Andrew smiled and nodded in acceptance. From there, they left the bar floor and went outside where shin-deep, wet snow waited. Diana had thought ahead and brought knee high boots, but Andrew wasn’t so lucky as his first step may as well have been into a bucket of ice water.
On Lincoln Blvd., one of the Denver's busiest streets, there was not a running car in either direction. The snow had shut down the city. It was a blizzard of wet and mushy proportions where no human, animal, or most importantly, taxi dared to venture.
“Here, take this,” Andrew said and took off his large, wool coat and put it around Diana. “It’s important you stay dry.”
“Thanks.” Diana said as Andrew’s cologne enwrapped her. “What are we going to do? My car is back at the office, and it doesn’t look like there are any taxis or busses running.”
“Well I have my condo on 15th for a few more weeks before Kristen takes over, How about you come over and take my car home? It’s only a few blocks from here.”
Diana was conflicted whether or not to go back to Andrew's condo. Even though she only had her one allocated glass of wine, she still felt the yelling of the devil with a bullhorn on her shoulder. Against such overbearing persuasion, Diana agreed to go home with Andrew.
By the time they reached the first corner, Andrew’s white dress shirt & black sports coat were drenched. Diana was still dry thanks to her boots and his coat, but her hair had gone from styled and bouncy to looking like she just stepped out of the shower. Several cars skidded down the road from one side of the street to the other like rudderless boats. Not a single snowplow had been seen, but then again, it wouldn’t have mattered. No amount of salt, sand, and plow could have made those roads drivable.
Scientists estimate the human body consists of about 60% water, but this number was certainly higher when Diana and Andrew finally reached the front door of his building. In the lobby, a trail of slush was left in their wake as they waited for the elevator. A vent blew hot air directly on top of them, and they both looked up to meet the warmness face to face. Neither said a word.
A ding came from the elevator and the doors opened. Inside, Andrew hit the button for the fifteenth floor, the highest in the building. Up they rose in silence as the magnitude of the situation finally reached Diana. She was in an elevator with a soaking wet, drunk Andrew who only a few hours ago confessed strong feelings for her. It started with a lump in her throat and weak knees, but as the elevator dinged to signal the passing of the fifth floor, Diana had lost restraint. A victim to the moment.
With both hands, she grabbed Andrew’s soaking wet collar and pulled him down for a kiss.
It was the type of kiss you would see at a wedding. No tongue, no activity of the hands, just a connection of the lips. It was too proper. Made for public, not for passion.
The elevator dinged signaling the fifteenth floor, and Diana and Andrew stopped their kiss.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” Andrew instinctively said.
“No, it’s my fault, I… I don’t know what came over me.” Diana replied as she struggled to remember what led her to kiss him.
From the first appearance of Andrew's condo, it was obvious his ex-wife had done the design. There were flowers in vases, abstract paintings that matched the furniture, and scented candles. Lots of scented candles. Andrew quickly opened a kitchen drawer, and pulled out a single key. “Here’s the key to my Porsche. It should be able to handle the snow.”
Diana looked out at the sheet of white and knew the only way she would be able to drive home would be in a Snowcat35. Against her better judgment, she asked, “I don’t think I’ll be able to drive on the roads, is it alright if I stay on your couch tonight?”
Caught off guard, Andrew stammered, “Yeah… that’s fine. Actually, take my bed. I'll sleep on the couch. Please, I insist. You’re pregnant after all.”
“Okay, thanks.” Diana could tell his sole goal was to make sure she was comfortable, but no bed or offer for a car would put her mind at ease. She needed to clear up what happened in the elevator. “Listen, about the kiss back there... I’m sorry, it was all my fault. I shouldn't have done that to you.”
“It’s my own fault, I should’ve stopped you. You have a boyfriend, and speaking from experience, it sucks when you love someone, and they have an affair.”
Diana sighed, “Goddamn, you are such a good guy.”
