Then Kiss Me

by Jade C. Jamison

  “So what the hell are you still doing here?” He looked at me. “Or don’t you like him?”

  “Oh, I really like him. It’s just…”

  “What?”

  “You’re not originally from Winchester, are you?” I shook my head, still failing to see the point. “When it comes to gays, the folks in town aren’t as progressive as I’d like. No one actually says anything, but you know what they’re thinking. It makes me uncomfortable. So I prefer to date guys from Colorado Springs if I can. Then I don’t have to worry about all that.”

  “David…your heart knows what it wants. Who gives a shit if he’s from here? Don’t you deserve to be happy?” David’s worry seemed to dissolve from his eyes a bit. I nudged his arm with my shoulder. “Just go back there. If it’s meant to happen, it will.”

  He smiled and then hugged me. “You’re right.” He let go and looked back over at the guy across the yard. “I’m gonna go for it.”

  And after he left, his potential love interest in his sights, I moved my eyes back to mine. Watching Scott pound those drums relentlessly made my heart beat in time. Yeah…I had it bad. And even though the mood was cooler, Scott walked me to my car when all was said and done. There was no hug and no kiss, but there was hope…and that was all I needed.

  Chapter Five

  AS THOUGH SOMETHING in the universe suspected I was happy (couldn’t have that!), I got a phone call from Barry the next morning. Apparently, mom had given him my cell number. But I’d been in the shower when he called, so I hadn’t had to talk to him. His message was simple but quite clear. “Okay, Casey. You’ve had your fun. You’ve had your freedom. But now I know you realize the divorce was a stupid mistake. It’s time to come home. Just give me a call, all right?” I heard a girl in the background saying something. He might have been at work, so it could have been a coworker or his secretary, but her tone—even though I couldn’t understand her words—sounded invested. Or maybe I was reading more into it than it merited.

  Something Barry didn’t know was that I’d grown to prefer my freedom. I hadn’t realized how much marriage had been holding me back. I was on my own, all by myself now, responsible only for me, with no one to answer to, no one to worry about. And I’ll admit it…the first few weeks or so, I just let myself do nothing, be nothing. I think I was just kind of getting used to being with myself again, learning who I was once more, without any pressure.

  But then I realized I didn’t want to spend my entire life just working for a restaurant and partying every spare chance I got. That kind of scene had been fine in college, but I was an adult now, and I had to act like one…at least for most of the time. And that’s when I decided to get my ass back to creating art on a regular basis. More than that, though, I had to market myself. One of my dreams was to, at some point, set up a website to sell my art, but first I needed to become recognized, at least on a local level. In Denver, it had been hard, because I was what my mom called “a little fish in a big pond.” Winchester, she insisted, would have the opposite effect. I’d be a bigger fish in a littler pond. And, I had to admit, in spite of the way my mother chafed me, her analogy made sense. But I had to get out there. I had to market my art; I had to sell myself. So at my first opportunity, I went back to the Main Street Art Gallery.

  The tall, tight woman whom I’d given my application to before was still manning the desk. She smiled and I thought she might have recognized me. This time, though, I’d walked in armed with framed paintings—two acrylics, one oil, and three watercolors. My oil painting was abstract and strange—if I dropped acid on a regular basis, I would have blamed that painting on my fractured LSD mind, but that was not the case. I’d just been particularly inspired one day. The background was vivid reds and blues, swirled together but not blending, so there was no purple. Instead, they were clashing. In the foreground was a long, thin arm that looked like it was covered in an old-fashioned black evening glove and in between the woman’s index and middle fingers was an equally old-fashioned cigarette filter holding a lit, smoldering thin white cigarette with a glowing tip. But the edges of everything were fuzzy and muted and the background was just…unsettling. And on top of the blue and red swirls was a trail of gray smoke to the top of the painting. I don’t know what had inspired that picture, aside from the fact that my smoking addiction must have been bothering me subconsciously. It was a disturbing painting—why exactly I don’t know, but I was damn proud of it.

