Bear's Surrogate

by Sky Winters

  "Or, crazy as it sounds, you actually put some work in on your painting? I know that might be a wild idea, but considering you're an artist and all, maybe it's something worth considering."

  "Babe," said Marcus, standing up and putting his hand on Adelaide's shoulder and speaking the tone one might use with a child. "You know you can't just rush the muse like that. She comes when she wants."

  "Augh!" shouted Adelaide, stomping her foot and storming out of the living room.

  Adelaide was furious. Marcus, her boyfriend of almost six months, was the latest in a series of artists that she'd gotten involved with over the last few years since her time began at college. It always seemed to go the same way for her: she'd be taken immediately by their passion and talent, then she'd get wrapped up in their romantic world of art and inspiration, then something more serious would develop.

  But as soon as she got the chance to look behind the curtain at what their lives were really like, she'd found that just about everything about them was a front. Sure, they could turn out a painting or piece of music every now and then, but as soon as they began to start settling, they'd invariably turn into big children who depended on Adelaide's responsible personality.

  "You know, you could get a freaking part-time job," shot Adelaide. "I know that sitting around watching cartoons and getting high is probably a really integral part of your creative process, but you could at least pick up a few hours at a restaurant or something here and there!"

  And, just like the rest of them, Marcus seemed to be allergic to the idea of work.

  "Ad," said Marcus from the living room, "you know I can't do that. What if the muse hits while I'm in the middle of a shift or something? What am I supposed to do, just let inspiration slip through my fingers or something?"

  Adelaide looked around the bedroom at the few paintings that Marcus had begun over the last few months. They showed obvious talent, but not a single one was anything close to being finished. The paintings were nothing more than monuments to Marcus' lack of drive, focus, and work ethic. Adelaide could hardly stand to look at them.

  Marcus strolled casually into the bedroom, not seeming like he was bothered in the slightest by anything Adelaide had said. Her eyes scanned his body, noting his slim frame, his ropy muscles, and the tattoos that decorated his skin here and there. His long, sable hair draped over his shoulders, and his steely gray bedroom eyes regarded Adelaide with a playful look, one that seemed to suggest that they cut the bullshit and get right to the makeup sex.

  Goddamnit, she thought, why do these loser artists all have to be so fucking hot?

  She shook her head, determined not to let her libido get the better of her.

  "Normal people work and pursue what they want in their free time," said Adelaide. "Or they go to school. Or they do something. But you think you're too good for any of that, huh? You think that you're a special, precious little artist who doesn't have to work, who can just sponge off people who actually show some responsibility, huh?"

  "No, babe," he said, "that's not what this is about."

  Then, an expression of realization flashed over his face, as if he'd just remembered something.

  "Um…" he said, now looking sheepish.

  "What?" demanded Adelaide. "What is it?"

  "Do you think…um, you could spot me for rent this month? Kinda remembered I went through the last of the money from my last sale."

  That was it. Adelaide's vision turned red, and rage began to take her over. She didn't care how sexy he was, how talented he was, or how good he was in bed – she wanted him gone, long gone.

  "Get out!" shouted Adelaide, shoving Marcus into the hallway.

  "Wait, what?" stammered Marcus, clearly shocked.

  "I said, get the fuck out!"

  Adelaide stormed into the living room, gathering up Marcus's junk in her arms, then opening the front door and tossing it all out onto the lawn.

  "Whoa, babe!" said Marcus, following on her heels. "Let's talk about this or something! Just cool out!"

  "I'm not going to cool out," said Adelaide, trying to keep her voice cool as she marched to the bedroom. "I'm going to get your shitty little bag of clothes from the bedroom and put them right next to the rest of your crap. Then you can get the hell out of here and go crash on the couch at one of your loser friends'."

  And that's just what she did. Grabbing Marcus' clothes by the handful, she shoved them into the ratty duffel that had moved in two months ago. Nearly everything he owned could be fit into that bag, and Adelaide was quick to shove everything in there.

  "Seriously, babe," said Marcus. "It's just one month. I'll sell something soon and then I can pay you back. I swear!"

