Rhapsody Suite
Twenty-four
“TONY, LET’S PLAY ’CHEESEY.”
Oh crap! Not now!
“I’m sorry, Damon,” I said to the boy standing behind me. “I have to work.”
“Making pictures is work?”
“It’s what I do in school.”
“In first grade we learn to write.”
Well, that was true enough. But right now, I was focused. That session Sunday afternoon was still fresh in my mind. I hadn’t been able to think of anything else all day. I sketched all through Art History in the dark. At lunch, I ran to Daniel Smith and picked up five 22 by 30-inch sheets of 140 pound Arches Coldpress watercolor paper. I couldn’t wait to start working on it. During Concepts, I spent the entire class trying out different light sources in my sketches and avoiding eye contact with Ms. Brock.
I was even distracted through racquetball practice. Allison fired straight games past me. I complained that I wasn’t back to a hundred percent after my injury, but both Allison and Lissa knew that I was preoccupied. Allison was meeting up with Melody and Kate after practice, but Lissa and I had to get home right away, thank heavens. She didn’t want Molly to have to stay late after having the boys most of the weekend, and I just wanted to get to my easel. I’d already taped up a sheet of paper and was beginning to lay in the sketch when Damon came downstairs wanting to play a board game.
“I can help color,” Damon said. He reached for my paints and I caught his hand before the tubes of watercolor scattered on the floor. I spun on him.
“Damon, I’m busy. You can’t help.” Geez, kid! Don’t you know what a deadline is?
Damon backed up and started for the stairs just as what I thought sank into my consciousness. What a stupid fuck I am! Of course, the kid doesn’t know what a deadline is. He’s six years old. Shit! I even have trouble understanding deadlines and I’m nineteen. That’s just too young to have kids.
Except Lissa was only nineteen when Damon was born. How the hell did she manage it? Sure, Jack was there, but he had a job and Lissa was in school. Now I’m here. Lissa has a job and I’m in school and part of my family wants me—no, needs me.
I watched Damon back up toward the stairs. I had thirty-six hours to get this painting finished if I wanted it included in the student exhibition and my portfolio review. I could see it take shape in my head. I knew now exactly where I was going to have the light source, how I would cast the background figures into shadow. I was ready to paint.
But the truth was I didn’t need to. I had adequate paintings for the exhibition. My portfolio looked good now. Why did I obsess about this shit?
“Damon, wait!” I said. I pulled off my headset and dumped my music player on my stool. I practically ran to him which set off a fit of little boy giggles and a desperate attempt to get away from the monster attacking him. I grabbed him around the waist and swung him up over my shoulder, tickling him as he came to rest in my arms. I set him down and he headed for the downstairs hall. I caught him again and lifted him.
“Damon, listen to me. Do you know what you and Drew and Mommy and Melody are?” He hesitated for a second while he considered my question.
“We’re your girlfriends!” I laughed at him. That was a pretty simple way of putting it.
“Better than that,” I said, hugging him. “You and Drew and Mommy and Melody are the most important people in the world to me. You’re my family. I love you.”
“Like Daddy?”
“Daddy’s love is special, Damon. No one can ever love you like Daddy. No one can ever love you like Mommy. But I love you like Tony. So you know what I think we should do?” His eyes were big as he seemed to realize that I was very serious. He shook his head.
“I think we should play Parcheesi,” I said. “’Cause this time, I think I can beat you.”
I carried him squealing up the stairs and we got the game board.
Game. Dinner. Cleanup. Bath. Story time. Tuck the boys in bed. Another story. It was nine o’clock when I went back downstairs and stood in front of my easel. Try as hard as I could, I couldn’t recapture the feeling. All day I’d obsessed over what I was going to paint, moving into the zone. Now it was gone.
I felt Lissa before I heard her. Her hands were light on my shoulders. Her breath was sweet on my neck. I sighed heavily.
“I heard what you said to Damon,” Lissa said softly.
“Hmm?”
“When I realized he’d come downstairs, I came to get him so he wouldn’t bother you. I was just at the top of the stairs when I heard him burst out in giggles. And then you told him we were your family. I ran back to the kitchen so you wouldn’t see me crying.”
“Lissa, I’ll tell you the same thing I told Damon. You and Melody and Damon and Drew are the most important people in the world to me. You are my family and I love you.”
