Fire Down Below (11 page)

Wouldn’t it be ironic, I think, if
after all this time Ben really is the man I’m supposed to wind up with?

***

When I get back to work it’s
almost three o’clock. I check my cell and there are texts from both Lauren and
Suzy, demanding that I tell them what happened at lunch. First I decide to go
up and see Declan.

I find him sitting at his computer
when I tap lightly on his open door.

“Can I come in?”

Declan glances up. “Sure, I’m only
solving global warming. I think I’ve almost got it figured out.”

“Impressive.” I sink into one of his
office chairs. “When you’re done with that maybe you could figure out why my
hairspray is leaving all these little white flakes in my bangs.”

“Slow down woman! I’m not a
miracle worker.” He pushes his chair back. “You seem better. I presume your
lunch with Ben wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be?”

“It wasn’t bad at all.” I tell him
about how well it went and that Ben and I still have chemistry, and how he
obviously wants to see me again, but that I feel like I need to think things
over.

“I thought he was married.”

“No.” I wave my hand. “It turns
out that was all wrong. I guess every time he dates someone for more than a
day, his mother tells everyone he’s engaged. Isn’t that crazy?”

“So, you told him you wanted to
take some time and think things over?”

“Well, no,” I smile hesitantly, “I
told him I’d go out with him again on Friday.” I almost describe the lust fog
situation to Declan, but decide better of it. He has a peculiar expression on
his face. “Is everything all right?”

Declan turns towards his large
office windows. “Yeah, I’ve got a lot on my mind right now. Sev called a little
while ago and it doesn’t appear we’ll be able to get that space in Pioneer
Square after all.”

“I’m sorry. Surely you guys will
find something else though. Gosh, I feel like an asshole. Here I am going on
about my love life when you’ve obviously got a million things more important to
think about right now. Do you want to cancel tonight? I’ll understand if you’re
too busy.”

Declan is quiet. “I’ll be there,”
he finally says. “I have a soccer game that runs until about seven though—will
that still work for you?”

I nod, “That’s fine. I’ll see you
tonight.”

When I get back to my office I
immediately call Lauren.

“So,” she says. “How did it go?”

“It went really, really, really well.”

She squeals. “Was that two or
three reallys I just heard?”

“Three.”

She squeals again. “Tell me everything!”

I describe my lunch with Ben,
being sure to mention how amazing he still looks and how he’s most definitely
still single and that he seems more than a little interested in me. I tell her
that it was really fun and that we still have great chemistry. I mention that
I’ll be seeing him again on Friday.

“Kate, that’s wonderful,” she breathes
into the phone. “What an incredible coincidence that you ran into him after all
this time. Don’t you think?”

“I have to admit it is.”

“How do you feel about what
happened all those years ago though?”

“I don’t know.” I sigh. “At one
point he was so wistful about things it almost seemed like he was trying to
apologize for what happened, but he didn’t come right out and say he was
sorry.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to bring it
up yet. It was only a casual lunch, right? He probably didn’t want to open up
any old wounds. Do you still have feelings for him? It sounds like you’re
definitely still attracted to him.”

“I do still have feeling for him. Despite
everything, he’s that one guy I always wondered about—you know?”

“Do you think you’ll sleep with
him when you see him on Friday?”

“I don’t know!” I chew on my
thumbnail. The thought had occurred to me, but I didn’t know whether it was the
smart thing to do or not. “What do you think? Does the fourth date rule apply
to old boyfriends?”

“Hmm, that’s a good question.” I
picture Lauren mulling this over as she holds the phone to her ear, her blonde
hair styled to messy perfection as she considers her decision with all the seriousness
of a Supreme Court judge. Finally she speaks into the phone again. “Okay,
here’s what I think. In a normal old boyfriend situation the rule doesn’t apply,
but it’s been so long since you guys dated that I think in this situation it
does apply.”

“So I shouldn’t sleep with him?”

“Probably not.”

Even though I’ve never taken
Lauren’s fourth date rule seriously, I find myself agreeing with her.

“Okay,” I say. “You’re right. I
won’t sleep with him.”

“Good. If it’s meant to happen
you’ll be seeing more of him, so there’s plenty of time.”

After I hang up with Lauren, I
dial Suzy’s number. I already know she’s not going to be anywhere near as enthusiastic
as Lauren, which is the reason I called Lauren first.

“You sound cheerful,” Suzy says to
me. “Is this a thank God I never married that asshole type of cheerfulness, or
a thank God I ran into him again cheerfulness?

I laugh. “That second one.”

“I gather it went well.”

“It went well.” And I proceed to
give Suzy the run down on Ben.

