Painting by The Numbers

As he entered me, my back arched, and he slowly pushed forward. It was gentle and loving as we became again what we once were. He lightly nipped at my neck while his grip on my breast tightened. I turned my head towards him. "Harder."

He listened and complied. His gentle stroking in and out sped up. Wrapping an arm around my belly, he would pull me to him every time he stroked in. Eventually, he stopped, shifted and lifted me to my knees. He got on his own knees and began taking me from behind. I felt the pressure rising as he continued the delicious rhythm, his hands now on my waist, squeezing and pulling me back as he thrust forward.

I was full, and I was fevered and everything in me was rising to my center as I was exactly where I wanted to be.

"John!" I called out his name as I exploded. A few seconds later, he followed.

We fell to the mattress, again on our sides as he rested inside of me, slowly growing softer. Hours later I awoke to John getting up out of the bed and heading to the bathroom. When he came back to bed, he lay on his side. I followed suit and wrapped my arm under his and over his chest. It was the reverse of how we lay earlier.

"Tell me why," I whispered. "Explain it to me."

He was silent for so long, I didn't think he was going to answer. Finally, he reached up and took my hand.

"I have reasons, but I don't have excuses. You're not going to like what I tell you."

He couldn't see me, but I shook my head lightly. "I need to know."

John sighed. "Okay. Let's start with this one true thing. I was wrong. I should've opened up to you." He was quiet again for a few seconds. "You remember the first time we met? It was here, in Manhattan. Nick brought you with him. You and Cat. He was using his position to force us to let you do some of the art for the game. What were we going to do? We created the game, but it was named after him, and he was the star. If he wanted his little sister to do some of the art, we would find a way to make it work.

"It turned out that you were a little rough, but incredibly talented, so all was fine. But that was the first time that we had met. Right before that, I mean like the day before that, you collapsed in the middle of one of those souvenir stores on Seventh Avenue. You had to be rushed to the hospital. You didn't know it then, but Nick was one of my closest friends. He panicked, I panicked, and I didn't even know you.

"When you came into the studio after you were discharged, I started falling for you. You looked exhausted, but beautiful. We started talking and getting closer and all of that was right before the two of you went into surgery. Then Nick got so sick that we were afraid we might lose him. I still don't know exactly what it was. Some superbug in the hospital?

So, there was my friend in his hospital bed almost dying, and all I could think was what if the same thing happened to you? Do you get what I'm saying, Ronnie? Our relationship started with me constantly afraid that something was going to happen to you. That you were already carrying a burden no one should have to carry.

"I didn't want to put any more weight on your shoulders, it wouldn't be fair to you, and if I'm being honest, I..."

"What?" I softly encouraged him to continue.

"I thought you might leave me. If you knew, I thought you might go back to Ohio. It wasn't fair to you to finally be out from under everything you had to deal with and then find out that the man you were living with was going through the worst times in his life. More importantly, you deserved better. That led me to shutting down.

"It wasn't an intellectual decision, it was emotional, and it was wrong. I should've trusted you. You deserved honesty, and I'm not sure if I'll ever find a way to make that up to you."

He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles.

A bizarre mix of anger, frustration, and relief washed over me. "You're right. You took that choice away from me. I wasn't just living with you. I loved you and you stole from me a chance to be there for you. To help you."

I had dropped everything in my life and moved to New York to be with him. I couldn't imagine a bigger sign that I wanted to be a part of his life and to share his burdens. We weren't college roommates; we were in love and were on the road towards more. His grip tightened on my hand.

"I was wrong. I know that. I'll keep apologizing for as long as you'll keep listening. Apologizing is a fucked-up excuse to see you, but I'll take what I can get."

Sighing, I let go of him and lay on my back. "You don't need an excuse, John. I truly am sorry about your mom. Tell me about her."

My hand reached up and found his again as he began to speak. I listened to him talk about his childhood and his mother's struggles as a single parent. I listened to him as we watched the glorious sunrise in Manhattan, and he talked about his mother supporting his art.

I listened as he told me how in college, he came to the realization that his passion outstripped his talent and how he knew he had to find another way to make a living through art. I listened to stories of his mother putting him through college and on her days off, making tins of cookies for him to take back to his dorm. I listened to how he saw the early signs of her forgetfulness, impatience, and mood swings.

I listened to horror stories of how terrified she would become, how she tried to hide her forgetfulness, and how it would take her longer and longer to recognize her son. I heard how he began to relish the good days and dread the bad. I listened to his stories of overwhelming guilt for not being there for her or for me. I listened to stories of losing the woman he loved, the woman who had raised him and helped him become the man he was, bit by horrifying bit.

