Paint It, Black Page 3

  “Sure. I found lots to sketch. The dogs were so cute wearing the shoes. And the kittens! Here.” I opened my pad to the page where I’d caught a cat sleeping in a boot.

  “Oh, that’s so precious. You are gifted, my friend,” he said, seemingly awed by what he saw. He flipped through the pad and stopped at a drawing of him in action as he’d moved around taking pictures and adjusting poses.

  “Is this what I look like when I’m working?” he mused, moving from one page to the next.

  “To my eye, at least. You have a restless energy that’s fun to capture on paper.”

  “Amazing,” he muttered, going back and forth between pages.

  “I’m glad you like them. I don’t think about it much, what I can do with a pen or pencil. It’s just something I’ve always done since I was a kid waiting around for my sister to pick me up at school.”

  Elias looked at me expectantly, but I wasn’t ready to share much else. “The drawings are yours.”

  He seemed surprised by that. “Really?”

  I nodded. “Yup. I have lots of pads at home and this was just for kicks. Do whatever you want with ‘em. I don’t care.”

  “Thanks, that’s really nice of you.” And the look he gave me—happy, friendly, with a hint of more—made me almost want to…well. That wouldn’t be a good idea, no matter how tempting.

  “No worries. I’m gonna head out. I’ll see you in two weeks’ time, okay? And thanks again for inviting me over. I enjoyed it.”

  He pulled me in for a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek, which I felt down to my toes. “It was my pleasure. Some of the models wanted to know if you’d be in the shoot, too, right after they asked for your phone number.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, no. I saw the temper tantrums a few of them had today. It’s a wonder you didn’t get a black eye when that guy threw his boot at you. I want none of that nonsense, thank you very much.”

  He grinned. “Me, either. But it’s a living. Hey,” he said, clapping his hands. “Are you in a hurry to go? I could use your help with something, now that I think about it.”

  “Okay…” I raised an eyebrow.

  “You’ll like this, I swear. Come on.”

  I followed him to a room I hadn’t noticed at the back of the studio. It turned out to be his office. He sat behind the desk and moved around the mouse to wake up the computer screen. Then, he clicked on a folder called RockFestHoeDown.

  I stood behind him and looked over his shoulder as he clicked through some amazing photos. He brought up two of them, side by side. “I’m trying to decide which one to use as the lead image. I have my preference, but what do you think?”

  I leaned a little closer, taking in his sweaty scent and underlying cologne that was distracting. Ignoring it as best I could, I studied both photos. One showcased the lead singer in mid-flight, jumping over a hay bale, microphone in one hand and cowboy hat in the other. He wore a Pantera T-shirt and black leather pants with brown cowboy boots. Sweat was flying out of his auburn hair, and the crowd to the side of the stage was screaming in delight. The other photo had two violinists facing off against two electric guitarists in the middle of the stage, each pair totally intent on winning the battle.

  “Man, they’re both so alive, you can almost touch ‘em.” I stared at them again, and decided. “The violinist showdown.”

  Elias chuckled. “That was the one I chose, too, though I think they both work. Thanks.” He made a note to himself, then activated the screensaver. “How about some food before you go? I’m starving.”

  My stomach growled at his comment. “I guess I am, too,” I replied, chuckling.

  “Great! How about we eat at the tavern across from your job? It’s quick and easy.”

  I shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

  I followed him out of the studio, and after he locked up, we headed out for some grub.

  * * * *

  “So tell me about your job,” Elias said while he dug into a huge bacon cheeseburger.

  “Eh, it’s a living.” I wiped my mouth before taking a sip of beer. “I don’t mind it. There’s variety and enough drama to keep me interested. Maybe I’ll become a manager someday, or try something else. It’ll do. And I have drawing as an outlet, so I’m good.”

  “How long have you worked there?”

  “Let’s see.” I took a bite of chicken. “I was twenty-four when I started, so six years.”

  Elias snorted. “There’s no way you’re thirty. You look eighteen.”