She takes her time with her
response. “I don’t know. He’s only had one serious girlfriend since you and
even though he agreed to marry her, he wouldn’t commit? That doesn’t sound
good.”

“Maybe he wasn’t ready. I haven’t
had that many serious relationships either. Besides that’s the opposite of what
happened with us.
I
was the one who didn’t want to get married.”

“Okay, but don’t rush into
anything. He basically jumped ship on both of you and he took the coward’s way
out.”

“I hadn’t really thought of it
like that.”

“Here’s something else to think
about. From what you told me he wasn’t supportive of you in the past. And the
fact is people don’t usually change that much. I’m not saying it’s impossible
and maybe he is different now. I hope so, but it’s something to keep in mind.”

“I know you’re right.” I decide to
change the subject. “How about you? Have you come to any decision about Luke?”

“We went out for dinner last night
and do you know what he told me? He said that he loves me and he believes we
belong together and if I need more time then he’ll wait as long it takes.” She
pauses and I can hear the shakiness in her voice. “Isn’t that incredible?”  

“He’s a good man.”

“I think I need time to say
goodbye to my old life—you know? I’ve gotten so used to having everything my
own way. I travel wherever I feel like. I spend money on whatever I want. I
know it’ll be different once I’m married.”

“It will, but there will be so
many other great things to take the place of those. Plus it’s not like you’ll
lose your identity or something.”

“That’s true.” I can hear someone
talking in the background to Suzy. “Listen I have to go,” she says. “If I don’t
talk to you before Friday have fun, but be careful too—okay? I know I probably
sound overly harsh about this guy, but I care about you and I don’t want you to
get hurt.”

When I get home
from work
that night I decide to set up my easel along with all the other supplies I’ll
need to paint Declan. I usually create a few sketches of someone before I start
a painting, but figure I’ll get everything set up, that way if inspiration strikes
I’ll be ready. I’ve been thinking a lot about Declan’s portrait and have
decided to paint him in a way that reflects his personality. Something more
abstract than what I’ve painted in the past.

I start rooting through my hall
closet searching for drop cloths and blank canvases, when I see my old sketch
books. All that talk at lunch today has made me curious. After flipping through
a stack of them I find the one I used years ago to create the drawings of Ben.

The cover is a little battered, but
as far as I can tell the contents are still intact. Tentatively I begin exploring
it one page at a time. It feels weird because it’s like a diary and I’m
suddenly surrounded by the life I had over a decade ago. There are drawings and
sketches of various friends and humorous cartoons of some of the places I used
to frequent.

My breath catches when I come to
the first drawing of Ben. I feel my hands shake as I sink to the floor. It
occurs to me that I haven’t seen these since our breakup. There’s a strange
tightness in my chest as I stare at the Ben of my youth. His easy smile and perceptive
eyes are gazing out at me as if no time has passed at all. His hair is long and
tucked neatly behind his ear on one side and I drew him so you got a real sense
of the nervous energy behind that laid-back grin. He’s only a black and white
drawing, but he seems alive somehow and ready to step out from the paper and
into my life again.

I go through the rest of the
sketches. There are more than I remember. Various poses, some of his profile,
others of him standing or sitting. There’s an interesting one of his face looking
pensively out at something in the distance. Not bad, I think as I examine my
own handy work. When I get to the penis drawings I start to laugh. I didn’t
just capture it on paper, but I drew it to life size proportions. How
convenient! I sketched him with an erection that looks a bit over enthusiastic.
But then don’t cocks always look that way? Over enthusiastic—just like their
owners. As I’m busy measuring my hand against it, the doorbell rings.

I answer it and find Declan
standing there still wearing his soccer uniform, which for some reason takes me
off guard.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says in a
rush, stepping inside. “Our game ran into overtime and I left as soon as I
could. Do you mind if I use your shower? I won’t be long.”

“That’s fine.” My eyes drift over
Declan’s body. He’s wearing a sleeveless blue shirt and a pair of black and
white style soccer shorts. “I’ll get you a towel. I still have to run out and
pick up food anyway.”

He follows me down the hall where
I grab a towel out of the linen closet. I do a quick scan in the bathroom making
sure there are no embarrassing items on display.

“Here you are. There’s some shampoo
and soap already in there.

As I step aside, he walks past me
and puts his gym bag down on the floor next to the tub and I get a whiff of him.
Even though he’s sweaty it smells good. I find myself breathing in his scent
which reminds me of something crisp and green like an apple.

 I start to leave, but then
remember that I forgot to ask him what kind of Thai food he wants. When I turn
back around Declan already has his shirt off and I stop and stare at him. I’ve
never seen Declan without a shirt before and I had no idea he was in such great
shape. He has a fair amount of light brown chest hair that tapers into a line
running down his stomach straight into his shorts which is where my eyes become
fixated. I hear laughter and when I look up Declan is watching me with an
amused expression.

