Scent, p.2
Scent, page 2
I laughed because she was referring to our partner, Anna Finley, who’d just found out she was pregnant with twins. “Come on. You could do that job in your sleep.”
“Yes, but that’s exactly what I want. Sleep. When was the last time we all had quality time away from the office?” Trish asked.
“Didn’t you just get back from Cancun last month?”
“Four days and we never left the room, but I don’t consider that a vacation.”
The train went silent right as I said, “Stop it. I’ve heard you have sex before, and my virgin ears are still burning.” I glanced at Thursday, fearful she’d heard me. She made eye contact and lifted her eyebrow. She had definitely heard. She and the ten or so people between us. I noticed her earbuds were out. When was it ever quiet on the L? “Shit.”
“What?”
The noise level went back up. “The whole world inside this car just heard me, including Thursday.” I hated that I was too chickenshit to talk to her and find out her real name.
“Perfect. You have her attention. Now go over there and be wonderful you.” Trish had more confidence in me than I did.
“I’ll call you later.” I quickly hung up and sneaked a peek at Thursday. She was back to being engrossed in whatever was on her phone. When the train stopped again and several people rotated out, I spotted available seats closer to her. I should have made my move, but it would have been ridiculous to leave a perfectly good seat near the door for one right next to her. Then it would have been obvious that I was trying. I sighed and shot off a text message.
Mission aborted. I’ll just enjoy the view when she exits the train.
Gifs of people and animals fainting blew up my phone. Even though they made me smile, I felt a ping of sadness. My divorce from Mandy had destroyed me. I used to be confident and knew how to talk to women, but Mandy had ripped my heart and my confidence to shreds. Trish had spent the last eighteen months trying to build me back up. The only good thing that came from my deep depression was my art. It was dark and radiated anger, but heartbreak sold, and I was using that negative energy to create more pieces for my show. Nothing was more appealing than a tortured artist’s soul.
TRIP HER! By mistake, I mean. Don’t let her fall on her face. Oh, catch her!! How romantic.
I guess today isn’t my day. No worries. There’s always next week.
I’m coming with you next time. I need to see what you’ve been working on anyway.
How about you just drive over?
I took the train only because my warehouse studio was in an industrial part of town. After I’d blown out my luxury-sedan tires on nails and sharp metal pieces for the third time, I gave up and started taking the L. My studio was right off the platform. The noise didn’t bother me, and the rent was cheap. When I had to transport pieces, I used my 1978 Ford F-250 with wood-panel siding and a beat-up bed. It was an eyesore, but Lucy was still reliable. I’d had her transmission replaced last year and upgraded from an unused eight-track to a satellite radio system. It was probably the most expensive thing about her.
No, thanks. I know about the nail bombs, and I don’t want my car stolen.
I inserted an eye roll emoji. It’s not that bad.
I shared the bottom story of a warehouse equally with three other tenants. The second and third stories were blocked off. We all had our own locked studios but had a common space that housed a worn leather couch, two reclining chairs that didn’t match, and two vending machines whose contents were questionable. I swore the same bag of Funyuns was in there for over a year. I’d donated a kitchen table with a bench and a refrigerator.
Ben, the owner of the building, worked on cars. His overhead crane had rails that ran into my studio, and when I needed to lift a piece onto Lucy’s bed or a larger flatbed, he helped out. Sometimes we shared tools, but sometimes we wouldn’t talk for weeks. The other two residents were artists, too. One painted landscapes and played Ella Fitzgerald on loop. As much as I loved hearing it, I needed Ben’s heavy metal when it was time to pound out my anger. The other neighbor was quiet and brooding. I caught glimpses of his black leather jacket and long black hair as he slipped in and out of his studio and nodded when our eyes met across the parking lot. He never talked much. Ben said he was a photographer, but I never saw him with a camera or any kind of equipment.
I put my phone down when the train slowed for Thursday’s stop. I looked up when she walked by me, hoping we’d make eye contact again, but she clutched her white box with both hands and strolled by me as if I weren’t even there. I leaned back and watched her step off the train and disappear into the rush-hour crowd.
Where was she going? This stop was an older neighborhood that had been upscale decades ago, but once the suburbs of Chicago spread out, it was quickly forgotten. It lacked modern conveniences like Starbucks and fast-food joints but boasted Italian bakeries and diners that were open twenty-four hours. I had no idea where she was going, but I decided that, one day, I was going to find out.
Chapter Two
“Where do you think she goes? I mean, she must be visiting someone because that neighborhood is mostly rows and rows of greystones.”
“Maybe she lives there?”
“And takes the train home only one day a week?” I asked. Trish and I were having coffee in her office, discussing the meeting I’d skipped out on and everything I didn’t do on the train but should have.
“You know, all you have to do is strike up a conversation and find out. I really need to discover why this woman is your kryptonite.” Trish topped off her cup and added a splash of heavy cream and sugar.
“Maybe I’m just fixated on her because she’s completely untouchable. Remember when I crushed on Dominique in high school?”
