Toph's Empty Year - 15. Late March

On Saturday, March 16, I decided to stay well clear of the apartment. Gary was in full preparation mode for my birthday, although I had no idea what was in store. Saturday is normally my drawing day, but I headed out earlier than usual. I had quite a list of potential sketches from Abigail and, I must admit, I was beginning to feel the demands of getting this portfolio in order.

To save time, I took my car. I looked at the key ring and saw Merle’s Christmas present, the Chevy shield engraved with Toph’s TeAra. I’ll admit, I got choked up for a moment. It wasn’t because of Steve, but Merle. We began to form a good friendship which had been aborted by Steve’s actions. He was collateral damage. I began to consider the possibility of meeting him again. I’d have to somehow avoid Steve though. Maybe he would shed some light on Steve’s behavior, although I really didn’t want to put him in an awkward position. Perhaps he would volunteer something, but that wasn’t why I wanted to see Merle. I just sort of missed him. I decided it was a thought to reserve for later, when all this Abington pressure had passed.

On the outskirts of town, there is an old dairy. Years ago, when cows were allowed to roam, it used to occupy a much larger footprint. It supplied and transported milk to all the houses in New Glory. There was an old delivery truck, on exhibit, in the drive which now fronts an ice cream parlor. I wasn’t sure how much milk was actually produced here anymore, but they do make the most delicious ice cream I can remember eating. I know because my breakfast consisted of vanilla scoops in a waffle cone.

Being Saturday morning, there wasn’t much business yet. I had made some sketches of the exterior, including the truck, and now was inside on my second – interior sketch, not cone – when my phone chirped. It was Luke.

“I have a gentleman who wants to purchase your painting.”

“Really? You’ve only had it on display for two days!”

“He was visiting the gallery this morning, but never advanced past your painting. Do you want to sell it? If so, what are you asking?”

“I guess I’d sell it, but have no idea what to ask. You have experience with this sort of thing. I’ll leave it completely in your hands. Don’t forget your commission. Please call me back whatever happens. You’ve really got me curious.”

I attempted a return to sketching, but it was too difficult to concentrate. I couldn’t begin to imagine who would buy a painting of two strangers. Soon I left, wandering back to my car. Pulling out Abigail’s list, I had just selected my next location when my phone chirped again. Checking the time, it was about a half-hour since his first call.

Luke offered two surprises. Not the fact that he had sold the painting, but the price he received was the first shock. The second was the buyer’s request to meet me. Luke asked if I were available at that time. Ten minutes later, I walked into the gallery, sketchpad under my arm.

Making my way to his office, I saw the painting displayed on an easel. Standing next to it was the ‘boyfriend’ from the park scene I had named Miles. Luke introduced us. It seemed Miles’ real name was Harold. Incidentally, after the Antoinette coincidence, I was sort of relieved. He came over, shook my hand, and was quite animated.

“Mr. Denny, how ever did you paint this? I never remember meeting you.”

Since he was more than ten years my senior, calling me ‘Mr. Denny’ was amusing. After inviting him to call me ‘Toph,’ I described my first encounter with Ian and then the dramatic little scene I witnessed when Harold arrived in the park a few weeks later. He chuckled and was about to explain what had transpired when I displayed a shocked look and raised my hand to stop him. I giggled, then clarified.

“Please don’t explain. I made an entire story in my head which led to this painting. I don’t want you to spoil it for me.”

Harold smiled back and nodded; he understood. Harold admitted that after being stunned seeing the painting this morning, he then began to realize how I had captured the love he an Ian shared.

“Toph, it’s really amazing. We are so much in love, and walking in this morning, there it was, beautifully painted and displayed before me. If you hadn’t sold it to me, I probably would have broken into the gallery and stolen it!”

“Oh dear, we can’t have that. If you don’t mind me asking, how are you going to present it to Ian?”

“Our one-year anniversary is Sunday, April 7th. I’ll hang it in the living room and have it surprise him when he gets up that morning.”

