Second Chance for Romance

Chapter 5

Trip and I finished our workout and waited for the girls’ aerobics class to let out. They talked to some friends for a minute or two before they headed toward their duffel bags. Out of the blue Christy did a little dance step and a pirouette. I laughed aloud as Wren huffed and looked skyward in exasperation.

“She’s been like this all day,” she said as they joined us.

“You’re just in a bad mood, Miss Sourpuss.”

I glanced at Trip to see his reaction. He and Wren had had an argument on the way home from Savannah. He’d told me a little about it before our workout. The short version was that Wren had wanted to have sex with another couple after the wedding. She’d been drunk at the time, and Trip had said no. Wren being Wren, she wasn’t happy that she didn’t get her way.

She was still sulking about it, evidently. I shared Trip’s opinion that she knew she’d been wrong but didn’t want to admit it. I briefly thought about teasing her, but knew better than to poke that bear.

“So,” I asked Christy instead, “why are you in such a good mood?”

“I just am.” She beamed up at me, bright as sunshine. She skipped ahead and turned to walk backward in front of us. “I talked to Siobhan this weekend.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm hmm. She gave me a bunch of pointers.”

“About what?”

“How to teach figure drawing.” She rolled her eyes theatrically. “I showed her your sketches, an—”

“Wait. You did what?”

“I showed her your sketches. I hope you don’t mind. You left your sketchbook in your studio. I sort of borrowed it.”

“Sort of borrowed it?”

“Yeah. She said you have a good eye.” She twirled and fell in beside me again. “She also liked your building idea.”

“Hold on. You took my sketchbook. Just… took it.”

“I put it back.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“Sorry. I hope you don’t mind. You left it sitting out. And you’d already showed it to me, so…” She shrugged, unabashed. “I thought it’d be okay. I mean, it isn’t like I’m trying to steal your ideas. Besides, I thought of something you might add.”

“Wait. What? Slow down. What’re you talking about?”

“I thought of something you might add,” she repeated. “You know, to your model. Of the building. When you build it, that is. I was telling Siobhan about how you came up with the idea. I couldn’t remember all the architecture stuff like canti-whatsits and curtain halls, but—”

“Cantilever and curtain walls.”

“Right. Those. Anyway, we mostly talked about the design. I… um…”

She danced ahead, spun, and walked backward. “I think it needs something else.”

I arched an eyebrow.

“Art.”

“Art?”

“Exactly! It’s supposed to be a museum, right? What does a museum have? Art! So I was thinking…” She turned without a dance step and walked beside me again. She was silent so long that Wren leaned forward to look at her.

“You were thinking…,” I finally prompted.

“Well, you’ll probably think I’m silly, but…”

“I already think you’re silly. Go ahead and tell me.”

She gave me a shy grin, and her confidence grew along with her excitement. “I was thinking… maybe I could do some art for your model. My take on Rodin for the plaza…”

“Not The Thinker.”

“Oh, please. Give me some credit. No, I was thinking—”

“The Danaïd.”

“Right! How’d you know?”

“I just know. Besides, it goes with the building.”

“Exactly! It echoes the lines and adds a human element. That’s what Siobhan says, by the way.”

“Oh? And what else does Siobhan say?”

She completely missed the wry tone. “That I should do something like Degas too.”

“His sculpture, I’m guessing. Which one?”

“One of the dancers. Duh. Here, hold this.” She handed me her duffel bag without waiting for an answer. Then she danced ahead of us. She did a series of side leaps followed by a jump with a scissor-kick.

“Ten years of ballet,” Wren said dryly.

“Till I was fourteen,” Christy agreed with a grin.

I leaned forward and looked at Wren.

She was doing her best to nurture her sour mood, but it was a losing fight, especially in the face of Christy’s exuberance.

“I told you,” Wren said, “she’s been like this all day. Dancing everywhere, bouncing around. Swear to God, she’s more annoying than the Care Bears.”

Trip utterly failed to hide a smile.

