Chapter 3

Lauren’s eyes seem confused for a moment, but then soften at my obvious eagerness. “Don’t move,” I say again. I’m using the widest aperture and a slow shutter speed for the near-darkness. I’m usually very good at holding the camera steady, particularly the Hasselblad, which I can hold against my chest, but my heart is racing and my body is tingling with the thrill of making my partner come, so I try to be even more still than usual, and take multiple shots.

Finally, I’m satisfied. I take the camera back to its place. I’ll deal with the film tomorrow. Then I return to my lover, slipping under the sheets. Lauren gives me a fond smile, then wraps herself around me.

She whispers into my ear, “Don’t you dare add those to your exhibit.”

I laugh, and assure her that won’t happen. I will never release a photo of her, even a G-rated one, unless she gives me permission.

“Actually, I plan to sketch the scene,” I say, “but I couldn’t ask you to hold that pose. Even if you weren’t careening toward the land of Nod.”

Lauren kisses my earlobe, then snuggles closer. I caress her arms as we both drift off.

“Anita said you’re a professional artist,” I say.

“Mmm. I guess most of our income depends on the comic now,” he says, glancing at Dylan. “Does that make us professionals?”

She nods. “He draws, I write story and dialog,” she says. “Then he complains about the story, which is totally unfair, because I never complain about the art.”

“What’s the name of the comic?” I ask.

“War in Faerie,” Dylan says. “We’re wrapping up the third major arc.”

I give them both an apologetic look. “I haven’t heard of it, but I promise I’ll check it out. You’re a portrait artist too?” I direct that to Austin.

“Uh, well, yes. Maybe after the new arc is finished I’ll be able to spend more time doing that.”

“After we find a place to live,” Dylan says. “Once the comic calms down, that will be the first order of business.”

Mandy’s face peering around the doorframe catches my attention. She approaches when I wave to her, glancing around apprehensively. I introduce her to the couple. She also recognizes Dylan.

“Mandy is the fairy at the bottom of my garden,” I say. “Is she involved in your war?”

“Mmm.” Austin studies her, his expression serious. “I don’t know. If she’s living here, maybe she’s in exile.”

Mandy, of course, has no clue what we’re talking about, but it isn’t her highest priority right now. “She’s here!” she hisses at me.

“Who’s here?” I ask.

“Rachel!” She glances around the room again. “I saw her over by the mobile thing with glass. I can’t escape. She’s with Lauren.”

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“No time!” Mandy says. “Just… hide me! Or, I know, distract her, so I can slip out.”

Sighing, I say, “Okay, I’ll do what I can.” Then I turn to Austin and Dylan. “I’ll drop a card by Austin’s table later,” I say to them. “Let’s meet up sometime.”

They bid me a polite goodbye, and I head to the main room to see what I can do. It’s a slow journey. Now that there’s so much conversation going on around me, the visitors seem less reticent, stopping me with questions. Mandy is still standing with Dylan, while Austin slips past me to take his place behind the wine table.

Eventually I’m back in the large room. The group standing around “Flying S” must have a small herd of cows’ worth of leather between them and several ounces of precious metals in their piercings. They intercept me on the way to “Timezones” to ask whether I’m planning to become the band’s photographer, or what other bands I might work with. I have no plans for any of that, but Joe, the band’s manager, has asked if I’d make some publicity shots for them, so I tell them there’s a possibility.

Lauren is just a few feet away from me now, with the man from her office and a tall blonde in a very attractive two-piece satin dress, which reveals a small diamond navel piercing. This must be Rachel, but she’s far more elegant than the party girl I’d pictured from Lauren’s description. When I finally close the distance to Lauren, I discover that she is indeed Rachel, and the dark-haired man is James.

As I’m talking to them, Mandy pokes her head around the entrance to the watercolor room. She sidles out, raising a hand to me in a thumbs-up gesture, then begins to walk gingerly to the exit, as if avoiding treading on lava.

I look back to my audience, but something must have shown in my expression. All three turn to follow where my eyes had tracked, to see Mandy ostentatiously sneaking out of the gallery. Rachel meets my eyes, a resigned expression on her face.

“Do I even want to know what’s going on?” I ask.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” she says.

The rock fans leave, disappointed that none of the band showed up, but not unappreciative of the show. Some of them take the time to suggest that I should give Michelle, the singer, the same treatment. I don’t recall her flying, just stripping down to her bra, so I’m not sure I’d be able to capture the same vitality that I did with Sydney. Still, I haven’t talked further with Joe, so I tell them it’s a possibility. I’ll have to check the band’s feed later.