“Are you checking me out, Kate?”

“What?
No
! I mean, sort of.
Oh God, I’m sorry!” I groan, feel like I’m going to die of embarrassment. “I
never knew you had...uh, were...in such great shape.”

“I work out here and there though mostly
I try and keep busy.”

“I see, well it’s really...uh,
working.” Could I sound stupider? I can’t believe I’m getting this tongue tied.

“Thanks. Did you know you’re
blushing?”

“I never blush,” I say, and then
turn to look at myself in the mirror. To my surprise my face does look pink. I
put my hands up to my cheeks. “Except in cases of extreme mortification.”

He chuckles. “I didn’t know I was
capable of having this sort of effect on you. I’ll have to remember to take my
shirt off in front of you more often.”

“Oh, stop.” I look over at him and
he’s still grinning, obviously having fun. I lightly slap my pink cheeks a
little. “All right, I’m going to leave this bathroom now before I make an even
bigger fool of myself.”

“Hey, wait!”

I turn around, my hand on the door
knob.

“Don’t you want to stay and watch
me take my shorts off?”

“No!” I laugh.

I shut the door behind me—what the
heck just happened? Best not to examine it too closely. I once read that it’s
not good lingering over moments where you felt bad or embarrassed because it
creates a stronger neural pathway for those emotions, that it’s best to linger
over times when you felt strong and proud, though at the moment I can’t seem to
linger over anything but Declan’s shirtless torso. He looked pretty good in
those soccer shorts too. I wonder what he looks like without them.

Stop, I tell myself. Declan and I
are friends. Plus I have this whole new situation with Ben to think about. My
life has more than enough complications without introducing any new ones. The
last thing I need is to develop a crush on Declan.

I grab my car keys off the table
and head out the door. It isn’t until I’m in my car with my cell phone in hand ready
to speed dial the Thai restaurant that I realize I forgot to ask him what he
wanted to eat. I try to think of what he likes and all I can remember is that
he prefers some noodle dish and that he always gets extra peanut sauce. No way
am I going back into that bathroom while he’s taking a shower, so I call and
order three different noodle dishes, rice, and a side of peanut sauce. That
should be good enough.

On the way to the Thai place I
stop at the grocery store, figuring I’ll pick up some dessert and beer for us. I
head over to get Thai beer, but when I spy the bottled Guinness I decide to
surprise Declan with a six pack of that, since I know he drinks the stuff as do
all ‘real’ men, or so he’s informed me on more than one occasion. 

When I get back from picking up
all the food and assorted goodies, I find Declan dressed and sitting on my
living room couch with one of my sketch books on his lap. “Do you mind if I
look through some of these? Your closet door was open and I saw them stacked
inside.”

“I don’t mind.” I put the Thai
food down on the dining room table and head into the kitchen with the rest of
the stuff. As I’m putting the beer in the fridge I suddenly remember that
sketch pad with the drawings of Ben, hoping Declan hasn’t been looking at those.

I walk quickly over to where he’s
at on the couch and scan the various pads that are stacked on my coffee table,
but I don’t see the book with the drawings of Ben.

“You’re an incredible artist,
Kate. I had no idea you were this good. What on earth are you doing working as a
web developer? Didn’t you once tell me you used to be an illustrator?”

“Yeah, I worked as an illustrator
for a while when I lived in New York.”

“And what happened?” He looks up
at me.

I shrug. How do I explain to
Declan that while, yes, I am a good artist, there are a thousand others just as
good as I am and we were all vying for the same few jobs. “The competition was fierce.
People say you need talent and luck to succeed as an artist, but as far as I
could tell it was talent, luck, and having the right connections.”

He nods. “That was New York. Have
you considered artist jobs locally? Or maybe you should find a gallery. Don’t
you have a friend that owns one?”

“My friend Anthony co-owns the New
Earth gallery downtown. He’s asked me a few times to get some paintings
together, but I don’t have as many as I’d need for a show.” The truth is
Anthony has been bugging me for years to come up with enough pieces, but I keep
putting him off. I’d need at least a dozen paintings and the thought is
overwhelming somehow, so I’ve never gotten around to it.

I walk over and stand next to
Declan as if I’m interested in what he’s looking at, but I’m really trying to
find that sketch book with the penis drawings. As I’m straining my neck peering
over Declan’s opposite shoulder he glances up at me.

“Here,” he says, reaching down to
hand me a drawing pad. “I believe this is what you’re after?”

