Four
León checked the sun’s angle as Andrew drove slowly from traffic light to traffic light. Hours to go before the next sunset. Hurry up and wait. He caught his thumbs tapping against his thighs again and stilled them.
The delays were killing him.
If it wasn’t LA traffic eating up time, it was apartment managers who didn’t call back or Andrew’s damn social life.
His thumbs again…ah, whatever, let them tap.
A dismal, misshapen feeling kept beating around his head, looking for a way in. The painting had taken a wrong turn, it whispered. The truth and the story hadn’t made it onto canvas. It was New York all over again.
There was no choice but to try again, but his deal with Celia was for this one painting. Andrew’s place was still too small, and the apartment search going nowhere. He’d thought his New York budget would go further out here, but no.
And instead of helping, here was Andrew, dragging him out for happy hour, of all things. Drinks were an indulgence he couldn’t afford. He didn’t have the time. Hell, he didn’t have the cash.
Still, as Andrew pulled into a parking lot, León tried to calm himself. He wasn’t sulky. His problems were his own. If he had to chit-chat for a few hours before sunset, he’d do it nicely.
The bar was high-ceilinged and airy, arched windows spilling golden sun onto brick walls and brass fixtures. Broad-leafed tropical plants waved on the crimson walls at classic intervals. León followed Andrew’s navy-blue shoulders into cool, dim interiors smelling of pine and citrus.
Celia would be here. Could he talk her into a few more nights? She might let him, though he couldn’t pay her back.
Andrew’s bright idea from last night was still rattling around his head too. Yes, he could desperately use the pool house. But he didn’t know how to teach, had no time to waste on giving lessons, and Celia was far too wooden to paint from the heart.
Also, he’d heard her say no. She didn’t want him there.
“Why’d we come here instead of going to Celia’s?” León asked. “Is she tired of us hanging in her backyard?”
“We’re giving her a break from hosting,” Andrew said, not breaking stride. “She likes this place.”
In a private brick-lined corner, they found Trevor sitting at a polished wooden table, Celia already across from him. Trevor’s ocean-blue shirt was a relief, a pop of cool color in this otherwise red and gold edifice. The inaudible talk at the table halted as Andrew swanned up. In a smooth motion, he scooted across the bench next to Trevor and dropped an arm around his shoulder.
“Can I come fishing with you next time?” he asked. “I need a vacation.”
Andrew, fishing? Being quiet, outdoors, for more than five minutes? That was a joke, right?
Trevor rolled his eyes with a smile but leaned into Andrew’s embrace. “You can come any time,” he said, “but I’m not driving you back when you miss civilization the first night.”
“When’s your next trip?” Andrew asked him, giving his shoulder a squeeze.
León turned his attention to Celia.
She glanced into the drink cupped between her hands. Back to avoiding eye contact, were we? Jesus, that was an annoying habit! He pulled out the seat at the end of the table, furthest from her, his fingers on the chair blotched with shades of green paint.
Look at her, wearing some brown thing that blended right into the wall. She’d picked the one chair that avoided the yellow light spilling from the pendant above the table. Her turned-down face was worn, shadows under her eyes and lines framing her mouth.
She’d seemed interested in painting that first night but hadn’t come out since. Was she sick, maybe?
Kelsey fluttered up, claiming the last chair and littering her keys, phone, and purse across the table. Why did women always carry so much? She brightened the table, though, her cream blouse and honey-colored hair giving the golden pendant something to light up.
For a second, the colors swam before León’s eyes. Kelsey in yellow, the little lamp in her orbit, matching her glow. Trevor and Andrew to the right, blue and navy shirts pooling together in cool contrast to the overwhelming red brick background. And Celia, sepia, fading into the brick and wood.
Andrew twirled a finger above his head, signaling a round for the table to a server beyond the two women. Kelsey turned to specify a ginger ale, loudly, and the moment of colors faded.
“Is Charlie coming?” Trevor asked as Kelsey turned back.
“Ugh, no,” she said with a grimace.
“You two broke up again?” Andrew asked.
She shrugged. “Probably. Let’s talk about something else.”
A gleam lit Andrew’s face as he leaned in under the pendant. “I got my piece for the exhibition fired. No cracks in her.” He winked at Celia for some reason.
“Her?” Kelsey asked.
