When Love Calls (32 page)

“Thank you Mike.” I said softly. “That means a lot to me.” I was glad he couldn’t see the rose tint dusting my cheeks.
What is it about this man that makes me blush all the damned time?!
I dismissed my thoughts and returned to the business at hand. Regardless of if he made me glow like a light bulb, I was determined to maintain some form of professionalism about all of this. “When would be a good time to get together and discuss the details and for you to take a look at you some of my poetry?”

“Whenever you want sweetheart, I’ve been waiting for you to call. Even if it isn’t to tell me you’ve decided to give us a try.”
Cute.
“I’ll take what I can get! You let me know when and where and I’m there. I think we should meet one-on-one before bringing the band in. You and I can work on some musical arrangements. Don’t worry, we’ll get it together and make it an incredible performance!”

His vote of confidence made me feel more assured and I was happy he was keeping things
somewhat
professional too. “Okay, I’ll be heading to Miami in a few weeks so we can get together after that. I’m excited! Thanks again! Talk to you soon.”

I dialed Feliz next to ask her if she wanted to join me for another art class and told her about my showcase idea. “Sure! Whenever you decide to go, let me know. I’d love to join you. I guess I could use more practice. Do you know Mario had the nerve to say my bowl of lemons looked like a bowl of buttered popcorn?!” Feliz sounded only partially offended, but I stifled my laugh anyway. “As for the showcase idea, it all sounds great Erin. I know it will be amazing.” It was nice to know that everyone had so much confidence in my ability. I wasn’t completely sold yet, but I was starting to believe in myself a little more with every encouraging word. It felt foreign to be anything less than confident, but I took it as a sign of growth.
Everything shouldn’t feel comfortable all the time. I’ve been settled long enough. It’s time to shake things up.
Feliz interrupted my internal coaching session with a barrage of questions. “So how’s the painting going? Have you worked on anything new?

“Painting is going really well. I’ve been working on a couple of pieces. When I’m painting time just flies by and before I know it, it’s one in the morning. I’m glad to have the time off from work to really focus on everything. But enough about painting and my stuff, are you ready for our trip to Florida? I know we are taking two trips this year, but shoot, it’s Miami!” I propped up on my knees in bed and pulled up the web browser on my laptop. It was still active on the page about skydiving in Florida.

“Girl, yes! You know I am more than ready to leave cold-ass Chicago even if it is just for a few days. It sounds like the perfect way to spend Veteran’s Day weekend. So what’s on the agenda because I
know
you have one?!” I looked down at the phone.
Damn, can she see me?
There was no way I was letting the cat out of the bag until the moment we all set foot in Miami, so instead, I lied. “Just some fun in the sun and relaxation with my girls and of course, we have to go hard for Angie’s birthday! I’ve already reserved a VIP spot for us at a club!”
Lies! All lies!
I hadn’t planned squat, except for going to the nude beach and skydiving.

“Well, that sounds cool! I haven’t had any experience with Miami nightlife so I’ll bring my hottest, sexiest duds so I can fit in with the Miami Tamales!” I laughed and she did too. My upcoming therapy sessions served as the perfect excuse for me to hurry off the phone with Feliz. The last thing I wanted to do was slip up and say anything that might clue her in.

“Ok, girl. I’ve gotta run before I’m late. I’ll talk to you soon.” I dropped the phone into my purse, grabbed my keys and was on my way.

*****

Once again I had faced a dreaded therapy session.
This week was so much better.
I assured myself. It felt good to be able to tell Dr. Stevenson about my progress and how well I was doing emotionally. I avoided telling her how hard I fought against Ms. Kitty and her impulses to jump the bones of Mike and Josh respectively. I was slowly beginning to find the answer to questions I’d been too afraid to ask before. Everything I’d done thus far was showing me just how different my life would have been if Emily were still alive. Though parts of it hurt me deeply and I was still struggling with the idea of letting her go, each day I found a new piece of myself and it surged new energy and life into me. I wanted to live. I wanted to live
my
life on my terms, in my own way and for the first time, I felt like I was really doing it.

