The Pink Portrait, Ch. Seven

Seven

I sit on the dock, letting my bare toes brush the chilled surface of the water. I hear the boards thump a little, but I don’t turn around to see who might be approaching. I safely assume that it is Chad.

The person stops and I hear shoes fall. No shoes, but I can still feel the approach. As the person enters my peripheral vision, I see that it is indeed Chad.

“Did Halli ask you to come and talk to me?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the distant tree-covered horizon.

“Uh, no, actually I volunteered,” my brother-in-law replies. “Do you wanna talk about what happened in there?”

“Not particularly.”

“Fine, then I guess you are going to have to endure my guesswork.”

Oh, crap, I say to myself as Chad sits down beside me. He summarizes everything that happened from when I walked into the restaurant with Ales right up to the moment that I saw Pauline. “Brunette, long legs, big brown doe eyes, Moonspell T-shirt, right? You see this girl and either you found her very beautiful or very terrifying. Either way, it made you want to burst out of the building as quickly as you could without looking back. Am I on the right track?”

“Impeccably,” I mutter. I think I can hear Chad’s excitement.

“So, was she terrifying or beautiful?”

“Am I allowed to say both?”

“How do you mean?”

I take a deep breath. “I find her extremely beautiful…and that is exactly what scares me.”

“Why?” asks Chad, dumbfounded. “You’re sister never gave me a real reason why you are so afraid of letting a little bit of romance into your life.”

“Well, that is something that you are not going to hear from her; it’s not her story to tell. Plus I am not ready to share my woes.” As I speak, I feel the chills of anxiety creeping through my skin like a nasty burn. Taking another deep, steady breath, I try to change the subject. “Now, talking about this girl, I don’t know how to approach her.”

“How come?” it’s really making nervous how conversational Chad is being. Not to mention the vote of encouragement that I hear under his tone. I answer in the only way I could,

“I did not exactly meet her in the most ideal of circumstances.”

“Hmm, a lot of big words there,” Chad teases. “Why wasn’t it the ‘most ideal of circumstances’?”

I think I feel my cheeks beginning to flush. “I saved her from getting raped. For crying out loud, I saw her without her clothes on before we even exchanged so much as names or handshakes!” I bury my face in my hands.

Chad just whistles. “Wow, that’s—that’s something. For how long?”

I moan as I lay down. “Long enough to know that she has very faint scar on the inside of her upper left thigh; my guess it was from a bicycle accident. I don’t know.”

“Be careful what you wish for, buddy,” Chad pats my knee affectionately.

I laugh in spite of myself. “Tell that to my fourteen-year-old self.”

“Mm, okay, do you have a time machine I can borrow?”

I lift my hands from my face and stare at my brother-in-law with a parted-lip frown. Sometimes I really want to punch that goofy grin right off of his face—even at the risk of Halli’s wrath.

“I’ll make you a deal.”

I prop myself up on my elbows. “Go on.”

“How about you go back in there and at least exchange names with this girl and I will let this conversation stay between us,” Chad says it so sinuously and so plainly that I want to smack him.

“Are you sure that is not an ultimatum?” I spit.

Chad shrugs. “It doesn’t have to be; then again your sister might be a little more forceful about getting you to interact with this girl.”

“Before or after she castrates me for touching a naked girl?”

“Well, assuming she hears the part where you saved her from a rapist, you wouldn’t even have to worry about losing your balls.”

How can he be so placid about this? I’m having a teenage crisis and I’m wishing that I would at least have been wearing a wedding ring when I saw a girl—preferably the woman I was wedded to—without so much as fancy lingerie on. Talk about life not going according to plan.

Wait. It’s all Ales’ fault! She made me go to that stupid end-of-summer party. I don’t have to be angry at fate; Ales is the one who should be feeling my infuriation.

I smile. “Okay, let’s go inside.”

