Chapter three
He was fashionably late and I was tempted to call the whole thing off, but I didn’t want to raise his suspicions. Any interest in sleeping with him was now overshadowed by my overactive imagination. I put on a brave face by opening up the door to greet him in nothing but an apron.
I turned to go back into the kitchen and heard a cat call of a whistle coming from behind me. I wiggled my butt and then bent over to give him a reminder of what was waiting for him for dessert.
“I will be in the kitchen for another hour. Make yourself more comfortable and I will bring you a drink. Don’t get any naughty ideas about putting your hands on me before we finish dinner. This sense of anticipation is ripe with sexual tension. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it.” I heard him pulling open the closet to put his coat away.
“I wouldn’t dream of doing anything to ruin what is possibly going to be the best night of my life. Are you going to give me a hint about what is for supper? I know I said I want to be surprised, but I’m as giddy as a young boy at Christmastime.” I had cooked a Turkey dinner, but I had made sure to cook it slowly to give me time to investigate further what I had seen.
“Take a deep breath and tell me what you smell.” The aroma was a holiday favorite in anyone’s household that celebrated traditional Christmas values.
“I love Turkey with all the trimmings. It does make me sleepy, but we both know the reason for that.” It was the Turkey’s last revenge to leave potential diners struggling to keep their eyes open. A couple of glasses of wine and it would be possible to be lights out for the foreseeable future.
“There’s going to be mashed potatoes, fresh turnip, a medley of vegetables, and a supply of stuffing courtesy of my own recipe. Of course, there will be homemade cranberry sauce.” I had spied the broken window in his home courtesy of vandalism. It had been boarded up, but it was an easy access to the basement and into the house.
My basement was a straight line to his not more than 12-feet in length through the snow. My boots and jacket were stored by the window in the basement. I needed to make sure I wasn’t going to be interrupted. I was going to do everything in my power to have him snoring loudly within the hour.
“I was going to open up the bottle of wine you brought with you, but I think I have something far better for a night like this. I got this for those cold nights when all you want to do is curl up with a good book next to the fire.” I had my hands behind my back and I produced a bottle of brandy.
“I can sit by the fire and warm the brandy by getting it close to the flame. I can’t say I don’t like being pampered, but I feel that I could be of more use in the kitchen. I can’t promise to be on my best behavior, but I don’t think you would want it any other way.” I sat with him for a moment sharing the tranquility and the sound of the storm picking up speed outside.
The streets were already impassable and the plows tended to come around hours after the storm had subsided.
I looked into his eyes and I didn’t see a stone cold killer looking back at me. He seemed reserved with just the hint of a kinky bone in his body. I was ready to have him shed the layers of his clothing, but I was getting ahead of the game.
“This is the kind of romantic atmosphere every woman wants from their significant other. Men get complacent and fail to realize it’s the small things that matter. A kiss of appreciation and a rose for no reason goes a long way. The bottle of wine was a nice touch.” There was a bottle of change sitting majestically on the mantle of the fireplace. The many dimes and quarters shined in the glow of the crackling fire.
“I was never good at being romantic, but I do know how to learn from my mistakes. She was always trying to remind me to go beyond my marriage obligations. I don’t want to bring you down with talk about my failed marriage. I would rather concentrate on you and maybe you can tell me what made you become an artist.” I swallowed hard realizing there was no talk about my professional life.
“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation, but how could you possibly know what I do for a living? I haven’t said anything unless something slipped that I don’t remember saying.” I didn’t dare look at him. I was a bit afraid of how he was going to react to being interrogated.
“I’ve always been a study of fingers. I see the faint discoloration of some kind of paint. I would say it’s water based and most likely used on a canvas with light touches of a brush to create some kind of masterpiece.” Every time his drink was down about half way, I would refill it to keep him from realizing how much he was consuming.
“I guess I’ve always had an artist’s mentality. I love creating something with my bare hands and seeing it appreciated for no intrinsic value. I auction my stuff off to the highest bidder. It’s always a surprise at how much they go for on the open market.” I did enjoy talking about my work, but most would fade out after a few sentences.
I had his undivided attention and there was a real interest to learn more.
