Shoulder Season - 3. Chapter 3

“You are ruthless. Truly mean.”

Timmy smiled as I reacted to his comments about another piece of my artwork he said needed to be assigned to either the dumpster or consigned to an art gallery for resale. He slayed me when he said he didn’t know if anyone with an artist’s eye would want to purchase it. Apparently, my owning it didn’t signify that I had an artist’s eye, or my ownership didn’t have enough cachet for provenance to entice other buyers. He smiled to let me know that there was teasing underpinning his seriousness. We enjoyed the ever-escalating drama of his comments.

We had removed the pieces of art in the house and stacked them against the walls of each room. We systemically went from room to room to evaluate each piece and decide whether to keep it and, if so, where it was to hang. Unfortunately, more pieces were in the disposal pile than the stack of things to keep. I had tried to make an argument about a piece I really liked, and Timmy said if this exercise was about whether I liked a piece, then we should keep them all. He then gave a long pause and then suggested they be put in the garage and pray that over-wash from a hurricane would take them all. He grinned while he said that. I should have known not to ask him to be professional and brutal in his assessment. However, it seems he only heard the word brutal and didn’t hesitate.

“If you want to be a serious collector, Pate, then focus on a specific genre or artist. These pieces are all over the board. There is no coherence to your collection.”

“How about if I collect art that speaks to me?”

He picked up a painting, “what language is this piece? Pig-Latin?”

I feigned a heart attack and fell across the bed in Trace’s bedroom.

“I think I need a drink if you continue your ruthless attacks on my taste in artwork.”

“No liquor. This needs to be done while you are stone-cold sober. No maudlin, emotion filled responses. Were you drunk when you bought some of these pieces?”

He was right that I often enjoyed the drinks at the art gallery openings. Art spoke to me. That is why I bought the Felicia Preston painting hanging in the living room. We both agreed that piece was brilliant. Other pieces obviously spoke a different language to Timmy.

“Let’s get these paintings to the Collective Gallery. They can set up an exhibit of your art. It can be entitled the “Pate Ruffin Collection.” You can tell people that you are selling your collection and will start to collect contemporary North Carolina art. That is the truth. No more “B” level art from “B” rated artists.”

“Ow, that hurts. “B” art?”

“Okay, “B minus” art.”

Timmy was grinning.

“Will you handle all of the arrangements? I don’t think I can do this.”

“Of course. I am now the official curator of the Pate Ruffin Art Collection. I will enjoy getting rid of some of this dreck and start purchasing some serious artwork. Get that checkbook ready.” He couldn’t wipe the grin from his face.

Timmy fell across the bed, and we started kissing. Before too long, we had deflowered the bedroom. It was our first time making love in that room. We were lying in bliss with Timmy’s head on my shoulder when he said we should try out each bedroom. I chuckled and said we should try each room in the house, not just the bedrooms. Timmy then suggested we should try different positions and activities in each room. He was ready to start reviewing the Kama Sutra. He told me what he hoped would happen on the breakfast room table. I would never think of the kitchen countertop again in the same way after he finished his detailed description of what we would do. We fell into a fit of giggles with the craziness of some of our ideas. We then looked at each other and knew we would do exactly as discussed. I couldn’t wait.

I slapped Timmy’s butt and told him we needed to get up and shower before meeting Trace and Michelle for dinner. This was a huge step for us. We were going out socially as a couple. Most of our social life has been at home - hidden away and safe from prying eyes. Tonight, we would take it to the next step.

We stood in the foyer and checked each other before heading out the front door. I loved that we were dressed alike, yet I also hated that notion. We weren’t exactly twins because we were so different in size and shape, but we both wore navy shorts, yellow Izods, and deck shoes. We did have on different belts. Ha! But more important than our clothes, we both wore silly grins on our faces. And we couldn’t stop touching each other. We were two men in love.

“Get your ass in the Jeep before I take you to bedroom number 3 and try out the trapeze.”

“There isn’t a trapeze in that bedroom.”

“Not yet!” I grinned like a madman and saw an evil smirk in return.

We drove the beach road to Corolla. As we pulled into the restaurant parking lot, I saw Trace and Michelle getting out of their car. We hugged them before Michelle grabbed Timmy’s hand and said they had much to discuss. Timmy looked terrified. I laughed.

We were seated on the deck overlooking the sound. After initial cocktails and appetizers, we ordered different seafood entrees. We placed the food in the center of the table and asked for salad plates which we used when we chose what we wanted to eat from the feast before us.

“Okay, Timmy, it is time for truth or consequences.”

Timmy nodded his head as he looked at Michelle. Trace grinned and said it was show time. He told Timmy that Michelle could be invasive with her line of questions.

“Bring it on. I am ready for this.”

Michelle couldn’t hide her grin. She accepted his comment as a challenge.

“First, what is your last name? I only know you as Timmy, or ET, or the boy in the next bedroom screaming, “fuck me Pate, fuck your boy.” I burst out laughing as Timmy turned bright red.

“My last name is Beach Bottom Boy.” He said it with a straight face - no hint of amusement or sarcasm.

“Really?”

“Nope, I am kidding. My actions don’t dictate my name. My name is Timothy Jones, Jr.”

Michelle pretended to put a checkmark on an imaginary pad.

