My smile is as refreshing as a cool breeze. Somehow, he always knows the right thing to say—and manages to say it with incredibly efficiency. Once again, I can’t help but wonder how he got this to me so fast. The man must have staff all over the city.
I slide the card back into the envelope and tuck it back into the tissue paper; I don’t want Ollie to see.
“Who’s it from?” he asks.
“Long story,” I answer, then change the subject. “So what happened to you yesterday? Jamie said she invited you over.”
“Yeah, well, you know. I had stuff to do around the house, and then Courtney came back early from the conference, so we did the engaged-couple-hang-out thing.”
“What’s she doing today?”
“Work,” he says. “Same old, same old.”
“Right.” I put my bags down on the table and go into the kitchen for a bottle of water. As I’m taking a long swallow—I’m parched from alcohol and altitude—I realize what’s wrong with Ollie’s statement. “Why is she at work and you’re not?” I ask as I head back into the living area.
“Deposition ended earlier than I expected,” he says. “So I decided to come hang here.”
“That’s great. You didn’t come to see me, did you? Sorry I wasn’t here. Starting tomorrow, though, you might actually find me at home during the day.” It’s a hefty hint, but he doesn’t take it.
“No, I popped by to see Jamie. You know, to make up for blowing off her invitation yesterday.”
“Cool.” I flop down on the couch next to him. “So where is she, anyway?”
“Um, the bathroom. She’s taking a shower. I think she’s going out in a bit. I told her I’d hang out for a while and watch some screen, but now I think I’m getting hungry.” He stands. “Why don’t we go grab something?”
I shake my head. “I’m stuffed. You go on.”
“At least come sit with me. I’m just going around the corner to the Daily Grill.”
He’s already at the door. For someone who was casually vegging a moment ago, he’s certainly eager to get food. “Do you want me to make you something? We have a ton of leftover pizza.”
“Nah. I’m craving their burger. You coming?” He has the door open now.
I think about the camera and the pictures I want to dump into Photoshop. And then I think that Ollie is one of my best friends. “Sure,” I say. “Just give me a sec.”
I grab my sack and head toward my bedroom, but I pause long enough to tap on the bathroom door.
“Don’t be coy,” Jamie says. “Just come on in.”
The shower’s running, but Jamie’s voice is clear, and I imagine she’s probably got her leg propped up on the toilet seat as she shaves. Since we haven’t been shy with each other since ninth grade, I open the door. I’m not at all surprised to see her leg slathered with shaving cream. I am surprised by the expression on her face. It’s one of complete and total shock.
Everything clicks into place.
“Hey, Nik! Why are you home in the middle of the day?”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I snap. “He’s engaged. Off limits. Jesus, Jamie.”
“I—” But she doesn’t finish. Just grabs a towel and wraps it around herself.
“Shit.” The curse bursts out of me. “Shit, damn, fuck.” I am not an expert curser, so that’s pretty brutal for me. “Did you fuck him?”
Her lips are tight together, but she gives just the tiniest nod.
I leave the bathroom and slam the door behind me. Ollie is still standing by the door, and I can tell from his expression that he either overheard our conversation or is smart enough to have figured out the gist of it.
“Jesus, Ollie,” I say.
He looks contrite. Hell, he looks beat up. “I fucked up, Nik. What can I say?”
I exhale. I’m furious, but this is Ollie and I love him and I have to be there for him. For him, and for Jamie. Oh, God. Jamie. “It had to be Jamie? You couldn’t have fucked someone I don’t love? You guys are my best friends—I don’t want to be in the middle of this.”
“I know. I do. I’m sorry. Look, come get some lunch with me. I’ll—we can talk. Or not talk. Just come, okay?”
I nod. “I’ll just have a tea or something. I had a huge lunch with Damien.”
“Damien,” he repeats, and I force myself not to wince. I hadn’t meant to mention Damien’s name. “Christ, Nik. He’s bad news.”
“Don’t you dare,” I say, and I have to work to keep tight control on my voice. “Don’t you dare give me that shit. You can’t stand here and tell me you don’t like Damien Stark. You can’t toss something like that at me and stand there like you’ve got the moral high ground beneath your feet, because you so do not.”