For the first time that night, Diana thought about Cale. She thought about how weird it was that he hadn’t crossed her mind all night. Certainly, this was not normal behavior for someone in love, and Diana knew that if she didn’t make a move now, she would regret it forever.
She stepped forward, placed one hand on Andrew’s neck, and gave a much, much, more passionate kiss. “Wait, Diana,” Andrew whispered, but she wouldn’t have any of it as she pulled him in close for another long, lustful kiss. Now this felt right. Birds sang, trumpets blared, sparks flew.
From the kitchen to the bedroom was a barrage of kisses, and the shedding of clothes. The only pause came from Diana. She was hesitant to take off her dress due to her enormous stomach, but a whisper from Andrew that contained the word, “Beautiful,” gave her the courage to get naked.
Neither said a word as they continued to kiss up and down each other’s bodies. With sensitive breasts and vagina, every touch, pinch, massage, lick, rub, and kiss sent shocks through Diana’s body.
She was close to what felt like the most powerful orgasm of her life, and they weren’t even having sex. This was something she decided to change immediately and forced Andrew onto his back as she got on top, but there was no penetration yet. Diana straddled his stomach, and looked down at Andrew's gaze. She knew this wasn’t going to be a one night stand or simple fling. This was the real deal for him, and as she slid down onto him, it was the real deal for her too.
At first, she moved slowly up and down, getting used to the feeling of someone else besides Cale inside of her. In a matter of minutes, all of Dr. Lincoln’s advice to take it easy was long gone as she was rocking wildly to and fro. Within moments, she felt like she was being blasted out of a cannon at the speed of light resulting in a mile-wide nuclear explosion.
Diana didn’t get off him right away. Instead, she laid on top as her actions set in. She buried her head Andrew's his chest and started to cry. Andrew didn’t say a word, he knew why she was crying and nothing he could say would make her feel better. All he could do was wrap his arms around her as she thought about how badly she screwed Cale by screwing Andrew.
After a few minutes, she finally got off him, walked out to the kitchen, and grabbed her phone from her purse. With tear trails on her face and shaky hands, she sent a text message:
Staying at Jenny's Tonight. The roads are a mess. Will be back tomorrow morning.
At her condo, Cale replied, Let me know if you need a ride, and went back to boxing up items for their move.
ALL'S RIGHT WITH THE WORLD
The Diana Young Pregnancy Update
Estimated weeks till delivery: 12
Shape of stomach: One of those large balloons that fly over used car dealerships, her belly button representing the balloon tie.
Food Craving: Andrew's body.
Mood: Anxious to get laid.
Inside her oak filled office a week and a half later, Diana was ignoring work in favor of a back and forth email chain with Andrew. She sent a paragraph or two, he reciprocated, and typically a future meeting would result, and the result of that future meeting was sex.
Their trysts were moments of joy and completeness, regret and emptiness. To take Dickens out of context, It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Every time before they had sex, Diana craved it more than any other time she could remember. While they were doing it, she didn't want it to stop. When they finished, she hated herself more than ever. She knew she had to end things with Cale, but how could she do it without hurting him?
“Have you told him yet?” Jenny asked as she wal
ked in and plopped in the chair opposite Diana. This is how Jenny started every private conversation with Diana since she confessed about the affair. Granted, she started every public conversation this way as well, but those involved code words36.
“No. I can't think of a way to tell him that won't end with him killing himself.”
“Oh come on, Diana. He's not that bad.”
Diana's ignored this and asked about the long-term. “Do you think he'll want to be in the baby's life?”
Jenny brushed her hair back behind her ears and thought about the question for a moment. “You shouldn't worry about that.”
“What?”
“I mean, if you counted on him for money or something else crucial, then it would matter. But you're self-sufficient, Diana. You can take care of yourself.”
“I can't handle being a single mother.”
“Well you won't be one because of Andrew. Look, if Cale wants to be in the baby's life, he can, but it's his choice, and you shouldn't be concerned about it.”
