Waiting for Jo (3 page)

“Mmmmm,” I say. “I taste raspberry and dark
chocolate. It’s amazing!”

“Good job,” Scotty says. “I can see that
you’ve been working on your palette.”

“I have,” I say, feeling proud of myself.

Scotty picks up a cloth and starts wiping
down the bar. “So, how have you been? I didn’t get a chance to talk
to you when you were here last time. I guess you were in a rush to
get leave considering the fact that you were covered in wine,” he
says.

“Yeah, I was bummed that I didn’t get to chat
with you, but I was definitely ready to go. Not just because of the
wine, but because of the way I acted. I’m afraid that I was pretty
harsh with your server.” I look around the room, but I don’t see
Will. “I was hoping he’d be here tonight so that I could
apologize.”

“Well, you don’t have to do that, hun. But if
you really feel the need to, I think he’s upstairs. I’m renting the
apartment to him for a while.”

“Do you think he’d be okay with me stopping
by unannounced?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah! I know he feels pretty bad about
what happened the other night. I’m sure he’d welcome the
visit.”

“Alright. I’m going to go up there really
quickly. Save my spot,” I say as I hop off the bar stool.

“Sure, thing,” he says.

I walk the length of the Alcove and climb the
dark staircase that leads to the apartment. Surprisingly, I’ve
never been in this stairwell before. The left wall is covered from
floor to ceiling in wine corks, and the other side is adorned with
photographs of several generations of the Miller family who have
owned the Alcove for as long as anyone can remember.

For some reason, I feel a bit nervous as I
knock on the door at the top of the stairs. I wipe my sweaty palms
on my skirt and try to ignore the warmth in my face. I take a few
deep breaths as I wait for Will to answer.

“Who is it,” I hear a distant voice say.

“It’s Jo from the other night. The girl you
spilled wine on.”

I hear footsteps approaching and then the
sound of a deadbolt turning. Will opens up the door and it creaks
loudly.

“Hi,” he says with a confused look on his
face. Will is shirtless and his built upper body is covered in
several shades of paint. I try to not stare, but I’ve never seen a
paint-covered man look so good before.

“Hi, Will. I just wanted to talk to you about
the other night. I feel like a jerk. I shouldn’t have yelled or
cursed. I know it was a mistake. I’m really embarrassed. So, I just
wanted to say that I’m sorry.” My face feels even warmer as I
noticing that I’m speaking unusually fast.

Will smiles at me, obviously amused by my
embarrassment.

“Come inside,” he says, opening the door all
the way and motioning for me to enter. I walk into the apartment
and discover that it is more of an open, loft-type space with a
small living area, an even smaller kitchen, and a bed off to one
side. Will is using the other side as an art studio. There are a
number of paintings on easels and some leaned up against the wall.
All are in different stages of completion. The smell of turpentine
fills the air.

I let my eyes scan the room. “Wow! You’re an
artist,” I say.

“Yeah. That’s right. I’m an artist. A
starving artist.” Will chuckles slightly. “Let’s sit down,” he
says. We move away from the door, toward the living area, and take
a seat on a small, worn out floral sofa that looks like it was
manufactured in the seventies.

“Well, I’m glad you came by. I was feeling
really bad about ruining your dress. I’m so sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. Accidents happen,” I say.

We’re both silent for a few moments.

“So how long have you been an artist?” I
point to the other side of the room where Will’s paintings are
situated. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

“Not at all,” he says. We both stand up and
make our way across the apartment. I stop and admire a rather large
painting. “I just finished that one,” he says. “It was a beast to
work on, but I’m really happy with the result.”

“It’s beautiful,” I say, not taking my eyes
off of the painting. It’s an abstract of what looks like a sunset
and mountains. The pinks, oranges, yellows, and corals seem to jump
off of the canvas, and the grays and charcoals bring an allover
feeling of calm and serenity to the piece. “It really is
impressive, Will.”

Will’s cheeks turn bright red. “Thanks,” he
says in a shy voice. Another awkward silence ensues.

“Well, I better get going,” I say. “Thanks
for being so understanding about my temper.” I start making my way
to the door.

