Sets Appeal

by Virginia Taylor

  “Pretty stupid thing to pretend when everyone would know when the kids were born.”

  Jay sighed. The day would be long. “Have we finished the poolside scene yet?”

  “Vix’s painted the pool. She’ll be doing the changing-huts next. Seems they got up to a fair bit of sex in those.”

  “Wall-banging sex. There’s no room to move in those little huts.” Trent rolled his shoulders and turned slightly to grin at Jay.

  “Today is going to be all about sex, is it?”

  “See Lonny yesterday?” Steve said, jerking a left to join a gap in the Commercial Road traffic.

  “Speaking of sex? No, I didn’t and, no, I haven’t had sex with her. Ever. Won’t. How about if you make a move, Steve, since you’re so obsessed?”

  Steve pulled to a screeching halt at the traffic lights. Jay’s seatbelt bit into his chest. The floor sanding yesterday had taken him four hours. The cleaning up had taken another hour. His arms ached from holding the bucking machine steady all that time. He didn’t doubt the work would be worth the effort. The floor could have been done months ago, but he’d clearly lacked the motivation to knock himself out. Now he had a good reason to tidy up the house. Vix.

  Weird that he wanted to impress her. A wrong-side-of-the-tracks guy like him couldn’t impress a girl with class and he could bet his lack of car and his work-in-progress house didn’t impress her much either. She’d been pretty cool with him on Wednesday.

  He strode into the warehouse with a loss of confidence not natural to him. Maybe the house-painting session was off. By the time she turned up at nine, he was dry-mouthed nervous. “Hey,” he said, tucking his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans.

  “Hey. What are you making today?”

  “I’ll be starting on the kitchen flat.” He walked over to her, noted her glossy high ponytail, her clear pink lipstick, smelled her perfume, and practically salivated. “Look over this plan. Do you want the window built into this or do you plan to paint one?”

  “Paint one. Will the flat be flown or entered from the side?”

  “Flown.”

  “I love the window in the kitchen. It’s the feature.”

  “Looks pretty much like the outside windows.”

  She gave him a lowered head glance. “In some houses, the windows on the outside connect to the inside.”

  “Yeah, even in mine. Speaking of which, what time are you coming tomorrow?” He held his breath.

  “Tomorrow?” She frowned. “Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

  “To my house for painting.”

  “Oh. I forgot. You want me to help paint. I can come sometime in the afternoon.”

  “How about midday? I’ll make you a sandwich and we can discuss the division of labor.”

  “What sort of sandwich?”

  “Would vegemite make this a deal-breaker?”

  “I could...” she began and stopped, narrowing her eyes at the expression on his face. “Very funny. Okay, I’ll trust you as to sandwiches, which is only fair because you are trusting to my color sense. I’ll see you at twelve, then.”

  He whistled while he worked, trying to remember a time when he had looked forward to working on a Saturday afternoon.

  Chapter 7

  Already late, Vix still hadn’t decided what to wear. Jay had seen her in work clothes since the night they had met and she wanted to look a little more special than a scruffy painter. With only painting to do, she couldn’t think how she could look any better. Everything she’d tried on so far either looked too careful or a little provocative. During her marriage, she had preferred to look invisible, but since she’d lost weight, she’d only bought clothes designed to attract attention.

  With a sigh, she slid a red spotted top—one that covered her from the top of her shoulder blades to her hips—over her head, and she pulled on jeans unmarked with paint. JD wouldn’t notice she had tried because she looked only a tiny bit neater than on weekdays.

  Brushing her hair into a topknot, she regretted almost asking herself into his home. What would she talk about? She only knew how to discuss sets with him.

  When she stopped the car in his driveway, he came outside. He had pulled most of his thick hair into a band on the top of his head, too. His shaggy fringe remained and for the first time she noticed his chiseled cheekbones. He stood, his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, which over time had developed worn areas on the knees and the thighs. Today he wore kung-fu shoes instead of work boots and a T-shirt instead of a working shirt, and he looked absolutely delicious, especially with his hair out of the way.