“There are many forms of art and it’s all subjective. Are you working on anything right now that I might be able to take a look at? I know how an artist feels their work is private until the finishing touches are put on. I would like to share the vision you have by looking you in the eyes when I look at it.” I had a dream so big and loud I had no choice but to scream it by making the public see me through the images on the canvas.
“You have an interesting way of looking at art. I am working on a commissioned piece for an anonymous client. I don’t even know the client’s identity. He apparently has been watching me for quite some time. He reached out to a gallery owner to find me. I never considered my stuff to be special, but others are quick to contradict my statement.” I found him easy to talk to and there wasn’t a cloud of disinterest over his eyes.
“This place does have charm. Architecture has been a hobby of mine for as long as I can remember. The mosaic glass is indicative of a long forgotten era. If I were to guess, I would say this place was built in the fifties. I might even go so far as to say the twenties. The wood floors are easily a feature hard to ignore. The banister leading to the second floor was made by someone who took pride in their work.” The apron was doing very little to hide the natural wonders of the world.
“I’ve always found myself fascinated by things that are unique. In a world of mass production, it is a breath of fresh air when you find something unspoiled. It made me cringe to think of somebody else getting their hands on this property. I can’t afford to buy it, but I can rent it for as long as I please. I would be happy to give you a tour of the place.” The reason why it wasn’t selling was the location and lack of bedrooms for family’s looking to uproot for a simple kind of living.
“I can agree with that. I’ve been coming here every summer. I lost sight of what was important in my life. I became someone I didn’t recognize in the mirror.” I walked ahead of him.
He could easily see my nude posterior. He didn’t try to touch me even though I was sure he wanted to.
“Some people wouldn’t like the bathroom straight out of the seventies. They would want to change things and the owner has no interest in renovating. I find it functional and the bathtub quite comfortable after I’m done working for the day. I would call myself a bargain hunter. What this place lacks more than makes up for with a quiet pace of living.” There was only one bedroom not including the attic where my studio was located.
“The lake shimmers from up here even with the fresh powder of snow. It’s perfect for the holidays. The skiing is fantastic and you don’t have to go any more than a few miles to find a suitable location.” He knew the area better than I did and some of his stories gave me a reason to trust him.
“We should get out of here. I don’t know if we can be trusted in this room together without doing something about the heat between us.” There is a basement, but it’s mostly for storage. There’s also an attic and that’s where the magic happens.” I had turned the phrase to indicate where my art was conceptualized.
We ran up a set of stairs quite narrow and I turned on the light to let him see the sparse surroundings. The wet paint brushes and the blank canvas was the only thing he could see. I was reluctant to share with him my work until I finished what I started.
“Darby, this place is one of those rare gems you barely see anymore.” He was still drinking and I was carrying the bottle of brandy to make sure he never saw the bottom of his glass.
“You look a little unsteady on your feet.” I led him back down the stairs and he sat down in the same chair he was in, before following me on the tour.
“You don’t have to get me drunk to have your way with me. I would rather be here with you than intoxicated in a way that prevents me from performing to your expectations.” His words were slurred and he was having trouble making sense of what was going on around him. I knew the signs better than anyone how close he was to becoming unconscious.
The brandy warmed at his fingertips was making him feel the effects running through his veins. His eyes were heavy and he could barely keep his eyes open. His hand with the brandy in it slumped over the side of the chair. I grabbed it from his hand preventing one single drop from spilling onto the freshly stripped old wood floors.
I very carefully placed it on the coffee table and took the comforter off the couch to drape it over him. He looked so peaceful. I couldn’t imagine him having malevolent thoughts. I had to know what exactly I had seen before going any further. I avoided those boards on the floor which creaked when I walked over them.
I held my breath and found the door already open to the basement. I left it open and slipped into the darkness with a flashlight clutched in my hands. The only light was coming from the kitchen and there was no way he could see it from where he was next to the fireplace.
I put on my winter clothes, glancing back one more time before I opened the window to the chill of the snow smacking me in the face. It was already halfway up the windowpane. I grabbed the ladder purposely placed near the wall for easy access.