THATCHER
I have no idea what the fuck I am doing lately. As I drive home from Emma's place, all I can think about is the feel of her ankles. I picked up her legs and put them in my lap without thinking, like I'd been doing it for years, but when my skin made contact with hers, I thought my dick was going to spring out of my pants.
Her legs felt like warm velvet, her peachy skin soft and silky from her massage. I could barely understand what she was saying as we talked, because all I was thinking about was how badly I wanted her to rub her foot just a few inches higher up my thigh as she squirmed around.
When I go to bed, I dream about Emma, her red hair sprawled over my sheets, her eyes closed in pleasure as I lick every inch of her skin. I wake up with my dick in my hand, so close to release. Panting, I close my eyes again, imagining holding my weight above her body, plunging into her depths. A few strokes of my fist are all it takes to send me over the edge. I can almost feel her body grip around my shaft as I pump once, twice. I groan as a fountain of white-hot cum hits me in the chest. I lie in bed breathing heavily, trying to figure out what to do about this. I don't even know how to go after a woman when it matters to me if she turns me down.
I remember when my brother Tim first met Alice, how he told me she distracted him, how thinking of her made him do things he'd never consider, otherwise. I realize I can't call him to ask for advice about it, though, because he thinks Emma is already engaged to marry me. How stupid would I sound telling him I need to figure out how to get her to like me when we're supposed to be in love?
I have a meeting today with my agent about my next gallery show. I want to show her the new piece, but I feel suddenly private about it. Like I don't even want to display it. It's too personal, somehow. I'm still standing there staring at it on the shelf when I hear the studio door open. Cody walks in with Maria, my agent. He's looking scruffy as ever, dressed like me in jeans with an old t-shirt. Maria looks elegant in a blazer and slacks.
"Cody told me you have something new for the Warhol show," she says, practically jumping up and down.
"Cody should keep his fat mouth shut," I tell her with a sigh. I show her all the work I've finished since the opening at the conservatory, trying to avoid my private piece, but Maria sees it over my shoulder.
"My God, Thatcher. It's breathtaking." She reaches out a hand to touch it and I feel compelled to bat her arm away. I remember who I'm dealing with and catch myself in time, but Maria sees the movement. "Hm," she says, "Feeling protective of this one?"
She steps back a few feet and looks at my work. "Something happened here," she says, pointing to the things I finished since Sunday. "What happened?"
"What do you mean?"
"There's a shift," she says. She waves her hand around at the shelf. "The energy is different here. Something changed about your work. And then we have this." She points at my piece.
I blush, and I'm shocked to be blushing, which makes me blush harder, until Cody laughs. "Thatcher's been hanging out with a woman," he tells Maria, and I kick him.
Maria's jaw drops. "The same woman? More than once?"
I shake my head. "It's not like that," I tell her. "She's…we're friends."
This draws a laugh from my long-time agent. She's been chasing down my work since I displayed it at an art show in high school. "You don't have female friends, Thatcher Stag. I've seen you. Women, for you, are for sex and, in my case, for brokering art deals." When I don't say anything, she plunks her bag on the table and sits on a stool. "So. Tell me what you know about Alex Clemont."
"The architect?" Alex Clemont is hot stuff right now in Pittsburgh. His name turns up in the buzz alongside every new restaurant opening, every new boutique…his eye for design is putting Pittsburgh on the map.
Maria nods and slides me a proposal. "He's in the middle of styling his new bar, opening in Lawrenceville. It's going to be a gin joint in some refurbished firehouse. He saw your work at the conservatory and wants two things." Maria flips the pages to a snapshot of some of my work nestled among the plants at the conservatory. "He'd like you to do something similar to this, looking organic and I believe he said the word 'flamey.'" I nod. I can meet with this guy and pull something together in a few days, and it'll finance my creative side ideas for the rest of the year. Maria continues, though, and I frown. "And he wants you to do a series of glassware for the bar. Stag Glass exclusives for gimlets and gin mojitos. Sturdy, but with that Thatcher flare."
I recoil at this idea. "I'm not a fucking Ikea, Maria. I don't do tableware."
She pats my hand. "Sweetheart, Alex Clemont comes around with this kind of offer about as often as you find a woman you talk to more than once." She slides the folder toward me and rises, walking toward the door. "Read it over and call me by Friday."
As we listen to the gravel crunch under Maria's tires outside, Cody snatches the folder from me. He scans the numbers and his jaw drops. "Jesus. Thatcher, come on, man. Look what he's offering."
I glance down, and then I sigh. I could have been making bowls and high balls for years if I wanted that. Hell, for awhile I made all my brothers beer steins every Christmas because it was easy and I could whip one up when I remembered at the last second. But that's not the direction I want for my work. Should I even consider this offer? Ever since all this…whatever this is with Emma, nothing makes sense.
I look back over at the shelves, trying to see what Maria saw about my work, how it's apparently shifted since last weekend. I realize, staring at a piece of dark green and black nodules inside a clear dome, that the day of Emma's seizure was also the day I saw my father again. I tell Cody I'll think about the Clemont offer, but now I have an idea for something bigger, something different. I chug a glass of water and get started.