The whole episode put me in such a good mood, I went to Happy’s for lunch a bit earlier than usual. In addition to a fat check to deposit into my account, there was the warm thought that I would be responsible for bringing Ian some joy.

“Coffee today, Betty. Have Daryl in the kitchen make me one of his great pastrami sandwiches. I need to have all my senses hopping. This is going to be an intense day for me of making sketches around town.”

When she returned with my coffee, she displayed that look again.

“Will your friend be joining you for lunch?”

“My roommate? I doubt it. He’s pretty busy doing something today.”

It was a little early, so I didn’t get to see Big Joe until immediately before I left. He asked about Gary too. I could only imagine what Betty and Joe had been chewing over all week. It made me smile. I guess in a small town, everyone knows everybody’s business.

The rest of the afternoon was spent driving to three different locations of historic interest. The next time I go to work, I’ll need to pick up a few new sketchpads. It had been a very hectic day, especially with the addition of my visit to the gallery.

For the first time in my life, I began to feel the pressure of a looming deadline. Not only did I need to make a great many more sketches, I needed to create oil paintings. In addition, each painting needed to be special and not merely simple landscapes.

When I returned home, I skipped making a meal and got right down to painting. In the back of my mind, I knew something was arranged for tomorrow, which would steal much of my available time. I began to compel myself to create something on the canvass, which is fatal. And so I stopped, dropping everything. I decided to take a long walk in an attempt to regain my balance. I realized I could not force myself to paint, having never been successful trying that in the past. The time wasted on my hour-long walk to calm myself was more than made up for by a burst of creativity which kept me painting until the wee hours of the morning.

I awoke to the aromas of breakfast, meaning Joanne was here. I was still dressed in my clothes from yesterday, having utterly collapsed onto my bed a few hours before. After refreshing with a shower and clean clothes, I entered the kitchen to birthday wishes from my three friends. That was the moment when the awareness sank in; I was no longer a teenager.

As I had suspected, they trapped me and wouldn’t let me attempt my portfolio tasks for the day. Like a genial gaoler, Gary kept an arm around me one way or another. I was his prisoner. Once I resigned myself to the fact I was going to stay put, I sort of enjoyed the feeling.

At about four o’clock, they announced we had reservations for dinner at a tavern in the city called Paddy Sullivan’s. Gary insisted on driving us all. When we entered, the place was packed. Of course, it was St. Patrick’s Day. I seemed to fit right in, with my shock of red hair and the Kelly Green shirt Gary had purchased and forced me to wear. I was certain it was the first green shirt I had ever worn. We were ultimately shown to our table, where there were several people already present. It was my un-surprise party. Gary certainly had been a busy boy this week. All of TALON was present, along with Betty and Big Joe. In addition, and to my sincere shock, was Niles. Although, I did remember him asking for Niles’ last name a few weeks ago. It seems my roommate was into private investigating too. Gary explained he had also invited Austin and Nico. Austin had exams early Monday and couldn’t risk returning to Brown in the wee hours of the morning. Nico had planned to attend, but his father had some sort of medical emergency, and he needed to stay in Euphoria.

When the waitress arrived, I pulled out Nico’s perfect fake ID, which now declared me to be 24 years old – today. I decided Guinness was in order, considering my surroundings. It was a cordial evening with silly birthday cards and the company of people who were now my friends. I have to admit, it calmed me down or perhaps it was the two pints of Guinness.

As the party was breaking up, Niles pulled me aside.

“Are you clearheaded?”

“Yes, I only had two pints.”

“OK, well, I had a request for your number. I told him I would ask you tonight. He wished you a happy birthday, by the way.”

“Who was it?”

“Your brother Charles.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. You never had any problems with Charles, did you?”

“No. None at all. He even seemed to know exactly what I was doing when I left on Labor Day.”

“Well, what should I do?”

“Give him my number, but ask him to be judicious about sharing it. I don’t think I want to begin receiving texts from my mother.”

Niles smiled, hugging me as he whispered into my ear.

“Gary’s a keeper, Toph. Congratulations and best of luck.”