“Remember when you dated Dominique in high school? Yeah, you always get the girl. Let’s figure out why this mysterious woman has you all flummoxed.” Trish leaned forward and put her elbows on her desk. We both had the same color eyes, but I was blessed with my mother’s long lashes, and Trish’s heavily applied mascara couldn’t compare. She rested her chin on her linked fingers and stared at me. “She’s beautiful, but she’s not friendly.”
“We don’t know that she’s not friendly.”
“She didn’t smile at you when you smiled at her, and you have the best smile in the world. And you are the epitome of cool. I mean, I know your confidence is tender right now, but trust me, people are drawn to you. Always have been.”
“Then she’s not gay.”
“My straight friends all want to fuck you.”
I smiled. She wasn’t the first person to tell me that. “Maybe she’s into femme women, not tender butches who weld.”
“Everyone’s into artists. And you are barely butch.”
I snorted at her generalization. I had on slacks, a button-down shirt, sensible wingtips, and I wore makeup only when I was sick or had a party to go to. And even then it was very minimal. My dark hair brushed my collar and swooped across my forehead. I was constantly running my fingers through it to push it away from my eyes. Trish thought it looked adorable. I gave her the that’s-not-the-look-I’m-going-for scowl. “Your straight friends are into me?” I was deflecting because I didn’t want to continue this conversation. I wouldn’t put it past Trish to follow me to the train station and strike up a conversation with Thursday.
“Put it this way. I will never leave you and Kimberly in a room alone together.”
I waved her off. “Oh, please. She’s so married, it’s ridiculous.”
“Oh, she’s married, but she’s not dead. And she always talks about you like you’re the cat’s meow.” Trish held up her finger to stop me as she anticipated my crude retort about pussy.
I laughed. “Well, you don’t have to worry about me and Kimberly. She’s cute and all, but I’m not about to be her experiment. Those never end well.” I cringed when I remembered my first mistake with a straight woman. And my second. It seemed to be a lesbian curse. Inevitably, we fell for a straight woman. I now avoided them like the proverbial plague. “Let’s talk more about business. When does Anna plan to take maternity leave?”
“I think she’s planning on taking half a year, starting in three months. I have a feeling she’s going to want to become a hands-off partner after the babies are born. It’s smart for us to plan ahead. You need to sit in on the interviews though. She’s very emotional right now, and I need a levelheaded person to help make this decision.”
“That’s fine, but in the meantime, I need to figure out how we’re going to do a generic box set for randomly sized toys.” I held up two figurines from a video game, Alien Alliance, that were different sizes. This was going to be hard since the company was going to just randomly fill the twenty-compartment box with a selection from three hundred character figurines.
“You might just have to make all the sizes the same.” Trish shrugged. She was the consultant who made every person feel like their project was the most important thing to our company.
I was responsible for sitting in the meetings, taking notes, and designing the product. “That’s too boring and too easy. Besides, you don’t want the figurines to rattle around.”
“It’s not like they’re going to break. They’re plastic. You’ve got this. I’m not worried.” Trish always said that.
“I’ll head to my office and get started.” I was already planning a cardboard design with sliding compartments. These projects were fun. Plus, the clients were young and excited about the success they were experiencing, so their thrill was infectious.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about Thursday,” Trish yelled as I was almost in my office.
I waved her off even though she couldn’t see me. I needed to focus on this project, but mentioning Thursday threw me. What was it about her that made me so nervous? I used to smile and laugh with strangers, whether I was attracted to them or not. Now I couldn’t even find the confidence to talk to a beautiful woman. My last relationship had truly destroyed me. I don’t know how I’d allowed myself to get that low, but I vowed never to do it again.
My work phone rang. Clearly Trish wasn’t done with our conversation. “I know, I know. Thursday. Next Thursday. I’ll make my move.”
“You know I love you, right?” she asked.
“I know. I love you, too.”
“I only want you to meet her because…” She let the unspoken words rest between us.
“Because my track record sucks.”
“Samantha was a bad relationship. And I can’t even talk about Mandy yet.”
“Samantha was a really bad relationship,” I said. She was my college sweetheart and the reason for my inability to hold down a relationship. I had never known anyone more determined to settle down with somebody financially secure. At first, I thought it was just youth and how we all wanted to make money when we were done earning our degrees. We had big plans for the exorbitant salaries we dreamed of making. Samantha and I were going to travel Europe together after graduation, but then she realized that artists didn’t make the kind of money doctors, lawyers, and business graduates did. She strongly encouraged me to take a few business classes, which I did, but dumped me the minute a woman with a trust fund and a membership to a country club showed up in her life.
I considered the poor college life charming and the quintessential American experience: the mountain of debt when I graduated, ramen noodles and peanut-butter sandwiches as a daily staple, and a degree that would serve me no purpose other than to say I went to college for four years. Trish was there when Samantha broke up with me. I thought she was going to knock her lights out. It took all my strength to hold her back. I was heartbroken, with substantial debt that I racked up trying to buy Samantha nice things to keep her happy.
“And don’t worry. I’m not going to fall in love with someone who has such different goals from me. I won’t do that again. My true love will love me for me.”
