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- 01/13/2016
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Toph's Empty Year - 5. Late October
Steve.
Steve and I have been sort of seeing each other since the middle of the month.
The first night was at a dark table near the rear of Angie’s Tap Room. Yes, they actually named it a tap room. Nico’s perfect fake ID looked better than Steve’s genuine one. At least it did to the waitress/bartendress.
Steve asked if I was really 22. I confessed my true age.
I asked if he was actually 22. He said he was. That’s how I knew his ID was genuine.
I don’t drink, but everyone knows beers don’t count.
We each sipped on a Sam.
We spoke with quiet voices about this and that.
We spoke with our eyes about that and this, our upcoming relationship.
We essentially made plans for a future date. Future, as in the very next day when Steve was off work.
I’ve come to discover Steve doesn’t plan too far into the future. I’m perfectly comfortable with it. We were not in it for the long haul. I was perfectly comfortable with that too. This relationship was important to me for at least two entirely valid reasons.
First, it was not hidden. Not from my small group of friends, not from my apartment mates and not from the world. Anywhere we went, it was utterly obvious we were together. I’ll tell you something. For me, it was a cathartic experience.
Second, it was two months since I last had sex. Finally, I was freed from all my pent up frustration. I’m certain I was becoming not nice to be around. Actually, it took us a number of days to build up to full sex.
The first night, after we left Angie’s, Steve slipped into my car in the parking lot. He and I kissed. It was very nice. I was not used to kissing. It was all we did because I was about to leave for work. I thought it was tender. It made me smile all night, as I tagged items and straightened goods on the counters.
The next morning, we stopped to chat for a few moments. He reminded me of our date that evening. Verifying I had his address, we planned to meet after he was off work. The first date was dinner at a little restaurant which was quiet and dark. Steve never took his eyes off me. I never took my eyes off Steve.
Later, we returned to his empty apartment. After I entered, Steve pushed the door shut and pushed me gently into it. For the first time in my life, I experienced a full body kiss. I knew he wanted to go faster, wanted to go farther. The wonderful thing was, he didn’t. It wasn’t anything I said, or any of my body language. In fact, my body language probably screamed, “Fuck Me!”
For a guy who didn’t plan too far ahead, Steve was actually doing just that. He seemed to understand a quick sexual experience would end our relationship that very night. It would be a one-off. And so, he steered us to a sofa, where we made out while mostly relaxing and watching TV until it was time for me to leave for work.
Steve’s apartment is shared with one other dude, Merle, a 23 year old accountant. I’ve come to like Merle. He was a pretty chill guy. Merle’s in an oddkward relationship with a girl, spending most of his evenings at her place, but never overnight. He hadn’t ever mentioned her by name, at least to me. This, of course, freed Steve’s place for us, not that Merle would have ever been any hindrance. About three or four times a week, I met Steve after he left work at 5, spending the evening until it was my turn to leave for work.
Steve loves to kiss, a departure from Austin. I’ve been learning to love it too. Kissing added a certain dimension which had been missing from my previous relationship. Our kissing led to the next step, bringing each other off in various ways, from using our hands through frottage. We finally arrived at the comfort level he felt necessary for oral sex. In his patient approach, Steve was correct, of course. The bonus was a growing fondness for each other. A few days later it was time--long overdue--for me to enjoy what Steve was packing. I was slightly apprehensive the first time, because of my having experience with only one other partner. I needn’t have worried. Steve was gentle and affectionate in our lovemaking. He so filled and fulfilled me, I soon forgot my concerns. Thankfully, it was a Saturday night and I chose to stay over. We made love twice; each time was more tender than I had ever remembered sex. Steve finally fell asleep a little after midnight. I couldn’t sleep until 8 AM, of course. It proved to be all for the good.
I didn’t want to go home right away. We made a deeper connection that night. I believed going home while Steve slept would feel too much like a hookup, for both of us. I intended to busy myself until morning. I wanted us to say goodbye after a wake-up kiss. As I wandered around the apartment, looking for something to read, Merle came home. He brought out some beers and we talked until after three. It was an ideal opportunity to meet Steve’s roommate. Merle was a very nice guy, although we didn’t have too much in common, except Steve. It seems Merle and Steve had known each other for years, even having been in high school together. So, in addition to learning more about Merle, I discovered more about Steve. I was pretty sure Merle implied he was the first person Steve came out to. In any event, I was glad I stayed. That morning, Steve couldn’t hide his pleasure I had remained the night.
I had never brought Steve home to my apartment. I think it bothered him a little. It isn’t Anders and Gary didn’t know about Steve. I’d by no means hidden the fact we see each other. I’d never concealed where I spent those evenings. I was sure they would welcome Steve as much as they welcomed Joanne.