“Good, I hope my chocolate cheesecake hasn’t gone to waste.” I watch half-amused as Chad hops to his feet and trots back inside.

“Does your appetite ever cease, brother-in-law?” I ask aloud but not loud enough for him to hear. I get up and I follow him. I step inside and my eyes immediately find my family’s table. I stop in mid-stride as I see that—to my discontentment—Pauline Marek has joined them. I turn around again, hoping to storm out for good. I yelp as I see the imposing figure of Ales’ mother, Cristina blocking the doorway.

“Dove pensi tu sei andando?” she asks her hands on her hips.

“Anywhere but here,” I answer. I try to go around her, only to have her block my path again.

“Non hai nemmeno prendere dessert,” she continues.

“I know I haven’t had any dessert yet,” now we’re both communicating her native tongue.

“So just stay and I’ll bring you your favorite,” Cristina raises an eyebrow temptingly. Peanut butter cream pie with a chocolate layer between the peanut butter and crust topped with ground peanuts and whipped cream. Yes, very tempting.

I rub small circles in my eyes as I try to bury my building frustration. “I love your dessert menu as well as all of your other menus that don’t involve alcoholic beverages.” It’s no use trying to hide anything from this woman, so I opt for the truth. “I just need to distance myself from that brunette that joined my table.”

Cristina gazes over my shoulder for moment. She blinks. I know that blink. Crap, now I have sparked her interest. “How come?” she questions, still observing Pauline.

“I…” I have lost. “I don’t know.”

“Well in that case, if you uomo sù and at least sit down with them, I will bring you dessert—on the house?” she tries, returning to English. She and my mother are the only people that manage to succeed in bribing me with food. Plus she walks off before I can protest, but not before she gives me an encouraging pat on the shoulder. I might as well seize the opportunity before another person offers me a deal.

I inhale and exhale slowly. Instinctively, I think to pop an Altoid in my mouth but they are in my satchel which is draped over the chair that I was sitting in. I count at least twenty seconds in between each time that Ales briefly glances at it. We have always been able to trust each other with our possessions.

I make one last decision to turn away, but before I do, my name is called.

“Kieran, so happy you could join us again!” sometimes I really want to punch my best friend.

I smile brightly. I hope she doesn’t see the annoyance I feel. I take a seat, even though it puts me next to Pauline, placing her in between Ales and I. Why am I so nervous? I’m not afraid of the opposite sex. I never was. Why am I so fearful of this girl?

“So, Pauline, this is my best friend, Kieran,” Ales introduces. If she didn’t make the introductions, they might never have happened.

“Kieran, this is Pauline.”

I try to speak, but my words stumble over each other. “I-I-I—nice to m-meet you.” Again. Officially. Oh, dear God, I thought my stammering days were behind me. I briefly glance at Ales and she furtively makes an inhale-exhale gesture, reminding me to just breathe and take my time.

I take comfort seeing that she is having as much difficult time finding words as I am. “I never had a chance to thank you for what happened last night,” her voice is as breathtaking as the rest of her.

I cock my head. “That’s all you had to intrude upon my family for? To thank me?” Ales’ eyes widen with anger. Pauline simply looks aghast.

“That and to give you this,” she reaches into her large purse and pulls something out, plopping it in my hands. It’s my sketchbook. “I didn’t steal it if that is what you are about to ask. After you stormed out of the room, I saw this fall out of your satchel. You can understand why I didn’t immediately run to give it back to you.” I think the silence that passes between us takes a turn for the awkward—for her perhaps, but my hands shake with anger.

I do my best to not let what I have to say come out as a shout. “Well, you gave me my sketchbook, now you can leave.”

She scoffs and hastily gathers hers things and storms out the door.

“Ow!” I grab my ankle. Ales must have kicked me from under the table. She inclines her head. Before I can comment, my name is called.

“Kieran Telemachus Swann, what was that?” my mother demands.

I roll my eyes. “That was my sketchbook; she probably would have felt the same if I had her diary overnight.”

