Chapter 26 #2
“Babe. That was about one percent of the effort that went into this. This is all you.” He wraps a hand around my neck.
“Months of work. I watched you do it. I’ve told you before to stop giving yourself a hard time, yeah?
Something bad happened to you, and it took you a while to see your way out of it.
It’s no more or less than that. It’s not a hole.
You’re not bottom of the heap. You hear me?
Should never have said that shit.” His eyes are warm.
“You’re fine, babe. Promise you.” He leans in, eyes locked to mine, and brushes his lips across my mouth. “I’ll go get the car.”
I watch his big frame weave through the crowd as my stomach churns.
Is he right? I’ve believed all this stuff about myself for so long.
When did I get so down on myself? As I stare out at the crowd, the picture of Rig’s ass is still in pride of place, and for a moment, I admire how big the picture is and how I managed to get all the detail in it.
It was Mark who got me so down on myself.
The thought just pops into my head, unbidden.
I press my hand into my chest. I used to draw a lot when we were together, and he hated it, hated the time I spent on all the little details, getting them right.
He said it was stupid, that I was wasting my time.
He wanted me to do other things, things with him …
play video games and do drugs. My hands clench into fists.
I thought all the drinking and the problems were because I lost Charlie, but really that useless asshole pushed me into a hole and I’ve been trying to fight my way out ever since. Fuck me.
I look toward the windows and I can see Rig’s beaten-up old truck outside, so I go and find Marni to say goodbye.
She’s running interference between Angelo and Konstantin, and she grins and winks at me.
“I like a bit of competition. Gotta keep them on their toes. Best idea I ever had, hooking up with Konstantin. It’s got Angelo bending over backward.
He keeps sending me presents!” she squeaks. “Anything I want, he says.”
I laugh at her obvious glee but really I want to knock some sense into her. “You know that’s not a good thing, right?”
She pouts. “Why the fuck not?”
“Two mafia hoods fighting over you isn’t going to end well, Marn.”
She leans in with an evil grin. “Yeah, but I could make a mint in the meantime.” She waves a hand. “And anyway, they’re not the real mafia; you said so yourself.”
I’ve got a feeling Konstantin might be, but I just shake my head at her. Maybe Rig was spot on that all the women in our town are stone-cold crazy.
I kiss her on the cheek, tell her to behave herself, and head out the door. When I’m settled into my seat in the truck, Rig says, “So, you thinking of giving up being a caregiver now, all this money from your art coming in?” He grins.
I gave up the hospital shifts when I had to prepare for this show. I paid two thousand off on my cards before Rig complained that he never saw me because I worked all day, every day, and persuaded me to do more painting. When I said I needed the cash, he said, “We don’t need it, babe.”
“Give up caregiving? I can’t abandon Agnes, June, and Marge,” I say.
He eyes me sideways. “What about my idea of moving to the beach?”
He pulls out into traffic, huge hands steering us through the quiet streets, and I stare at his profile in the lights flashing over his face in the dark. The beach? I know that’s his dream. Is he going to go? How soon? My heart flutters in my chest as I look at the clock on the dash. Midnight.
“I’m going to give up working on the rigs, babe.”
Whoa. “Really?”
“Don’t want to be going away. Got harder to do, knowing you’re at home.”
Home.
He smiles over at me. “After tonight, I’m thinking of becoming a kept man.”
He’s less blunt and a lot sweeter these days. In fact, I can’t believe how sweet he is. “Kept by who?”
“You’ve just been paid ten grand for one painting, never mind the others. Luciano will take his cut, but you’re gonna make six or seven thousand off a’ that big one alone. One painting! Do you understand what that means?”
“That people are idiots?”
“That you can do another big one and charge ten grand for it.”
I laugh. I won’t trust that someone has paid for that picture until the money hits my account.
“You’ve probably made your annual salary tonight in one show. What was Luciano charging for the other ones? I bet he raised the prices when he got that offer.”
“My dad would have said ‘I told you so.’ He’d have been very proud.”
He pulls into the parking lot of the motel we’re staying in, lights on the paths illuminating the grass and the pool in the center of the horseshoe of low buildings. He stares out at the clusters of bushes at the sides and front of the motel, the neon sign, the neat rows of doors and windows.
“I’m very proud of you, babe. I’m thinking we should move to a better place,” he says. “This motel ain’t fancy, but it sure is a step up from where we’re living.”
I press my hand to my chest. “You don’t like my apartment? That ‘sweet pad’? I thought you said it was about the people, not the place.”
He laughs. “It is about that. And I’ve got a lot of awesome memories of that apartment. Not least of which is fuckin’ you in the shower, but I’d like to find something better, create memories in a new place, yeah?”
He twists in his seat and pulls his phone out of the pocket of his jeans, scrolling to something and passing it over to me.
It’s the house on the beach he showed me so many months ago.
“It’s just come back on the market. I’ve been looking and watching, can’t believe the same place came up.
The previous sale fell through. Already made them an offer.
” His eyes roam over my face. “I want to go, and I want you to come with me.”
“Are you saying you want us to live together in a house on the beach?”
“Babe,” he growls, leaning over and grabbing my chin.
I bat him off. “Okay, okay. Yes, I know.”
But he takes hold of my jaw, angling right into my space. “We’ve been living with each other for nine months. I know it didn’t go too well for you last time, but I’m not that asshole, yeah?”
And God do I know that! I really know that. He has never tried to push me into a hole; just the opposite. “You can also be an asshole,” I grumble, but of course he isn’t.
He grins. “Admit it. You like my brand of assholery.”
“Sometimes,” I mutter.