Parasite Life

by Victoria Dalpe

  The world slowed down then, the city vanishing, the only sound the blinker of the yellow cab that pulled up, and my heartbeat.

  I already have the show, the cards are at the printers, blurbs have been published. He isn’t using me. I’m not the ingénue on the sofa with the producer. I believe this. Hugh likes me, and I like him. So I said yes. And he did. And it was amazing. I didn’t want to pull away it was so good. But he broke it off, and put me in the cab, handing me a twenty to get home safe.

  I’ve been floating since I got back home, but I have no one to tell.

  July 10th

  The weekend was crazy busy with prep. I’ve decided to cram one more painting into the show. A new one. And I have exactly one month to get it and all the others completed. I have all this nervous energy I need to channel into something! I thought about doing a portrait of Hugh, but that seemed both weird and way too soon, considering. He’s just in all my thoughts these last few days. After the “date” and the kiss, it was like he planted a seed in my skull. I was so on edge the next day, I just wanted to give him a call, to hear his voice. Instead, I went for broke and walked over to the gallery with a picnic basket. Figured if he was there, great, and if he wasn’t, then I would go stuff myself full of cheese and wine with no one the wiser.

  Luck would have it that he was there, toiling away alone in the empty gallery. The lights were all off and he sat in the gloom of the space, walls empty, air cool. He looked happy to see me, but his eyes were sunken in and he clearly was sick. He said he was just a little under the weather, but he’d love to duck out for an hour or two and get some sun and some food. I was giddy, standing there, basket obvious, knees knocking. I must have looked like such a kid—a girl with a crush. That’s how I felt, but Hugh was nothing but sweet and grateful.

  There’s a small park down a few blocks from his gallery space. I scoped it out the other day. It was lunchtime and the park was fairly crowded, but miraculously we were able to find the perfect grassy spot, with a bit of sun and a bit of shade. I laid out the old blanket and emptied the basket, feeling a bit clumsy. Hugh just leaned back, warming himself and smiling up at me. He had sunglasses on, reflective ones that hid his eyes, but I could feel his gaze on me, and I loved it. I felt like I was a real adult, eating good brie that I could barely afford with an expensive Sancerre I bought to impress him. I wanted to show him that I have some taste, that I’m not just some college kid. I hope he sees me as cultured. I think I succeeded. His color still looked a bit yellowy and peaked under the shades, though.

  Hugh told me about how he’d moved to the States when he was about my age—he’s actually closer to twelve years older than me, give or take. So what? We’re both adults. And twelve years isn’t really that big a gap, especially considering we’re both in the arts and share so much in common.

  I could listen to him talk all day, with that sexy accent of his, the thoughtful way he tells his stories. He told me how his mother had also passed away. It was so nice to talk to someone who understands how hard it is to not have a mother, what an empty space it leaves. His mother died when he was a child. She was very sick, similar to my mom with her cancer. His father’s still in England, but they’re not close. Hugh said he was basically raised by wet nurses and nannies. His dad wasn’t around much and he was something of a loner.

  I told him about being an art kid in a pissant town. And I caught myself downplaying my childhood, to have more in common with him. I loved my parents and was popular, and I did win “Most Artistic” in a few yearbooks and really it wasn’t that bad. But I kind of omitted all of that. Maybe not lying—just wanting him to not feel alone, wanting him to feel he can confide in me. I dug up all the isolation and awkwardness I could remember to share with him, and I may have exaggerated some of it, but I think he needed it. For all of his looks and apparent success, it seems he just wants to connect with someone.

  But I needed to know about this dead wife. So I finally asked.

  He told me they met in college. She was an American girl from a good family. In typical Romeo and Juliet fashion, they rushed off and got married even though her family was against it. But then she got sick (he didn’t elaborate though I was super curious), and then she died. She was wealthy and he inherited a lot of money, which he used to move to New York and start his gallery——that had been their dream. He said the gallery and all his work with the arts was for her, that she’d been a brilliant artist. I have to say it was weird that he was so open, even about how his money came from a dead wife. It was clear he was still not over her, and the rest of the picnic took on a somber note. All the ghosts crowding between us.

