Last Call (10 page)

Spencer Alexander.

Monday - April 29, 2013

Paint and Surprises

I hadn't thought about Spencer in a long time, but after sharing my painful past with Candace, I couldn't help but recall the summer we’d spent together before I started school. Now, as I got up for my first day of a summer art class, he was all I could think about.

I was worried about my mother meddling into his personal life, so I decided to give my dad a quick call to see if he'd diffused the situation. Placing the call while I grabbed a bagel to eat on my way out the door, I waited while the phone rang. When his voicemail sounded, I left a quick message.

"Hi daddy. It's Monday morning - almost eight, so you're probably on your way into the office and not answering the phone. I wanted to check up on your conversation with momma about Spencer Alexander. Call me back. Love you."

Slipping the phone in the bag slung over my shoulder, I jumped in the car and headed off to class. I’d decided to sign up for a drawing class at the local community college to keep myself busy over the summer. I was volunteering at the University's fine art gallery for the summer too, but it was sketching that truly made me happy.

Graduation was only a year away, and the thought lodged in my chest. Thinking about what I was going to do once school was over scared the hell out of me. My art history degree was something I’d chosen for my mother’s benefit. With our lucrative family history I was very lucky to not have to worry about finances, so of course she pushed me to do something that I could use as part of the family philanthropy when I was done. Problem was, I wasn't sure if that was what
I
wanted. I really did love art, and my knowledge of the paintings and sculptures of the world had grown through the years. Now I was ready to go out and travel the world, sketch and see all of those beautiful things first-hand.

Unfortunately my mother was still stuck in her little southern belle mentality that dictated I should come home, bat my eyelashes and marry the first man with a roman numeral after his name I could find.

After class I was sitting at a Starbucks sipping on a Frappe when my phone rang. I checked out the screen and saw the incoming call was from Riley. I grimaced and gritted my teeth before I even answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey Savannah, it's Riley."

"Hey Riles, what's up?" I asked, deliberately trying to keep my voice light.

"I was thinking we could grab lunch one day this week. I feel like we need to talk."

"Um, sure. I've got to work at the gallery each morning this week, though. I'm not sure when I’ll get out of there yet, or if I’ll get a lunch or not."

"Okay," he drawled out. "How about today?"

The thought of talking with Riley about anything right now set off alarms in my head. He was a great friend, and I didn't want that to change. "Riley," I began, trying to be careful with my words, "is everything okay?"

There was a long pause on the line and a sigh before he spoke. "I was going to ask you the same thing, Savannah. I feel like I need to apologize for kissing you the other night."

I almost said it was okay before I realized that it might not be the right thing to say. It wasn't that I hated the idea of Riley, but I knew it didn't feel right, either.

"Listen, I'm free right now for an early lunch. I'd love to meet you if you don't mind meeting up around eleven," I said.

After we agreed on a space to meet, I hung up and glanced at my watch to see that it was almost ten. That gave me more than enough time to check out the nearest art store for some of the supplies I needed for my class.

Forty-five minutes later I walked into a local deli to find Riley already waiting for me. He rose to meet me as he pulled the ear buds from his head.

"Hey." I hugged him cheerfully and attempted to swallow down any awkwardness. "Did you order already?"

"Nah, I was waiting on you."

"Well I'm starving, so come on." I pulled him to the counter where we ordered our food and waited as they made it.

"You know we'd never work, right?" he spat out of nowhere the moment we sat in a booth to eat.

"Whoa…careful where you're shooting those words, Riles. Can you back up and explain yourself?"

"That's what I keep telling myself. That we'd never work." He bent his head away from me for a moment and rubbed his scratchy chin with his palm.

"Riley…where is this coming from? We're friends."

"I know, Savannah. But I'll be damned if I didn't see you walk into the bar Saturday night and suddenly it was like
BAM.
I just couldn't help myself."

"Sounds to me like you weren't thinking with the right brain."

"Baby, you've made
that
brain crazy for almost two years. This time it was the other one. I saw those guys at the bar looking at you and I let myself wonder why I hadn't taken a swing. We get along great, you're one of my best friends – so why haven't we ever tried for more?"

"Oh gosh, Riley, I don't know. Probably because you were with Sara when we met?"

"That was barely even a blip on the radar. You have to know that we were short, sweet and much better as friends."

"So are we," I said softly, looking down at my soup like a coward. "Riley, you mean so much to me as a friend. We’re good that way, and I wouldn't want to ruin things."

I timidly looked up to meet his eyes when his hand touched mine. He spoke in a matter of fact tone, "I know. Cheer up, sweetie. You're not breaking my heart here."

"I'm not? Well, I mean of course I'm not, but I thought you were trying to get me to go out with you?"

"If you said let's go out I wouldn't say no. But like I said in the beginning, we wouldn't work. I know that…or, usually I know that."

"You’re an amazing guy, Riley." I was dangerously close to tears when I added, "You know it's not you, it's me, right?"

"Wow, we're being cliché now?" he choked out.

Swallowing back the wave of tears that overwhelmed me for a moment, I tried to clarify my previous statement.

"What I mean is, it's ridiculous how smart, fun and good looking you are. You’re a catch, and I'm stupid, obviously."

"Aww shucks," he teased, pumping his fist playfully. Then more seriously he added, "Savannah, you are
not
stupid. You’re smarter than
I
am and if there was something here," he said, motioning between both of us with his hand, "you would’ve felt it. No worries, babe."

Thankful for his graciousness, I smiled. We ate in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again.