“You’re right—you’re right.” He runs his fingers through his already untidy hair. “Listen, I’m just gonna get a burger and head back to the office. We should talk tomorrow, okay? You can berate me about Jamie all you want. And maybe I’ll even have some shit to tell you, too.”
“About Damien?” I ask coldly.
He hooks his thumb at the door. “I’m going to just—I really am sorry.”
I don’t bother saying anything else. I watch him go, and then I take my stuff and stomp off to my room. My mood is vile, and twice I pick up the phone and think about calling Damien. But what would I say? Hi, you want to paint me and you’re paying me to be your plaything and so I thought I’d call you and dump my friends’ problems on you? Somehow, that just didn’t seem right.
Jamie’s still in the bathroom, most likely because she’s either avoiding me or working up the courage to talk to me. Honestly, I’m not in any hurry.
I boot up my laptop and use the cord from the Leica’s box to download the images into Photoshop. The first one that loads is the rippled image of the wave-battered beach. It’s crisp and clean and makes me think of escape. As if I could step into the froth that the camera has captured and let the tide tug me out to sea, away from everything and everyone.
Except I don’t want to get away from everyone.…
I open another image, and find myself looking at Damien. I’ve caught him in motion, and I think that’s appropriate. When I think of Damien Stark, he’s always moving. He’s a man who makes things happen. He’s action personified, and I’ve managed to catch that, along with something else. Joy.
He’d been turning toward me when I snapped the picture, and his face fills my screen. His lips are parted with the beginning of a laugh, and the afternoon light is reflected in his eyes. His expression is wide open and he’s completely in the moment. My chest feels heavy with emotion. I’ve seen him smile and laugh and smirk and tease, but only in this captured moment have I truly seen exultation.
I press my fingertips to the computer screen and touch Damien’s face. Damien, so strong and yet so injured.
I think of the scars that mar my body and pull up my feet so that my heels rest on the desk chair. Then I hug my knees tight. Damien may not have taken a knife to his skin, but I know that he’s scarred, too. But when I look at his face—at the euphoria in this image—it’s not the injuries I see, but the man who survived them.
I slide the card back into the envelope and tuck it back into the tissue paper; I don’t want Ollie to see.
“Who’s it from?” he asks.
“Long story,” I answer, then change the subject. “So what happened to you yesterday? Jamie said she invited you over.”
“Yeah, well, you know. I had stuff to do around the house, and then Courtney came back early from the conference, so we did the engaged-couple-hang-out thing.”
“What’s she doing today?”
“Work,” he says. “Same old, same old.”
“Right.” I put my bags down on the table and go into the kitchen for a bottle of water. As I’m taking a long swallow—I’m parched from alcohol and altitude—I realize what’s wrong with Ollie’s statement. “Why is she at work and you’re not?” I ask as I head back into the living area.
“Deposition ended earlier than I expected,” he says. “So I decided to come hang here.”
“That’s great. You didn’t come to see me, did you? Sorry I wasn’t here. Starting tomorrow, though, you might actually find me at home during the day.” It’s a hefty hint, but he doesn’t take it.
“No, I popped by to see Jamie. You know, to make up for blowing off her invitation yesterday.”
“Cool.” I flop down on the couch next to him. “So where is she, anyway?”
“Um, the bathroom. She’s taking a shower. I think she’s going out in a bit. I told her I’d hang out for a while and watch some screen, but now I think I’m getting hungry.” He stands. “Why don’t we go grab something?”
I shake my head. “I’m stuffed. You go on.”
“At least come sit with me. I’m just going around the corner to the Daily Grill.”
He’s already at the door. For someone who was casually vegging a moment ago, he’s certainly eager to get food. “Do you want me to make you something? We have a ton of leftover pizza.”
“Nah. I’m craving their burger. You coming?” He has the door open now.
I think about the camera and the pictures I want to dump into Photoshop. And then I think that Ollie is one of my best friends. “Sure,” I say. “Just give me a sec.”
I grab my sack and head toward my bedroom, but I pause long enough to tap on the bathroom door.