  I winked at him. “Cheekbones, I’ve been told.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, maybe that’s it. I’m thirty-nine, by the way.” As he worked through his fries, Elias asked, “So, I know you said you don’t do dating, but have you ever?” At my wary look, he quickly added, “I’m just curious. Guy like you probably has them dropping like flies.” If he only knew how true that was, and not in a good way.

  “Sex people can get whenever, wherever. I’ve gotten tired of all that. I just want to be…I want to change things.” Suddenly, my food didn’t seem so appetizing.

  Elias frowned. “Did I put my foot in it again? I’m sorry, what did I say?”

  I sighed. “It’s not you, Elias. There are things about me…I…I’ve done things and acted in ways that would make a porn star blush. I’m trying to be different, but I’m not sure if I can. Maybe once a slut, always a slut.”

  “Hey, now. If that’s what you want to do, it’s okay. But don’t do it because people judge you or want you to become something that deep down you’re not. That’s not fair to you.” He leaned across the table and lightly touched my hand. “If you ever want to talk to someone, I’d be happy to listen.”

  All I could do was nod. I didn’t know what else to say. It was kind of him to offer an ear, though he’d known me for only a little while.

  “Finish your food and I’ll buy you an ice cream cone from this place I love not far from here.”

  I dredged up a smile. “I haven’t done the photo shoot yet.”

  “You’ll still get one after that.”

  I laughed. “Okay, you’re on.”

  Minutes later, I ended up with cherry and vanilla scoops in a waffle cone, and he had pistachio. The place he’d chosen was five minutes from my apartment, actually, so that was cool. We walked beside each other, eating our ice cream and people-watching in the little plaza where we strolled.

  As we turned a corner, I almost bumped into Ry Archibald and Georgie Baldt. “Hey, guys,” I said, noting how they held hands and just seemed to be so content with their lot in life. I felt a deep ache inside me. Why couldn’t I be like them? Would I ever be good enough?

  “Trent!” Georgie exclaimed and gave me a hug. Totally unexpected, since I could have sworn he’d despised me back in the day, but maybe I’d been wrong, or something had changed his opinion. “How’ve you been?”

  “Okay, I guess. You and Ry seem to be doing fine.” Elias cleared his throat beside me. “Oh, sorry. Guys, this is Elias. He owns a photography studio across the street from the store and he takes a mean photo. You should have him take pictures of you. I bet that’d be hot, right, Elias?”

  He gave me a quick look, which I wasn’t sure how to interpret. “Yeah. Here’s a card.” He dug one out of his wallet and handed it to Georgie, who gave it to Ry. “Give me a call.”

  Ry replied, “We will.” After pocketing the card, he said, “I saw that poster of Trent in the window of the Goth shop. Everybody’s talking about it at work.” He and Elias seemed to be taking each other’s measure. What the hell?

  After a few seconds, Ry added, “You’re really good, man.”

  Elias nodded his thanks.

  To me, Ry said, “See you at the store,” and I stepped aside so they could pass us on the sidewalk.

  I watched them walk away before turning back and continuing on with Elias.

  “You and Ry had a thing, didn’t you?” he asked.

  Crap. Of course, he noticed. “It was just sex, okay? Another godda
mn notch on my bed post. But he wanted someone else, somebody smart, innocent and not like me at all.” I sighed. “He’s with the right guy. They’re fucking made for each other. How about we go into that store over there? I want to check out the clothes.”

  Before Elias could answer, I walked off, determined to put our conversation behind me.

  * * * *

  Turns out, neither of us was in the mood to continue our impromptu late afternoon window-shopping experience, so after a brief argument, I let Elias drive me home.

  Once he parked in front of my building, he turned to face me. “Trent, what do you want out of life?”

  I was taken aback by the frank question. “Where’s this coming from?”

  “You say you don’t want to be in a relationship with anyone, but I would swear on my life that you wish you had what Ry and Georgie do. You say you’re a slut, but I think you’re hiding behind that label because it’s convenient. Why is it so hard for you to admit to yourself—out loud—that you want companionship, and you’re worthy of it?”

  I didn’t want to hear this right now. “You don’t get to ask me those fucking questions, Elias.”

