Charitable Contributions

Trish, my wife of a dozen years, had just returned home from dropping our two kids at their grandparents when the temperature started to drop. The forecast called for a deep cold snap and we planned to enjoy it by spending our time with a glass of wine by the warm fire before moving to the bedroom.

"Wine!" she called out from down the hall as she changed.

A few minutes later, she appeared in a flannel pajama set, looking decidedly unsexy, but comfortable. She reached for the glass, but I avoided her hand, gripped her arm, and pulled her to me.

"Cost you a kiss," I said.

"That's all?" she answered with a giggle and then planted her juicy lips on mine.

At thirty-seven-year-old, Trish was still a very desirable woman. Her body had remained trim despite bearing children and she was quite proud she could say she had only gained five pounds since her college cheerleader days. At 5'7" tall, she had a naturally slender body that she kept toned through a strict workout schedule. She had auburn hair with green eyes and when she smiled cute dimples formed that gave her a child-like appearance. Up top, she had c-cup breasts that had held up well despite nursing our children. Her physical attributes matched her style and positive attitude which made me just as enamored with her as I had been when we first began dating.

Our kiss lingered and I had just pulled her tighter when suddenly the room filled with the piercing sound of the phone ringing.

"Shit," I declared and reluctantly let her go.

Trish was closer, so she lifted the receiver and by the interaction, I could tell she was familiar with the caller. Soon, by the subject matter they were discussing, I guessed it was her friend Gayle from church. You see, church was very much a part of my wife's life, something she inherited from her parents. I held ambivalent views that had initially caused some issues, although over time we had reached a mutual understanding. It meant I didn't challenge her faith or attempt to intervene regarding the kids and she would reluctantly accept me. Fortunately, she didn't wear her views on her sleeve and if you didn't know her well, you would have no idea about her commitment. Also, she didn't bring any baggage into the bedroom where she could often be an intensely passionate lover.

As the call progressed, I realized they were discussing a group of homeless individuals the church had tried to help. I held pointed views on the subject, feeling it was a complete waste of time and potentially dangerous, but Trish ignored my concerns and worked as part of the team. I knew Gayle was one of the organizers and her call was likely bad news for our planned evening.

"You don't think all the stuff...the blankets and things are enough?" I heard my wife ask.

For almost a minute, she remained silent as she listened to her friend before speaking, "I guess...I mean if you think we should."

Shortly after, the call ended and with a worried look, Trish turned my way and said, "Gayle thinks we should go check on them. You know...because it's going to be so cold. It won't take long, I promise."

Struggling to hide my annoyance, I replied, "They have been in colder weather than this and besides, what are you going to do? Give them more free stuff that they can sell for booze and drugs?"

"Do you have a heart?" she asked after a short pause, providing her standard response when logic escaped her.

"You're not going out there after dark. No way," I declared.

"Peter is coming and you can..." she began.

"I'm not going out in the cold for them," I interjected, guessing her intent.

Peter was Gayle's husband and part of the church group as well. I knew from past encounters that he had a slight build and a weak demeanor, so he would likely be useless in any physical confrontation, but I had already reached my frustration limit and rather than argue, I moved to the TV. Trish ignored me as she prepared and twenty minutes later after a message arrived on her phone, I heard the door open.

"Stop," I yelled out and jumped from my seat. Striding to the door, I found her standing in opening looking very nervous. With a deep breath, I told her, "You're not going there without me. Not with just that pussy Peter as protection."

Trish's expression slowly morphed into a tiny smile that gave me hope for some positive payback later. She waived at the couple to wait and then closed the door as I went to change. When I returned, we approached the couple's vehicle, but seeing they were driving a Prius, and having no desire to force myself into the small backseat, I told Trish we would follow them in our SUV. Little did I know it would turn out to be a decision that would haunt me later.

We drove the distance mostly in silence as Trish knew there was little upside in engaging me in the group's plight. Slowly, the fashionable neighborhoods turned into less affluent areas followed by retail and light industrial sectors until I spotted the elevated expressway that marked the location of the encampment. The road traveled off-grade for about eight blocks and on one end I could see a collection of small tents and hung tarps. A fire burned in a barrel causing light to dance off the colorful tents making it appear almost like a party. We followed the small car to the curb and then disembarked into the frigid air.