“You didn’t have to interrupt your work. I know how important it is—you’ve been talking about it all afternoon. He’s little. He’d understand.”
“That’s just it, Lissa. He’s six. He wouldn’t understand. I’m supposed to be an adult.” I took Lissa in my arms as I tried to put my emotions into words. “Remember when we talked about whether I was ready to have kids as part of my life? I thought financial security and having Jack to share the responsibility would make it easy. But it doesn’t take away my responsibility. I’m his mommy’s boyfriend. That gives him a claim on me, too.”
“I try not to make a claim on you, Tony,” Lissa chided.
“You’re right. You’ve done nothing but give. Lissa, honey, believe me; I’ll survive my disappointment over not getting one more piece in the exhibition. I’ve got plenty. I wouldn’t survive losing you and the boys and Melody.”
We went upstairs and cuddled on the sofa. We decided to call Melody and find out how many girls she had in her bed. The answer was four. Amy, Sandra, Melody, and Kate had finished their projects and turned them in. They were already feeling like celebrating. Allison was certainly in the mood, since her school was out last week. So all five of them were camped in my room and sharing the big bed.
“Without the testosterone in the room, though, everyone has elected to stay clothed.”
“I can’t guarantee the same thing,” I said. “I’m not getting any painting done anyway, so I might as well do some art appreciation.”
“Darling, love our lover,” Melody said. “Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”
Damned inspiration. Now that I’d given up on doing the painting in time to have it in on Wednesday for the exhibition, the image kept flitting through my mind. I wanted to focus on Lissa, but my mind kept wandering off. I’d look at her nose or the curve of her lips or the valley between her breasts and sketch it in my head, flinging paint on the canvas—seeing the light as it would come alive. Lissa must have asked me the question three times after we made love before I came back.
“Tony, why don’t you paint?”
“Oh, but I’m here with you. I don’t want to leave you and go to a cold, unfriendly art studio.”
“You may be here physically, but you aren’t with me,” she persisted. “Go down and work for a while. We can make love in the morning before work.”
“I don’t know how long it will take, Lissa. I have class in the morning and if I work all night, I won’t be worth shit. I’m supposed to present my final Fundamentals project.”
“Call your professor.”
“It’s after ten. I can’t just call him.”
“That man is more than a lecturer for you, Tony. He’s a fan. Call him and tell him you need to reschedule your presentation for Thursday because you’re painting. He’ll listen.”
“I don’t know.”
“Call.” She produced my cell phone and I looked up his listing. I shook my head, shrugged my shoulders, and just pushed the call button. What was the worst that could happen?
A woman answered the phone.
“I’d… uh… like to speak to Dr. Henredon, please,” I stuttered out. Geez! I probably woke up his wife.
“This is Dr. Henredon.”
“Oh. I mean… I’m sorry… I was calling for Dr. Glenn Henredon.”
“May I tell him who is calling?”
“Tony Ames.” It was quiet on the other end of the line. For a long time. Finally, there was a click and I heard Doc’s voice.
“Tony? What prompts this late-night call?”
“I’m sorry for disturbing you, Dr. Henredon. It’s about my final project.”
“Please don’t tell me it isn’t ready to present tomorrow.”
“No, it’s ready, sir. I’m not.”
“Are you ill?”
“No sir. I’m painting. I… I’m sorry, this was a bad idea. I just didn’t want to stop.”
“Never mind,” Doc said. “Now I understand. Will this piece be in the student exhibition?”
“If I can get it finished. It’s pretty big.”
“I’ve seen you do big. If you promise to present your project on Thursday, I’ll approve your absence tomorrow.”
“Thank you, sir. I won’t disappoint you, sir.”
“About that, Tony,” he said. Oh no, what did he want now? “You did a fine job on the mural.”
“Thank you, sir.” He’d told me that about a dozen times.
“No one expects you to paint a masterpiece every time you face the canvas. Don’t paint for the exhibition. Paint for yourself. It’s what you do. It’s why you came to PCAD. Paint because you can’t do anything else, not because you need something for a portfolio or exhibition. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir. Thank you.”
I disconnected and turned to look at Lissa. I couldn’t believe it. I pulled her into my arms and kissed her, deeply and passionately. She melted against me for a few seconds and then pushed me away.
“Take that passion to the studio,” she said simply. “Wake me later if you need a break.”
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