  “New car?” He lifted his eyebrows.

  “New path?” She lifted hers.

  He had removed the delivered wood and had neatly smoothed the piles of soil in the front garden, making the walk to the front door look less hazardous.

  “What was wrong with the Merc?”

  “Nothing. It was a nice car, but it had to go back to the owner.” Technically, her father was the owner, and he had sent a broker around with the car she now drove, taking away the Mercedes. “I got this instead. What do you think?” Grabbing her bag and a collection of new paintbrushes, she swung out of the driver’s seat.

  “It suits you.”

  She smiled, surprised. “As a matter of fact, it does. It’s really light to handle and it has a tiny turning circle. I’m not sure about the color, though. It’s a bit bright.”

  “It’s your color. And yes, I am thinking about the new path. I’ll do the paving as soon as I have time. I might have to do some planting first. The weather’s right, or so I heard on the radio this morning. Let me grab those roller trays.” With an armload, he led the way to the house and picked through the furniture he had stacked into the hallway.

  When she reached the kitchen/dining area, she stopped. “Wow!” The floor glowed smooth and shiny, the color ranging from light pine to dark mahogany. “It looks marvelous. What a stunning color. I knew it would look fantastic, but not this good.”

  “So, I have your approval?” He stood, a pleased smile on his face, and he put the trays on the kitchen countertop, making an area for her to leave her bag and the brushes.

  “So, where are we eating lunch? The room is bare.”

  “On the floor. It’s the cleanest surface in the place.” He grabbed the sofa cushions from the hallway and tossed them onto the polished floor where they slithered to a halt. “Sit. I’ll bring the sandwiches.”

  He had made nice cheese salad sandwiches, the chunky type that he took to work, and she enjoyed every bite. Tim had never made her a sandwich, or even a cup of tea, and having a lunch prepared for her was ridiculously pleasing. “The paint’s in the trunk of my car,” she said, after her last bite. “Am I cutting-in or rolling?”

  “I think you ought to cut-in unless you don’t like my ladder. It’s nothing special.”

  “I’d rather because I think I’m good with a brush. Do you have a few groundsheets? I’d hate to mess up your lovely floor.”

  He had left a few old bed sheets on a chair in the hallway, and he skidded them across the polished floor in her direction. “I’ll get the paint.”

  “You’ll need me, too, because you won’t be able to carry all the cans alone.”

  He gave her a look of patient incredulity but she went outside anyway. She had taken three trips to the car with her three cans and she would rather help him carry; then she could get him to help spread the sheets.

  Two accomplished far more than one and within five minutes, the floor mainly covered, she stood on the third top rung of his ladder, cutting the green into the cornices. She painted fast, but he easily kept up with the roller.

  When the first coat covered the first wall, she climbed down the ladder and stood back, eyes narrowed, assessing the job. “What do you think?”

  “Are we using beige on the other walls?”

  She took a breath. “I made an executive decision. That blue-green look
ed deadly with beige but gorgeous with the color I mixed. I discovered a green pale enough to be just off white and I added yellow.” She put down her brush, found the lid opener on the kitchen countertop with the spare roller trays, and revealed the paint.

  He didn’t say a word about the color, but he smiled. He had the sort of smile that conveyed unspoken messages, this one a sign of approval. “So, we’ll do the other three with this. Do you want to swap jobs?”

  “Do you?”

  “Nope. Lead on.”

  And within another hour or so, they had finished all four walls, though the kitchen area was simply a small strip above the top cupboards. Nevertheless, her arms ached and the arches of her feet wanted to cramp from standing on the narrow rung for so long. She stepped down, relieved. She’d looked over the walls while she was painting, of course, but judging from the color combination, the very pale citrus and the medium bluish green, she expected to love the room. “Oh. My…”

  “…gosh,” JD said in a dry tone, standing back with her. “It looks good. You have an interesting take on colors. You clearly have an excellent eye for this sort of thing.”