“Wait,” Will says, with a small degree of
urgency in his voice.

“What?” I say.

“You should take it.”

“Take what? The painting? Why?”

“Well, I can’t afford to buy you a new dress,
but you obviously like the painting. It would make me feel so much
better if you took it. It’s the only way I can make up for what I
did.”

“I don’t expect you to make up for it,” I
say.

“Please. You like the painting, and I want to
give it to you. I don’t see the problem.”

I’m quiet for a moment. Maybe I should take
it. I do love the painting, and I even have the perfect place to
hang it in my house. But I don’t know if I can take a painting from
a struggling artist without paying him.

An idea suddenly comes to mind. “How about
this?” I say. “I’ll borrow the painting. Then when you decide that
you need to sell it, you take it back. How does that sound?”

“Deal,” he says with a look of satisfaction
on his face. “Let’s drink to that.” Will pulls a couple of Miller
Lights out of the fridge, opens them, and hands me one which I
happily accept. We take swigs of our drinks while standing at the
small breakfast bar in the kitchen.

“So, how long have you lived here?” I ask.
“I’ve never seen you at the Alcove until the other night.”

“A few weeks now. I moved here from Georgia.
I was working at the Atlanta Museum of Contemporary Art as a
docent, and I was laid off due to budget cuts. Scott offered to let
me stay here until I get back on my feet. So, I’ve been doing odd
jobs for him and serving at the Alcove to make some money.” Will
leans up against the kitchen counter, and I allow myself a few
seconds to check out his sculpted biceps.

“That’s really nice of Scotty. He’s such a
good guy. I’ve known him for a few years now, and he’s always been
there for me.” I take another drink of my beer and then set it down
next to Will. “How long have you known each other?”

“For thirty years if you can believe that,”
Will says. “Our parents were neighbors and best friends. Our moms
got pregnant with us right about the same time. Our dads always
joked that they did that on purpose. Anyway, when we were twenty I
moved to San Francisco to pursue this art thing. Scotty stayed here
and worked at the Alcove and eventually took it over when his pops
retired.”

“That’s cool. Very few people have friends
that they’ve known their entire life,” I say. “My best friend
Harley and I have been inseparable since freshman year of college,
but I’ve lost contact with most of my childhood friends.”

“Yeah, I realize that I’m really lucky. I’ve
been let down by a lot of other people. I’m sure that’s true for
most everyone, but Scotty has always been around. He’s the one
constant in my life.”

Will’s looks away from my face and starts
picking at the label on his beer bottle. I can tell that he thinks
he’s revealed too much about himself. He takes another quick swig
of beer and changes the subject.

“You have a friend named Harley? That’s a
different name.”

“Isn’t it. It’s funny how she got that name.
Her parents emigrated here in the 80’s from South Korea. Her dad
had always been obsessed with everything American. So when he found
out that his wife was pregnant, he decided to name the baby after
the most American thing he could think of. It didn’t matter if the
baby was a boy or a girl, either way, it would be called Harley. It
really fits her though. She’s unique and cool, just like her
name.”

Will laughs at the story. “I guess it’s
better than having a boring, common name like William Bennet.
What’s your last name?”

“O’Shea.”

“Oh, so you’re an Irish girl?”

“I’m a very Irish girl. My mom’s maiden name
is McMally and my parents met at the Dogtown St. Patty’s day
parade. How cliché is that?” Will and I both laugh.

“That’s definitely a bit cliché, but it’s
also a cute story. Do your parents still live in town?”

“My mom lives in Phoenix with her husband
Rob. I haven’t heard from my dad since I was about eleven or so. I
think he lives in Rhode Island or Delaware or something. I’m not
totally sure.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Will has that
look on his face. The same look that everyone seems to have when I
tell them my father wasn’t part of my life. I’m pretty sure that
it’s a cross between pity and embarrassment.

“Don’t be sorry. I stopped being sorry years
ago.” I take a big gulp of my beer and try and forget about my
deadbeat dad. His abandonment really does still bother me, but
what’s the point of dwelling on it?

I look down at my watch. “Oh, shit!” I
say.

