6.
That was the afternoon he saw Monica and Emma for the first time. So that was the reason for the large van outside the past day or so. In the house next door, on the second floor, all the windows were wide open. There were no curtains yet. The furniture stood in clusters. Boxes stood stacked, waiting for unpacking, sorting, putting away of their contents.
Two women moved about, one in a wheelchair. Mick was distracted from his work, curious, nosy, just interested peripherally. Then the other woman leaned out the window, and Mick's heart skipped a beat. She was incredibly beautiful. Not leggy and tall like Lisa, but more petite. Not loungy in black dresses like Lisa, but neat and preppy. She didn't have a musky frizz ball, but straight hair that gleamed like ribbon candy, butterscotch, golden, as it hung straight down and was cut with precision in a line just touching her shoulders all around. Her face was exactly proportioned, in soft lines, not hard like Lisa's. As a painter, Mick knew lines. Most women could emphasize their features by losing weight to bring out more sharpness, more boniness. It made them look younger. This woman simply had the right lines. She had a full, rich mouth; no lipstick, just the natural caramel color. Her cheeks tapered nicely, from slight dimples by the mouth up to full cheekbones that were understated and soft but there. The cheekbones in turn rose softly on the outside of each eye. The eyes were direct, and firm, and humorous. There was no hardness in them, no calculation, no scheming for next month's rent or the next meal. This woman came from money, Mick thought, and sure enough, he saw her later in the day driving off in a green Jaguar with caramel leather upholstery.
Mick was so excited he came home tripping over the cracks in the sidewalks. Ben was in the kitchen having a beer while packing gunpowder into his casings. That meant he'd be going hunting soon, Mick knew.
Mick ran up the stairs. Lisa was still asleep, though it was noon. Must have closed the bar last night, as the expression went; which meant she'd stayed a good hour or more after, helping to clean up, count the change, divide up the tips. "Lisa! Lisa!"
"Mmm, Mickey, I'm sleeping."
"Lisa, I did it. I sold the paintings. Eight watercolors. Biggest sale I ever!" He swallowed hard, saliva fighting with words to get out. "Two thousand four hundred bucks! The gallery downtown bought them. I'm going to go to grad school next year for sure."
Lisa yawned. "That's great, Mickey." She stretched. "Good work, my man!"
He kissed her, and she squealed as he struggled under the covers with her. It was good to sell paintings. It was good to make love. "Oh," she said, "easy, easy," but she closed her eyes and fell back into a half sleep. He rocked steadily against her, an easy pleasure, gently butting the breath out of her each time he landed, and she put her arms behind her head, eyes still closed, and groaned pleasurably. He finished, squatting with her legs around his waist, and she gave a little pleased smile. "That was nice," she said.
Mick set up his easel and put a new canvas in place while she dressed for work. "I'm going to pick up my part of the rent," she said. "It's only fair."
"Thanks." He still felt lame about having asked her. Somehow, something cold and gray had made its way into their relationship. Business. He wished he'd never asked.
"I'll be home late," she said, giving him a peck on the cheek before clattering down the stairs on her heels. He heard her knock on Ben's door. The door opened. They had another conversation, not muted, but not understandable. Then Lisa went loudly out the front door. He watched her fumble for her keys, get into her battered car with the rusty fender, and drive off.
Thank you for reading. If you love it, tell your friends. Please post a favorable review at Amazon, Good Reads, and other online resources. If you want to thank the author, you may also buy a copy for the low price of a cup of coffee. It's called Read-a-Latte: similar (or lower) price as a latte at your favorite coffeeshop, but the book lasts forever while the beverage is quickly gone. Thank you (JTC).
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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