luke smiled at him with an angelic face.

  An early morning crowd was already milling around the kiln, drinking coffee out of insulated mugs. It was cool, and the morning air smelled like pine and ground mist. Russ went straight to the kiln and started running his hands over her sides, patting her gently and talking soothing nonsense.

  “His baby must sleep like he does,” she told Kevin. “He wants to wake her up easy.”

  “I can’t wait ’till we fire the anagama at home,” Kevin said. “That’s going to be a good fire with all our pieces inside.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “I’m going to help Luke and Rafe and the others set up some ware shelves and a station to wash the pots.”

  She nodded, then stood out of the way, sipping her coffee. An older man with deep blue eyes and a full beard came up to her and offered a hand. “I’m Robert Warren,” he said. “You must be Mia.” She shook his hand. “Russ showed me your tiles before they went into the kiln. I’m one of the professors in the program. You do nice work. Very powerful and erotic. Do you have a gallery that represents you?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve been teaching art out on the reservation. I haven’t produced very much in the last few years.”

  “If you’re interested in a group show, let me know.” He handed her a card. “We might have a place. The kids have been talking about the community firing you organized out on the reservation. They really had a good time. I’m glad they were reminded that clay doesn’t always come out of plastic bags.”

  “It was my pleasure, Robert. The pots were ...”

  Kevin came up behind her and slid an arm around her waist. “Hey, Robert. How’s it going? Did we tell you we’re starting a co-op studio and gallery? Luke and Rafe, and me and Russ and Mia.”

  The man smiled at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You and Russ and Mia?” Kevin nodded, and the man turned his gaze to Russ, then back down to Mia. “I see. Well, the offer stands if you want to show some of your tiles, Mia.” He nodded and sauntered away, grinning, hands in his pockets.

  Russ glared at Kevin from the kiln, gave him a ‘come here’ gesture.

  “Uh, oh,” Kevin said. “I’m in trouble now.” He leaned over and kissed Mia on the cheek. “Watch out for that guy. He’s a shark.”

  The students formed a line to hand pots out of the kiln to a wash station. When they were rinsed off, the pots were put on ware shelves to dry. It seemed to Mia that the unspoken rule was that the pots were all to be unloaded before people started looking at their own. As the shelves filled, though, people drifted by more and more often to admire the work.

  The firing had been one of the best, everyone agreed, and the pots coming out of the kiln were outstanding, the marks of the fire strong and quiet. Russ was flushed, his face happy. He let out a whistle between his front teeth, and Kevin and Mia walked over to take the bowl out of his hands.

  It was Kevin’s baby bowl,
and it was everything he had said it was, the swoop of the curved bowl elegant and beautiful with a delicate turned rim. It was wide and deep, probably sixteen or eighteen inches across, the porcelain as thin and delicate as eggshells. It looked a little like the petals of a flower fainting open in the noontime sun. Mia drew two fingers through the dust and ash on the inner surface. Pure, translucent celadon.

  “Wow,” she said, looking at the two of them. Robert came up and looked over Mia’s shoulder. He studied the bowl in silence, then looked at Kevin.

  “You are one mighty fucking artist, Kevin.”

  Kevin smiled at him and handed Mia the bowl. “It’s for her, Robert.”

  Robert looked down at Mia with that trace of amusement back in his face. “You must be powerful to get these two so stirred up.”

  Kevin lowered his eyebrows in a frown, and Mia stepped closer to him. “Oh, I don’t know, Robert. They’re finding themselves as artists; we all are. Artists influence each other all the time. I think Russ and Kevin together are the perfect mix of form and fire.”

  He nodded. “So they keep telling me. Nice glaze.”

  Mia felt the color deepen in her cheeks, and she watched him walk away.

  “He knows I can’t make a decent glaze,” Kevin said. “I already told him you made the ash glazes for our pieces.”

  “Are you supposed to make your own glazes for the MFA show pieces?”

  He grinned down at her, the color up in his cheeks. “Look at it, Mia.” They studied the bowl in her hands. “Who cares about what I’m supposed to do. It’s perfect, and it took all three of us to do it.”

  Russ ducked back inside the kiln, shaking his head.

  Mia held the bowl in both hands, and Kevin ran a wet sponge over the inner surface, revealing the lovely, subtle green. It was translucent, but deep, like peering into the depths of a mountain lake. When they had it clean, Mia put it carefully on a shelf. They stood there, admiring its stillness and quiet beauty.