  The two acrylics were kind of boring, actually, but I hadn’t been able to get a good feel for what kind of art the gallery liked or what types of art the owner preferred. Looking around her gallery, I couldn’t be sure. And she spent a lot of time looking at those two still lifes…one a stupid bowl of fruit, the other, a collection of different shapes and colors of drinking glasses. What I liked about that one, though, was how I was able to capture the light playing on the glass. And the watercolors were nature scenes. Why I preferred doing those in watercolor, I’ll never know. Probably because of the precision they required. With acrylic and oil, I could correct my mistakes over and over, but the watercolors demanded perfection from the get go. I had to sketch out the scene first and there, of course, I could make some mistakes, because I could erase the pencil, but once I started painting, I was committed. It was kind of exciting, actually.

  Well, the owner (Isabel) perused my works for quite some time, and I was sure she was just humoring me. I finally started looking around the gallery at the art there for something to do while she toyed with my emotions (well, and to try to get a good feel for what she was looking for). But then as I made my way back to the front, she said, “I’ll take this one.” I couldn’t believe my ears. She took my acid trip painting (which I’d entitled “The Party”) and offered to sell it on commission. I didn’t even care what her cut would be. I was just thrilled she was going to give me a chance. And after I left, I decided that once a week, I would try to put myself out there. Next week, I’d go back to the Arts Center and the week after, I’d go to one of the restaurants that sold art. I’d never become a famous artist (or anything even resembling one) if I didn’t get my work out there. So I determined I’d stop being shy (or whatever the fuck the weird embarrassed emotion was I’d feel when I was showing my stuff off) and do my best to get my work seen.

  As I was leaving, Isabel said, “If I don’t have problems selling this one, I’ll want more like it.”

  Ahhhh…so she liked my weird shit. Can do, I thought. Maybe I could shop my tamer stuff to other places.

  In the meantime, I’d keep the cooking job because it was paying the bills.

  Oh, and there was Scott, of course. I liked being forced to see him several days a week.

  And the next day at work, the three lunch cooks were me, Scott, and lecherous Jim. I really didn’t like working with that guy, but at least Scott’s presence was like a buffer. I was stuck on the fryer that day, Jim was support, and Scott was on the grill. That was nice, because he was literally between Jim and me. Better, though, I was able to sneak several glances at him. I loved seeing half his swollen bicep peeking out from underneath the white sleeve of his t-shirt. And I liked seeing the tips of more tattoos peeking out from underneath it. And when it got hot in the kitchen—and, believe me, it always did—his skin glistened. He hadn’t said much so far, but his green eyes were full of sparkle. He was a mischievous shit, and I suspected he was just glad he hadn’t had to train anyone in a couple of months.

  This was the first time I’d worked with Scott since the party. I was going to have to say something at some point to let him know I was impressed with his band…but I didn’t want Jim involved, so I’d wait till later.

  The rush still hadn’t consumed us yet. Things were steady but not overbearing, so my mind and eyes weren’t completely focused on the job. Jim said, “Whatcha lookin’ at, Casey?”

  His words pulled me out of my trance. “Hmmm?” Fuck. I’d been staring at Scott’s bicep again. Jesus. I’d have to work on my subtlety
. Well, at least I hadn’t been drooling or biting my knuckles, right? When I’d been married, I’d somehow managed to turn off the part of me that admired the beauty of men. Out of respect for my husband, I’d been able to just turn off that switch. Yep, I could still spot a hot guy a mile away, but I didn’t comment about it and didn’t think about it…and I certainly hadn’t stared.

  But I wasn’t married anymore, and I was beginning to appreciate the scenery again.

  Yeah…I definitely needed to work on keeping it in check, much like teenage boys master the art of not staring at a girl’s boobs.

  Still…I had to save myself right now. I knew there were plenty of ways I could handle it, and playing dumb and out of it was going to be my defense. I didn’t want to look guilty. I mean…it’s not like I was staring at his ass, for God’s sake. It was just his arm. That doesn’t have to be sexual. So, the question now was if I could pull it off. First, I had to pull my eyes off, so I looked over at Jim. “Hmmm?” There. Innocent. Inside, I nodded, feeling pretty smug about now.

