Special Forces - 5. Chapter 5

“Sam, I want to start painting again. Or maybe do some pottery.”

“Really?” Sam’s face lit up.

“Yeah, I haven’t really done any art since I started my MBA. That was five years ago. But lately I’ve got in itch to get going again. I was thinking I could use the second bedroom, which luckily I haven’t got around to furnishing yet, as a studio. What do you think?”

“What I think is that we should go shopping for art supplies today. Would you like that?”

“Well, yes, that would be great. Maybe we can walk over to Blick’s, it’s just over on India Street. If we go this morning we can be over on the boat in time for lunch.”

“Okay, let’s grab a quick shower then we can head out.”

It wasn’t a quick shower, if you get my drift.

When we got to Blick’s, I was the proverbial kid in a candy store. Sam was pretty excited himself. His reaction to everything was: “That’s so cool. Buy that!”

Well, a little impulsivity never hurt anyone, so I bought an easel and painting supplies. And a nice Brent potter’s wheel and clay. And a sketch book and pencils that I could use on the boat. We left the purchases at the store and said we’d come back with Sam’s truck a little later to pick everything up.

By the time we had everything carted into the apartment it was mid-afternoon. Tempting as it was to stay home and play with my new toys, I suggested we buy steaks and barbeque dinner on the boat. Sam asked me ten times if I’d rather stay home and start setting up my studio, and ten times I told him ‘No, I’d like to let all this settle and start slowly tomorrow.’

Sam’s enthusiasm was touching, and I really appreciated his support.

I gave him a big hug and kiss and thanked him from the bottom of my heart.

“Yo, Nicky, you know I’ve got your six, right? Always will.”

That’s my big guy.

Now taking up painting and pottery is all very well, but I really hadn’t given much thought to when I’d have the time to pursue these hobbies. I’d be going back to work soon. And Sam and I always hung together after work. Then there was the boat. We spent most of our free time on her. So in my usual, analytical way I began to ruminate on finding a solution (my counsellor had taught me to view a problem as an opportunity, not a catastrophe).

Did I want to give up time with Sam? No.

Did I want to give up time on Budweiser? No.

Did I want to give up work? Hell yes!

Before I broached the subject to Sam I sat down and worked out a budget. I had enough money in savings—which had increased nicely from my recent bonus from Sam’s group—to take as much as two years off; possibly longer if I was frugal. I paid my own monthly homeowners fees and annual taxes, but I had no mortgage or any other debts. I paid half the costs of Budweiser (that I had been firm with Sam about). My car expenses were minimal. I did the addition. There it was in black and white (no red, I’m glad to say). I could do this.

Maybe I could make a living selling art....

My undergraduate major was art, and it wasn’t all about art history and creativity. One of the courses I had to take was ‘Art as a Business.’ What I learned was that marketing is equally as important as talent. ‘Never be ashamed to relentlessly self-promote,’ my instructor advised. ‘Sell yourself as much as your work. Be outrageous! Get yourself noticed. Many people have talent, but only a few have the drive to succeed.’ One only had to look as far as Lady Gaga to see that philosophy in action.

I knew I had talent. I’d graduated summa cum laude from the University of Minnesota. But did I have drive? Was this about a short, fun hiatus, or was this about a career?

While Sam was at work, and I was mulling over my future, I worked on setting up my studio. The big problem was containing the mess of making art. The first thing I did was measure the room and ordered a rectangle of protective carpet. It looked a little industrial but would protect the original carpeting. Sam picked it up on his way home from work, and we wrestled it into place. Then I applied a special sealer to the walls to prevent splatters of paint and clay from damaging them. Next I placed my easel and taboret near the window and my potter’s wheel in the corner with an inexpensive folding screen behind it to further protect the walls from flying muck.

Meanwhile, I needed to talk out this idea of not returning to work with someone. I knew Sam would be supportive—just the way I was supportive about buying the boat—but I didn’t want to make a mistake about this. I needed an impartial party to share the idea with, so I turned to my counsellor.

As usual he didn’t tell me what to do, but he asked questions, and by the time our hour was up I had a pretty good list of the ‘pros and cons’ in my head. But I still wanted to think about it some more before I broached the subject to Sam.

Sam could tell I had something on my mind. “Nick, what has you so preoccupied?”

“Uh....just thinking about work. You know....like when I should go back.” Never a good liar at the best of times, I blushed deeply.

Sam narrowed his eyes and looked at me. I squirmed under his gaze. The guy was a trained interrogator. He could smell a lie a mile away. I felt very guilty about my deception. So I tried a version of the truth:

“Well....I’ve been thinking about a couple of work options. And Sam, I’m talking to my counsellor about it. So can you give me a couple of days?”

“Listen, Nick, I’m here if you need to talk. You know that, right? You know I’ll support you in any decision you make?”