Wren slugged him in the shoulder. She simply glared at me.

I grinned.

“I mean it.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Christy said. “She’s all talk.” She danced out of Wren’s reach. “Ha ha!”

“You know I’ll catch you.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yes I will.”

“Only in your dreams.”

Wren lunged.

Christy shrieked and dodged.

Wren ran after her, but Christy was too light, too quick.

“God,” Trip said as they ran out of earshot, “she needs to let off some steam.”

Christy darted around a parked car.

Wren followed, but Christy circled and kept the car between them. All of

a sudden she shot away toward the library.

Trip and I watched them with a mixture of amusement and disbelief.

“Been a bit tense?” I said at last.

“What do you think? She’s so stubborn.”

“Hey, you asked for it.”

“Yeah,” he mused, “I did. But I didn’t think it’d be nonstop.”

“She’s intense.”

“Tell me about it. She wants things to happen right now. And she wants to control everything.” He chuckled darkly. “For example, she can’t understand why you won’t let her fix you up.” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “Um… you know she’s been—?”

“Matchmaking again? Yeah.” I shrugged. “That’s okay. Christy’s cute and all, but she isn’t my type.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

It was my turn to look at him.

“You should hear some of the things Wren’s told me. Pretty hot stuff.

From when they first lived together.”

“Ah, that’s right,” I said. “I forgot, they were lovers for a while.”

“More than a while. Till Wren and I got together.”

They raced toward us, shrieking like schoolgirls on the playground. Then Christy swung around a signpost to change direction. She dashed toward the library again.

“I think that’s part of what’s been bothering Wren,” Trip said as we watched them in the distance. “She misses her.”

“Christy?”

“Yeah. But… I don’t think it’s just, you know, the sex stuff.”

“Oh?”

“Uh-uh. I think it’s like… well… love, if that makes sense.”

I thought about Susan and my mother’s relationship.

“I know,” he added, “it’s crazy.”

“Not really. Love is love. Sometimes you can’t control who you have feelings for.”

“Yeah, well… I wish I could be as relaxed as you.”

I shrugged. “I’ve had more experience with it.”

Wren finally caught up with Christy and tumbled her to the ground. They landed on a patch of grass near the library doors. Christy struggled, but Wren outweighed her by twenty pounds. She straddled Christy and pinned her arms

to the ground.

People stopped and stared, although it was obvious the girls were only playing.

Trip and I eventually reached them.

“Bridge and dump her,” I suggested to Christy. Much to my surprise, she actually tried. She didn’t have the neck strength, and Wren was too high on her body, but that didn’t stop her from lifting her hips and trying to throw her.

More people started to gather and point.

“Come on,” Trip said to me. “Before someone calls the cops.”

We pulled the girls to their feet. Christy came up laughing, but Wren scowled.

“I almost did it,” Christy said as she brushed twigs from her hair. Her eyes shone with adrenaline.

“You did,” I said. “But… where’d you learn to do that?”

“Seriously? Rich and Laurence were wrestlers.” Her expression clouded before she managed a smile. “They used to teach me. I was always too small, though.”

“Still are, I’m afraid.”

“Hey, I can hold my own!”

I laughed. “I don’t doubt it.”

“Maybe not against Wren the Giant,” Trip said.

“What did you call me?”

“Calm down.” He tried to put an arm around her.

She ducked out of the way and planted her hands squarely on her hips, daring him to try again.

I laughed and cupped my hands around my mouth. “In this corner we have the challenger, Superfly Christy Snuka. And in that corner, the undisputed world cham- peen, Hulk Hilliard.”

“You too?” Wren accused.

I spread my hands. “What can I say? You’re my favorite wrestler.”

“What about me?” Christy said indignantly.

“You’re my favorite pint-sized wrestler.”

“I’m bigger than pint-sized, but okay.”

Wren laughed in spite of herself.

“See?” I said. “It’s impossible to stay mad at us.”