  “Or two. Thanks. Though, it kind of makes the ceiling look stale, though.”

  He sighed. “You could have given me two or three seconds before you mentioned that. We have to put another coat on each wall before we can do anything else. I think it’s time for a break. Do you want tea or coffee?”

  She sat on the floor, slid off her canvas shoes, and pulled her toes back, easing out the cramp. “Coffee, please. And an apple.” The last request was pure cheek. She’d seen fruit in his fridge when he took the milk out.

  He threw her an apple and took one himself so that her crunching melded with his. After he brought the coffee over, he sat on the floor with her, the mugs between them on the sheets. Without a sign of being uncomfortable, he took her foot into his big hands and massaged between bites of his apple. “You’ll have apple flavored feet after this.”

  She giggled like an idiot. “I can’t think of anything more wonderful than a foot massage at this moment.”

  “Give me the other foot. I can’t have one of my workers disabled.”

  She dropped her gaze, guilty of enjoying his touch too much. This was a job, as he had reminded her, and not a social occasion. She took both feet back when he had eased the second and sat cross-legged, sipping her coffee, which reenergized her.

  With barely a word of conversation unrelated to the job or the High Society set, she cut-in the ceiling, the sidewalls, the doorway, the window, and the skirting boards while he followed with the roller. She barely noticed they had almost ended the job until she saw she had reached the first green wall again.

  Standing back, she watched him race his roller over the last single-coated citrus area. He looked as if he could paint for hours, his methodical strokes neatly swishing from top to bottom.

  “And now the worst part,” she said in a dire tone, glancing at him.

  “The ceiling?”

  She shook her head. “The cleaning up.”

  “I’ll do it. You sit and contemplate your feet. I can see you are wanting to take your shoes off again.”

  “I need monkey toes for that sort of ladder.”

  “Aha. So, I’m on my own for the ceiling?”

  “I didn’t bring ceiling paint. Plus, I don’t think I could manage any more painting today.”

  “I’m glad you said that. I’ve had enough, too. I’m buying takeaway for tonight’s meal. What do you want?”

  “Thanks, but I’ll need to get home.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s almost six. It’s getting dark outside.”

  “Two people can’t paint a whole room in less than half a day,” he said, his thumbs hooked into his front pockets and his eyebrows drawn together. “Well, not properly.” He shrugged. “And I’m sorry that you want to leave. I was hoping we could spend a little time together…or do you have a date?”

  She would have liked to say yes, but she couldn’t when he was watching her expression so closely. A bad liar all her life, she told the truth, mainly. Looking away from him, she said, “I want a shower, a meal, and a rest, preferably in front of the TV.”

  “My thoughts, exactly.” He rubbed his hands together like a stage villain, and he grinned not at all melodramatically but as if he was pleased. “So, what do you want to eat?”

  “You’re a user, you know that?” Faking outrage, she placed her hands on her hips. “You can’t get takeaway without my car, can you?”

  For a moment he looked puzzled, an expression lost in a blink. “You can have a shower while I go.”

  “And you’ll be back sometime next week unless you borrow my car.”

  His mouth twisted into a half smile, and he shrugged. “I can take my bike.”

  She laughed. “Don’t be so manipulative.” Turning, she reached for her handbag on the kitchen countertop. “I would really love to have a shower before I eat takeaway. Just tell me you have a current driver’s license, and you can take the car. I’ll have chicken and a Greek salad.”

  “I have a driver’s license.” He stared at her.

  She tossed him the keys.

  He left, whistling.

  * * * *

  When Jay arrived back, although the floor was still covered, the table, with two chairs pulled up beneath, sat back near the countertop. Vix had set out knives and forks. Although he had never noticed before, he could smell his shower gel on her, and his mouth watered. She looked lovely with her hair combed into a soft, low bunch on her neck, and her makeup refreshed.