"Everything looks good to me," I declared, which brought looks of scorn from the others.

"You can wait in the car," Trish said, and deciding it indeed made sense, I nodded and turned away.

From the warmth of the vehicle, I watched as they approached the tents noting that the only sign of people was one man standing next to the fire. The trio disappeared into the camp, causing the hair to stand on my neck, and I counted the minutes as I waited. When ten minutes had elapsed, I was just about to go searching when I saw them appear along with two forms. One I was certain was a man based on his height and physique, but the other was harder to determine. They stood not too far from the fire barrel and talked for several minutes before my wife left the group and headed my way.

"What?" I asked when she entered the SUV knowing instinctively there was a message and it wasn't good.

"We're worried about those two men. They have nothing to stay warm and it's really cold," she explained.

"Can't they share with the others?" I asked.

"It doesn't work that way," she answered, clearly missing the irony of her response.

"So, we have to go to the store and buy them stuff?" I asked, sensing the message.

She looked at me without speaking for several seconds and then with slow measured words said, "Gayle..and Peter...they're thinking it would be best...if we take them in for the night. One with them and one with us."

"You've lost your fucking mind. I've let this silliness go on, but no more. I'm not taking some dirty vagrant into our home and you are done with this stupid crap," I responded angrily.

For a moment, a look of anger crossed her face that was so intense that I thought she might jump across the console and maul me as I sat behind the wheel. I had never seen the look and it frightened me while also preparing me for the reply I was about to receive.

"Don't you ever tell me what I can do. Never!" she said and paused, but any hope I had that it was over was fleeting as she was just beginning, "I knew you'd say that. You have never understood. You're so certain you're right...so certain you understand everything, but let me tell you something, you don't know a thing. For once act with your heart, not your thick head. Trust me, you're not nearly as smart as you think you are."

I had never received a dressing down by Trish in that way, so it startled me, but I still couldn't accept the plan and answered, "I don't want them in our home."

Another pause ensued, and then she said, "Fine, I'll get a hotel room."

I wasn't entirely sure how to take her message, but thinking there must be other alternatives, I asked, "Aren't there any shelters?"

"They're full," she replied, and then added, "Gayle checked."

"Why doesn't the church take them in?" I probed.

"It's too late to arrange," she replied.

"Fine then...we'll help one guy find a hotel room and pay for it," I conceded.

Trish let out a deep breath, gave me a quick nod and then returned to the others. They talked for a few more minutes and then I watched as the group split with the smaller man following Gayle and Peter while the tall man accompanied my wife.

"This is Jerry," she said when they entered the vehicle, and then followed with, "Jerry, this is my husband, Dan."

"Hello," I said and received a nod in return.

Within seconds, a smell of body odor mixed with cigarette smoke assaulted my senses. It was strong and I could only guess how unpleasant it would be during summer temperatures.

"Jerry said to go to the light and make a right. There's a motel a few blocks down the street," my wife explained.

I dutifully followed her directions and it wasn't long before the worn neon sign of a run-down motel came into view. I pulled up close to the entrance and quickly both Trish and Jerry got out. However, they were back in less than a minute and my wife's face showed clear disappointment.

"No rooms," she announced.

"Well, where to next," I asked, trying to sound upbeat as I realized I needed to recover from our recent exchange.

"Jerry?" my wife asked.

"There's a place on 16th street... not too far. It's not very nice," he answered in a deep drawl.

I headed towards the location he described and along the way wondered what it must look like if it failed to meet the standards of a homeless man. When we arrived, if anything, it was worse than my expectations. Indeed, it was so dilapidated that I wondered how it passed city ordinances. Like before, the duo left the vehicle but were back quickly.

"The door was locked and no one answered," Trish explained, although I wondered how hard they tried.

"What next?" I asked.