Niles left as I stood there, stunned again.

When we got back home, I thanked my three best friends before Anders took Joanne home. Joanne hadn’t had any alcohol, so she drove. Anders was staying at her place tonight. I kissed Gary and thanked him for the wonderful evening. We each retired to our rooms. I was down to my boxers, the way I usually sleep. I crept into bed, but immediately got right back out.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

His door opened.

“Toph?”

“May I sleep with you tonight? I only want you to hold me, nothing else.”

Gary smiled, stepped aside, allowing me to enter. He got into bed holding apart the covers until I slipped in beside him. As his arms surrounded me, my body was enveloped with the color of a new warmth.

“Thank you.”

“Any time, Toph.” He kissed the back of my neck.

I immediately drifted to sleep.

When I awoke, it was still early on a Monday morning. I sadly extricated myself from Gary’s comforting arms, careful not to wake him. He certainly didn’t need to be up at this ungodly hour. After showering and dressing, I quietly left the apartment to hit Happy’s for a couple cups of coffee. Thankfully, they opened at five o’clock, but Betty wasn’t scheduled to get there until around seven. It was just as well, because I needed to get a sketch or two completed before nine, when I would open Naomi’s shop.

Believe it or not, this morning found me in a cemetery. I was certain it didn’t receive too many visitors as most headstones I found, in my initial wanderings, were from the nineteenth century. Abigail had mentioned a tomb with local significance, plus ‘some things of interest.’ I was a bit apprehensive about making a sketch here because there would be no human component. Well, I should have clarified that to no living human component.

The historic mausoleum was fairly easy to find, being large and proudly standing at a corner of the cemetery. It came with a descriptive brass plaque, provided by the New Glory Historical Society, according to the reference at the bottom. As explained on the plaque, and the large name carved into the marble of the crypt’s facade, this was the final resting place for members of the Martin family. The first name listed was that of Anders Martin, the founder of New Glory. Well, now!

Upon further inspection, I discovered I had been wrong in dating the cemetery. At least within the Martin Memorial were remains entombed as recently as this very decade. It wouldn’t have been a wild guess for me to assume this most recent Anders Martin was the father of my apartment mate. I made several sketches of the tomb, which itself was guarded by interesting sculpture. I rapidly became aware that another visit to Abigail was in order. Perhaps she had photos or drawings of some of these Martins. My mind gave birth to a memorial painting which would include the coldness of the tomb in contrast to the warmth of the images of a few of its inhabitants, while alive.

My week became a dizzying repetition of Monday. Up at dawn, coffee at Happy’s, early morning sketches, work at Naomi’s combined with some painting, workout with Gary, dinner, more painting at home, and finally, crashing into sleep whenever my body ceased functioning.

When Saturday arrived, it was business as usual with morning and afternoon drawings interrupted only by lunch with Betty and Big Joe. I had intended to paint in the evening, but Gary wouldn’t permit it.

“I’m worried you’re going to burn yourself out. Take a break. We’ll go out for dinner and then take in a basketball game in the city.”

I was more than a little worried about how much I still needed to do, but seeing the concern in Gary’s eyes, I agreed.

“You win. But nothing too fancy. OK?”

At least that won me a hug and a kiss. True to his word, we ate at a small local Italian restaurant, Belsorriso. There were only a handful of tables, fifteen at the most. The owner was the greeter and seater and waiter. He was probably in his late sixties, maybe even older. He displayed an incredible Italian accent and it seems was a retired violinist from the city’s orchestra. Younger men did the delivery of meals and the bussing. They bore a resemblance which led me to believe they were his grandchildren or other relatives. There were so many unique things in this little restaurant. At least they were unique to me. The menu was hand written. Not a photocopy of handwriting, but actually penned on lovely stock. I’m sure it was Mr. Belsorriso’s own fine, if wobbly, script. At least he didn’t have too much to write. It contained a vertical list of only nine words: Antipasti, Minestre, Paste, Pesce, Vitello, Agnelo, Bistecche, Risotto, Dolci. Gary’s helpful translation was: Appetizers, Soup, Pasta, Fish, Veal, Lamb, Steak, Rice, Desserts. You received the main ingredient in whichever manner it was being prepared that day. In a way, this made perfect sense, especially for the limited number of customers he could entertain.