“Don’t make me come over there and slap you,” my mother hisses. “Walk away from this table. Right now.” I glower. “And don’t come back until you have spoken to that girl.”

“How will you know if we exchange kind words?” I ask rationally.

“Hug her, shake her hand, kiss her, smile…use your imagination.” She motions me to leave the table. The way she says “use your imagination” suggests to me that she might as well have added “that shouldn’t be so hard for you”.

I decide to get up before she, Ales, or Halli physically prompt me. I walk briskly out the door, hoping to catch Pauline before she left. I quickly scan the area and I see, to my horror that she is already leaving in some light tan Toyota Highlander. I hastily make a decision and I do not like what I come to. I firmly plant myself in the middle of the parking lot and try to look brave as Pauline comes towards me.

She comes to an abrupt stop less that a car-length away from me. I gaze into her brown eyes that are slightly shadowed by the windshield. She lifts her hands from the wheel and gestures to the side, prompting me to get out of the way. I stand firm. Glaring at me, she backs up and finds herself an empty parking space. A minute later she reappears and walks up to me.

Arms crossed and graceful as ever, she studies me.

“You’re crazy, you know that?” she says, not losing an ounce of the hardness in her face. “You threaten and beat the hell out of a quarterback twice your size with nothing but blackmail and a baton, you basically treat me like dirt when I try to thank you, you risk getting clobbered by an SUV—even if we are only in a parking lot—what next?”

“I-I-I’m sorry,” I say. “I—it’s just I saw you with my sketchbook and—” Pauline holds up her hand, which I take as a sign to quit talking.

“Save it,” she snaps placing her hand in front of her. “I just thought that I could do something nice for someone who did me, but I guess not.” She begins to return to her car, causing me to panic.

“Wait!” I shout after her. She doesn’t do anything. Oh, God, oh God, oh God, what am I supposed to say? “Um, how did you get that scar on your thigh?” please don’t let that be a lousy attempt. She stops. Does that mean it worked?

“Car accident,” she responds softly without turning around. “They had to take a huge shard of glass out of my thigh. I was nine.”

I would ask if anyone else was hurt, but I don’t think that it would be the best idea at the moment. “My dad was in a car accident before I was born,” I wonder if this means we have some sort of connection. “He died before he made it to the hospital.”

“How are you coping?” she asks, still not facing me.

“I don’t know; I never knew him,” I answer. “Though, I do think that my mom and sister still miss him sometimes.”

She turns around, slowly. “I’m sorry.”

I shrug. I try moving on to a different topic. “How are you coping? With what happened last night?”

If the question caught her off-guard, she tries not to show it. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I was torn up about it. I guess I have you to thank for not letting things get any worse.”

I smile. “In case you were wondering, the fact that you had no clothes on had very little to do with my running off so quickly.”

Pauline raises an eyebrow. “No?”

I blush. Why didn’t I know that she was going to ask something somewhere along those lines? I stammer. “It’s personal; but don’t worry you’re not a bore to the eye.”

Pauline laughs, making me feel worse. “Do you know how to talk to girls?”

My face hardens and I roll my eyes. “I hate questions like that; it’s generalization at its most hideous. It’s like me asking you if you know how to talk to boys. I know how to talk to women, that doesn’t mean that I know how to talk to you.”

“That last sentence doesn’t make any sense,” Pauline frowns.

We start walking and I try to clarify. “What I mean is that I generally know how to speak to women. I can speak to a woman who wants a wedding dress or some other kind of formal dress made for her. I can even socialize with women without struggle. I know how to speak to my mother, my sister, Ales Neri and her mother. But for some reason, with you my mind goes blank in terms of finding the right words.”

To my surprise, Pauline smiles. Oh God, why does that smile have to be so captivating? “If it helps, I think that it is a stupid assumption too.” I cock my head at her as we walk. “Some girls like a softer approach, some like an aggressive approach, some crave being swept off their feet right on the spot…all girls are different.”