  He dumped the foil-lined pack holding the chicken and the plastic containers of salad on the counter top. “Did you find the wine in the fridge?”

  “I didn’t open the fridge.”

  He blinked. Lonny would have been through his fridge, his CDs, and most of his drawings in the third bedroom if he left her alone in the house for any extended period. She regularly raided his bedroom for shirts, which she wore tied around her middle like Daisy Duke. Half-surprised that Vix hadn’t helped herself to anything, but half-pleased, he grabbed the glasses and poured the wine, while she efficiently cut and served the chicken and salad.

  He kept forgetting she’d been married and had likely served a meal most nights of those years. “I’m glad to see you got the green paint off your jeans.”

  “House paint.” She clicked her tongue with mock disapproval. “It’s not like scenic paint and easy to scrub off. While I was shifting the table back, I noticed you don’t have a TV. You misled me.” She took a sip of her wine. “I should have gone home for a shower and a meal.”

  “I have a TV. It’s in the second bedroom at the moment. When we’ve finished eating, I’ll shift the couch and the coffee table back and we’ll be reasonably comfortable.”

  She insisted on helping him shift the couch, though he could have carried the two-seater on his own. The secret to keeping her in his house was to continue needing her help, and so he let her carry in the small coffee table while he carried in the television set. She finished her wine and he refilled her glass. His had hardly been touched.

  She snuggled her bare feet beneath her on the couch as she settled with the TV program guide. “I can’t believe I wanted to watch television. It’s Saturday. There’s nothing on TV that I would watch.”

  “Aren’t you the fussy one? There are two perfectly good, constantly repeated movies on tonight. Take your pick.”

  She chose the fifth rerun of I Am Sam, which they’d both seen enough times to be able to talk through, easily and happily. He liked being with her. He enjoyed her conversation. She asked interesting questions, made intelligent comments, and she understood his sense of humor. Her presence stimulated him. Plus, she was gorgeous. He could look at her all day.

  She had a straight nose, big gleaming eyes, and a mouth that fascinated him. When she smiled, her lips stretched half across her cheeks, and the corners of her mouth
turned upward. Her teeth were such a pure white as to be almost transparent. No one seeing her smile couldn’t be happy, and that smile made her pretty face into a stunning face. He wanted her to smile all the time.

  Finally, the end credits rolled and she glanced at her watch. “Do you want me to help paint the ceiling tomorrow?”

  “I don’t think you could stand all that ladder-work.”

  “You should do the ladder-work. Those cornices are labor intensive and so is the ceiling-rose. They’re probably ’40s-made, but they have an art deco look. I could make my life easy and use an extension on the roller.”

  “Your help would be much appreciated. I wouldn’t take on the ceiling alone, not tomorrow. I’m too out of shape.” He slowly stretched one arm and then the other, and found he had her full attention.

  “You don’t look out of shape.” She moistened her lips, glancing away from him. “Do you want to start early or later?”

  “Early, I think. Then we’ll have time to do something a bit more stimulating in the afternoon. I think you ought to stay tonight.” He paused, noting an expression of surprise flit across her face. Meaning to keep his request casual, he said, “I don’t see the need for you to keep travelling to and fro while we’re working here. Do you?”

  She made a thinking face, her lovely mouth slightly awry and her fingers pressing into her chin. “I don’t have a toothbrush or clean underwear.”

  “I have a spare toothbrush or two and you can wash out your underwear. It will dry overnight.”

  “You have a spare room, you said.” Her eyes questioned him.

  He rubbed his jaw, hoping he looked dubious. “It’s a mess. I’ve left all my books from this room on the bed, and some of the smaller furniture is still there. I can sleep on the couch if you’re worried I’ll make a move on you.”

  Her teeth caught the edge of her bottom lip and she looked away from him. “I could hardly worry that you might make a move on me. I gave you every opportunity a week ago, and you didn’t.”

  “So, I can sleep in my own bed with you?”