“I wasn’t mad at you,” she said. “I was mad at these two.”

“Me?” Christy bleated. “What’d I do?”

“You tried to cheer me up.”

“A capital offense,” I declared.

Christy nodded with mock gravity. “Off with my head.”

Trip bit a knuckle and shook with suppressed laughter.

“I don’t know why I put up with you all,” Wren huffed.

“Because you love us,” I said.

“That’s okay,” Christy added, “you can’t help it. It’s ’cause we’re so adorable.”

“Maybe you,” Wren said, “but not these two.”

Trip put his arm around her. She let him do it, and he relaxed a bit.

“Come on,” he said reasonably. “Let’s go home. I want a shower before dinner. After that I have forty pages to read, plus a management quiz to study for.”

“Ugh,” I said. “School. Don’t remind me.”

“Don’t get too busy,” Wren told Trip. “I was hoping we could… you know.”

“Uh-oh, make-up sex,” I said with a laugh. “Hey, Christy, care to join me in a not-so-soundproof studio?”

“You’re just jealous,” Wren accused.

“I’d love to,” Christy said. “We can start figure drawing.”

“Awesome. It’s a date!”

Christy closed her sketchbook in disgust. “This is getting ridiculous.”

The muted chords of Marvin Gaye twanged up the stairs. It was Trip’s make-out tape, for the third time.

“You wanna get out of here? Go do something?” I was more sanguine about it, but even I was growing annoyed.

“Like what?”

“I dunno. Anything.”

“Sure, I guess.”

I closed my own sketchbook. “Should I lock this up?”

“Ha ha. It’s not like it’s private, like a diary.”

I suddenly recalled her private sketchbook, the one full of penises. I chuckled.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You aren’t really gonna lock it up, are you?” she said. “I promise I won’t do it again.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s… hard to explain. It’s private, but…”

“But…?”

“This is gonna sound crazy, but you’re an exception.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, you’re another artist. And…” I finally shrugged and shook my head. “I guess I don’t mind if you know what I’m thinking.”

Her eyes widened. They looked even brighter blue than usual.

I started to say something, but a thump from below beat me to it.

“Okay,” I said, “time to go.”

“Yes, please.”

We turned out the lights and headed downstairs. We didn’t stop until we reached the main level and the front door.

“Whoa,” I said. “Better grab a jacket.”

It was the time of year when we needed the air conditioning during the day but the heat at night. Christy had changed clothes after aerobics, to shorts and a light cotton sweater.

“Be right back.” She ran upstairs.

I watched her go and found myself admiring her firm legs and tight little ass. I had to remind myself that I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend. And even if I were, I didn’t want one with religious hang-ups. Been there, done that, didn’t enjoy it.

I distracted myself by donning my own jacket, which was hanging on the rack by the door.

Christy returned wearing a light windbreaker.

I glanced at her bare legs and had to force myself to look up. That was worse. Her nipples showed through her bra and thin sweater. I kept going until I reached her eyes.

“Pretty chilly out,” I said. “You wanna put on jeans or something?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m hot-natured. Always have been.”

“Suit yourself.” I opened the front door and followed her out. “So…

where you wanna go?”

She shrugged.

“How about a tour of the neighborhood? I can show you some of my favorite houses.”

“I’d like that.”

We set out at a stroll along the route I took on my morning runs. Two blocks over I showed her a big Victorian house that someone had lovingly restored to its original glory. (It was the nicest house in the neighborhood.) We stopped on the sidewalk under the streetlight, and I pointed out the things that made it such a beautiful example of the Queen Anne style.

“That’s what ours is,” Christy said. “Queen Anne, right?”

“Mmm hmm. Not quite as ornate as this one, but probably the same architect. They have the same feel.”

“Oh, cool. Are they all like this?”

“No. Further away from downtown, you get what’s called ‘Folk Victorian.’ They’re middle-class versions of these beauties. They have a lot of the same trim and decorative elements, but they’re simpler houses.”

