Thirty-five

MOM AND DAD HEADED BACK to Nebraska on Monday before I went to Doc’s summer class. Lexi was staying with Jack another few days, but decided she needed to be back in Boston before Mel and Liss got home from their honeymoon. Wendy decided that now that the house was empty, she would do a thorough cleaning.

There were two other students in the specialized affresco class. Adolfo Mazzarelli was exactly like his name sounded—tall, dark, handsome, Italian. Only he wasn’t Italian. He’d changed his name for the sake of his art. Morgan Dennis was unreadable. She had black hair, always tied in a tight bun. She never quite looked straight at you, even when she was talking to you. She dressed in baggy jeans and a sweatshirt, even in the heat of July, so who knew what she was shaped like?

We were there to learn the fine art of painting on wet plaster—affresco. I’d painted two wall murals, but they were both on dry surfaces—a secco.

We spent the first week mixing plaster with lime and distilled water and learning how to use a trowel to spread it on the wall surface. In our case, the wall surfaces were the backs of ceramic tiles. The roughed-up backside that most people apply adhesive to was perfect as a practice surface for plastering. What a mess! The clothes I wore that day were permanently marked as my plaster mixing clothes. Between sessions of mixing the plaster, Doc lectured us on everything from the composition of the plaster to how we worked with it.

Plaster doesn’t ‘dry’ in terms of the water evaporating. If it did, it would be plaster powder, just like it was when we started mixing it. The lime in the plaster crystalizes. It binds the plaster particles together and, in fresco, traps the color that’s painted on it in the crystals.

I learned a bit about my fellow-classmates, too. With just three of us enrolled in this special class, we had both time and necessity to interact. We not only had to mix our own, but we had to test each other’s plaster, judge how smoothly we’d applied it, and how we used our fresco float—the trowel. By the time I was finished with the first week of class, I felt like I could plaster a house or at least tape and mud drywall.

Morgan was quiet until she got to know us better. Adolfo was loud and boisterous, quick to crack a joke, and frequently silenced by Doc. I just went along with everything. I was learning, yes, but class was about the least stressful thing in my life. I had two more weeks until I left for the World Games in Colombia. In the morning, after coffee with Wendy, I went to class. After class, I pulverized racquetballs. Wendy crawled into bed next to me when she got home at ten-thirty and we’d both be asleep until I started off to school again in the morning.

I don’t know why, but we’d made Wendy’s room downstairs our home. There was nothing wrong with using the big bed upstairs, but without Melody, Lissa, or Kate, why bother? I was sure, our newly married lovers were having sex three or four or ten times a day in Hawaii while we were too tired to make love once during the entire week.

I don’t know if it was Wendy or me that was most happy to see Mel and Liss at the airport Friday night. Wendy took the night off to go with me to the airport. The two gorgeous beauties that came to baggage claim took both our breaths away. They were so happy they glowed. I couldn’t help but have my spirits lifted as well.

We went home, fed the two a beautiful meal that Wendy, of course, had prepared, and then fell into bed with them. We didn’t make love ... again. We were all just too tired. We fell asleep cuddled together like we had not been for over a week.

Saturday morning was a different case, entirely. Wendy and I both awoke to the sensations of having our most intimate parts licked and fondled. Melody was between my legs and Lissa was between Wendy’s. I was a little worried because I wasn’t sure Lissa and Wendy had been that intimate before, but Wendy took my hand and kissed it, tilting her head toward me and smiling dreamily. For both of us, the morning started out with a bang.

It didn’t end there, though, and by noon we’d been in every combination and position we could imagine and were all starving. It was so wonderful to have Melody and Lissa back with us again. It seemed they had not forgotten us after all.

“The cruise was wonderful.”

“The food was fabulous.”

“Her bikini was incredible.”

“She, without her bikini, was delectable.”

“The sun shone.”

“It rained sometimes.”

“We swam.”

“We made love on the beach.”

“We missed you.”

That was the story of their week—their honeymoon. All I heard was how they missed us.

I was content to continue in my hectic life, learning a new art form but not creating any art. I hadn’t felt inspired since the night I painted Hope. I could convince myself that I was still working on art because I was learning something. It was a thin deception.

Just as I’d accepted my violent racquetball practices as sport.

Lissa joined me on the court Monday afternoon expecting to pick up where we’d left off, but I was way beyond that. She walked off the court after half an hour. I hardly noticed she was missing. I walked off the court an hour-and-a-half later, dripping sweat.

“Where’d you go?” I asked.

“I couldn’t stay on the court with you, Tony.”

“Why?”

“You’ve always been intense, whether it was racquetball or art or making love, dear. But I’ve never felt I was in danger. Now I do.”

She walked away and left the club. I shoved my gear in my locker. Afraid of me? She was afraid of me? What have I become?

I took off out of the club on a dead run. I ran for two hours, pushing as hard as I could along the shoreline, across the locks, uphill toward Wallingford, around Green Lake, twice, and across the Fremont Bridge toward home. The last five blocks up Queen Anne Hill left me almost dead. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest that I thought it would explode. My mouth felt like cotton and I couldn’t catch my breath. I fell against the front door instead of going inside.

Apparently, that made a racket and Lissa, Melody, and Wendy were outside administering first aid when I came to. Water was trickling into my mouth. Wendy held my head in her lap and Melody was covering me with a blanket. I could barely force my eyes open in slits. Lissa was on the phone and somewhere in the distance I could hear a siren. I wanted to cry, but there was no more water left in my body for tears.

“What’s your name?”

“T ... Tony.” It was hard to get the word out. My tongue kept sticking to the roof of my mouth.

“Do you know what day it is?”

“Monday.”

“Date?”

“July ... fifteen?”

“Right.” He fidgeted with my bed and I came up to a sitting position. He handed me an ice cube. “Suck on this. Don’t chew. Don’t swallow it. Just keep it in your mouth. It will lubricate your vocal cords.” I stuck the ice in my mouth and held it there. So much pleasure. I loved ice cubes. I pointed at the tube running into my arm.

“What thot?” Not the most eloquent speech.

“Fluids. You are severely dehydrated. It is Monday, July fifteen at eight o’clock in the evening. Make that a quarter after. At five o’clock, the temperature hit ninety-seven degrees. The hottest day this year. Mind telling me what inspired you to run for two hours with no water?”

I was sobbing, even with no water to make tears, my body convulsed.

“She left.” I croaked out.