So what was the problem? I was acutely aware of Gary’s feelings. He’d never said anything, but he didn’t need to. I’m not thick. Gary has feelings for me. Somehow I sensed he understood Steve was no long-term threat. I think he was biding his time, waiting Steve out. Gary is a general, not a lieutenant.
I really didn’t want to flaunt Steve in Gary’s face. Neither deserved it. I didn’t know what to do about Gary. When Steve and I are ended, the problem with Gary will remain. I didn’t want to jeopardize my living here. It’s simply too perfect. I also had the unsettling suspicion Gary and I weren’t well-suited, long term. I mean, I knew from experience how wealthy people were with love and relationships. Ultimately, I knew I needed a close and devoted relationship. So again, I didn’t know what to do about Gary.
Back to Steve. Our sex was relaxed. Our sex was good. He’d asked me to top a few times, not my preferred position. I’d enjoyed it because Steve had, but he preferred to top. We were pretty sexually compatible.
Don’t get the impression our evenings were sex romps. We did other stuff, and then had sex, usually finishing about an hour before I left. It gave us time to settle down, and me to shower and look pretty for the ghosts, I suppose. Yes, except for a cleaning crew, I worked alone on the Vampire shift.
. . . . . . .
“Toph, this is stunning and subtly different from your other portraits. This boy has fire beneath his outer appearance. This was your lover, no doubt about it.” Naomi was sagacious, as always.
The new, darker painting at Naomi’s had indeed become Austin. But unlike the others, Austin fought from escaping the canvass. He fought me and fought the canvass. I found I could not work on him for long periods of time. The process of freeing Austin was simply too taxing on my psyche. Austin was still not completed, even after several weeks!
“Naomi, I’m crashing into some sort of invisible barrier with this painting. Has this ever happened with you? What can I do?”
Naomi gave me a knowing look. I could tell she had been observing my inadequacy to realize this latest portrait.
“Barriers are within you Toph. You cannot finish this painting because there is something unfinished between you and the boy in the painting. Finish that, and the painting will complete itself.”
“I can’t go back, Naomi. I cannot go back!”
And so, an unrepentant Austin was placed in a storage room. Perhaps over the course of time, he will be joined by others. I spent the remainder of the month idly playing with brush strokes and layering. Naomi’s seemed to echo Austin’s ghost. I couldn’t think there, couldn’t dream there, and couldn’t paint there. It would be a while before I could begin anything in Naomi’s studio again. I was simply too emotionally drained.
Thankfully, I was able to begin a new painting at home. I let my mind go blank as it chose the colors. The pastels were shades of green and yellow, but there was a disconcerting shade of pink that my hand was drawn to. I put it back, realizing at once the clash it would represent. That was foolish; my hand was drawn to it again. I succumbed. What the hell, I figured, it couldn’t be worse than Austin’s catastrophe. As broad swaths filled the canvass, I wondered what would emerge.
. . . . . . . .
Heeding Joanne’s advice, I began talking with Gary a lot, the evenings I was home. Apparently he was a decent tennis player and had been trying to entice me into a game at his club. I was weakening. He’ll probably wear me down by November. I needed the exercise anyway. Painting wasn’t too physical, unless you threw a canvass across the room, which had happened only once so far.
Gary was also attempting to convince me to join a gym to work out again. Naturally, he had suggested the one to which he belonged.
“Toph, we could drive there together before dinner a few times a week. It would be so much easier if we both were at the same place. It’ll also eliminate any excuses for not going.”
He made compelling arguments. But I wasn't naive. I knew The General was skirmishing. However, I did need to work out and tennis was singing its siren’s song. The result was I joined his gym.
I know, he won this skirmish!
A couple nights a week, when I’m not meeting Steve, Gary picked me up after his work and we spent some time at the gym. I wasn't quite ready for the tennis commitment, but it was only a matter of time. It was inevitable.
I also learned a few things about Gary. I now knew he sails. His family had a yacht anchored in Florida and another in Maine. Gary expressed a desire to sail with me, one place or the other, or both, next spring and summer. The General was laying out his long term campaign. Would I be strong enough to resist? How did he even know I love to sail? I got the uneasy feeling The General was way craftier than I previously believed.
. . . . . . . .
I met a new and interesting person.
I had been visiting the gallery a day each week. I would spend an hour or two, usually confining myself to one or two of its rooms. As I explained before, there was much good work there. I didn’t want to absently walk by something of interest. Each painting in each room received my full attention and non-expert interpretation. Painting is a lot like poetry. What the viewer observes is not always what the artist was considering. I think it’s what makes all the arts come to life. Good plays, good music, good literature and good art all have these multifaceted dimensions.