  We both lay back on the grass watching the clouds slide across the sky, and I took his hand. It was cool to the touch, but warmed quickly nestled in mine. I lifted that large hand to my mouth and kissed it. He propped himself up on one arm and looked down at me, casting a shadow over me. Even then he kept those glasses on, so I only saw myself. We kissed. It got a little adult for the park.

  Hugh wanted me to come back to his place, and I wanted to go. But it was Gina’s birthday dinner party. I was tempted to bail, or drag Hugh with me. But I knew Gina would be mad, and although she’s been a jerk, it’s still her birthday, and we were—are—best friends.

  So I pulled myself away. Hugh was upset. More than I would have expected, enough to seem a bit weird, honestly, and bring back the paranoia that he was using me for sex.

  So I left him and headed to the party. It was at a Tiki bar near our apartment. By the time I got there, Gina was already half in the bag, and Kyle was there, presumably back to being the boyfriend. A few people asked about my upcoming show, and it was clearly pissing Gina off. But they asked me!

  Finally, Gina just freaked out on me, basically insinuating that I was fucking Hugh to get a show and that he was using me. I got angry enough that I said the thing I swore I wouldn’t say, especially not at her party in front of all our mutual friends. “You’re just jealous!” Gina’s eyes filled with tears, her mascara running down her face. Kyle said maybe I should leave. KYLE! But whatever. I left. It was all bullshit anyway. This is a new chapter for me, one where I don’t have to hang out with wannabes and never-wills.

  July 12th

  Hello Diary, I just read the last line I wrote the other night. Yikes.

  I know I sound like a total snob, but I know I’m a better artist. I want it more. It’s not a hobby, it’s my career.

  Gina and Kyle, they’re just posers. Kyle is so hungry for the title, the fame, the success, but when he meets Hugh? When he has an actual career-creating opportunity he totally blows it, won’t even return Hugh’s calls. So today, I fired him as my manager. He isn’t doing anything for the show, he isn’t keeping up with Hugh or even working on promotional stuff. He didn’t even protest, basically mumbled that I was ungrateful and took off out of the apartment.

  Gina hasn’t spoken to me in two days, and I know I hurt her feelings, but she must also see the truth right? Her work is inaccessible, huge, ugly. Who wants a ten-foot tree vagina? I think she likes the idea of being a New York-based artist more than the reality. If she wanted it, she should have been kissing my ass this whole time and sucking up to Hugh. But instead she gives me the silent treatment and acts like a baby. She doesn’t even pretend to be excited for me. It’s all about her. God, everyone is so selfish.

  I shouldn’t say everyone. Hugh really gets it, my work, he really loves art, and he has feelings for me. At least, I think so. I’m starting to feel like he’s the only person that actually listens to me, or cares about me.

  When I stormed out of the party the other night I called Hugh. It was late and I was a little tipsy, but he agreed to have a drink with me. We talked and it was nice, we made out in front of my building and it was nicer. By that time, though, Gina and Kyle were home so I didn’t invite him up. Maybe another night. I’m sick of what other people think. I like him, he likes me, why can’t we get together?

  July 13th />
  Okay Diary, WE DID IT. And I think I feel okay about that. I know I’m not a gold digger, and I have no interest in sleeping my way to success. That’s more Gina’s thing, which is why she dates trust-fund bottom-feeder types like Kyle in the first place. But I digress.

  Because what’s happening with Hugh and me, it’s magnetic, it’s a tidal pull. Hell, it’s celestial. The very the thought of him makes me feel better, happier. But it scares me; the attraction feels a bit fast, a bit dangerous.

  I’ve been working like a maniac on the new piece. It’s another self-portrait, this time I’m also using old photographs of me as a child and some of my mother to add to the time-passing effect. It’s working, but I feel like something’s missing.