I thought that comment would get me a heavy sigh, but Trish surprised me. “I would give anything for Samantha to see you now, baby sis. Successful business and a famous artist.”
“Oh, stop. I’m sure she’s forgotten about me by now.”
“Good riddance.” I heard the bite in Trish’s voice.
“It won’t happen again.” The Samantha Incident had really hardened me. Once Tuft & Finley was up and running, I had a few hours here and there for myself, so I hit the gay bars and blew through a lot of women. My reputation five years ago was questionable. Trish had to stage an intervention and get me back on track. Breaking hearts around Chicago wasn’t good for me or the business. I took a step back from my life, and that’s when I met Mandy. God, what a fucking manipulator. She made Samantha seem tame.
“Don’t worry. I won’t make that mistake either. As a matter of fact, I’m going to hang on to your debit and credit cards the next time you date somebody. I’ll dole out cash when you go on dates.”
“I almost want this to happen. Almost.” I couldn’t think about how many tens of thousands of dollars Mandy stole from me over the course of our joke of a marriage without wanting to throw something or cry.
“You’re too nice and generous. This would be so much easier if you liked men. They are so easy to read.”
“No, thanks. You and Rob are wonderful, but I’ll find somebody after I’m done with my show. Right now, that has to be my main focus.”
“And your video-gaming clients.”
“Let me get to work. Hey, thanks for looking out for me.”
“That’s what family does. We look out for one another. Go to work. You have a deadline.”
I hung up, smiling. Even though my love life was shit, my home life was strong. Our parents were only about thirty minutes from work, and my mother baked cookies or muffins for the company every Friday. It was nice to see her during the day because my nights were for welding. Even though she tried hard not to play favorites, she had a soft spot for me because I wore my heart on my sleeve like she did. Trish took after our father: headstrong and all business. I looked at the clock. Only a few more hours of design work, and then I could head to my studio and lock myself in it for the weekend.
Sometimes I slept in Lucy, and sometimes I crashed on the couch in the communal area. Ben cared only when he wanted to do the same. A sofa sleeper for my studio was probably a good idea. There was plumbing for a shower in the small bathroom, but I never got around to putting a showerhead on it. My life would be easier if I did and kept a change of clothes there. I worked better when I was clean. I was used to the smell of welding, but it wasn’t pleasant.
I made a list of what I needed to get done this weekend and then jumped online to buy new things for my shop. My summer was going to be intense. Truthfully, I didn’t have time for Thursday or any other woman until after my show. At least that was the lie I told myself.
Chapter Three
“When’s your show again?” Ben held the door open for me on his way out.
“September tenth. Why? Are you going to be there?”
“I told you I’d help unload your sculptures. Of course, I’m going to be there.” Ben was a nice guy, but if people met him in a dark alley, they would assume he had a collection of bodies in barrels hidden somewhere on the closed-off second and third floors. He stood well over six feet, shaved his head, and sported a giant black, bushy beard that gave off a murderous lumberjack vibe.
“I don’t think they’ll need your help since they have a crew who does it.” I couldn’t tell if he was offended or sad, so I quickly added, “But I would love to have you around as a supervisor. I’ll let you know when I find out. And thanks, Ben. You’re the best.”
He grunted and continued his trek down the stairs until he reached his white windowless van. It didn’t help how people perceived him, but Ben didn’t care. He was great at his job, and people waited months for him to work on their classic cars. He offered to beef up Lucy for me, but she was perfect the way she was.
I unlocked my studio door and threw my bag onto my new sofa sleeper. I was the proud owner of a matching set of furniture, a coffee table, two new lamps, and a desk. The shower finally worked. I’d also picked up a cheap refrigerator, a gas stove I would never use, and a microwave that would get plenty of use. It was nothing like my loft in the city, but I could live here comfortably for a few days if I got distracted by my art. My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I’m here. Let me in.
I took a deep breath and buzzed Trish in. I knew she was going to ask me a zillion questions about Thursday, and then I would have to confess that I’d chickened out. But when I opened the door, she kissed my cheek and flung herself onto my new couch.
“I’m glad you finally decided to make this place a little more civilized. Oh, maybe you can do a watch party here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know, watch you sculpt.”
“Shut up. I got all of this only because I’m going to spend my weekends here for the next several months.”
“Well, baby sis, you’ve classed up the place a lot. Show me what you’ve been working on.”
She followed me into my work area and didn’t mention Thursday once, which set me on edge. “Those are going to the show.” I pointed to several sculptures ranging in sizes from only a few inches to ten feet tall. “I’m supposed to have eighteen to twenty pieces. I have thirteen that I know I’m going to display, two that are maybes, and so I have about five more to create.”
“Oh, I like this one. What is it?” Trish stood a few inches from an installment I was working on. I could tell she wanted to touch it but knew better.
“It’s called…Broken.” I was hesitant to tell her the title because it was raw and summed up the last two years of my life. At first glance, it looked like a bunch of metal flaps, like birds, escaping a round hole, but it was the exact opposite. The hole was my heart, somewhat twisted and burned around the edges, and I was pulling my emotions back inside. I was nervous to see her reaction.