“A nude torso, female, about two feet high.” Andrew’s hands raised to inscribe the height and curves. “The glaze came out beautifully too. Bronzes and greens, just like our Celia.”
Ah! León looked Celia over quickly. Bronze, yes, her hair and skin had that burnished coppery light, then the olive undertones…good eye, Andrew.
Celia’s shadowed face turned to the light of the table. “The figurine I posed for? I thought you were making a small one, like….” She raised a hand above the table about half a foot.
“The studies were smaller,” Andrew said. “I needed to work up to the big piece. Good thing the firing went well. I couldn’t do another in five weeks.”
“That reminds me, León,” Trevor said, leaning over Andrew. “I called the gallery, the one holding the exhibition next month. They said to bring you in to talk about showing in it.”
León jumped out of his chair, nearly knocking a tray of drinks from the approaching server’s grasp. He could have leapt on the table and crowed.
“Ha, yes!” He could sell his work at an exhibition!
Sparkling glasses, clear and clinking with ice, were set down by the server in front of all but Kelsey. The alcohol smell was unpleasantly strong, with more citrus and pine.
“What did you order?” León asked, sitting back down.
“Gin,” Andrew said. “That’s what they serve here. It’s a gin bar.” Trevor and Andrew grinned as León wrinkled his nose. “You’re what, thirty-five? It’s time to acquire some grown-up tastes. Like decent alcohol.”
“Blue cheese,” Trevor offered. “Sashimi.”
Kelsey leaned in. “Oysters.”
“No shellfish,” Celia warned from her corner.
Andrew laughed. “No shellfish!”
“I eat blue cheese,” León said.
Kelsey tittered into her soda, setting it down with a light slosh. Andrew swirled his glass, the tinkling ice louder in the conversation’s lull.
“León,” Trevor said as he leaned back, “tell us how you and Andrew met.”
“Ah.” León lightly drummed fingers on the table as he raised his glass for a sip, eyeing Andrew over the rim. Andrew smirked back. “We met in art school. He stole my girl.”
Andrew shrugged as his friends chuckled.
“She wasn’t officially mine,” León continued. “We were just hooking up. But here came this tall, dark senior swooping in, and that was that.”
Trevor stirred his drink. “He stole a boyfriend from me once.”
“Ah, come on,” Andrew broke in. “I never actually stole anyone. People, they go where they want.”
“Anyway,” León said, “he was so nice about it, we just became friends.” He looked around the table. “I suppose he’s dated all of you at some time?”
A laugh went around as everyone turned to Celia, who raised her hand diffidently.
“Just me,” she said.
Kelsey leaned closer to León. “Did you ever date Andrew?”
León shook his head. “Not my type,” he said. “Plus, my dad would have killed me. Machismo, you know.”
Trevor nodded. “I hear that.” He hitched a thumb at himself. “Mormon.”
Kelsey sat up straight and grabbed at her phone. “Trevor, that reminds me, I need to show you this.” She was scrolling as soon as the screen lit up. “Celia, will you switch seats?”
Silently, Celia stood. Kelsey switched to the far chair, leaving Celia to sit next to León.
“Now I can see you,” León said.
She hesitated, then sat wordlessly as León picked up his glass. He shook it, surprised to find only ice.
Celia pushed her glass to him. “I didn’t drink any.”
León accepted it. Gin wasn’t that bad, actually.
Andrew stood partway, peering at the dim bar. “Hold up, I know that woman over there. Be right back.” On his way past, he leaned down to plant a kiss on Celia’s head. “Talk a little, girl.”
“Girl,” she muttered. “I’m two years older.”
León watched her sigh, then sit taller in her chair. Look at her, bracing to follow instructions.
Why was she so reluctant to unbend? She couldn’t just enjoy time with friends? He didn’t feel like it either, but he’d made an effort. What was her story?
The sunny luster of the lamp hit her cheekbones as she lifted her chin, tension faintly cording her neck. A server walked briskly past their table, leaving tendrils of her hair fluttering in the breeze. A composition started blooming in the back of his mind.
“Andrew says,” she began, then halted. Her napkin wasn’t aligned to the edge of the table and apparently needed fixing.
León waited, eyebrows raised. A charming smile to help her relax. A sip of the drink to show he was relaxed too.