In a room devoted to Dadaism, I was amazed to discover an actual Duchamp sculpture. As I was studying it, someone cleared his throat. I turned around to see a shortish, dapperly dressed gentleman of probably fifty years. He was dressed in a sort of 1920s-modern fashion, including a bright blue bow tie!
“I’ve seen you here quite a lot, my friend. I’m delighted someone seems to understand how to properly enjoy a gallery. Oh, I’m sorry, you don’t even know who I am.”
Introducing himself as Lucius Junia, he observed my wide-eyed look.
“I see you know your Roman history as well my friend. Junia is my family name, but my parents had a perverse sense of humor. Either that, or they forgot our republic was already established and didn’t need another founder. I’m only thankful they didn’t add Brutus as a middle name. Call me Luke, please!”
“I’m pleased to meet you Luke, my name is Christopher, but call me Toph. I take it you are in charge here?”
“Yes, indeed. I had been wondering if you were the one Naomi talked about. I see my guess was correct.”
We had a very long chat that afternoon. Luke seemed to be the perfect curator for the gallery. He even invited me to his office. Over a small glass of Sherry, he explained some of the difficulties such a small gallery had, despite several impressive works. We also discussed his plans for its future. I was impressed with both his wit and intellect.
My future visits to uncover what this place embraces will be more meaningful because of our visit. This made my anticipation all the greater.
. . . . . . . .
One thing my relationship with Steve had accomplished was Joanne seemed to have abandoned her matchmaking. Of course The General clearly didn’t need her anymore. I was sure there were charts and battle plans drawn up somewhere in his office. I certainly intended to stay on guard.
Since I was at the apartment for meals only a few nights each week, Joanne and I usually ended up in deep conversations when I helped her prepare dinner. My soup supply hardly ever got accessed anymore.
I was surprised it took me this long to discover she was a business teacher at New Glory High. She was in charge of something called an academy. She placed students in various businesses for internships, while they were still in high school. They even worked in those placements for summer employment. In fact, two of her academy students were currently interning at my credit union. I was sure it helped with their college applications. Needless to say, Joanne put in many extra hours each week, keeping on top of it all.
From Joanne, I’d learned Anders worked in the city for MetLife. I didn’t think he sold insurance though. She had never volunteered where Gary works, nor had he. Of course, I’d never ask. He was clearly someone with clout, if he had the power to fire--not to mention wearing Armani.
. . . . . . . .
Surprisingly, for someone who had been going with his girlfriend since high school, Big Joe seemed to be entering a phase I can only describe as puppy love. It was quite remarkable, and entertaining.
“Betty, what’s up with Big Joe? He’s beginning to behave like a lovesick fifteen year-old.”
“I know, sometimes he sits and stares off into space, hardly eating his lunch.”
“Do you suppose they're talking marriage?”
“I don’t know Toph, he’s said he wanted to wait until he was a full partner, but it sure looks like he’s dreaming of other plans.”
“Maybe there’s trouble in paradise?”
“No, it’s not a worried look.”
“I agree. Don’t even know why I said it. Only trying to figure it out, I guess.”
Soon after, Big Joe came in, slipping onto the stool next to me. We exchanged greetings and ordered. While I was eating, I needed to restart each conversation because his mind would wander as I was speaking. Betty only shrugged her shoulders. I don’t think Joe ate much of anything.
“Is everything alright, Joe?”
“Huh? ..Oh sure, just fine.”
“You seem a little distracted is all.”
“No, Toph, things are fine …just fine.” He smiled at me.
OK, all I had to do was call him out on it, but I didn’t have the nerve to ask him yet. Perhaps next week, if he’s still like this.
Speaking of unlikely behavior, toward the end of the month I began to be visited by nightmares. I think it’s proper to call them nightmares, even though I sleep mornings. These scary dreams always involved my family. What made them so frightening is I was friendly with my family and they were friendly with me. I wasn't speaking of Charles, who would make more sense, but it was Clarence and my father who were friendly. I woke up each time in cold sweats!
Could it be a premonition that they were up to something? Were they going to attempt a sabotage of my now happy life? I’d tried to always be financially independent, never requesting handouts as my siblings constantly did. I couldn’t think of any way they had power over me. Why was I conjuring up these imaginings? Should I check the drug store for sleeping pills or something to drive me deeper than dream level?
As if the dreams weren’t enough, my car was starting to resent me too. By requiring a major repair each week or so, it was showing signs something was clearly wrong. I wondered if it was time for a replacement. It was difficult not to think about trading while I was driving, but the last thing I needed was for the car to know. If it realized what I was considering, it would find a way to punish me. I should maybe talk to the nice folks at the credit union next time I cash my check. It was certainly time to discover if new car payments would be much higher than my monthly repair bills.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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