“I know, Sam. You’re a saint. And I will talk to you. Soon, I promise. It’s just that I want to really think out some things. I just need to talk to my counsellor one more time.”

My counsellor suggested I use a ‘visioning’ technique. He guided me into a type of meditation where I entered the future. How did this future make me feel? How did I feel about pitching myself to a gallery? Selling my art in the park? Selling my art to friends? How did feel about working on my art every day? Could I really ‘see’ myself doing these things?

He also asked me about how I felt about my past experiences. How did I feel when I created art? How did I feel when I graduated with my BA? How did I feel about graduating with my MBA? How did I feel about working at a bank?

You can pretty much guess what the answers were. And the piece of advice that my counsellor finally offered? “You can’t go wrong following your heart, Nick.” The same advice that Susan Daniels had given me.

I did a bit more research, and a little work, and then I was ready.

“Sam, I want to follow my heart.”

“Okay....”

So I laid it all out for him. I showed him my budget. I explained my proposed timetable, which included time for ‘work’ as well as marketing. And I explained how I would promote and sell my work. I showed him the website I was creating. I blathered on enthusiastically for an hour as Sam made encouraging sounds and asked questions. I even outlined how I’d approach this as a regular job and promised that we’d have plenty of time for us as a couple.

Finally, pausing for a breath, I asked Sam, “What do you think?”

He reached out, took my hands, and looked me in the eye.

“I think, Nick, that it’s absolutely, fucking brilliant. Go for it, man. You’ve got my total support.”

“You got my six, eh?”

“I’ve always got your six, Nick.”

The next day I phoned Jerome and begged him to bring Rob and the twins down for a visit. I thought they’d be good folks with whom to talk over my plans. We hadn’t known them long, but they were quickly becoming our BFF’s. Jerome checked with Rob and we arranged a visit the following week when Rob had a couple of days off work. They would drive down and stay in Sam’s apartment.

We took them out on the boat, of course, for a tour of the harbor. Sam was fascinated hearing about a sailing trip Jerome had taken to Hawaii. Those two sailors talked about tides and knots and other nautical stuff. Apparently they agreed to disagree about the merits of sailboats versus powerboats. While they were engaged in their friendly debate, Rob answered my questions about life as a flight attendant. Boy, he had some good stories to tell. Talk about crazy travellers.

The twins, David and Aaron, were angels and only a little fussy when they were hungry or needed changing. Rob told me that they love the motion of the boat.

Once the babies were asleep after dinner, I showed them my studio and I told them about trying to make a go of art. They were very supportive and enthusiastic. They told us about Jerome’s good luck in selling his company and how that gave him the freedom to pursue sailing and then be a stay-at-home dad for at least a couple of years.

Both Sam and I enjoyed the babies, holding them for as much time as they’d endure.

Well, our conversation after Hardwick-Mitchell family departed was predictable:

“Nick, do you think you’d like kids some day?”

“Yeah, I would. But not for at least a couple of years. What about you?”

“Same. I think I’d like kids. But I’d like to wait a couple of years too.”

I threw myself into my new ‘career.’ The first thing I needed to do was build up a portfolio of work. So I spent half of each day painting and half of each day throwing pots. It took me quite a while, and a lot of research, to find a kiln where I could fire my pots, but I eventually lucked out and found a retired woman, Mrs. Graham, who had gas-fired a kiln. She was slowing down so was glad to have the extra income from renting her kiln, but not until I convinced her I knew what I was doing. She didn’t want exploding pots in her kiln!

I envied her little back yard studio. She and her husband had converted their garage into her workshop and it really was a special setup. Their house was in Point Loma Heights, which is a very salubrious neighborhood. I felt a little wistful because it was a tropical version of the neighborhood I’d grown up in.

Sam being Sam was wildly enthusiastic about everything I produced. He talked Susan and Kathy into buying a painting and worked on Sandy and Maria. They finally decided on a portrait of their girls, which I did from a photograph and they were pleased with the results. I insisted they only pay me nominal fee.

We hadn’t seen a lot of Sandy and Maria since Susan’s barbeque but doing the portrait brought us in more frequent contact. Sam and Sandy were like brothers—and certainly a lot closer than my brother and I ever were. They could act pretty childish sometimes. They’d whisper crude jokes to each other then laugh uproariously. Maria and I just rolled our eyes. I decided to stay out of the guys’ hair when we visited. I played ‘wife’ and helped Maria in the kitchen. She’s an amazing cook and taught me a few good tricks about cooking Mexican food.

My guy had a real ‘playful’ streak which I found very attractive. He could be a real joker, and when he laughed his face would shine. It made me think he’d be a good father. There was a lot of warmth to him.

As the days rolled by, I was pretty focussed on my art work and wondered if I was paying enough attention to Sam.