She looked up. “He says you’re just thinking of paintings when you stare at me. At people.”
He sputtered but avoided choking on his drink.
“Yeah,” he said, dabbing around with his own napkin. “Sometimes. Sorry. I don’t mean to stare.”
It was hard not seeing paintings in this dramatic light, though. The gold brought out those bronze tones in her skin.
She tucked her hair behind an ear, eyes lowering to the table. “If I accept your apology, will you stop looking so hard now?”
He laughed, turning his eyes up to the ceiling. Really? She was asking him to not look at her? Celia’s relieved breath was faint but audible confirmation.
His gaze wandered to Kelsey and Trevor, heads down over her phone, then to the chaotic, distant bar.
“Hell,” he said, leaning in, eyes still averted. “Look at Andrew over there.” He felt her turn in her chair.
Andrew was getting a phone number from a woman at the bar.
“I hope he doesn’t bring her home,” León said. “I end up hanging out by the bodega for hours.”
Celia turned back, her gentle voice close. “Oh no.”
He sat back and drank again. Having a conversation without looking at her was a handicap. But, at least it made her talk—she couldn’t just make those big serious eyes at everything.
Delays and handicaps and fading paintings. He had to make something good happen! Time to butter her up a little and work around to letting him paint longer.
He set the drink back down, looking into it. “You haven’t been around,” he said. “Everything good?”
Her stillness and silence started to become an answer, but as he opened his mouth, she swept her napkin tightly into her lap and spoke.
“Good. Yes.” He heard a quick determined-sounding breath. “Getting out and socializing. It’s good.”
He rubbed fingers over his mouth, hopefully concealing his smile. Man, she really hated socializing.
“How is the painting?” she asked quickly.
Well.
He ran a hand through his hair, still looking down at the table. He had to ask the right way.
“This is weird now,” she said. “It’s okay to look at me, sometimes.”
That would help. Gladly, León looked up at her earnest eyes, the amber light turning them a mossy gray-green he could match with cadmium yellow and—wait. Don’t.
“I’m about done with the painting,” he admitted. “I thought I might ask for a few more nights, though. This one isn’t grabbing me, you know?”
Her brows lowered in sympathy as she nodded. Either his charm was working, or she felt familiar enough to show expressions. Good.
“You ever look at art, and it really grabs you?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said at once. “In Paris, once.” Her eyes were wide, the napkin crushed in a fist in her lap.
“This painting just didn’t get there. If I can try one more time….”
Her utter focus on him was gratifying.
“I only have a few months to succeed out here,” he continued. “I have to keep trying. The next painting might be the one that saves me from going back.”
Her quiet little gasp surprised and delighted him. Look at that spark in her! She got it! She was hanging on his words like—
“Do you want to move into my pool house?”
Jesus.
No. But yes.
He watched crimson bloom across her chest, her neck, her cheeks.
It would solve so many of his problems.
“In exchange,” he said, thumb tapping against his thigh, “I give you painting lessons. Like Andrew said. Right?”
She placed her hands over her hot cheeks, then pulled them back to look at her palms as if confused about where the heat had come from.
“How many lessons, though? How often?” he asked.
She covered her mouth with her fingertips and frowned at the tabletop.
“Celia?”
Her half-dazed eyes finally returned to his, a smile beginning to play at her lips. She lowered her hand. “Is twice a week too much?”
He slowly shook his head. “That’s not bad.”
The pool house. It had that little bed, a bathroom, and a tiny fridge. He could paint near the window overlooking the city view. And the price—he couldn’t pass it up.
He leaned in. “I’ll need privacy sometimes, a lot of times, to concentrate on my work.”
“I can give you privacy,” she said, crossing her arms in her lap and holding her elbows.
Her smile was nice.
She leaned forward to meet him. “You should know, Andrew and the rest, they all come over to eat once or twice a week.”
In unison, they glanced over to Kelsey and Trevor.
Both were staring back at them, mouths open. Andrew leaned on the wall just behind Kelsey, arms crossed over his chest, smug as all hell.
“What?” León asked.
Without turning her head or closing her mouth, Kelsey elbowed Trevor.
“Celia is usually…more reserved,” he said.
León turned to look at Celia again. No way could she possibly be ‘more reserved.’
Her gaze darted around the eyes on her, a blush once again setting her cheeks alight.