  I started to get out of the car, but he put a hand on my thigh, and I stopped. “Am I your friend?” he asked, eyes piercing my very soul with their intensity.

  Snarling at him, I asked, “Why do you care?”

  He didn’t flinch. “Answer the question.”

  “Yes, you’re my fucking friend. So what?” I snapped.

  He removed his hand. “Take a breath, okay? I’m not going to hurt you, and I think you know that by now.”

  God. I squeezed my eyes shut for a few seconds, and tried to calm down.

  “Friends watch out for each other, Trent. From where I sit, I think you have something in your past that’s still guiding your reactions, and I’d like to help.” His mouth twisted in a grimace. “If I tell you my story, will you tell me yours?”

  I studied his features while the silence stretched between us. Could I do this? “Come up for coffee,” I said at last and opened the car door.

  Once we were inside my apartment, Elias sat at the kitchen table and I brewed us some instant. When it was ready, I poured two cups—he liked it black and so did I—and seated myself across from him. I took a sip and waited.

  Elias was in no hurry. He drank some of his coffee before he began. “Remember when I told you about switching from painting and drawing to working with a camera?”

  I nodded.

  “So, it was my senior year in college. My roommate, Jaime, was also my boyfriend at the time. We’d planned to visit his family in Spain and spend a few months backpacking in Europe. In fact, he was my fiancé. I’d proposed to him earlier that year. He was an artist, too, and had the same classes I did. We had everything in common. It was the perfect relationship. And maybe that was the problem.”

  He ran a finger around the rim of his cup. “I idolized Jaime. Whatever he wanted, I gave him. I look back on it now and realize there was nothing of me in our relationship. It didn’t faze me, at first, when he’d said that money was tight, and maybe we should hold off on our trip. Sure, made sense to me. But then, other things began to change. He would say he had to study or work on his final piece and I wouldn’t see him for hours. He rarely slept in our dorm room anymore. I became concerned. Was it me? Had to be, right?”

  Sighing, he continued, “I’m sure you know where this story is going. Needless to say, I was shocked when, the night before graduation, Jaime told me he was, indeed, going to Europe, but with one of our professors, to whom he’d given the engagement ring for which I’d paid out of my ass. Ain’t that some shit?”

  Yeah, that was fucking low.

  “Needless to say, I had difficulty separating my emotions from my artwork, and I had to step away from it all and try to clear my head. While I was visiting home, I found a camera lying around and started playing with it. After using it for a while, it came to me that art wasn’t limited to a stretched canvas, paint, or pencils. I decided to try a change of direction, and I haven’t looked back since.” He shifted in his chair and drank more coffee.

  “That’s some story,” I said. “You ever hear from Jaime again?”

  Elias chuckled. “My mom called me a few years back to say that he’d stopped by looking for me. Apparently he was given none-too-friendly a welcome by the family.” He sipped his coffee again. “Your turn.”

  The moment of truth. “It’s not a pretty story, Elias. And it may sound like every other tragic tale of teenage brutality, but it’s my tale, and I still have nightmares because of it.” I shuddered and closed my eyes, trying not to throw up.

  I felt his hand on mine. “If you want to do this another time, you can. I don’t want to distress you.”

  “It will always be distressing.” I didn’t move my hand from under his. It was comforting. “My sister, Olivia, raised me. She’s ex-army and pretty damn tough. She still lives back home, and now she has a wife and twin boys to mother to death. I guess doing that for me helped prepare her for the subtle hell of parenthood. Anyway, I would draw on my sketchpad after school while I waited for her to pick me up. As I grew older, I started to notice boys. I hid it, though, because I was small for my age, still am, and bullying was honed to a fine art in my school.

  “When I made it to tenth grade, I met a guy who I thought hung the moon. I assumed he didn’t know I had a crush on him. I mean, he was nice to me, and we hung out for years. I thought of him as my best friend. I still carried around my sketchpad, but now I drew people and scenes from school. The locker room sketches I did when I got home, from memory. They were masturbatory fantasies for years. But I made the mistake of leaving my sketchpad out where it shouldn’t have been, and one evening, my so-called best friend stood by while I was sodomized repeatedly by five members of the football team.”

