Page 17 of Omega Artist
“Touché.” His eyes meet mine and he sits up straighter. “My daughter’s always had a vivid imagination. She’s lucky to have you to discuss things I’m totally ignorant about.” She winks at me in response to her father’s words. I’m proud of how well-read she is, fromPeter PantoThe Chronicles of Narnia. Lately, she told me that she’s taken an interest in vampires and all things manga, which she’s hidden from her mom. Her secret’s safe with me.
Chloe and I grew closer once I started to get my life back together and began babysitting her and Lorenzo from time to time. The idea was to give Soraya and Graham some alone time. Obviously, they can afford a sitter, but I felt the need to make amends for all of the trouble that I caused them.
“Don’t forget to show me your newest drawing, Tig.” Chloe nudges me as a reminder.
“Sure thing. It’s on my right ankle.” She claps her hands with excitement. I’m well aware that she finds the drawings on my skin to be overly fascinating… I’ll laugh my ass off if her first boyfriend’s style is more like mine than Graham’s; the latter would probably be cool with that, but Genevieve would shit a brick!
“Yeah, Tig’s body is a work of art,” Soraya proclaims and, much to Genevieve’s disgust—based on her wrinkled nose—tilts her head to plant a peck on my cheek. Then, she extends her arm to her husband and teases him, “I love the tattoo that Tig gave you, Stuck-Up Suit!” An existing tat that I adjusted to match the name of the woman that Graham loved and eventually married. We all burst out laughing at the nickname, one that she occasionally uses, for old times’ sake. I admire Soraya’s blue hair tips and smile. She never fails to coordinate them with her mood.
With that, we move on to the main course—homemade meatloaf, green beans, and mashed potatoes—which is Chloe’s favorite grown-up meal.
“So, tell me, how’d you settle on volleyball?”
I answer Keaton’s question on autopilot. “It’s kind of a low-profile sport.” Will Genevieve stop scowling every time I open my mouth already? I shake my head in a feeble attempt to chase away her negative energy. “It’s challenging, but the atmosphere of my club is really relaxed. We play to win but don’t stress about it.”
Soon enough, I tune him out, because my mind is otherwise occupied.
First, because Chloe’s company is much more entertaining and fun.
Second, because I haven’t heard back from the Swedish banker that I’m supposed to meet at her hotel after I’m done here; the year to come will start off with more than one type of fireworks… that is, if she gets back to me like she said she would.
Third, because I’m a breath away from texting the one who I have yet to hear from today. The one who’s keeping me waiting. The one who’s officially become my daily virtual fix.
What transpired between me and my mysterious fan the other night was something that I haven’t experienced before, or at least not in a very long time, and certainly not as a grown-ass man. I wish I could confess my harmless crime to someone… Okay, not like something you’d see on the news, but still. I wish I could say that I was drunk and blame Claire for pointing out Alie G’s online interactions, but that would be a blatant lie. Since that evening, our online relationship has built slowly, driven by random questions and clipped answers.
Her words are witty. Her interests match mine. Her handle isAlie G., but I call her Alie. Yeah, yeah, I’m already on a first-name basis with a girl that I’ve never seen in my life. That’s the beauty of social media, right? Regardless, I can’t wrap my head around the fact that I don’t know the first thing about her; despite some thorough research, I’ve only gathered meager info, and nothing useful at that. Anyway, I don’t give a flying fuck about it. She’s not an anonymous hookup, and I’m definitely not interested in her in that way.
Over the last year, I’ve chatted up a shit ton of women. I’ve nailed a shit ton of women. I’ve never been involved with any of these women like I am with Alie. I don’t know how she and I fell into the habit of interacting every day. I don’t know where she lives. I don’t know what she looks like. Hell, she might be a dude living in his mom’s basement, but she assured me that she was legal. Although I’ve never seen her, considering her taste in music and maturity, I don’t doubt it.
In a short period of time, faceless—actually,filteredis more accurate—Alie and her long blonde hair became a comforting presence, and I think that I represent the same to her. Somehow, it’s easier to confide in a stranger. Albeit, she’s not really a stranger anymore, is she? And the confessions are personal, but in no way intimate, which apparently works for both of us. The good thing is that it’s cheaper than a shrink. The bad thing is that it’s gotten to a point where I’m looking forward to these moments. Every. Single. Day. What used to be a couple of personal messages once a day evolved into meaningful conversations at random moments, and I’m perfectly aware that it makes me… happier, maybe?
No need to read between the lines; I haven’t turned into a pussy-whipped shadow of myself, getting all emotional over one woman. I don’t do relationships or romance or whatever you want to call it. I’m still the same guy. Emotionless, often. Guarded, mostly. Sex-driven, always… but burying myself in a woman’s body provides a short and intense reprieve from my sad life. Alie brings me a long-lasting feeling of peace, if that makes sense.
She’s mostly curious and eager to learn about the inspiration for my art, whether it’s paintings or tattoos. I’m mostly okay and eager to reply since I can’t deny that her interest in my art flatters me and her texts amuse me. We’re mostly eager and curious to hear more about a total stranger. A stranger who divulged her fandom for Alanis Morissette, Suzanne Vega, and R.E.M., which made me picture her as older than me.
No matter how comfortable I am texting her, I’m nowhere near ready to get into anything about my late wife or the grandmother who raised me after my dad left us for one of his college students and my mother followed suit. Talk about a dysfunctional family!
Once again, I get trapped inside my own head, overthinking my peculiar relationship with this empathetic stranger, and I’m startled when I hear my phone chime. It’s on the nearby coffee table with the other phones.
My heart somersaults, and I excuse myself from the table. Soraya smiles, discreetly granting permission to take a moment to check my phone before dessert is served.
I mouth that I’ll be right back, head for the balcony for privacy, and snatch my phone on the way. Once outside, I wish that I’d grabbed my coat, too, as I freeze my ass off in the frigid New York winter air. This better be good.
Mmm… My hookup is confirmed, but I’m disappointed that Alie hasn’t reached out to me.
When I’m back in my seat and my phone is back where it belongs, I force myself to listen to the other guys converse about finance and fine arts and briefly interact with someone other than Chloe for a bit. I’m getting good at pretending that I don’t mind being the only one on their own tonight.
I notice that Chloe’s smile has disappeared, she’s worrying her lower lip, and she’s quieter, now that she’s surrounded by boring conversations. My attention returns to her. Vamps. Fairy creatures. Neverland.
My phone beeps again shortly after. My hopes surge within seconds. My body heat flares, which is unmistakable on my face. Fuck!
“What?” I inquire in the most neutral tone I can manage, shifting in my seat and not fooling Soraya for a second.
“Nothing…” Soraya trails off, a knowing smile on her pretty face.
Next, I catch Graham watching me with a satisfied smile on his smug face. A face that I would have loved to punch, once upon a time. “Just go check it, Tig,” Graham offers, elbowing his wife. “You’ve been antsy for thirty minutes. I can tell you’re waiting for… something… or someone… We understand the circumstances.” It’s subtle, but it’s there. I’m by myself. I’m surrounded by couples. I’m a widower. “Please try to be quick. Chloe is waiting for the rest of your story here.” His tone is more playful than anything.
“That’s okay, Daddy.” The wonderful Chloe pats her dad’s forearm over his heavy cotton dress shirt. New Year’s Eve Graham is even more dapper than business formal Graham. Damn, the man can really rock a three-piece suit. “I enjoy seeing Tig’s head in the clouds. It reminds me of when we were little.” Yeah, back when I had my life all figured out and my happy future well-planned. “And when he does, he curses less!”