  Adelaide wasn't in the mood for any promises. She tossed the bag with a heave onto the front porch and pointed toward it.

  "Now go," she said.

  "But…what about my art?"

  "Come get it some other time; I don't care. But you're gone."

  Marcus lowered his head in defeat. Seeing him give him so passively struck Adelaide as a little pathetic. She couldn't believe that this schlub in pajama pants was the same passionate artist for which she'd fallen so hard.

  Snatching his bong off the floor, Marcus started toward the door.

  "You know, when I've got a show at the Met in New York, you're gonna feel really stupid about what you're doing."

  "I'm more than happy to cross that bridge when I come to it."

  With that, Marcus stepped out onto porch and Adelaide slammed the door behind him.

  Good riddance! she thought as soon as the door shut.

  But as soon as the reality of what she'd done hit her, Adelaide felt suddenly alone. Part of her wanted to open the door back up and call out to Marcus, giving him one more in a long series of last chances.

  Just be strong, she thought, going through the living room and cleaning up the mess that Marcus had left.

  Then, a chime sounded from her purse.

  Gotta be Marcus, she thought, picking her bag up and going through it. Couldn't even wait five minutes before begging to come back.

  To her surprise, however, she saw that it was a text from Maddie, her best friend.

  Hey, girl! What's up?

  Part of Adelaide wanted to pretend that nothing had happened, that it was just business as usual. Adelaide was the type who hated to burden other people with her problems, but she realized that, in this case, it was something that was going to come out eventually.

  Her fingers dancing over the phone keypad, she explained the events of the last few minutes.

  I've been waiting for you to ditch that loser! Bout damn time! Let's celebrate with some drinks!

  Adelaide fired off a quick response.

  I don't know…I think I just want the evening to get used to everything.

  The reply was nearly instantaneous.

  BS. Come out for drinks with Kate and me. Better than sitting at home sulking. And this way you won't have any moments of weakness and call him back up or something stupid like that.

  Adelaide realized that Maddie was right. Staying home alone would likely mean a bottle of wine and some sad music, and she'd been through enough similar situations to know that, by the time the bottle was just about empty, texting Marcus would start to seem like a good idea.

  OK, fine. When and where?

  Then the response.

  Eight o'clock. Meet us at Mick's.

  Adelaide's stomach sank a bit. Mick's was one of the local biker bars, and not exactly the most welcoming place for college kids like them. But Adelaide was now determined to get out of the house and try to have a little fun, so she simply sent back a confirmation text.

  After cleaning up the rest of Marcus' mess, as well as getting his art supplies and unfinished paintings ready to hand over, Adelaide started on getting ready. She spent a little time fussing over what to wear, keeping in mind that the sorts of guys that frequented Mick's weren't the harmless college guys who'd maybe be bold enough to smile
at her from across the bar. The men at Mick's were the type with tattoos, muscles, and long beards – the kind of guys who looked like their preferred method of courtship was to throw girls over their shoulders and take them out back to have their way with them.

  Adelaide realized with a sly smirk that this actually didn't sound so terrible.

  Bad girl, she thought, going through her clothes. No rebounds tonight. Just go out and get some good girl time in. Guys are the last thing you need right now.

  Adelaide decided on a pair of skinny blue jeans, a nice white blouse, and a pair of black flats. She regarded her features in the mirror, noting her catlike green eyes, dark hair, and lips that she'd always felt were too big and full for her face.

  Not much I can do about all that, she thought, putting on a bit of makeup.

  An hour later, she walked into Mick's. The place was a standard dive bar with pool tables, neon beer signs, and rock music playing on the jukebox. A couple dozen bikers were here and there; drinking, playing pool and darts, and carrying on, their eyes latching onto Adelaide as she walked past. Seedy smiles formed on their faces as they ate her alive with their eyes. Adelaide found herself wondering if this was such a good idea after all.

  Finally, she found Maddie and Kate seated at a small table in the corner, both of them waving eagerly to get Adelaide's attention.

  "There she is!" shouted Maddie, a petite blonde with a girl-next-door face with a bikini model's body.