  I was tempted to ask Gina for input, since she was home, but she’s still giving me the silent treatment. I had a desperate moment of wanting Hugh there. Why? I’ve never needed anyone to validate me in this way. About ten minutes later, the phone rang and it was Hugh! My heart somersaulted and I nearly sobbed with relief. He came over, he was in the neighborhood, calling from a pay phone, and like a knight in shining armor he arrived: handsome, but still a bit sick, and he immediately figured out what was wrong with the painting.

  The portrait’s eyes were staring off, he said, above and to the right. They looked too passive. They needed to confront the viewers, they needed to stare at them and not above them. It was a brilliant suggestion, and I hugged him in relief. Gina made herself scarce while he was in our apartment. She didn’t even say hi to Hugh to be polite.

  I’m beginning to think I need a new roommate. Or to move out.

  To celebrate the breakthrough in the painting, Hugh took me to dinner at this lovely French place. I had a steak, and he had salad. We joked at the reverse stereotype, in that awkward way of first dates. We drank red wine till our lips and teeth were stained, and our eyes were glassy. We laughed, we touched hands on the table, our legs intertwined beneath.

  He took me to his place: a gorgeous fancy townhouse. It has a bright blue door and Hugh explained it was a Greek thing, stands for good luck and protection. (His mother was from Greece and his father from England.) I was very, very drunk, and afraid with one misstep that I would break something priceless.

  He led me upstairs to the large master bedroom, bed and curtains a crisp ivory like a fancy hotel room. I stumbled onto the bed, he crawled up beside me. In the end, I was left a puddle of sensation, slick with sweat and gasping, before passing out into a deep, coma-like sleep. Reading that back, it’s a little Harlequin, but yeah, it was that good.

  I woke up the next morning feeling especially hungover and if I’m being honest, I felt a little guilty, knowing what Gina would say. I dreaded doing the walk of shame into our apartment.

  Maybe I should have waited until after the show, so as not to be such a cliché. But whatever, I like Hugh. Maybe I’m overthinking all of this.

  What I did know that morning was that I was super hungover: queasy, shaky, and exhausted. Hugh had already poured me a huge glass of juice—thoughtful, right?

  After breakfast, I went to shower. While washing up, I felt a stinging painful sensation on my inner thigh. It was a huge bite! Hugh had bitten me, hard enough to leave dental impressions. I tried to think back on when he could have done it, but couldn’t. I was drunk but I wasn’t so drunk I’d ignore him gnawing my leg! I don’t think?

  And besides, human mouths are dirty. I vaguely remembered that from science class, dirtier than a dog or cat. The bite was like a hickey on steroids and was already discolored and bruised. Everybody has something right? Some kink? Hell, I’d always fantasized about being spanked.

  I won’t lie though, I did feel a little weird about it. But I still like Hugh a lot. Like a real lot.

  I know how this sounds, Diary, I have not entirely lost my mind. It was just one drunk night. With a particularly passionate love bite.

  I went back to the apartment to grab my work clothes, and there was Gina judging me as I came in, as predicted, but this time even her nastiness bounced right off. The deadline for my show looms, and I’m just too busy to worry about Gina’s feelings and opinions. Seriously, it’s none of her business and I know what I’m doing.

  July 18th

  Hasn’t been a lot of time to write the past few days. Been busy with work (trying not to get fired from the restaurant since I’m requesting so much time off for the show), not to mention I need to pay rent.

  Spent another night with Hugh, and it was as amazing as the first. But sure enough, the next morning I had a nasty little reminder on the opposite thigh. I’m not psyched about this, but like the first time, I don’t know when it happened! My thighs look pretty ugly, and the twin bites hurt. I planned to yell at him about it, opened my mouth to even, then he harpooned me with those swimmy eyes of his. I felt like a deer in the headlights, my anger instantly gone, leaving me feeling embarrassed. He asked what was wrong, and as much as I wanted to scream, “My fucking legs!” I clammed up. After the show, we can discuss it.

  It’s dumb to make it an issue, it’s like one step past a hickey. A love bite.

  I just need to stop obsessing over it and get my work done, focus on the good stuff.