“Simpler how?”

“Basic floor plans. No turrets. No octagonal rooms. No servants’ quarters.

Stuff like that.”

“Servants’ quarters? Are you serious?”

“What do you think our little studios used to be? The housekeeper and children’s nanny probably lived in our rooms.”

“Oh my gosh!”

“Exactly.” I nodded toward downtown. “There’s another upper-class Victorian five blocks that way. It’s a different style, though. Italianate.”

“How’s it different?”

“It’s an earlier style and not very common around here. I think someone from the north must’ve moved to Knoxville. Maybe a banker or railroad executive. They probably wanted a house like they were used to in New England.”

We headed that way and reached it about ten minutes later.

“It’s a boxier style than Queen Anne,” I explained. “The windows are usually narrower and the roof pitch is flatter, with those extra wide eaves. Oh, and do you see the brackets under the cornice?”

“Neat!”

“No front-facing gables either.”

“What’re gables?”

I leaned down to match my eyeline to hers and pointed at a nearby house.

“See those triangles where the roof pitch meets? Now look at this house. No triangles on the front. Remember the Queen Anne?”

She closed her eyes and imagined it. Then she opened them and beamed with interest. “That’s amazing! How do you know all this?”

I shrugged and started walking again. “I just do. I mean, how do you know how to draw people?”

It was her turn to shrug. “I just do. Always have.”

“Same here,” I said. “My mom says I looked at buildings differently, even when I was little. I started drawing them when I was six or seven, I guess. Just doodles, though.”

“I started drawing when I was little too.”

“You still are little,” I teased.

“Funny.”

“Well, you are.”

“I can’t help it. Besides, good things come in small packages.”

“So they say.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her rub her arms. I took off my jacket. “Here.”

“I’m okay.”

“Don’t be silly. Take it. I’m fine,” I lied. I draped the jacket over her windbreaker. Mine was two sizes too large, at least.

She held it closed and smiled up gratefully.

“Around the block,” I continued, “there’s a Foursquare house. It doesn’t match its neighbors at all. I figure someone built it when they tore down an older house. It needs a lot of work, but…”

It was well after eleven o’clock when we eventually returned to our own street. We stopped on the walkway in front of the house.

“You think they’re… you know… done?”

“God, let’s hope so.”

We tiptoed up the steps and cautiously opened the front door. Silence greeted us, and we both breathed a sigh of relief. We stepped into the warm house, and I closed the front door behind us. We stood looking at each other.

“I had fun tonight,” Christy said after a moment.

“Me too.”

She fidgeted. “Almost like a date.”

“Almost,” I agreed uneasily. Wren and her damn matchmaking!

Christy heard the hesitation in my voice. Her expression fell.

My internal jerk-alarm went off, but I kept talking anyway. “We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

She shrugged.

“How ’bout tomorrow? We can draw after I get home from judo.”

“Yeah, of course,” she said lightly.

The silence went from strained to awkward.

“Well, it’s late,” I said at last. “And I have to get up early.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“We’d better go to bed. Separately, of course. Don’t wanna give you the wrong impression.” I meant it as a joke but knew it was a mistake as soon as I said it.

Christy’s eyes flared with something altogether different: temper. Her lips compressed in a thin line. After a frosty, excruciating moment, she turned and climbed the stairs in mute fury.

I stared after her and wanted to kick myself. I didn’t want to sleep with her, but that wasn’t an excuse to be rude. I silently cursed Wren and her matchmaking again, but I couldn’t really blame her. Christy and I had had a perfectly enjoyable evening until I screwed it up. Yours truly. All by myself.

I heard her come home late the next afternoon. She and Wren had been at the pool. I didn’t want to ambush her as soon as she came upstairs, so I gave her time to shower and change clothes. Then I knocked on her bedroom door.

“It’s me,” I said.

“Oh. Okay. Gimme a sec.”

I grinned at the bumps and scrapes and sounds of drawers opening and closing. I imagined her hiding underwear and dirty laundry.