It’s my turn to smile. “Guys are the same way; though at our age I think it is safe to say that a number of them prefer sexual intimacy before conversations or introductions.” We laugh. “Out of curiosity, what kind of approach do you like?”

Pauline’s eyes wander as she considers her answer. “I like an honest approach.” When she sees my face, she continues. “I like a guy to be himself when he approaches me.”

“Was I too elaborate?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“No, but you don’t have to be so overly formal,” she reassures. “But you don’t have to feel bad about it,” she adds quickly, seeing a flash of guilt pass my face. “Just sounds like it’s something that you struggle with.”

I smile. “You are literally the eleventh person in my entire life who has noticed that without making it something to tease me about.”

Pauline shrugs. “Hey, we all have challenges, don’t we?” I see a brief look of pain.

Tentatively, I place a hand on her shoulder. “You’re still pretty torn up about this, aren’t you?”

She nods slightly, then, to my surprise, she chuckles. “You know when I dreamed of losing my virginity, there was no duct tape, rape, or guys coming to my rescue with a baton.”

I let out an amused sigh, more out of my own embarrassment than anything else. “When I pictured meeting a gorgeous young woman, there was no nudity involved.”

Pauline whips around, knocking my hand off of her shoulder. “‘Gorgeous’?”

Great, now I am truly embarrassed. She laughs and starts walking again. I feel so pathetic as I hurry up to walk alongside her. “Why is it so much easier to compliment people when you actually know them?” I ask more to myself than to her.

“That’s a very good question,” answers Pauline. “Maybe it’s just that with a person you know, you know how they will react, or maybe you’re just subconsciously more comfortable saying what you want to say to that person.”

This girl continues to astonish me. Obviously, she is just as clueless as me regarding certain matters, but she does make an effort to use her head. Like me.

For the first time in a while, I actually feel that I am having a nice conversation with someone outside of my tight-knit circle of who I hang out with. Since coming home from Norway, it has been Ales, my mother, her mother and father, Cherise when she is off-duty…that’s about it. There was never anyone else.

“So, what did you picture?” asks Pauline, as we turn around back to the restaurant.

“What?” I ask.

“When you pictured meeting a gorgeous girl,” she clarifies. And so she asks the question—or at least one of the questions that I have been dreading.

I stammer. “I-I-I—”

“Take your time,” Pauline soothes. I stare at her. I want to smile at how she seems to not view my speech impediment as a possible reason to antagonize me.

I take a deep breath before I speak again. “I pictured seeing a girl in an elegant Dior vintage dress—blue, green, red, black, grey, I don’t care—with her hair decorated with equal—if not more—elegance.”

“And what would happen after?” now I have sparked Pauline’s interest as a smile begins to build up in her lips.

I chuckle nervously. She doesn’t seem to be forcing any answers out of me, but at the same time, she does seem to enjoy hearing whatever I might say. “I really don’t know. I guess that’s the beauty of it.”

“You might get lucky one day.” We walk in silence for a while. I still don’t really have the right to say that I really know this girl, but I feel like I am getting to know her pretty well. We reach her car and she turns to me.

“I really have to be going now,” she says.

“When will I—” I blurt out.

“Time will tell.” Before she leaves she walks up to me and extends her hand. “It was nice to meet you—properly.”

I smile as I take her hand. “I think me standing in front a moving SUV robbed us of the word ‘proper’.” We share an awkward glance. Before I let go of her hand, something catches my eye—a faint scar running across three of her knuckles. I try to hide my stunned disbelief, but the scar seems vaguely familiar. How many scars does this girl have?

As she gets into her car, she stops and looks back at me. “By the way, your artwork unbelievable,” she leaves without another word, leaving me in stunned disbelief.

I eventually leave as well, thinking about when I am going to meet her again and about that scar. That scar was going to bother me for a while.