  July 22nd

  Hello Diary,

  Haven’t been up to writing, been under the weather, and the looming gallery show and late nights with Hugh are definitely not helping. Getting sick now is just terrible timing. But in good news, I’m nearly done the new painting, working on the title now. . . . I wanted to capture time, me as child, me as teen, me as adult, and me older, all layered over each other semi-transparently on the same canvas. It’s been one of the most challenging things I’ve ever done. But it’s working and it looks great.

  Hugh came by the other night and just raved over it, which made me feel good. Gina even peeped in on it and told me how much she liked it, and for her to break her silence, that must mean it’s good, right?

  Her compliment was the olive branch we needed. So that’s a plus. I’ve missed her (although she pisses me off so bad sometimes). As soon as we got through the “I’m sorry I’m a bad friend” and all that, I couldn’t help but start talking about Hugh. She actually listened. Gina said she would be happy for me as much as she could be (considering she still thinks Hugh has sketchy ulterior motives) and I said I would take that, on the condition that she actually give him a chance. So she and Kyle are going on a double date with us. Then she’ll see that I haven’t lost my mind, and that Hugh is pretty awesome.

  Annoyingly, Hugh is the one acting all weird and reserved about the whole double date thing. I think it’s hard for him because he is so on my side, and sees Gina and Kyle as lousy friends. Not to mention we all must look so young and immature to him. But he promised to be on best behavior and do it for me.

  He’s so thoughtful, and smart, and interesting. I can’t wait for them to realize it.

  July 24th

  It’s early morning. I just dragged myself home from Hugh’s and wanted to write about the dinner last night while everything was fresh in my head. In short, the evening was a huge failure.

  So, last night we had a reservation and Le Petit Cochon. Hugh and I headed over there after having a meeting with his art installers for the show. All that is good stuff. They helped me plan the lighting, and we even hung some things to do promo photos and get a feel for it. So that was awesome. Hugh and I got to the restaurant right on time, but of course Gina and Kyle were late. Hugh was bristly from the get-go. I tried to talk to him and he snapped at me.

  They finally get there and it was weird, tense, awful, all of the above. Hugh, who is normally so charming was wooden and even shy? It was weird. Gina sat near me and talked to me, asked me questions, etc., but didn’t really direct anything his way. She could barely look at him! Kyle just picked at his food and barely said anything to anyone. Gina is usually such a ball of energy and a constant stream of chatter. Kyle is the biggest schmooze around. But they sat across from us like tw
o awkward children.

  At one point, Gina excused herself to go to the bathroom, and I actually followed her, hoping maybe she would open up to me once we were alone. I cornered her and asked, assuming she was still pissed at me, or thought Hugh was using me. But she said no, insisted she was happy for me. When I pushed further, she said she just didn’t like him. Hugh? The hottest British gallery owner out there? How could you not? When I wouldn’t let it go, she said he was creepy.

  Creepy?

  That was the worst thing she could say. It’s not even that Hugh’s using me, or is a sleaze, or has ulterior motives, or any of the things I expected her to say. Things that I could explain away because she was jealous. But creepy? I had nothing for that. Creepy is a visceral response. You can’t argue someone out of a creepy verdict. I was upset, defensive. Gina finally, hands-up, left the bathroom in a huff, got Kyle, barely looked at Hugh, and dropped some cash on the table. And they just took off.

  I was so embarrassed. Creepy?!

  So that was our terrible dinner. The first part of my weird evening. Then we went back to his place, and he was all cold and aloof in cab the whole way. I only remembered I was having my period halfway through undressing. I had never let a man go down on me during my period. To be honest, I’ve always thought it was kind of icky. But he was into it so I let him.

  I woke early this morning to him back at it again. I tried to push him off at first, groggy and feeling gross in the dawn light, but he said he loved doing it.

  When he was finished, I offered to reciprocate in some way, but he turned me down and went back to sleep. I know so many women who complain about selfish lovers—it’s nice not to have one! But still, the bad dinner date, the silent treatment, and then the not-totally-consensual morning wakeup all left me feeling a bit off.

  So I got home, took a shower, and was happy to see no love bites anywhere. It was a relief, though I felt kind of ashamed that the first thing I did when I pulled my clothes off was to look for bites.