“Don’t be coy,” Jamie says. “Just come on in.”
The shower’s running, but Jamie’s voice is clear, and I imagine she’s probably got her leg propped up on the toilet seat as she shaves. Since we haven’t been shy with each other since ninth grade, I open the door. I’m not at all surprised to see her leg slathered with shaving cream. I am surprised by the expression on her face. It’s one of complete and total shock.
Everything clicks into place.
“Hey, Nik! Why are you home in the middle of the day?”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I snap. “He’s engaged. Off limits. Jesus, Jamie.”
“I—” But she doesn’t finish. Just grabs a towel and wraps it around herself.
“Shit.” The curse bursts out of me. “Shit, damn, fuck.” I am not an expert curser, so that’s pretty brutal for me. “Did you fuck him?”
Her lips are tight together, but she gives just the tiniest nod.
I leave the bathroom and slam the door behind me. Ollie is still standing by the door, and I can tell from his expression that he either overheard our conversation or is smart enough to have figured out the gist of it.
“Jesus, Ollie,” I say.
He looks contrite. Hell, he looks beat up. “I fucked up, Nik. What can I say?”
I exhale. I’m furious, but this is Ollie and I love him and I have to be there for him. For him, and for Jamie. Oh, God. Jamie. “It had to be Jamie? You couldn’t have fucked someone I don’t love? You guys are my best friends—I don’t want to be in the middle of this.”
“I know. I do. I’m sorry. Look, come get some lunch with me. I’ll—we can talk. Or not talk. Just come, okay?”
I nod. “I’ll just have a tea or something. I had a huge lunch with Damien.”
“Damien,” he repeats, and I force myself not to wince. I hadn’t meant to mention Damien’s name. “Christ, Nik. He’s bad news.”
“Don’t you dare,” I say, and I have to work to keep tight control on my voice. “Don’t you dare give me that shit. You can’t stand here and tell me you don’t like Damien Stark. You can’t toss something like that at me and stand there like you’ve got the moral high ground beneath your feet, because you so do not.”
“You’re right—you’re right.” He runs his fingers through his already untidy hair. “Listen, I’m just gonna get a burger and head back to the office. We should talk tomorrow, okay? You can berate me about Jamie all you want. And maybe I’ll even have some shit to tell you, too.”
“About Damien?” I ask coldly.
He hooks his thumb at the door. “I’m going to just—I really am sorry.”
I don’t bother saying anything else. I watch him go, and then I take my stuff and stomp off to my room. My mood is vile, and twice I pick up the phone and think about calling Damien. But what would I say? Hi, you want to paint me and you’re paying me to be your plaything and so I thought I’d call you and dump my friends’ problems on you? Somehow, that just didn’t seem right.
Jamie’s still in the bathroom, most likely because she’s either avoiding me or working up the courage to talk to me. Honestly, I’m not in any hurry.
I boot up my laptop and use the cord from the Leica’s box to download the images into Photoshop. The first one that loads is the rippled image of the wave-battered beach. It’s crisp and clean and makes me think of escape. As if I could step into the froth that the camera has captured and let the tide tug me out to sea, away from everything and everyone.
Except I don’t want to get away from everyone.…
I open another image, and find myself looking at Damien. I’ve caught him in motion, and I think that’s appropriate. When I think of Damien Stark, he’s always moving. He’s a man who makes things happen. He’s action personified, and I’ve managed to catch that, along with something else. Joy.
He’d been turning toward me when I snapped the picture, and his face fills my screen. His lips are parted with the beginning of a laugh, and the afternoon light is reflected in his eyes. His expression is wide open and he’s completely in the moment. My chest feels heavy with emotion. I’ve seen him smile and laugh and smirk and tease, but only in this captured moment have I truly seen exultation.
I press my fingertips to the computer screen and touch Damien’s face. Damien, so strong and yet so injured.
I think of the scars that mar my body and pull up my feet so that my heels rest on the desk chair. Then I hug my knees tight. Damien may not have taken a knife to his skin, but I know that he’s scarred, too. But when I look at his face—at the euphoria in this image—it’s not the injuries I see, but the man who survived them.
