Intaglio: Dragons All The Way Down (31 page)

When he didn’t
answer, she rolled toward him, leaning so that her naked breast curved against
his arm. 

“You okay?” she
asked.  “You seem pretty upset.”

“Yeah… I’m
fine.  The dream was just…  different,” he uttered, his body starting to relax.
“I’m okay now.”

He settled down,
turning toward her.  In the dim light, her body was hazy.  He ran a hand up her
neck into her hair, pulling her into a kiss.  She was warm and soft and his
body jumped in reaction.  The two of them had been together for the last year
and a half – had been friends for years before that – but things had solidified
in the last months.  His free hand rose to cup her breast and she made a
throaty growl, the kiss deepening.  With a quick shift of her hips, she climbed
atop him, rocking gently.  Kip’s hands slid to her narrow waist, holding her
steady where she straddled him.

“Wait a minute,”
he muttered, dropping his eyes to her lithe form and then back up to her face. 
“I need to do something, first.”

She sighed in
exasperation, climbing off.  Clambering out of the bed, Kip walked over to the
far side of the bedroom and lifted each of the three panels, turning them
around to face the wall. 

Hidden
.

When he turned
back around, Raya's eyes glittered brightly despite the dim room.  Kip knew
that his refusal to put his own graffiti atop Ava’s paintings had bothered her
as much as his insistence on hanging the panels in their bedroom.  Her eyes
were wide and worried, not quite ready to ask, but curious.  Kip gave a boyish
grin.

“I showed the
panels to Rick the last time he came by the studio,” Kip said sheepishly.  (He
knew how Raya felt about his continued interest in the career of Ava Brooks.)  
Raya pulled the covers up over her breasts, annoyed.

“Oh really...”
she said tartly, one thin eyebrow arching like a question mark.

Kip chuckled.

“He wants to buy
them.”

Raya’s irritated
expression flipped into surprise.

“Honestly?”

He nodded,
walking back to the bed, and sitting down beside her. 

“Yeah,” he said
quietly.  “At the time I said no, wouldn’t even give Rick her name…”  Kip
trailed his hand along the cotton sheet that obscured her skin, imagining the
long legs underneath.  His fingers traced words, leaving random love letters in
invisible script atop her flesh.  “Kept telling myself I didn’t need the
competition, seeing as Rick’s the one doing my promotions for Asia.”

Raya rolled her
eyes.

“You sound like
me.”

Kip leaned
forward, brushing her lips in a light kiss.

“The art field’s
competitive,” he said with a shrug.  “Everyone knows that, Ry.  I do know how
to look out for myself.”

His fingers
trailed higher, reaching her hip and then her waist, continuing to leave
ephemeral graffiti across her body.  Raya shivered, goose-bumps rising where
his hand had passed.

“And now...?”
she asked, her eyes moving over to the reversed panels.  Kip knew that Ava
Brooks bothered her.  He slid closer, his fingers reaching her ribs and from
there to her arms.

“I’ve decided
that I am going to sell them to Rick.”  Kip said with a shrug.  “They bother
me.  I can’t explain it, Raya…  I just need to make…” he closed his eyes, the
dream like a word hovering just out of reach, “a clean break.”

He opened his
eyes to find Raya watching him.  Her expression was soft and tender.

“You sure about
that?”

Kip grinned.

“I can handle a
bit of competition.  And Ava deserves some recognition.  She’s pretty damn
good”

Next to him,
Raya moved closer, the sheet falling past her nipples.

“Yeah,” she said
quietly, “she really is.”

Kip’s fingers
reached her bare chest, his fingertips slowly tracing individual letters across
her heart.  Raya’s eyes dropped down, watching the tag appear as if inked on
her flesh.  He laid his hand on her skin, holding it there until her eyes met
his.

“I love you
too,” she whispered.

The last few
weeks of University rippled by like old films, becoming more poignant for the
fact that they were ending.  There wouldn’t be another semester after this,
except for Cole.  He’d been accepted into the university's graduate Curatorial
program; he had a full scholarship once again and would start classes in
September.  Professor Wilkins had already assigned him a teaching assistantship
for the Fall: an art history foundations class. 

“Not ready for
real life yet?” Marcus teased.  “Don’t want to grow up with the rest of us?”

The four of them
sat in The Crown and Sceptre, feting the end of university.  Chim had already
started putting in regular shifts at the Amnesty International centre
downtown.  Mrs. Quan’s office was working several human rights cases with
Suzanne as an unofficial go-between, allowing them to work together.  

“Not if I can
help it,” Cole answered, pulling Ava tight.  “Besides, Ava’s gonna let me be a
kept man... I’m good with that.”

The table of
friends erupted in boisterous laughter.  Cole and Ava had now unofficially
moved in together.  Cole would continue with grad school and she’d work on her
pieces for the upcoming shows at the National Gallery.  Ava still needed to
talk to Oliver about living arrangements. (For weeks, she’d been weighing how
to bring up the idea of splitting the rent and adding Cole into the mix.)  Her
father only lived there a few months a year; Ava was pretty sure they could
work it out.

“It’s a better
deal for Cole,” Ava said, elbowing him, “I’ve seen his place.  He’s definitely
moving up in the world.  I’m just losing half the bed.”

Cole leaned in,
smirking.  Seconds later, his hands slid under her shirt.

“Oh I think
you’ll get some benefits too,” he added.  Behind the screen of the table, his
fingers roved higher.  Ava laughed and leaned closer as his mouth dropped to
her neck.