There were tears from both of us, and I felt my anger and resentment slip away. I was sure that they would return, but in lesser measure. His secrecy was like an infection and listening to him that morning had drained it, removing the poison. More than ever, I wished that I could've been there for him, that he would've told me this earlier. But that was done and in the past.

We were both emotionally drained when he left to go back to his room to get changed before we met Nick for breakfast.

Things were a little awkward with John after that night. When we returned to Ohio, I immediately jumped into the portrait of the man, the boy, and the bridge for the woman in Tennessee. I'd send her a high-res copy as well as a quality print, but keep the original for myself for a few years. I'd used the images she let me take of her late husband and her son and took my time.

I usually needed a while to unwind after a major project. I always had a waiting list for smaller projects that I could dabble in and recharge my batteries with, and this time it was the bridge and two paintings for wealthy grandmas who wanted me to turn their grandchildren into star athletes.

I had finished one of the grandchildren when I got a phone call from John.

"Will you have time on Thursday to meet with someone from ABC? We have an interview, and they'll have some serious coverage about the Olympics and the impact on the community, and they requested a few minutes with you."

I was staring at the painting I had just finished. I was about to start packaging while I held the phone. "Sure. Can you text me the details?"

"Absolutely. And thanks."

I let my new manager know that the painting for Grandma One was done, so she could pick it up and ship it out. As always, I sent a scan with a thank you note to the woman who commissioned the piece.

When I arrived for the interview, John was there. I was surprised, but I guess I shouldn't have been. ABC wanted to speak to the artist, he was the Olympic Committee's man on the ground for stuff like this, so it made sense.

I was a little nervous with residual anxiety from the disk jockeys, but John calmed me down. Everything went well and when we were done, he invited me to dinner.

Dinner went fine, but it was obvious that he was nervous. Within the next week, I finished both the bridge and the painting for Grandma Two. Again, my manager mailed off the original and made sure I got paid for the one image and I put the other in storage after sending the scan and print. I wasn't sure how the Tennessee woman had gotten my phone number, but she called, and I could hear the emotion in her voice as she thanked me.

John called again and asked if he could meet me to discuss a project for the committee. We talked it over dinner again and it turned out that he was true to his word.

"I got you the same amount of money as you received for the other three to paint two Paralympians and one Special Olympian. You have eight weeks, but the deadline is negotiable."

I smiled and looked around conspiratorially. Leaning forward, I whispered. "Can you keep a secret? I already got started. I'm pretty happy with it. The athlete's leaning forward and a little to the side, so I was able to play with the angle and deemphasize the wheelchair. Want to see it?"

He probably thought I was going to pull out my phone and show him a photo. Instead, I took him back to my house. He stayed the night.

John was still being cautious and letting me take the lead. I finished two of the three images as well as more personal commissions as another few weeks went by. John would spend the night two or three times a week, always with me initiating.

On the fourth week, his texts and phone calls slowed down. It didn't worry me much, I knew how busy he must have been. When he did call, I asked.

"Everything okay? You've sort of been out of touch for a while."

"Yeah. Sorry. I've been looking into buying a home in the area. I'm going to be here for at least the next eighteen months. And really, I could do my job from anywhere. So, it's been crazy at work and whenever I have a few minutes I've been checking out listings."

I felt my heart begin to race. "You're thinking about staying? I mean, after the Olympics?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I guess I should have told you."

"No, it's not a problem, it's just... My financial person thought it would be good if I invested in real estate. I just bought the house I've been living in."

"Wow, that's great. I'm really happy for you Ronnie. It seems like everything is going your way."

"Yeah. I think that the therapist is helping, and I'm making up for a late start in being an adult. My point was sort of that I'm going to have a lot more room. I was thinking maybe of renting out a room. You know, just sharing the place with someone."

Why was I so nervous?

"If you haven't made any decisions yet or offered it to anyone, I love to put my hat in the ring." He laughed. "I've got pretty good references and can pay first, last, and security."

I stood up and began walking. I couldn't stand still. "Do you want to come over tonight and we could talk about it? I mean, if you're free?"

"I'll bring dinner."

We kept separate rooms, but both of us knew where this train was headed. Oddly, we only got together in my room. It was rare that we woke up together, John would usually leave soon after we were done. Everything in our dynamic had changed. He kept taking tiny steps forward and then would shuffle back at any signs of resistance. I assumed he went back to his room because he wasn't confident that I wanted him with me all night.

How things had changed since I was the timid one and he led every dance.