“Sam, am I giving you enough attention?”

“Well...you woke me up with a blow job at 4:30 this morning. And I’m gonna get laid tonight, right?”

“Ha ha. Yes, you’ll get laid tonight. But, seriously, am I paying enough attention to you? I know I’ve been obsessing on my art a lot. Have I changed?”

Sam pulled me into a hug beside him on the sofa. “Nick, yes you’ve changed. You’re glowing. You’ve become more self-confident and more relaxed. It’s like all your walls have come down. Yes, you’re preoccupied with your art, but you’ve also let me in. So I feel more connected to you, and more sure of our relationship than ever.”

“I wanna make love to you, Sam.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

Later, cuddled up in bed Sam said, “Remember Gary from SoCal Marine, the broker we bough Budweiser from?”

“Yes, of course. Great guy.”

“Well, he’s offered me a job as salesman.”

“And what do you think about that?” (Hey, notice the counselling influence here.)

“I’m thinking hard about it. What do you think about it?” (Okay, he’s turned the tables on me.)

“Well, I think you should think about it.”

“Jesus, Nick, you’re a real comedian. Okay, I’ll tell you that I’m really thinking seriously about it.”

“How would you feel about leaving your team?” (Don’t you just love those ‘how do you feel’ questions?)

“Fair enough. I’d miss the team, it’s like a brotherhood, but my best friend is Sandy, and he’s on the outside anyway.”

“Sam, what’s going on? Why are you even thinking about this offer?”

“I can explain it in one word, Nick. Montreal.”

“Yes, I can understand that. My counsellor explained that a sudden shock can make you reassess. It forces you think about what’s important in life. That’s the nuts and bolts of why I want to work as an artist.”

“That’s exactly it, Nick. You are the most important thing in my life now. I just don’t feel comfortable going out and taking risks anymore. And I love being around boats. I think selling boats would mean helping people to realize their dreams too.”

“Would there be any problems leaving your team?”

“No. I’ve signed all sorts of confidentiality documents. As long as I don’t breach them everything will be fine.”

“Do you need time to think about all this?”

“Not really. The only thing that would stop me is if you didn’t agree with the idea.”

I told Sam that we should think about it for a week. After all, it was a big change for him. And I didn’t want him to regret his decision later on. But I felt hugely relieved. Sam’s assignments were hell on my nerves; I hated when he was away and in possible danger.

The next day at the marina Sam was jumping around like a little kid. We talked to Gary, and Sam said he’d let him know his decision in a couple of days. Then Sam led me around and showed me the boats that were for sale and how much commission he’d make from the sale of each one. “But I wouldn’t be the only salesman, of course. And I might not make a lot of money if I can’t make any sales. But I think that budget you did applies to me too. We’re pretty much in the same position with no debts and so forth. So I wouldn’t really have to make a lot of sales to have enough income.”

I’d never seen Sam so excited before (well, unless you count sex, but that’s a different sort of excitement). “Sam, really, I’m one hundred percent on this. I’ve got your six. Why not tell Gary right now that you’ll take the job?”

Sam grabbed me in a bear hug and swung me around while jumping up and down.

A few weeks later we were on our new routine. Sam worked four on and three off at the marina. Ten hour days—from 10 am to 8 pm. Of course my schedule was flexible, so that left lots of time for boating and love making.

I was carefully building a pottery collection, which meant frequent visits to Mrs. Graham’s little studio. She seemed to enjoy having me around, and we talked enthusiastically about pottery. She usually offered me ice tea and we’d sit on her patio and talk. I met her husband, Frank, a retired school teacher. He suggested I try teaching French at one of the community colleges. Mrs. Graham told me about the San Diego Pottery Guild and suggested I try to join. It’s a collection of potters who share a sales place in a small “village” in Balboa Park. But to get in I needed to be juried. That means that the membership committee would judge my work to see if I qualify for membership.

Meanwhile, I was promoting my work like crazy. I’d already found one gallery that was willing to take a couple of my paintings and a few pieces of pottery. The gallery would keep 50% of the sales price, but that was okay by me. I improved my website and I kept contacting magazines and newspapers hoping I’d get a write up.

Just a few days after Sam started at the Marina he phoned me. “I sold a boat, Nick!” And the next week: “I just sold my second boat, Nick!” Of course selling boats put Sam in a good mood, which resulted in some very enthusiastic sex.

So life settled into a comfortable routine in the Kozitsky-Poulos household. Work, play, love.

Every time we saw Rob and Jerome and their active little boys we came home talking about having kids. But neither of us was ready to commit yet. We wanted kids, yes, but not now. Sometime in the future maybe....

And talking about the future, the poet Robert Burns expressed it best:

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o' mice an 'men
Gang aft agley, [often go awry]