As if she wasn't paying attention to anything Jenny just said, Diana confessed, “I've been so mean to him lately, and that idiot just sits there and takes it. See, I just did it again! Why can't I stop?”
“Diana, end this tonight. The longer you draw this out, the messier it's gonna get.”
“I can't. I don't know what to say.”
Jenny exhaled loudly and started to go down the list of reasons why Diana and Cale weren't working. “Tell him you see him as a friend. Tell him you're in love with Andrew. Tell him you hate staying in every night and watching TV. Or... how about you tell him that you know he's not in love with you, and this whole thing has just been a placeholder for him losing his art.”
“Wait... what?”
“Don't tell me you don't notice it, Diana. Why do you think he thought of the pact in the first place? It was all some drunk scheme to kick-start his creativity. He told me once that the one thing in the world he wanted more than anything else was to create good sculptures again. This whole thing has been him hoping you would somehow give him a spark.”
“That can't be true.”
“Ask him tonight. He'll tell you the truth.”
“No he won't.”
Jenny repeated, “Ask him.”
“Fine, I will.” Diana defiantly said and pulled out her phone to write him a text. Before she sent it, she asked in a much less defiant tone, “Are you sure he won't kill himself?”
In front of Cale were five planks of well-sanded maple, two sheets of tin plating, three bicycle rims, a baby crib, more tiny, fake birds than could be counted, and a bottle of Beefeater. It was a pile of undesirables surrounding the one thing in the world he wanted more than anything else.
He pulled out a pint glass, filled it up with ice, and proceeded to pour. The clear, pine-needle smelling liquid filled up a quarter of the glass, then half, but Cale cut it off at that point. The desire to fill the glass to the brim was overbearing, but he was still strong enough to fight back.
Cale took a sip and stared at the pile of raw materials that was supposed to somehow become his next commission piece. The money he would receive from this would serve as the final payment for Diana's wedding ring. A wedding ring, by the way, that was lying somewhere encrusted amongst the dirt and grass lining the sidewalks by Diana's condo.
“God, what a pile of shit.” Cale said out loud to his friend in the sky. He didn't expect an answer because he knew God agreed with him and had nothing else to add.
He took another sip of gin and felt his temples burn. They burned in a good way. The way that melted away all worry, and doubt, and depression.
Without plans or even a clue what to build, he moved over to the materials and started to assemble. Two of the five planks were placed side by side followed by laying the tin sheet on top which formed a rudimentary bobsled that wouldn't even slide on ice.
Next came the cradle, which looked to be straight from the 40's. It was technologically obsolete, stylistically vintage, and weighed somewhere between a small European car and a large American motorcycle. For some reason, wood from the early to mid-20th century is heavier than wood at any other period in human existence.
The crib's placement on the tin sheet presented a tremendous design flaw. The signs of a future collapse were there, and Cale knew it. He could live with the abstract worthlessness of the project, but to have a sculpture that could fall apart at a moment's notice was unacceptable.
With struggle, he lifted the crib off the metal sheet, took a drink, flipped the makeshift sled over, measured the width in the middle, took another drink, and as his head felt lighter and his motor skills diminished, he reached for his saw.
He took one of the unused planks and measured, marked, sawed, and nailed them to the underside of the sled, giving it the support needed for the crib's weight. With a heave, the crib was placed onto the sled. The metal sheet did not even give a courtesy bend.
As he reached for the power drill, Cale determined that what he was doing wasn't art, but rather construction. Sure he used hammers, chisels, and picks in his stone sculptures, but those were essential items. They are the paintbrush for the sculptor.
The crib was bolted on and Cale's drink had been reduced to a pine-needle smelling collection of ice cubes. The question of, What to do next? presented itself as he surveyed what materials were left – two planks of wood, a dozen or so fake plastic birds, three bike rims, and 3/4ths of a bottle of Beefeater.