  But Jim knew. I’m not kidding when I say the guy was a slimeball. I suspect he knew what I was thinking in the “takes one to know one” vein. He recognized the look…I was lusting after Scott and Jim caught it. “I asked what you were looking at.”

  Still…I wasn’t giving up my cover that easily. I shrugged. “Just staring off into space, I guess.”

  Scott became interested and stood back to watch our repartee. He had five burgers and one small steak on the grill, none of which was in immediate danger of going up in smoke. Jim said, “Oh, is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”

  Inside, I was a seething pool of lava. Man, I would love to tell this guy off. But I didn’t want Scott thinking I was objectifying him. Granted, I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded, but he wasn’t the kind of guy I just wanted to fuck and leave. Yeah, I didn’t know him that well…yet…but there seemed to be so much to him, especially after discovering such a huge secret about him. He’d managed to keep from me the fact that he was a drummer in a local heavy metal band for well over a month. How many other surprises did he have in store for me? I’d never find out if I didn’t try to get to know him. So…continue to play dumb. That was the plan. That and a little bit of subterfuge to throw him off the scent. So I raised my right eyebrow and said, “Exactly who are they?”

  Jim was too sly for me. “Oh, no. You’re not getting off the hook that easy. What were you staring at?”

  Oh, my God. I realized, at Jim’s angle, the fucking pervert probably thought I’d been staring at Scott’s junk! Holy shit. It didn’t matter that my eyes had been looking nowhere near that area, Jim was going to make a big deal out of it anyway. I managed to keep the cool exterior—how, I don’t know. But now I knew I was fighting for my life. Fine…call his bluff…the fucker. I was going to try to play it to my advantage then. “If you really must know, I was looking at the edge of Scott’s sleeve. He has a tattoo peeking out there, and I wondered what it was.”

  Shit. I could feel the blush crawling from the center of my chest up my neck, and my cheeks were about to start burning. It wasn’t hot enough in the kitchen to play that off as heat related yet. But the look on Scott’s face stopped my blush dead in its tracks. He wasn’t offended or freaked out at all. And I could tell from the look on Jim’s face too that I’d thwarted whatever plan he’d had. I couldn’t read his emotion, though, and now that I’d captured Scott’s interest, I really didn’t care.

  Scott set down the tongs, the tips on the grill itself, and pulled the sleeve on his left arm up to his shoulder, inviting me closer. So I did…I took two steps over and, if the kitchen hadn’t been so warm already, I suspect I would’ve been able to feel his body heat. I certainly felt some sort of vibration. There was something there between us. I just didn’t know when one of us would act on it. We were both hesitant. I know why I was. After failing at love in such an epic way, I was afraid to try again. I didn’t want to lose once more. And David had said something about Scott the night we’d been drinking. He’d said Scott had been used by women in the past, if I could properly recall our drunken conversation. So we were both hesitant. I guessed Scott’s hesitation was a good sign. It meant he didn’t just want to love me and leave me either.

  But now I had a chance to salivate over his body art without stealing a peek, so I was going to enjoy it. At first, I couldn’t tell what I was looking at. He had some kind of tribal tattoo, all lines and swirls, bold, thick, and dark. But then I saw…what was that? I was going to use my question as an excuse to touch him.

  I ran my finger up the length of a tattoo mixed in with others, just above the tribal one that had been peeking out of his sleeve. “What’s that?” It looked like the bottom of a letter X. Was it maybe like the tattoo on Sully Erna’s back? There were lots of pictures of the Godsmack vocalist’s back, whereupon he’d had his penchant for pornography inked. It was a guy thing, and I’d respect it, but I was curious as hell.

  My eyes met his as I asked the question and yeah. My touch had had the effect I’d intended. He liked it. I could tell from how dark his eyes turned. But he still had the playful look on his face. He pulled the sleeve back even farther, toward his neck, to reveal a set of drumsticks. But somehow they were sexy. I liked his tattoo artist. Maybe I’d get to see more of this person’s work in the tattoo art show at the Art Center in the fall. In the meantime, though, I had a flesh canvas I was able to appreciate.