 Dr. Stevenson had actually seemed impressed with my growth and even said that weekly sessions would no longer be necessary and that we could meet biweekly from then on and intermittently if I felt the need. That was music to my ears. Therapy was hard, but I was glad that I was making enough progress to go it on my own for a while. There was so much that I had to look forward to; painting, traveling and even performing. I sighed deeply as I relished the idea of having more things to think about than medicine and patients. Up to now I’d always thought I loved my work. Recent events had me thinking otherwise. I loved being in control. I loved being the boss and the job I did come naturally to me, because I was a perfectionist and driven by success. That had all worked in my favor for years, but today I wanted more. I wanted to be thrilled with my life and all it had to offer. I wanted to be elated to do what I did each day, even if I wasn’t the most successful person in my field. I wanted to be happy.

When I got home from my session, I went straight upstairs and put on my painting clothes. I had reserved a pair of sweats I’d had since college and an oversized t-shirt as my “work clothes” when I was painting.  They were loose, allowed me the freedom to move and were well-worn and cozy against my skin. As always, I turned on the record player and today Miles Davis was my muse of choice. I was still putting the finishing touched on the blue jay, but hoped to finish in time to start a piece I had planned in my mind called “Sunset Through My Window.” In order for me to start I needed to time things just right so that I could see the sunset that matched the image in my mind. Truthfully, I could begin without it. A photographic memory afforded me that luxury and had been my saving grace in Statistics in undergrad. It was like once I committed something to memory it was etched in my DNA and forever a part of my carnal fabric. I could recall things vividly from my childhood and could sketch them perfectly if I ever had the notion, but when it came to art, even though I could remember the images, I always wanted to see them live before I began painting.

Two hours passed and as I placed the finishing touches on my blue jay, the sky faded from blue to a muted yellow hue. It still wasn’t the color I was waiting for, but I started prepping my next canvas and washed out my brushes. When I returned to the bedroom from the guest bath, the sky had graduated from yellow to a perfect shade of pale pink that showed the promise of progression into a deeper shade on the horizon. There were already hints of red and orange surrounding a brilliant evening sun and I scanned every surrounding detail of treetops and rooftops against the sky’s backdrop. I watched as the street light on the corner began to glow with a dim hint of orange, as it buzzed to life before staring at the sun until the threat of blindness stung my eyes. I forced myself to break my gaze and blinked away the bright spots until my vision returned. I closed my eyes for a moment and committed it all to memory before I took a cleansing breath and propped myself up on the stool in front of the canvas. My muse Miles worked his magic and as he gave color and definition to his melodies, I matched him with each stroke of my paintbrush. I hummed along to the tunes as they played and let the music sweep me away. My hands played freely across the canvas with vibrant bursts of red, yellow, pink and orange.

When I finally broke away from staring at the painting, I found the sky blackened with night and speckled with stars. I reached for my phone to check the time and of course, I had again been painting into the early morning. I pulled myself away from the piece and took a quick shower before throwing on my fleece bottoms and a tank top. I’d gotten used to my bed being empty and sprawled across the California king, tucked a pillow beneath my head before forcing myself to sleep. There was only a week of training left before our 10K run and I wanted to be ready. Angie had agreed to fly down a day early with me to Orlando for the run and ride down to Miami afterward. I was fully sponsoring the trip as gift/bribe to my friends.
For all the money I’m paying, I’d better damn well finish the race!
It was my final admonishment before the peace of sleep shrouded me.

*****

On Friday, after returning to bed from my BGR stint, I got up and went to check out a venue Feliz had mentioned might work for my showcase. It turned out to be larger than what I thought I would need so I thanked the owner for his time and left to ride over to the address Mike had given me to meet him about our collaboration on the show.

To my surprise, I pulled up to a beautiful brick home. On the porch was Mike sitting on a white wooden porch-swing tussling with a little boy. 
Oh no! If I’d known, his son would be here, I would have brought him something!
I made a mental note to give Mike a piece of my mind about springing Adrian on me like this!

“Hey Erin,” Mike said as he stepped down the concrete stairs toward me. “Come here Adrian. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” The most handsome boy with the biggest, brightest brown eyes walked toward me with his hand extended.