"Look, just go the intersection of MLK and the freeway. There are several places there," she suggested.

Trish was correct that there were several hotels at that location, three if my memory was correct, but they were legitimate business facilities and I wondered about the reception we would receive. Sure enough, the first place we tried stated flatly that they wouldn't provide the room to Jerry by himself regardless of who paid.

"I'm not staying and you're certainly not," I told her.

"I guess try the next," she sighed.

"Look, they'll all be the same and I'm tired. Let's just go home," I said, accepting defeat.

Instantly, a relieved look came to my wife's face, and she said, "Thanks... it's just one night."

We arrived at our house just after nine and awkwardly made our way inside with me helping Jerry cart his belongings. Trish, ever the hostess, showed him to the guest room and offered to wash all his things. I was surprised when he agreed without protest and equally impacted when he accepted the offer to shower. After showing him the location of things in the bathroom, she started a load of wash and joined me in the kitchen where I was pouring a drink.

"It won't be so bad," she said.

"Okay," I replied, and then remembering the sting of her words, I added, "I'm not heartless."

"Not always," she answered, taking the wine I had poured.

Jerry remained in the shower a long time which I assumed was a good thing and when he finally emerged, he was wearing a pair of my flannel pajama bottoms along with one of my t-shirts.

"Do you want something to eat or drink?" my wife asked.

"Vodka, if you have it," he responded in his heavy voice as he took a spot at the end of the couch.

"With what? Any food?" she clarified.

"Nothing...just vodka," he answered.

Trish wasn't gone long and when she returned, she held a highball glass that I could see held several inches of liquor. I could tell she was purposefully avoiding eye contact with me, no doubt worried, like me, about what a drunk homeless man might do.

A basketball game was just finishing on TV and he seemed happy to watch it and drink until it ended.

"I need a smoke," he declared and began to rise.

He disappeared down the hall but was soon back with a mangled cigarette between his fingers.

"Better go outside. Trish doesn't allow it in the house," I said when a lighter appeared in his other hand.

"It's cold... it will be okay," she declared.

The man quickly lit up and took a long drag, and as the smoke filled the room, I took a closer look at our overnight guest.

I guessed he was in his early forties, about 6'2" tall and no more than 150 pounds. He had graying hair that almost reached his shoulders, now fresh from his recent shower. He had a stubble beard which meant he occasionally shaved and there were no apparent tattoos on his body which I found somewhat strange. However, the most interesting element of his appearance was his deep-set eyes that indicated a life of struggle.

The cigarette was soon gone, but the foul stench lingered. Jerry returned to his spot on the couch and quickly emptied the remainder of his vodka and as soon as he set the empty glass on the coffee table, my wife rose to refill it.

I excused myself and met her in the kitchen where she was pouring the liquor and asked, "Is this smart? Feeding him vodka?"

"It's just one night. Let him enjoy it," she replied with pleading eyes.

"You owe me," I said.

"Not after your outburst," she countered, but I could tell by her look she wasn't completely mad.

We returned to our guest and settled in once more. Trish tried to engage him in a conversation and probe him on his past and family, but it took tremendous effort and finally she gave up.

"Do you have any paper... and a pencil?" the man suddenly asked.

"Sure," my wife happily answered, pleased that some interaction was occurring.

Without asking the reason, she left the room and was soon back with several sheets of printer paper and a freshly sharpened pencil. Jerry took a magazine from the table, placed the paper on top and began to use the pencil, but neither of us could see what he was doing. Instead, we focused on the TV, sipped our wine, and occasionally shot questioning glances at each other.

The minutes ticked by, and although intrigued by the man's action, I was growing tired and about to suggest bed, when he returned the magazine to the table and then handed Trish a sheet of paper. I watched as her eyes widened and a tiny gasp escaped her mouth as she looked it over. Then, she rose and came to me, handing me the sheet as she sat. Unsure what to expect, I was likewise surprised when I saw that the man had created a detailed sketch of my wife as she sat. Without question, it showed a very talented hand, with the only flaw I could detect being his widening of her pajama top.

