I Think of Things
Logan still had no idea what was going on here. They’d gotten up eventually, he had pulled on jeans and t-shirt over Marie’s strenuous objections, and then she had made him breakfast, wearing that butterfly-embroidered kimono. Now she was sitting across the tiny kitchen table from him, sipping orange juice and smiling whenever she happened to catch his eye.
“Don’t you have anything else to do today?” he asked finally.
She shook her head. “This’s the last week of summer vacation. I start on Monday.”
He took a gulp of coffee. “You’re in college?”
“Grad school.” She waved a hand at one wall. “Most of these are mine.” He looked around, uncomprehending. “The artwork. I’m a painter.”
Logan turned around to examine the paintings that decorated the room more closely. He knew exactly jack shit about art, but he figured she’d expect him to say something flattering. One painting, in rich swirling colors, caught his eye particularly and he got up to take a closer look.
It was slightly abstract, but there were two figures in it, and he could tell it was supposed to be part of the Quarter—there were lights and colors that conveyed the feeling of the party atmosphere and the arcane, almost otherworldly quality of the streets at night. The figures weren’t together, but there was a connection between them, as though she’d caught a moment of communication in the midst of chaos.
Logan turned back to her and saw her watching him, but not the way she had been before. She looked serious, alert. He gestured to the painting. “I like that one.”
“What do you like about it?”
“I don’t know. I’m no art critic.” He shrugged, but she just kept looking at him expectantly. “The colors. You can tell where it is and that it’s late. And it looks like something’s happening, only you don’t know exactly what.”
One corner of her mouth turned up. “You can see that?” She got up and came over to him. “I don’t know if you realize it, but that was a very great compliment.”
Logan shrugged again uncomfortably. “I don’t really know what I’m talkin’ about.”
“No, you know exactly what you’re talking about. I wanted it to be a moment in motion. So you’d look at it and wonder who they are, where they’re going, what brought them there.”
“So who are they?” He took another look at the painting. The figures were undefined, though one was clearly a woman and the other a man, and the woman seemed to be looking back at the male figure. Calling him, maybe.
“I don’t know.” She was staring at it herself, and though obviously she must know what it looked like, she seemed to be seeing it for the first time, the way she studied it. “That’s part of what I thought made it interesting. Anyone who looks at it can make up their own story.” She smiled and changed to a lighter tone. “Lots of artists won’t say what their work ‘means’, you know. It’s more fun that way.”
“So that’s art? Tryin’ to confuse people?”
She laughed. “Yeah, I’d go along with that. People are more interesting when they’re a little confused. Off balance. That way they think about things more.” She went over to the painting and straightened it a little. “This is going to be part of my thesis show. Now I’ve just got to come up with the rest of it.”
Interesting. Off balance. He’d never thought about people quite like that. She went back to the table and began gathering up their plates. “Are you going back to Toby’s tonight?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Yeah. I don’t think there’ll be any more trouble, but I told him I’d stick around for a few days, make sure the message gets across.” And apparently Toby was still going to expect him, as confusing as that idea itself was.
Marie laughed again. “Oh, I think the message got out.” She leaned over the wall between the two rooms. “So…what time did you want to go?”
“I don’t know. Later. Nothin’ would happen early.” He looked around and saw his knapsack and jacket, still lying on the sofa where he’d dropped them the night before. “I should get going, I guess.”
“Going where?” She was moving past him, collecting the glasses they’d left on the end table the night before, and she gave him an arch look. “Still pretending you’ve got somewhere important to be?”
Logan followed her into the kitchen. “What, you just want me to hang around here all day?”
She put the glasses into the sink and turned; her arms slid around his waist. “Yes. I just want you to hang around here all day. All night too, come to that.” She looked up at him impishly. “Get it now, or do I have to draw you a picture? I can, you know.”
“Look, Marie—“ He started to detach her arms, but she held on.
“Look, Marie, what? I’m just saying, why don’t you stay here while you’re in town? No strings, all right? It’s got to be nicer than that room upstairs at Toby’s.” She moved a little closer. “Come on. It’d be fun. I could show you around a little. Who knows?” She gave him that mischievous smile again. “You might even get lucky.”
Almost unwillingly, he found his arms going around her. “Yeah?” He let one hand slip down past the curve of her hip. “You gonna make it worth my while?”
She giggled and leaned against him. “Maybe. You’ll have to wait and see.”
“All right.” He didn’t get it, didn’t get her at all, but what the hell? It was a nice offer, and if she wanted to have a little fun her last week off he wasn’t averse from participating. He stepped back then and this time she let him go.
“Good. I’m just going to wash up and then we can think of something to do.” She turned back to the sink. “You can take a shower if you want,” she suggested. “I’m going to, when I finish up here.”
“Okay.” Awkwardly, he stood for a moment, watching as she turned on the water and reached for the dish soap. Then, more because it gave him something to do than anything else, he retrieved his knapsack from the living room and went back into the bathroom to follow her suggestion.
The water was hot and steamy and by another stroke of luck, she used Ivory soap, which wouldn’t leave an annoying chemically-enhanced scent to bother him. He took his time; it had been a while since he’d had the relative luxury of an unhurried shower. He was still trying to sort out his opinion of what he was doing here when the door opened.
“Hey. Mind if I get in there before you use up all the hot water?” Logan was starting to wonder if there was anything she was likely to do that wouldn’t surprise him.
“Be out in a second.” He sluiced a handful of water over his head, making sure the soap was rinsed away, but before he could reach for the taps to turn off the water, she was pulling back the shower curtain and stepping into the tub with him.
“That’s all right. I’ll share.” She ducked her head under the water; she’d taken down her ponytail and the long, dark locks were quickly soaked through. She reached for the soap and a washcloth. “So…want me to make sure your back is clean?”
Absolutely fucking unbelievable. Logan put his hands on the wall on either side of her, trapping her in the circle of his arms. He shook his head as water ran into his eyes, sending a shower of droplets over her. “It’s clean.”
“Okay…you want to make sure my back is clean?” Her hands, holding the soap and cloth, were caught between them as he pressed closer.
“Later.”
For an old house, there must have been a good heating system, because the water never did run cold.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Getting to know you, getting to know all about you...no, still not the right song.