The show is winding down. In fifteen minutes, Kelea will close the bar. I turn one of the chairs to face the center table and slump into it. After moving her own chair, Lauren sits beside me, and I lean against her.

Some of the Gabby’s contingent join us. Austin sees the gathering, and brings an open bottle to top up our wine, earning a pursing of Kelea’s lips, but no comment. Not everyone still has glasses to refill, so he suggests they return to the reception area before they stop serving.

When everyone who wants wine has it, several of the visitors find chairs. Austin and Kelea bring additional chairs from the reception room, making a large circle. The short brunette – Tiff? I think that’s her name – has brought the sketchbook, and is leafing through it, sharing drawings she finds interesting with her partner.

Dylan is among the group. She’s waiting for Austin, but she’s clearly also part of the large friend group. The look she gives me seems oddly compassionate as she speaks. “Austin and I were looking at the bust,” she says. “Is it okay if I ask about it?”

“Sure,” I say. I feel slightly apprehensive at her tone, wondering what she felt needed a delicate approach.

“It’s so real,” she says. “Austin says that you must have spent a vast amount of time on it. Were you able to work on anything else at the same time?”

I consider the question carefully. “I did,” I say, “but it wasn’t lack of time that limited me. Or, well, maybe it did, but my feelings were the block. I was trying so hard to hold onto her while I worked that I pushed the despair back. And of course I couldn’t let that affect my day job. So when it came to other work, that was all I had available. I have some very dark acrylics at my studio that I haven’t even shown Lauren.” I feel my girlfriend shift against me. “I’ll show you them if you want, love,” I say, “but some of them I still don’t like to see.”

“Will you ever show them?” Dylan asks.

“Most of them, I would,” I say. “Some are lifeless. Some are abstracts that I no longer would pretend to understand. Most I’d be okay with, but this wouldn’t be the right place and time.”

“Will you show us?” That’s Tiff, who still has the sketchbook. Again, these were clients a few months ago. Are they really suddenly friends? I glance at Lauren. I don’t ask a question, but I don’t need to.

“What do you think, honey?” she asks. “We could have a party when we’re back from Japan. You can decide what you want to share.”

The thought suddenly fills me with dread. Lauren must be able to see it in my face, because she narrows her eyes in concern, but I squeeze her hand and shake my head slightly. “Yes, it’s a good idea,” I say, my voice sounding rough to my ears, “but I’ll need you to help me. I don’t think I can face them alone.”

“Of course,” she says.

Tiff clears her throat. I don’t think she expected the request to spook me. She brandishes the sketch book. In a tone dripping with innuendo, she says, “I take it you have a private version of this at home?”

She’s clearly trying to lighten the mood. It works.

“She does,” says Lauren, “and you are not getting your hands on it.”

Tiff pouts, then hands the book to her partner to study.

When the event is over, Kelea shoos me away. I try to offer to help clear up, but she says no. She’s paying Austin for cleanup duty, and between the two of them they’ll have it finished in no time, she says.

I’m both weary and elated. The first and biggest source of stress is behind me. I think it was a success. Kelea says so, and I don’t think she’s putting too positive a spin on the outcome. I hold Lauren’s hand as we walk to her car.

At home, I want nothing more than to get to bed and leave the day behind, but Lauren has other ideas. She claims I need to wind down before sleeping. She’s probably right.

She sits me down at the kitchen table while she recreates the hot chocolate she made a few days ago. While the milk is on the stove, she presents me with a bowl of ice cream. My snacks today haven’t been healthy, but they also haven’t been sufficient. Quick carbs will help me relax, and besides – ice cream.

While I eat, she bustles off to the bathroom, and I hear her filling the hot tub. If she makes me soak I’m going to flake out as soon as I’m in the water. Still, I’m not going to fight her on it. If she has to carry me to bed, it’s her own fault.

When the chocolate is ready, so is the water. Lauren bullies me into standing, then into traipsing into the bathroom and stripping. She won’t let me have my drink until I’m in the water.

“You can be so mean,” I complain.

“I’m going to be meaner still when I make you move,” she says, starting to undress.

“At least there’s an upside,” I say, as I watch her slip out of her dress, desire tingling in my chest in spite of my weariness.

She stands naked before me, drinking her chocolate before, as threatened, she makes me slide forward so that she can sit behind me. I snuggle back against her, her full breasts cushioning my back. “Multiple upsides,” I murmur.