“Surprise,” she said softly.
···
It was a wobblier crew that emerged from the bar into the late-afternoon heat. Trevor accepted a ride from Kelsey while Andrew announced he’d be going back in. Celia would drive León back to his place to start packing. She still sported bright red cheeks despite not having sipped a single drink.
Andrew encouraged Celia to go get her car and bring it to the entry. León, he stopped from accompanying her.
With an amused grin, Andrew stepped up to look León over, straightening imaginary lapels on León’s hoodie and giving him a sharpish pat on the cheek.
“Finally moving out of Papa’s place,” he teased. “Good luck.”
León rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. A place to paint!
“Just one thing,” Andrew said, his smile fading. “I want you to be nice to Celia.”
Uh, insulting! “Of course, I’m going to be nice to her! Why would you say something like that?”
“You can be pushy, León,” Andrew said. “Don’t take advantage of her, okay?”
León’s throat tightened, but he stood taller, meeting Andrew’s eyes. “Why don’t you tell the little queen to be nice to me?”
“She doesn’t need telling.” Smiling again, Andrew held out a hand. When León grasped it, he was hauled in for a hug. León squirmed out of the embrace as Celia pulled up.
“Don’t worry, we’re going to get along, Papa,” León said, getting in and closing the door harder than he intended.
Andrew stooped to look in, and León watched the window roll down on its own. Oh, of course, Celia had control buttons. That gin may have been stronger than he thought.
“I’ll be texting you, girl,” Andrew said across him. Celia nodded, eyes tinged with warmth, and they drove off.
“Andrew is being freaking fatherly today,” León complained.
She nodded but kept her eyes doggedly on the road. Was she back to avoiding eye contact? Already? He could make her talk, say something obnoxious she couldn’t resist answering. Or, he could be nice to her.
Nicely, León looked everywhere but at Celia. The car interior was immaculate, just like her house. It was an older car, a Lexus. Upscale but not new. It smelled faintly of vanilla.
Ah, screw being quiet. He was too happy.
“I thought you might be sick,” León said. “You didn’t come out to talk painting yesterday.”
The blush on her cheeks just wasn’t going away!
“I had a lot of cooking to do,” she clearly lied. “Cleaning. Things.”
Wait.
Part of her clicked into place.
“You clean, you boil feet to stretch food,” León said. “You’re no trust fund baby, are you?” If she didn’t grow up rich… “Did you win the lottery or something?”
“Sort of.”
He waited for more, rude or not.
“Bitcoin,” she explained. “I had some. A few hundred.”
Oh, Bitcoin. Whatever that was. It made some people wealthy, but that was all León knew about it. “Do you, like, buy them?”
She shook her head, turning onto the straight sunny boulevard to Andrew’s. “A client where I worked paid me in Bitcoin,” she said. “He thought it would replace the dollar, paid everyone in it if they let him. It was only worth about two thousand dollars, back then. And I kept it.”
Look at her, chatting away! “It went up?”
“Way up,” she admitted.
“Where did you work that clients paid you in Bitcoins?”
“Charity organizing,” she said. “I didn’t run one, I helped people start them.”
Keeping her talking was fun. “Was it rewarding?”
“No,” she said, slowing at an intersection. “Rich people start charities to hide money, and poor people lose what they have, trying to keep one going.”
So, she did have a little bite to her! “Dang, Celia, that’s a little cynical.”
She gave him a sideways glance. Eye contact! “It’s the nicest way I can say it. Charities are just about moving money place to place.”
“Some do good things, surely.” León slowly shook his head. “Money solves a lot of problems.”
“Not real problems,” she said quietly. “It can’t buy talent. It can’t make art.”
“Oh yes, it can,” León said, sitting up. “It buys time! Artists need that more than anything. Time to learn and to practice.” He looked across at her, thumb tapping on his thigh again. He felt pleasantly dizzy from the gin. “You’re giving me the time I need. I appreciate that.”
Her face when she turned to him…her creased brow eased, eyes softening with wary hope. Two! Two expressions!
“And you’ll help me?” she asked. “You’ll show me how to paint like you?”
He smiled. “I’ll do my best. I’ve never taught anyone.”
“When?”
“Give me a couple of days to move and settle in?” She nodded. “Tuesday, then.”