She finally yanked open the door. She took one look at me and frowned.

“What’s so funny?”

“You. You’re like my little sister when a guy comes over.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You know,” I added conversationally, “it’d be a lot easier if you just clean up as you go.”

“Why? ’Cause that’s the way you do it?”

I held up my hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m just saying. Personally, I think

it’s cute you’re—”

“A slob?”

“I was going to say ‘mess.’” I smiled to take the edge off it. “I really do think it’s cute, though. It makes you interesting. I wouldn’t know how to treat you if you were a neat freak.”

“You mean like you?”

I shrugged. “I like things in order. It’s my logical mind.”

“And I like chaos.”

“Maybe that’s why you’re more creative than I am.”

That stopped her next comeback.

“Anyway,” I said into the silence, “I didn’t come to argue. I came to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For being an insensitive jerk. Last night.”

“You weren’t,” she lied.

“Yes, I was. And I enjoyed our date. Maybe it wasn’t romantic, but still.”

“I didn’t think it was a date.” Another fib.

“Okay, well… if it wasn’t, then maybe we can have one tonight.”

Her lips curved in a smile before she could stop it.

“You know,” I said, “you’re really bad at hiding your emotions.”

“And you’re an expert?”

“See? Like now. You’re annoyed.”

Her nostrils flared.

“But that’s okay. I annoy lots of people. Just ask the women I’ve dated.”

“It’d take a year,” she said faux-sweetly. “There are so many.”

“Fair enough. No one right now, though. Maybe that’s why I’m annoying you. Have to keep in practice, I guess.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. No. Maybe. I dunno.” I shrugged. “I just know that I’d like to learn figure drawing tonight, if that’s okay. If we don’t call it a date, maybe I won’t screw it up.”

“I don’t know whether to be furious with you, or…”

“Or what?” I said at last.

“I don’t know. But some thing. Not good, either.”

“Then tell you what,” I said. “Let’s try tonight and see how it goes. If I’m a jerk again, I’ll help you figure out how you feel about me. We’ll start with furious and go downhill from there.”

“Are you making fun of me again?”

“Yeah, but only a little. I’m mostly making fun of myself.”

“Why?”

“It’s easier that way, when I say what you’re thinking. Then I don’t get my feelings hurt.”

“Feelings…?”

“Mmm hmm. I have ’em too. So I don’t like it when I step on other people’s.”

“I don’t have feelings. I mean, I do, but not for you.” She grimaced in annoyance. “Why can’t I ever think straight around you!”

I chuckled. “I know the feeling. So… how about tonight? Do we have a not-date?” I made a show of thinking about it. “Should that be ‘not have a date’? But if it’s a date, how can you not have it? I’m not saying it’s a date, but I’m saying we should have it. A not-date, that is.”

She looked away and tried to hide a smile.

“Don’t worry if you’re confused,” I added. “I think I confused myself.

I’m not sure if we’re having a not-date or not having a date. Or both. Maybe neither?”

Her smile turned into a stifled laugh.

“Let’s try this. I’ll be upstairs after dinner. If you’re not there, it’s a date.

If you’re there, it’s not a date. Will that work?”

“Get out,” she said at last. “Just… leave me alone. I can’t think when you talk nonsense.”

I grinned.

“I mean it.” She put her hand on my chest and shoved me bodily backward. She was a lot stronger than she looked.

“So it’s not a date?”

“Out! Leave! Stop talking!” She closed the door in my face.

I raised my voice and said, “Okay! I won’t see you later.” I was still smiling when I turned and caught a glimpse of Wren’s hair as she disappeared around her bedroom door. I stalked over and stuck my head in.

“Don’t say a word.”

She looked smug.

“We’re just friends. That’s all. I don’t want a girlfriend.”

“Whatever you say.”

“You’re insufferable. You know that, right?”

“Especially when I get what I want.”

“You’re not going to get what you want.”

“That’s what you think.”