After one ordered, you could walk to a large table in the center of the room where there were about fifty bottles of wine. Choose one, bring it to your table and he would uncork it for you. When we decided against alcohol, a bottle of San Pellegrino appeared, along with a plate of fresh bread, deliciously spiced cold cuts and surprisingly sharp cheese. My veal was al marsala, prepared tableside with considerable panache. Gary’s fish was a small whole one – head and all – whose name I did not recognize, stuffed with a cheesy, creamy, spinach mix. Admittedly, I took more than my share of samples from Gary’s plate.

As if it couldn’t get any finer, Mr. Belsorriso, between his varied duties, wandered around playing the violin for us. The sweet serenity of that meal was in sharp contrast to the extremely noisy basketball game which followed. It was an altogether wonderful and distracting evening. Gary was clearly correct. I found myself beginning to trust his instincts more and more. Signaled by a deepening coral aura, I might even have been falling in love with him.

The remainder of March saw me accelerate my already hectic schedule. I was able to fit in a few visits with Abigail. As I had expected, she was the keeper of a trove of Martin memorabilia. I made sketches of Anders, the founder, and a few of his descendents, including my Anders’ father. The assumption was correct that he was the latest resident of the tomb. It wasn’t clear to me how many or how exactly these Martins would fit into my final painting, but I had enough sketches to cover any contingency. In an ‘a-ha’ moment, I determined to make this the centerpiece of the gallery’s New Glory exhibit.

I suspended my nightly workouts with Gary to fit in more painting time. I hastily left the table after each meal, returning to my room to continue. Four hours was becoming my normal amount of sleep. My body was adjusting to it now, or the adrenalin caused by worry was an adequate stay-awake drug.

A short fuse is foreign to my makeup. Throughout my life, I’ve either let it go or let it fester. But as the month drew to a close, the sheer volume of work remaining on my portfolio began to eat at me. I became snippy with my friends. Worse, I lost my muse.

It all came to a head one evening at the apartment. Joanne had prepared a tasty meal of pork chops and steak fries. I took a few bites but had to rush to the bathroom where I hurled anything left in my stomach. I couldn’t bring myself to eat, no matter what, so I cleaned up and returned to my room only to stare at the blank canvass. The same one which was supposed to be full of a painting from some sketches on the table next to it.

I stared at that damn canvass for fifteen minutes. I couldn’t even conjure a color base to begin the painting. I can’t remember doing it, but I must have stepped back near the doorway and, once again, attempt to mar Anders’ woodwork with the banging of my head. I only realized what I had been doing when Gary enveloped me from behind with one of his warm hugs.

“I’m dead. I’ve lost all my creativity. I’ll never finish the portfolio at this rate.”

“You’re not dead, Toph. You’re only stressed. You need to be away from everything for a while. You’ll return refreshed and still with plenty of time to finish all your tasks.”

“Return?”

“Yes. If you will agree, we’ll spend the first half of April on the gulf coast of Texas. We’ll laze in the sun, thinking of nothing but the crash of the waves and the noise of the gulls. You badly need this, Toph. Please say yes.” He concluded his plea with a soft kiss and nuzzle on my cheek. I began considering what he had proposed. Maybe I took a little too long, for he brought me out of my slight reverie by a gentle squeeze from his welcoming arms.

“Yes, I’ll go. I’m not doing anything here, so it can’t possibly get any worse.”

“I’ll take care of everything. Now relax, please. Come back and eat something. Forget your stress.”

Joanne was already reheating my plate as I returned to the kitchen, rejoining my friends. During the next few hours of their company and support, I actually experienced my nervousness ebbing.

That night, for the second time, I slept with Gary. But on this occasion, sensing the correct moment had arrived wreathed in rich crimson, I asked him to make love to me.

Anticipation.