“What? What’s wrong?” The look on Wills face
changes from pity and embarrassment to concern.

“I’ve been up here for a while. I need to get
home and feed my dog and let him out. I’m sorry to drink and run,
but I better scoot.”

“No worries. I’m glad you came by. Do you
have room in your car for the painting?”

“Yeah. I drive an SUV and we should be able
to fit it in there if I put the seats down.”

Still shirtless, Will picks up the painting
and carries it out of the apartment. I follow and watch him from
behind. I can’t help but admire his strong back and tight butt, and
I find myself picturing him naked. Naughty girl, I say to myself
with an evil grin on my face.

Will loads the painting into my car and
reaches up to shut the hatch. I could watch this shirtless man move
all day.

“Thanks for the painting, Will. It really is
beautiful, and I know exactly where I’m going to hang it. And don’t
forget that I’m just borrowing it. When you decide that it’s time
to take it back, let me know.” I pull a piece of paper from my
purse and write my phone number on it. “Just give me a call.”

“I certainly will. Thanks for coming by
tonight. I don’t feel as terrible about ruining your dress now, and
it was nice getting to know you a bit. We should hang out again
soon.”

“Sure,” I say, surprised by his suggestion.
“Well, I better get out of here. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Bye, Jo.” He takes a step closer to me and
leans in but then suddenly backs away. “I sometimes forget when I’m
covered in paint. I don’t want to ruin more of your clothes,” he
says before extending his hand for a shake.

I smile. “That’s probably a good idea.”

We shake hands, and then I open the driver’s
side door and get in.

“Bye, Will.” Will watches me pull away and
waves to me as I exit the parking lot.

Did Will just suggest that we hang out? I
never know what guys mean when they say “hang out.” He is nice and
incredibly sexy, but I don’t want to lead him on. I really can’t
offer him more than friendship right now. I’m probably reading too
much into it anyway; he likely said that just to be nice. I shrug
it off and turn on the radio. There’s no reason to expend brain
cells thinking about this right now.

Just as I pull into my driveway, I receive a
text.

James Parker: Have you thought about the job
offer? I really need to get someone in here ASAP. Please let me
know.

Ughhh. I guess I need to make a decision
soon.

Chapter 4

“So let me get this straight,” Harley says
before pausing to take a sip of her strawberry margarita. “This guy
spills wine on you, and you feel the need to apologize? And then he
gives you a painting. Am I getting this right?”

“Well, let me clarify. I was apologizing for
yelling and cursing at him. And the painting is just on loan. But
it’s really cool, right? Won’t it look good on that wall?” I point
at the bare space over my sofa.

Harley takes another gulp of her margarita.
“Hmmm, there’s only one explanation for this,” she says putting her
hand to her chin. “He wants to have sex with you.” Harley is known
for her deadpan sense of humor.

We both laugh loudly. “He did say that we
should ‘hang out’ soon. Is that a euphemism for sex?”

“When it comes to men, everything is a
euphemism for sex.” We share another laugh.

“Seriously, though. He’s a really nice guy,
he’s an amazing artist, and he’s incredibly hot, but I just can’t
date right now.”

Harley cocks her head to the side and puts
her hand on her hip. “And why is that?”

“We both know that I’m still hung up on
James.” Harley rolls her eyes at me. “And, to be honest, the whole
vagabond, starving artist thing just isn’t something I want to deal
with. I already know, or should I say knew, one guy like that, and
that’s quite enough.”

Harley knows I’m talking about my dad and
looks at me sympathetically. He left my mother and me when I was
nine so he could pursue a career in acting. He convinced her to go
along with it by telling her that we’d join him when he got settled
in. But the weeks and months passed, and he always seemed to have
an excuse as to why we couldn’t move to California to be with him.
We heard from him less and less until we finally stopped hearing
from him at all. He moved around the country for a while and even
lived in Mexico for a time. Last I heard, he was living out
east.

“Jo, I have two things to say to you. Number
one: I’m not talking about marrying this guy. I’m talking about
having a little fun with him. Number two: It’s time to get the fuck
over James. He hasn’t even contacted you since you broke up. It’s
over. Time to move on! Jesus Christ!”