And still, a shadow loomed and was confronted with Therapist Santa.

Dad and I arrived in separate cars but sat next to each other in the lobby. His whole nervous vibe was throwing me off. Dad kept wiping his damp palms on his pants. When we were eventually let in, Dad quickly stepped towards the therapist and extended his hand.

"George Tremaine. Please call me George."

"Thank you for coming, George. It means a great deal to Ronnie."

"Well, then it was worth it."

When he sat down, I took his hand. "It's going to be okay. We'll get through this."

I was right. It wasn't a one-hour miracle change, but things started getting better. I would never understand or accept what he did to Nicky, but I was learning to accept who he was now.

My manager called me, and she could barely contain her excitement. "Listen, are you sitting? Listen, you are not going to believe this, I think I've found you another market. You have the grandparent's angle, and that brings in a ton of money for work that can be turned around quickly. And you've got the professional angle with the sports teams and the Olympics, and I think I got you a baseball card company, but listen, this is big. I have two basketball players and one football player who want you to do a family portrait. And they are willing to pay big. And listen, if this breaks like it should, every player is going to want something similar."

"I'm sorry, did you say something? I wasn't listening."

She had a shrill laugh, and it always made me smile to hear it. "Okay, stop teasing. I say that too often, but really, these people have deep, deep pockets. And imagine if we can get coaches and owners who want the same thing? Girl, you'll be booked for years."

I was excited and happy things seemed to be going well in every facet of my life, except with Dad, and even that was getting better. I had one more painting to do of a Paralympian, and then I had to start with the professional athletes' families. If I moved things around a bit, I had a two-week period that I could grab for myself.

I had promised myself that I was going to think of vacation and visit some of the great museums in Europe. It was time to make that a reality. I made sure that John had all the information that he needed for the house. The alarms, the contact info for the yard service, the days that the garbage went out, and anything else that he possibly needed was left in a detailed note taped to the refrigerator.

My flight to Paris was booked, and nothing was going to stop me.

The world hadn't seen through me yet and was still paying me stupid amounts of money for work that others could do better. I was going to take advantage of that and ride that horse for as long as I could. I made sure that my tickets were first-class. John drove me to the airport, we kissed, and I headed off to the lounge for first-class passengers.

When I finally boarded, I couldn't sit still. My fingers tapped a pattern on the armrest, and they wouldn't have been able to pry the smile off my face with a crowbar. When the flight attendant asked if I would like a drink, I actually asked for champagne. I don't particularly like champagne, but it was a champagne sort of day. The plane was mostly full, and I was getting ready for them to ask us to put our seatbelts on when someone stood next to my seat.

"Excuse me, I believe I have the window seat."

I looked up into John's face, seeing his worry and concern. "This is either the biggest mistake I've ever made, or a grand gesture for the ages."

My look of surprise was slowly replaced by a smile. "Grand gesture for the win. Not that this isn't a wonderful surprise, and I don't want to be disrespectful, but are you sure you can afford this?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I was at the top of my industry for years, and I worked for a billionaire who happened to be a personal friend. Yeah, money isn't an issue."

John slid past me, sat down, and took my hand. As the plane taxied for takeoff, I leaned over and kissed his cheek.

EPILOGUE

Seven Years Later

I was exhausted as I walked through the door, my arms full of shopping bags. Cat was there waiting for me. I smiled and was about to walk past her to the kitchen when I heard the voice and stopped. It was my niece.

The Adventures of Prince Stephen Smellybottom

"Not Smellybottom, Stephen the Strong."

Lori continued. "Who's telling the story? Don't interrupt."

The Adventures of Prince Stephen Smellybottom

And so it came to be that Princess Penelope Purplepants married the Judger and everyone in the kingdom attended and had a grand time. Even the King and the Bicycle Knight were nice to each other.

The Princess and the Judger lived happily ever after in her castle until the Prince arrived. He was very strong. He was very cute. He was very smelly. That's why the Princess always gave him to the two maidens. In spite of how bad he smelled; they still loved him.

The maidens had the Bicycle Knight show him how to ride, the Princess how to draw, Soldier Alex how to grow plants, and had the Dragon play games with Prince Stephen. The maidens told him stories, made him cookies and even wrestled with the Prince because they loved him so very much.

The End

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With deep thanks to Charlie, Peyton, the members of AA and my readers. If you ever get to Nashville, check out Peg Leg Porker. Carey, the pitmaster, is a good guy and has been invited to cook for the James Beard House twice.

This story is a sequel to Mr. X Games, which I regretfully had to pull from Lit.