“How did you get the name ET?”

“That is a question for Pate. He uses it because of my misshapen finger. Pate is the only person who is allowed to use that name.”

“Is anything else misshapen?”

Timmy burst out laughing. He looked down at his lap, opened the zipper of his shorts, and grinned. Certainly nothing is misshapen down there. Straight as a piece of steel and just as hard.”

We all laughed.

“Actually, I do have a part of me that is not quite right?”

We all looked on in anticipation.

“My brain. I have an artist’s brain, and true artists cannot be right in the head if they are to be successful. I see the world in a different way. So, I guess you could say it is misshapen.”

“Wow, I didn’t expect that. You act normal – well, outside the bedroom. Next, where were you born?”

“Guam.”

My mouth fell open. There was so much I had to learn about my man.

“That is interesting. Are you a Navy brat?”

Timmy grinned. “I am a brat, for sure.” Timmy had a lascivious grin as he licked his lips. Michelle and Trace almost fell out of their chairs laughing. I was starting to chub.

“What is your first memory?”

For the first time, Timmy looked very uncomfortable.

“I can’t talk about that.” All of the color drained from Timmy’s face.

“Why not?”

“Michelle!” Trace heard the fear in Timmy’s voice and said Michelle’s name in a voice that was a clear intervention not to pursue that line of questioning.

“I’m just trying to try out information on the boy who has our Pate so smitten.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t talk about any of that.”

I reached over and grabbed Timmy’s hand. I could feel his racing pulse.

Michelle was not to be deterred.

“Okay, Mr. Artiste, what is your favorite color?”

“Orpiment?”

“Huh?”

Timmy grinned. “Orpiment. It is yellow that was very popular during the Renaissance. It is basically arsenic sulfide. I studied the creation of colors in art school and was fascinated by how artists made their own paints and the pigments used throughout history. During the Renaissance, yellow represented joy, happiness, and optimism. I dream of having a painter’s studio where I make my own paints before painting large-scale works. I want to grind different substances and then mix them with emollients to achieve colors that no one else is using. I don’t want to just purchase tubes of paint from Dick Blick Art Supplies. My next favorite color is blue.”

“Yeah, since you live at the beach and with all of the ocean scenes, blue would be a necessary color.”

“But, Michelle, the ocean isn’t blue. Many people think that it is. They are wrong. Look at the water right now, you see green, grey, black, brown, and some yellow, but you don’t see blue. We are not in the Caribbean. Besides, blue is a very unstable color when exposed to light, so you must know how to mix it, or it will not hold up over time. It has to do with the spectrum of light……”

Michelle cut him off. “You are talking about things over my head.”

I grinned while thinking my boyfriend had a body of knowledge different from the rest of us and that he was so intense when questioned about his passion.

“Where did you get your art degree?”

“I went to East Carolina. It has a highly regarded art school, and it was close enough for me to commute.”

“So, you missed out on the shenanigans of living in the dorm. That is a shame.”

“I lived in the dorm for two years and then moved back home. I lived with my granny, mother, step-dad, and half-brothers.”

“You are so cute. I think that all of the men would have wanted you to be their boyfriend. When did you lose your cherry?”

I could feel Timmy’s hand shaking and remembered the story of his being abused. I interjected.

“I wish I had been at school with Timmy. I would have made him mine and protected him.” Timmy gave me a grateful look. “It took a while, but we are together now.”

Michelle nodded.

“It is like you are meant to be. I am lucky I found Eustace; he is my great protector.”

“Honey, you are so fierce; I think you protect me.”

They shared a kiss, and I was instantly jealous that Timmy and I hadn’t kissed in public. Yet.

“One last question. Have you always been so close to your granny? She is an absolute jewel.”

Just at that moment, the waiter appeared. We asked for coffees all around and the dessert menu.

“My granny has always been there for me. Since moving back to North Carolina, she has been my rock. I would not be alive today except for her. I would do anything she asked.”

“One last question before dessert. Why Pate? You are so different.”

We were all stunned by the question. Timmy took a moment and then turned in his chair, facing me. He took my hands in his.

“From the moment we met, I knew it was you. You are solid and dependable. You are honest to a fault. You are supportive yet headstrong about doing things your way. You are loving and take me to the moon and back. We both are perverted in the same ways while making love.” I grinned and leaned in to kiss his mouth. Now was the time. “You are a paradox. You are a set of Chinese boxes I will spend the rest of my life unpacking. You are Madder Lake Red which is one of the most stable colors in natural pigments. I am Green Earth pigment which is an underpinning color on the palette. Green Earth supports other colors as I am here to support you in all of your madness.” He smiled at the pun.

There was silence at the table. We were processing what Timmy had said. None of us had heard him speak from such a place of knowing and understanding. Just as I was about to respond, the waiter arrived. He looked at us and asked if everything was alright. We all nodded while still thinking about the colors of our lives.

There was little conversation as we ate our desserts. How could we top what Timmy had said? We walked hand in hand through the restaurant and to our vehicles. After hugs and kisses, we climbed into the Jeep to head home. Timmy grabbed my hand, and I could feel his shaking.

“We need to talk. Just the two of us.”

My breath caught, and I said yes to Timmy’s request that we go to the beach when we got home.