There wasn't much left to do on the project, and he could've easily finished in five minutes if he wanted to, but at that point he reached a level of buzzed where all that mattered was increasing the feeling. So he started to pour. No ice this time, just gin. He filled the glass halfway and lifted it up to examine his handiwork. It was a pour of far better craftsmanship and creativity than the bullshit that constituted his commission.
Before the glass met his lips, his phone gave a quick shake which meant he got a text. He pulled it out of his pocket, went through the necessary button pushes, and arrived at a text from Diana:
Can you be home at 6 tonight?
He shot off a quick, Yes and returned to looking at his drink. The desire to down the whole thing in one gulp subsided, and he began to existentially delve into his life. i.e. He started to question everything in his life that led to that moment.
Was the reason for his desire to get messed up nothing more than a form of escapism? A way to forget about the loss of his greatest joy. Or was it some attempt to get his talent back? Some of the greatest artists to ever live were crazed drunks and addicts. What if his wild life was just a placeholder for his creativity? What if Diana was just a placeholder?
By some strange coincidence, or perhaps an act of the divine, the song Green Gloves came up on his shuffled playlist, and it reminded him of his escape to DC, his face to face with his sculpture of the same name, and the vow he made to clean up for his family.
The door to the warehouse studio opened and Cale walked out with the glass of gin in one hand and the bottle of Beefeater in the other. Cale unscrewed the top of the bottle, and let both spill onto a nearby pine tree. It should've been an excellent fertilizer.
That was it. His studio was bone dry of all things mind altering. Well, there was industrial strength glue, but since Cale wasn't already brain damaged, the glue wasn't a danger.
Back inside, he examined the project, grew disgusted, reached for the non-threatening industrial strength glue, and resumed work. One by one, he placed the little fake birds along the edge of the crib. It looked like something out of Mary Poppins. A family friendly sight for the ages.
With the birds in place, the project was as good as done. All it needed was a title.
His first idea for a title was, How To Make $5,000 In One Hour. It would've been an honest name for the piece, but for the sake of being polite to the people that hired him, that title was nixed. Other titles came to him as easily as ideas for sculptures used to, and he settled on one
that was a play off of one of his favorite quotes37, Singing Birds On The Crib, All's Right With The World.
The clock on the wall displayed 3:45, and he quickly prepped the 'sculpture' for delivery. Diana asked him to be home by six, and for once in their dating life, he wanted to be early for something.
There was no reason for him to believe anything bad was behind Diana's request. After all, he finally finished his last commission, he won another battle with his addiction, and most importantly, God was in his heavens, all's right with the world.
The time was 5:05 and amidst the piles of boxes, empty shelves, and covered furniture, Cale was in the kitchen finishing up that section of the move. He had almost all of it done except for the wine bottles which needed a proper vessel. If it were up to him, carrying them over a few at a time would suffice, but he knew Diana would want one of those boxes with the cardboard dividers inside.
The lock on the front door clicked, and Diana waddled in, sore from the effort of working, literally, with a full stomach.
“Cale!? What are you doing here? I thought you were working at your studio?”
“I wanted to surprise you.” Cale said and lifted his hands to display his handiwork. “Ta-daaaaa...”
“Oh my God, you took care of the whole kitchen?”
“Everything except the wine. I need to get one of those special boxes for the bottles.”
“Why... why did you do this!?”
“Well the move's coming up, and since I had nothing else going on, I thought I should be productive.” With a smile, he joked, “Are you actually mad at me for doing this?”
“It's not that, it's just...” Diana surveyed the state of the kitchen. Each box was explicitly labeled, the floor was mopped, and the stove, sink, and counter-tops were scrubbed. Cale's performance could've been described in numerous words, but immaculate is usually the best way to label perfection when it involves cleaning.
The fact that Cale was already home before her had altered Diana's original plans slightly, but to have him do something so nice obliterated her plan all the way to the subatomic level. If a plan could really be composed of protons, neutrons, and electrons, then Cale's act threw it into an atom smasher. The function of said device you can probably infer from the name.
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