  Tears ran down my face. “They wouldn’t stop, no matter how much I begged and screamed. They laughed at me, said I deserved it for being such a pervert. When they were finally done, I was dragged into one of the showers and left there, bleeding and broken. Luckily, the night janitor found me.

  “Olivia made sure those assholes got what they deserved. I had therapy, and I transferred to a different district, but my grades were barely above a “C” until I graduated. I just didn’t care anymore, and all I wanted was to be away from the stares and the way everyone seemed to treat me like glass.”

  I finished my coffee, wiped my face, and boiled more water for both of us. “Once I had my diploma, just barely, I told my sister I had to leave town and hoped she’d forgive me eventually. Olivia said she understood and gave me her blessing. I moved here and worked a few jobs until I lucked up with my current gig. The whole thing left me feeling like I’m good only for a fuck. I mean, who would want a guy who was used and tortured like that? It must be me, right? It must be my fault. I sleep around a lot, and I guess I think that’s the best I can do, all I deserve, though yes, I wish for more.”

  Elias reached across the table and gripped my hand. “No one deserves what you went through, Trent. But we all deserve love. You do, too. There’s nothing wrong with you. The fact that you can hold your head up high and go to work every day, have things you’re interested in and be yourself, that’s fucking amazing. You should be proud of that, truly.”

  I sniffled. “It’s hard.”

  “But you’re still here, still fighting. And now, I’m here, too.” He lifted my hand and kissed the back of it. “Thank you for sharing your story with me. I think you’re a brave, beautiful soul, and the world needs more people like you, slutty ways and all.” He winked and I swatted at him.

  I chuckled, though it was a little watery. “Bastard.”

  He laughed. “Nope. My parents were married.”

  Sobering, I said, “Thanks, Elias, for listening. It…you…helped.”

  “I’ll be here whenever you need me. That’s a promise.”

  * * * *

  The nigh
t before the photo shoot at the studio, I worked late. Florina and I had been on the afternoon shift and the lines had been long. The customers had varied between friendly and “get a security guard to escort them out the door.” Maybe it was the warm weather or something in their sippy cups, but it had taken all the patience I could muster not to snap at these people.

  It was after ten before Florina and I called it a night. She invited me to a party later that evening, but I was too tired to do anything but crash in my own bed. I kissed her cheek before she left and focused on getting my stuff out of the locker.

  I thought I heard something fall in the hallway, but I didn’t worry about it, since there were a few of us left in the store. I grabbed my bag and left the room, waving goodbye to the people remaining as I walked out the back door.

  And came face to face with Leroy standing near the Dumpster. I broke out in a cold sweat in the warm air. Shit.

  He’d left me alone since our last encounter, and I’d been relieved, putting it out of my mind after reporting him. Maybe I shouldn’t have. I tried to move around him now, but he kept blocking my path.

  “This isn’t funny, Leroy. Get out of my way.” When I tried to move past him again, he shoved me, and I almost fell on my ass. I caught myself with a hand against the door I’d just exited. This could get ugly.

  “You think you’re hot shit, don’t ‘cha, you little slut? Now you won’t even give me the time of day. I think I’m offended.” He lunged toward me, but I sidestepped him and attempted to run away.

  Leroy was too fast, though, and he managed to grab my ankle. I fell on the ground, my messenger bag flying off to the side. Leroy dragged me toward him but, unlike the last time when the odds weren’t in my favor, I could handle one meathead lout. I used my other leg to kick him on the chin, catching him off-guard. He stumbled back and let go, giving me enough time to grab my messenger bag and take off.

  I could hear him behind me, bellowing like some kind of demented bull as he chased me across the half-empty parking lot. Thank God for the treadmill I used regularly to workout.

  “Help!” I cried as I ran past the people milling about outside the tavern where Elias and I had eaten recently. “This guy’s trying to hurt me. Somebody call the cops!” I was breathing hard, but I didn’t care.