"You know, you could do me a favor and stop showing up at the bar looking so damn foxy. As your
friend
I have to say it's getting hard to watch all the guys drooling after you like you’re a piece of meat. It's disgusting."

"Oh, whatever Riles,” I said, throwing him a disgruntled look. “You’re usually one of those guys drooling after the girls."

"Well that's different."

"Oh really? How so?"

"Well it's
me
, for one." He laughed. Seeing that I wasn't buying into his flimsy explanation, he added, "And I don’t care about any of those girls."

"Well no can do, sir. I've got some more dates to go on, and I'm not sure they’d be real impressed with me in sweats and tees."

"Now that's some sexy shit right there, girl."

"Only on the morning after would you call that sexy, Riley." He waggled his eyebrows and laughed wickedly.

"I love you Riles," I reminded him, smiling at his antics and getting up to discard my food.

Coming up behind me, Riley dumped his food in the trash and gave me a bear hug. "I love you too babe, and that's why we would never work." He placed a quick kiss on the top of my head.

"Oh gosh, shut up already," I laughed, but let him squeeze me for a moment longer than necessary.

As we exited the building, Riley checked his watch. "I have some time to kill before I need to go in. What are you up to now?"

I needed to get some art supplies, but the store closest to the coffee shop didn't have what I wanted. Deciding it would be nice to have company I responded, "I need to go to The Painter's Palette to get some drawing supplies. You free?"

Twenty minutes and two drive-bys looking for a parking spot later, the little bell at The Painter's Palette rang to signal our entrance to the staff. This art store was my favorite in the Nashville area. Locally owned and operated, the staff was always friendly, helpful, and up to chat about techniques and tools.

"Hi Ms. Camille," I called out; waving to the friendly shop owner. Camille was in her early fifties, with salt and pepper hair with streaks of red in the front that she always wore in a long braid. Somewhat of a hippie soul, she made me smile with her tie dye tops and long gypsy skirts.

"Hi there." She nodded to me, and I saw that her hands were covered in paint from some project she was working on at the back table by the paint supplies.

"You know the employees here by name?" Riley questioned; running his hand over the brush tips as we walked by them. I slapped his hand away and dragged him to the charcoal pencils.

"Yep. I've been shopping here for three years now. They’re all sweet people."

"You finding everything okay?" uttered a low, almost bored voice.

Looking up from the shelves, I recognized the clerk standing over me. His little plastic name tag read Ryan. Ryan was probably in his mid-thirties with brown, thinning hair and beady little eyes. He always checked on me whenever I was in the store, and had even asked me out for coffee once. His worn jeans were full of specks of paint, much like Camille's hands.

His voice perked up a bit. "Oh, hi. You here for some charcoal? I haven't seen you in a while. Can I help you find anything?" His sentences rushed out all at once, and crimson stained his cheeks.

"Yeah, I'm taking a new sketching class. I see what I need." Seeing his shoulders droop, I added, "Thanks, though."

Rubbing his hands against his jeans and throwing a look at Riley, Ryan mumbled, "Um, okay then. Ring the bell when you're ready to check out if I'm not up front."

Riley watched as the salesclerk walked away before he snorted, "He was giving you
the
look
."

I picked up some new pencils and ignored Riley, then moved to walk down the aisle that held sketching pads.

Riley called out behind me, "So tell me about this whole dating thing."

"Shhhh, Riley, not so loud," I warned him. Waving him to the other aisle with me, I filled him in on my foray into blind speed dating.

"Let me get this straight," he laughed. "You’re letting Barbie and her sister Skipper pick out your dates? From the campus dating site?" He spoke slowly, as if he needed to enunciate each word for me.

Rolling my eyes towards the sky, I tried to ignore his prodding. "Dude. Seriously - what were you
thinking
?"

"I wasn't," I admitted, somewhat embarrassed. "They hounded me about needing a date to my cousin’s wedding, and then they said I should start going on some dates. I’ll admit I thought it was a stupid idea at the time, but I was vulnerable enough to let them follow through with their ridiculous plan."

"How many dates are you going to go on?"

Finished picking up the pads, I turned the corner to check the end cap of the aisle that usually held clearance items. As I rounded the end I bumped smack dab into Ryan, who was standing there awkwardly. "Oh my gosh! Sorry," I said, as my sketch pads hit the floor with a loud slap.

"My bad," he apologized; his voice quivering slightly like he was nervous. We both ended up bending down to pick up my dropped supplies and I smiled kindly when he handed them to me.

"Thanks."

He nodded his head and bustled off without another word.

"M’kay, I think I've got everything. Let's go." I walked to the checkout counter with Riley on my heels, bugging me all the way there about the dating thing. Ryan stood at the register and asked if we’d found everything alright.

"Sure did," I mumbled absentmindedly, turning back to Riley as the clerk rang me up.

"Riles, would you lay off?"

"Well Savannah, you have to admit it's kinda creepy. You're meeting them at The Garage, right? That's what Sara said."

"Yes," I snapped tightly. "I'm not crazy. It's all for fun, so stop your worrying."

The sales clerk Ryan coughed and interrupted, "That’ll be twenty seven dollars and eighty-nine cents. Cash or credit?"

I swiped my debit card and he surprised me by asking to see my ID. I commented on the fact saying, "Wow, most people don't bother asking anymore."

"Sorry," he spoke softly. "We like to keep our customers safe from fraud."

"No, I appreciate it actually," I admitted, as he scanned my ID and compared it to my card.

"Here you go, Ms. Guthry," he said; handing me back my ID and card. "Would you like the receipt in the bag?"