"It's really good," I said sincerely as I looked first at Trish and then Jerry.

"It's amazing," my wife joined in.

Strangely, our newly discovered artist showed no outward response to the praise. Rather, it was if he fully expected to receive it.

"You've been trained... obviously," I said, now wanting the man to say something.

"Yes, lots of it..." he answered.

"Tell us about it. Where were you?" my wife probed.

"Mostly on the east coast... some in Europe..." he replied.

"When was that?" Trish asked, unhappy with his vague response.

"Years ago. I don't do much anymore...not much opportunity," he said.

"Well, you're very talented," she said as we saw his look become melancholy.

The room returned to silence with me taking frequent looks of the sketch in my hands. When Jerry finished his second glass of vodka, Trish refilled it once again along with ours. She returned to the spot next to me and after taking a healthy drink, Jerry picked up the magazine, paper, and pencil and began sketching again. We waited in anticipation as he worked, now knowing his occasional glances towards my wife had an artistic purpose. Twenty minutes later, he finished and handed me the sketch that showed a profile view of Trish with the same attention to detail. I showed it to her, which brought a big smile, and then placed it in my lap knowing both sketches were not something that we would ever throw away.

"Equally beautiful," I stated.

"The beauty is in the subject," he answered and I noticed my wife stiffen a bit.

"That's true," I concurred enjoying her sudden discomfort.

Another period of silence ensued that was broken when my wife asked, "Did you study portraits? Is that your specialty?"

"I studied portraits, but my preferences are in other areas," he replied.

"What areas?" she followed.

"Nudes," he answered without hesitation.

His message stunned us for a moment, although there was no reason to be as nudes were certainly a legitimate and widely accepted art form.

"When was the last time you sketched... or painted one?" I asked.

For the first time since we met, he showed emotion by chuckling for a few seconds before answering, "A long time. There haven't been many... inspiring subjects."

"I suppose not," I replied, and noticed his eyes had now locked on my wife.

It took a moment to register and then it dawned on me that he wanted very much to draw my wife naked. The sketches he made must have whetted his appetite or brought back something to him because now there was a clear eagerness in his expression. It was a crazy thought made even more bizarre by the circumstances. It would be one thing to go to an established studio with a practicing artist who carried a stellar reputation, but we were dealing with a homeless man, albeit a very talented one.

A glance towards Trish informed me that she was oblivious to the man's interest. I had to fight back the smile that tried to come to my face as I thought about teasing her a bit. Especially, given all that had occurred that evening and the scolding I had received. Witnessing her initial reaction would be hilarious and for days after I could bring it up and enjoy her discomfort. The more I considered it, the more I felt it was something owed me.

"Maybe, you could find someone. You're too talented to ignore... you know... being an artist," she said, providing the perfect segue if I dared.

"How about you?" Jerry fired back.

It was a bold request, in truth, completely inappropriate and despite my mental plotting, it caught me off guard. I was in the middle of a sip of wine and had to work hard to keep from spitting it across the room. However, my response was nowhere near as animated as my wife's. She gasped loudly and practically jumped from her seat in surprise before looking at me for my reaction. I knew she expected me to be angry and perhaps toss the man onto the street, so when she saw I was in control, a confused look appeared on her face.

It's amazing how fast the mind can work at times and in the span of just a few seconds, I had processed the information. The homeless man's question had taken the monkey off my back, and I had witnessed my wife's shocked reaction. Now, I could, at my leisure, initiate the follow-on teasing with little risk. It was a nice situation, but now that everything was in play, I decided to push a little more.

"He's a good artist," I tossed out.

"What? You've gone mad... completely mad," she declared and left the room.

As soon as she was gone, I looked towards Jerry and saw that a thin smile was now on his face. No doubt, he thought it was us against her as he was not privy to my agenda. Trish wasn't gone long. She appeared about five minutes later having regained her composure and took the same spot next to me. I kept my attention on my wife but wondered if Jerry thought her return signaled acceptance. Strangely, I sensed in her demeanor more anxiousness than anger and was just about to calm her when our guest tried again.