 “Hi, my name is Adrian Larza. Nice to meet you.” I grabbed his tiny hand and gave it a shake.

“It’s nice to meet you too Adrian. My name is Erin.” I felt my cheeks plump from how hard I was smiling. As I looked down at him, I felt the familiarity of his gaze.
He definitely has his father’s eyes.

“Come on in Erin. Adrian, pick up the toys off the porch and bring them inside. Make sure you put them
inside
the toy chest.” It felt weird to look at Mike as a father. At the same time, I found it endearing. He exhibited firm affection for his son and I could tell he wanted to teach him what was right without codling him. I was seeing a completely different side of Mike and I liked it.

I followed him into the house and was pleasantly surprised to find the décor to be stylish, though minimal.  The first thing I noticed was the upright cherry wood piano pushed against the far wall from the front room’s entrance. The space looked like what I would have made a formal living room, but it appeared to be Mike’s music room. As I scanned the room further, I noticed in addition to the piano he had both an electric and acoustic guitar as well as a bongo sitting off in a corner. There was also a large rust-colored couch coupled with a brown leather lounge chair and matching ottoman. The room was very… masculine. In the room to my left, there was an antique cherry wood dining room table with matching china cabinet and credenza.

“Most of this furniture was my grandmother’s, but the guitars and bongos are mine” Mike smiled warmly as he observed my surveillance of his space. “Come on into the kitchen. I’ll make us some coffee and we can get down to the business of making you a star!”

“Well, I don’t know about the star part, but coffee sounds nice.” I followed him down the hall, past a staircase and into the kitchen. It was decorated with lime, yellow and tan colors. There was a wooden bowl filled with lemons on the counter and a larger wooden bowl of green apples centered on the solid oak kitchen table. The fragrance of both filled the room giving it a fresh, light scent.
This man has bowls filled with real fruit in his kitchen. Impressive.
I thought to myself. Although I couldn’t imagine what he did with all those lemons. The windows were draped in curtains that complimented the matching kitchen rugs and dish towels. This was the first moment I considered whether Mike had a girlfriend because the kitchen clearly had a woman’s touch. As though reading my thoughts Mike said, “My sister Ebony helped me decorate. By the way, I have a sister named Ebony and a brother named Aaron. I am the oldest but my sister thinks she’s the boss.” Mike curled his mouth into an affectionate grin as he thought of his sister. “Do you like the table? I actually made it myself.”

 My thoughts breezed right past the table comment and zoned in on the first part of his statement. “I thought you said you were an only child?” I was bracing myself for an elaborate tale that would backpedal him out of me catching him in what I immediately thought was a lie.

“Well, on my mother’s side, I’m the only child but my father had other children when they divorced. They’re
all
my family even though they are technically my ‘half brother and sister.’ I guess it’s safe to assume you don’t like the table then, huh?”

I had already averted my gaze to the bowl of apples on the table once he dispelled my feelings of doubt and replaced them with guilt as he explained about his siblings.
I really need to stop expecting the worst from people. Mike has proven to be pretty genuine so far.
I glanced over in Mike’s direction and caught him running his tongue across his lip thoughtfully. Instantly my emotions shifted again from guilt to desire as I redirected my gaze and focused intently on the patterns engrained in the wood.

“Helloooo? Erin?” Mike tilted his head enough to put his face into my field of view.

“Oh, the table is very nice Mike. You made this yourself? Impressive!” Mike’s expression showed he knew my haphazard answer wasn’t what was milling around in my head. Truthfully, I’d dismissed thoughts of anything but the table.
Sturdy.
I thought.

“So, do you want the grand tour first or should we just get to it?” I stood there watching his mouth move as I thought about his proposition.
I’d love to “get to it” right here on this handmade table.
That thought quickly evolved into images of Mike scooping me up and carrying me up the wooden staircase in the hall to his bedroom. Images flashed of him taking me in
his
bed in
his
home. In my mind, we christened every inch of the space until it was filled with the scent of our sex and remnant body heat.
We could recreate every scene of our Vegas encounter from the shower to the desk
. I bit my lip intently as I ran my hand across the smooth lacquer of the wooden tabletop.
This would be a great place to start.