I smile sheepishly. “Oh, thanks.”

I take it from him, although I realize
at this point it doesn’t really matter whether I have the sketches or not,
since he’s obviously seen them. I stand there wondering if Declan is going to
make some sort of comment about them.

“I’m starving,” he announces,
getting up from the couch. “Where’s the Thai food? I hope you remembered to get
extra peanut sauce.”

He walks towards the kitchen and I
follow behind him, discreetly putting the sketch pad on my living room book
shelf. Once I’m in the kitchen I take down plates and start opening all the
boxes of food, enjoying the spicy lemon grass aroma.

“I got something special for you,”
I say with a little smile. “Check in the fridge.”

“Oh?”

He opens up the refrigerator and
looks inside. When he turns towards me he’s holding the six pack of bottled
Guinness with an amused expression. “Ah Kate, tell me you didn’t buy this for me?”

“I thought you liked Guinness.”

“Well, yeah, but not in a bottle.
I can’t drink this.”

“What do you mean?” I dish out our
food onto two plates giving us both a sample of everything. “I’m sure it’s
perfectly good.”

“Bottled Guinness—you’re joking? This
is what little children and pregnant ladies drink.”

I laugh. “Little children and
pregnant ladies don’t drink beer!”

He gives me a look. “They do if
they’re Irish.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Okay, maybe not, but seriously the
only way to drink Guinness is on tap. It has to be poured.”

“Is it really that big of deal?”

He sighs heavily. “This is sad. How
many times have I taken you with me to the pub and you still don’t understand
the philosophy of the proper pint? Pouring the proper pint is an art. It’s like
a Japanese tea ceremony. If it’s not done right then it’s not even worth
drinking.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Japanese tea
ceremony? Puh-lease. It’s just beer.”

“Just beer? Kate, I’m shocked at
your ignorance.” He shakes his head as if I’ve said something blasphemous and
puts the six pack back in the refrigerator.

We take our plates into the living
room and sit down. I have a dining room table, but for some reason it never
gets used. This might have something to do with the fact that it’s always
covered with books, papers, and other miscellaneous junk. Declan takes the
couch and I have a seat in my leopard chair. People always comment on it when
they first visit my house, that and my dining room chandelier which I bought at
Lowe’s. It was a boring brass color, so I spray painted it bright blue and then
glued on all sorts of brightly colored fake gem stones. I’ve gone for a bit of
retro artsy style through most of my house, except for the bedroom which I’ve
purposefully kept simple and soothing with an Asian influence.   

“This is pretty good,” he says
digging into his food with a pair of chopsticks. “I didn’t realize you liked
noodle dishes so much.”

“Yeah.” I decide not to say
anything about why I got so many of them, not wanting to relive my earlier
embarrassment. Luckily, each dish is fairly distinct.

When we’re finished eating Declan
looks at me expectantly. “So, how do I pose for this painting? Shall I do
something manly—flex some muscle?”

“Nope, not at all.” I smile and take
a moment to study him. Even though it’s summer, it’s already starting to get
dark outside. “Just stay there, but lean back and sit comfortably.”

I get up and walk around the room,
turning on and off various lights. I’m not sure what I’m looking for—a feeling,
I guess. A mood. I decide to leave all the lights off except the one on my book
shelf and a tall standing lamp next to my leopard chair.

Declan watches me, but doesn’t say
anything. Finally I grab a sketch pad that I bought recently and take a seat in
the chair with the pad on my lap. The room is slightly darkened, but I can
still see him clearly. Wordlessly I open up to a blank page and begin to
sketch. One of the interesting things about drawing someone is that you get to
stare at their face or body for as long as you want. You can study their eyes
or their mouth, until you begin to notice details about them that are new. For
instance Declan’s mouth curls up slightly at the corners—I’ve always noticed
that, but I never noticed how his lips were so evenly shaped. He has full lips,
but they aren’t in the least bit feminine. His mouth is generous, but decidedly
masculine, and has a somewhat stubborn set to it. His eyes are such a striking
color that even in the waning light I can still see they’re blue. He has strong
cheekbones and a face that’s squared. He’s not completely bald, but he keeps his
hair cut close, so the shape of his head is well defined.

Neither of us says anything while
I continue to sketch. The only sounds are coming from the soft scratching of my
pencil and the occasional city noises of cars and people outside. As I’m
studying him, I begin to realize something unusual is happening and that he’s
studying me too. I can feel his eyes on me, watching my every move. It makes me
self-conscious for a while, but then I forget about it and become immersed in
what I’m doing. As time passes and the room gets darker I want to turn on some
more lights, but something holds me back. Finally I put my pencil down and rub
my eyes.