  "We were, like, this close to thinking you'd given in and called Marcus or something," said Kate, a waifish girl with dark, curly hair and a face of classical beauty.

  "Are you serious?" said Adelaide? "I'm not even ten minutes late."

  "Well, it wouldn't exactly be out of character for you to give up and call up whatever artist you just ditched for a goodbye screw or something," said Maddie before taking a sip of her gin and tonic.

  "That's total BS," said Adelaide. "I don't do that."

  "Are you kidding?" said Kate, raising her eyebrows in surprise. "What was that one guy's name, that guy who made the sculptures out of cans or something?"

  "Oh, God," said Maddie. "Paul, Peter – some bible name."

  "Preston," said Adelaide, the memory of him rushing back into her thoughts.

  "You broke up with him for, what, spending two weeks straight taking acid or something? And how long did that last for?"

  "Um," said Adelaide, "well, there were a few false starts, but I eventually kicked his ass out."

  "Yeah," said Kate. "'Eventually', being the key word here."

  Adelaide shook her head as she scanned the bar. The place was wall-to-wall bikers, each seeming eager to have their chance with one of the three cute college girls who'd just walked in. Or maybe even all three of them.

  "So what," said Adelaide, still feeling a little nervous, "you guys figured that being around hard-ass bikers was the best way for me to get over Marcus?"

  "Well," said Maddie, "we were planning on coming here anyway. But maybe hooking up with one of these guys would do you some good. Not a tortured artist in sight."

  "I can't believe you guys come here," said Adelaide. "It's like you're asking for trouble."

  "That's the whole point," said Kate. "These guys here? They're real men. Not like those boys at school with their baseball caps and oversized hoodies and used Honda Civics that their parents bought for them or whatever."

  "Yeah," said Maddie. "These are guys who'll take you out of here on their bikes and screw you like you've never been screwed before."

  "Oh my God," said Kate. "This guy I met here a couple of weeks ago, he was like-"

  Then, she held up her hands to indicate the size of his cock.

  "No way," said Mattie. "You're lying."

  "Totally serious."

  Adelaide chuckled.

  "You guys are the worst."

  Maddie and Kate were Adelaide's best friends in New Orleans and the closest thing to family she had in this city. Her adopted parents lived out in Florida, and Adelaide wasn't the best at keeping in contact with them. And since she never had the closest of relationships with them, it wasn't surprising to her how distant she'd grown from them since they moved out of the state when Adelaide decided to stay for school.

  "OK, who've you got your eye on," said Maddie, scanning the crowd.

  "Oh, easy," said Kate. "That guy at the pool table, the one who's like, seven feet tall."

  Adelaide looked at the man Kate was referring to. He was a tall, strapping, tough-looking man with slicked-back red hair, arms covered in tattoos, and a handsome face partially hidden behind a pair of sunglasses.

  "That's a good one," said Maddie. "I want the guy at the bar, the one with the giant fucking arms."

  "OK, what about you, Ad?" said Kate.

  "Um, not really sure," she said. "I don't think any of these guys here are really my type, you know?"

  Maddie rolled her eyes.

  "You're only saying that because you still haven't gotten a drink. Be right back."

  With that, Maddie sprang up from her seat and walked seductively to the bar, taking a place by the man she'd had her eye on. Adelaide watched as Maddie flashed him a sly look, the two of them chatting for a moment. Then, the man handed the bartender some money, and a tray of drinks was placed in front of Maddie. She returned to the table with a pleased expression on her face, and Adelaide could see the man at the bar watching her walk away, his eyes very, very interested.

  "That's another thing I like about this place," said Maddie. "Easy as hell to get free drinks."

  Adelaide couldn't help but laugh. Maddie placed a new drink along with a shot of whiskey in front of each of them, and with a cheers, the night was on. An hour or so passed, and Adelaide and the girls went through another couple rounds of drinks. The music picked up, the bar filled up more, and soon, Maddie and Kate were in the mood to dance. Taking their drinks from the table, they headed off toward their chosen bikers and went in for the kill.