  I removed my finger which had been searing his skin for far too long. And I realized Scott had hardly said a word, but the slight smile on his face was unmistakable. My voice was low when I said, “That’s really fuckin’ cool.”

  “Yeah, it is, huh?” Was he talking about the tattoo or the feeling between us?

  I could barely breathe.

  Jim was probably pissed that I’d not only ruined his game but had taken all the attention away from him. He said, “All right, lovebirds, the food’s burning. Can we get back to work, please?”

  Scott and I made eye contact again. We were both smiling. But that look was heavy. We were acknowledging the significance of what had happened there, even though there had been no words pass between us.

  After the lunch rush, though, I started questioning if it had just been me, because we’d just kind of fallen back into business as usual. But my high carried me through. Even when Jim was being a dick, I was able to just blow him off. Quitting time, though, everything felt normal. I said goodbye and nothing special happened.

  But I was certain that moment had been special. I had to go with it. I had to believe it, because I planned to act on it if I ever had the opportunity.

  Chapter Six

  LESS THAN A week later, I got a call from Isabel. It was rather unexpected, but I wasn’t complaining. She said, “Casey, I just sold your painting. Can you bring me more?”

  Inside, I was squealing with joy, but I kept my voice as calm as possible. “I can bring some by today.” And in less than two hours, I was back with eleven paintings. They were the weirdest of my framed paintings. See, that’s the thing. I had lots of stuff…tons of canvases in the boxes I’d brought with me from Denver, but it cost money to frame them. Now, with the money Isabel was paying me, I’d be able to put the money back into my art—not just for framing, but more supplies, paint, brushes, other things I’d need. It wasn’t much (I’m sure she wanted to see how my art would sell and, since I was unknown, she couldn’t charge crazy prices), but I wasn’t complaining. It was the first painting I’d sold since college, so I was thrilled.

  Again, Isabel took her time looking at my art, making me nervous, so I looked around again. She’d apparently just reorganized the whole gallery, because there was lots of new stuff around, including some cool copper metalwork. Finally, though, she called me back and wanted to take two this time. One was super weird…a cat’s head superimposed on a ballerina’s body, and she was sipping coffee on a white metal chair. The other was a spider-like alien driving a tractor i
n a wheat field. I don’t know why I painted some of these strange things, but I was glad she took them anyway. She said, “You can also bring me your more traditional art. I’m sure it will sell as well.” Duly noted. Sweet!

  As she wrote me a check for my commission, she said, “By the way, we have a show Friday night. I have one twice a year where I don’t highlight any particular artist. Anyway, since I’ll have these two paintings in the show, I’d like you to be here.”

  I wanted to ask if she was serious, but I knew she was. I was thrilled. “Yes, of course.” So I got the details and called Ed. I wasn’t going to be able to work my shift Friday night. Ed grumbled and said David and Scott had already asked for that night off so he didn’t know if he could give it to me. I told him how important it was, that it was my first art gallery showing ever. He grumbled some more, but an hour later he called and told me he had it covered. However, I’d have to work the day shift on Friday. I promised I was thrilled to do it.

  The next day at work, David told me that he and Scott were going to have a housewarming party at their new place Friday night and they wanted me to come. First off, I wondered if they were really inviting me or if it was just David. But, more than that, I wasn’t going to miss my first art showing. So I told David about it and said I didn’t know how late it would run. “Please come by after, Case.” Like I’d turn down a chance to see Scott? No way in hell. I promised to stop by when the show was over.

  I bought a nice black cocktail dress to wear that night. I hadn’t bought any new clothing for myself in a long time, so this dress was quite a treat. I got a pair of new black heels to go with it as well, and the dress was short, its hem stopping just above my knees. Sexy, but not too sexy. It was fun.

  I thought the showing was a success for me. I met a few local artists (all of the ones with works showing that night, though, were at least twenty years my senior), and probably at least one-hundred people showed up. A few people were from out of town (Colorado Springs, I guessed) but most of them were from Winchester.