Chim ordered
another pitcher of beer and they spent an hour reminiscing about parties, and
close calls with the police, and newfound adulthood. The evening slowly
disappeared.  Cole and Ava had gone out to his family’s place the last three
weekends in a row; Marta Langden had been working with them.  Slow progress was
being made.  Hanna’s room was now empty and several photographs of Angela had
been removed from the walls.  The house felt newer... younger somehow.  It was
a fresh start.  Ava smiled to herself, remembering the first weekend they’d
driven up to the house after the explosive revelations.  Cole’s head had
twisted in shock. 

The flag had no
longer been at half-mast.

Classes had
finished a week previously and the convocation ceremonies were still three days
away. Nina’s plan for a post-graduation party had come together, though it was
now limited to a small dinner.  Cole and Ava and Oliver, the Thomases, Marcus
and Suzanne, and a few family friends would get together at the Thomas house
next weekend.  It was another step toward reconciliation.  More progress.

“So what’re your
plans for tomorrow?” Suzanne asked.  “Feel like coming down to the flea market
with us?  I’m gonna see if I can pick up a few things for my next sculpture.”

Ava took comfort
in the studio the three of them still shared.  When they were all there
painting, and Chim came up the stairs stinking of pot, carrying coffee and
day-old muffins, she could almost pretend that they’d be there forever.

“Actually,” Ava
said happily, “Cole and I are running out to the airport, so we can’t.”

Marcus glanced
up, grinning.

“Your dad’s
coming back!”

: : : : : : : :
: :

Ava and Cole
stood in the airport, their hands clasped together.  She vibrated with energy,
the excitement coming out in the steady bouncing of her legs.  Cole glanced
over at her, beaming.

“I love that you
do that, you know?”

“Do what?”

He chuckled,
imitating the slight side-to-side of her steps.  She snorted.

“I do not do
that!”

Cole pulled her
closer, his mouth next to her ear.

“You do...”

She giggled.

“Do not.”

Cole pulled her
into his arms, kissing her hard.  Ava’s hands rested against the front of his
shirt, lips parting.

“I want to see
what you’d be like if I was the one coming home,” Cole said with a lopsided
grin.

Ava tightened
her hands in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

“I wouldn’t want
you to leave at all.”

: : : : : : : :
: :

The three of
them sat in the small diner downtown, a few blocks from Ava’s studio.  Oliver
had one side of the booth, Ava and Cole the other, the remains of breakfast
between them.  They’d been chatting for an hour, reliving the last few months. 
Oliver was completely involved in the final production of his new album and the
audio work that Pete’s son had done for him.  He was ecstatic about the
cleanliness of the sound; the recordings had finally achieved the purity he
always strove for. 

Cole and Ava told
him about school, and their plans for the summer.  Ava had broached the subject
of Cole sharing the apartment, and Oliver – after a healthy dose of teasing –
had agreed.  Ava's costs would drop, allowing her to focus solely on painting
rather than having to get a summer job before the National Gallery show.  Ava
hoped that the sales of her artwork from that particular event would mean she
wouldn’t need a job other than painting after that, either.  That’s what she
was focused on. 

Real life.

Across the booth
from her, Oliver launched into another story about the symphony’s latest tour. 
He would be going back in a week, right after the Thomases’ dinner.  He laughed
while Cole joked about his family.

“Everyone comes
from a messed-up family, Cole,” Oliver said with a wink.  “I mean, not too many
people would consider teacup reading and past lives their thing.  You seem okay
with it, though.”

 “Yeah, well,”
Cole said with a chuckle, “it grows on you.”

There was more
laughter and stories about the last months, especially Spring Break on
Martinique and the turtle.  Oliver winked again at Ava as she described it.  It
felt, Ava thought, like her father had never left. 

Pete brought
around the coffee pot, refilling their mugs, and there was a short lull while
everyone drank.  Ava’s eyes were on her father.  He was watching her and Cole. 
She saw his expression flicker – pain? fear? – and then it disappeared, covered
with a patient smile.  He cleared his throat, setting down his coffee mug, and
leaning forward.

“So, uh... how
did things with your mother turn out?”

Ava jumped at
his words, the coffee mug clattering down and sloshing its contents across the
tabletop.  She resettled the cup, her palm flattening against the table as if
trying to hold herself steady.  She hadn’t mentioned Shay’s reappearance to her
father... wasn’t sure how to bring something like that.

“I... uh...” 
she stumbled.  “She was in rehab, Dad, but she took off.  She, um… she OD’d a
few weeks ago.” 

Ava was aghast. 
Her father reached out, putting a comforting hand over hers.

“I figured. 
Sorry, Kiddo.”

Ava’s chest
began aching, her breath coming in shallow gulps.  Cole slid closer in the
booth, his arm dropping over her shoulders.

“How...?” Ava
squeezed out.  She stared at her father, the skin of her arms rising in
gooseflesh.

He smiled sadly.
“I read your teacup.”

Ava swallowed
hard, her eyes swimming with tears.

“But you
didn’t
see her!”
she yelped.  “I would have remembered that!”

He shook his
head.  He reached for his breast pocket but dropped his hand back down, a sure
sign he wanted a cigarette, but was delaying getting one.  Oliver cleared his
throat.

“Yeah, I saw
Shay in your cup... but I didn’t tell you.”  He shrugged.  “Didn’t feel like
it’d be fair.”

The news left
Ava reeling.

The world
outside continued on.  The day was just as bright – people going about their
daily lives, cars driving by – but everything had changed for Ava.

“Why not?”

Cole gently
squeezed her free hand under the table.

“If I’d said you
were going to see your mom again,” her father said.  “And that it’d be good for
you… but that she’d screw it up in the end…” 

Ava couldn’t
follow his train of thought, her mind still jumping from one idea to another. 
‘He
knew!’ 

“If I’d done
that,” Oliver continued sorrowfully, “how would you have felt about it?”