  "Next round's on you, Ad!" said Maddie. "And I don't want to hear that you paid for it!"

  Adelaide's stomach tightened. She'd never really considered herself good at flirting and getting drinks out of guys never came as easily to her as it did to Maddie and Kate. Nevertheless, she was feeling drunk and confident. She approached the bar, standing between a couple bikers, and got the bartender's attention.

  "Now what the fuck is a little college girl piece of ass like you doing in a place like this?"

  The voice to her right was booming and deep. Adelaide turned toward the man and found that her eyes only went to his chest. She craned her neck up to look at the biker and saw that he was tall, ugly as sin, and fat as hell. Raunchy tattoos snaked up his neck and onto his face, and he was dressed head-to-toe in leather.

  "These're on me," he said, shoving a couple of twenties toward the bartender.

  Then his piggy eyes scanned Adeline up and down slowly.

  "And I can think of something else I'd like on me," he said, his slug-like lips forming into a skeevy smile. "Call me Bulk – that's what everyone else does.”

  Panic gripped Adelaide. She wasn't interested in the slightest by this man, and even felt a little threatened by him. But she got the impression he was the type who wasn't likely to take no for an answer. She glanced over her shoulder quickly, trying to spot Maddie and Kate, but she couldn't find them among the dancing crowds.

  "Um, thanks for the drinks, uh, Bulk," said Adelaide. "But I gotta get back to my friends now."

  Bulk shook his head.

  "See, where I come from, if a man buys a girl a drink, then she owes him a little bit of her time. Now, have a seat and let me get to know you a little better."

  "You know what?" said Adelaide, "you can just have the drinks. I gotta go."

  She turned to leave, but before she could even take a step, Bulk's hand shot out with a surprising quickness. He latched onto her wrist and held her in place.

  "Sit that little ass of yours down. Now."
>
  Panic rushed through Adelaide. She realized that there was nothing she could do. Bulk's face was twisted into an expression of frustrated anger, like that of a kid who wasn't getting what he wanted. But this kid was six-six and three hundred pounds.

  "Let me go!" protested Adelaide.

  "Not a fucking chance," said Bulk. "You're mine."

  But before Adelaide could say or do anything else, a large hand clapped down onto Bulk's shoulder. Adelaide's eyes shot up to the hand's owner, and she saw that he was a tall, built man dressed in a tight white t-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and defined pecs and a pair of dark jeans and combat boots. His hair was slicked back and as dark as India ink, and his face was so gorgeous that Adelaide couldn't believe it was real. His eyes were an icy blue, his lips were full and sensual, and his jaw was wide and strong. Adelaide couldn't tell his age, but he looked to be in his late thirties.

  "Don't think she's interested, buddy," said the man, his voice low and rich.

  Bulk shifted his weight around and looked hard at the man.

  "What the fuck you think you're doing, asshole?" said Bulk. "How about you back the fuck off."

  "Not gonna happen," said the man. "See, I'm an old-fashioned kind of guy. And old-fashioned guys like me know that when a girl's got a look like that on her face, one that I would call ‘abject terror,' it means they want you to leave them the fuck alone. So, I'm gonna make sure that's exactly what happens."

  "The only thing that's gonna happen," said Bulk, “is that you get the fuck out of my goddamn face, pretty boy, and leave me to my woman."

  The man shook his head.

  "And because I'm an old-fashioned kind of guy," he said, "I'm gonna give you one last warning before I drop your ass to the floor. So, here it is: back the fuck off, and leave the girl alone."

  Bulk took a step closer to the man, shoving him with his big, round belly. Adelaide watched with fear as he got as close as possible to the man.

  "Fuck. You," he said.

  "Hate to do things this way," said the man, "but you asked for it."

  With lightning speed, the man pulled back his fist and sent it into Bulk's face in a tight arc. The fist connected, a sick crack sounding out through the bar. Bulk flew backward as soon as the fist hit him, moving faster than Adelaide would've guessed a fat man like him would've been able to. Bulk fell onto the floor in a heap, and the crowd around them yelled and whooped at the action.