Quicksilver

We drove back home and fetched my compact art bundle and gear, and his tenor 'ukulele, then rolled to the Quicksilver shop to borrow cargo bikes, him in a Quicksilver tee again. We headed north and west this time, dodging pedestrians past the wharves, past the Cannery and Ghirardelli Square, past Fort Mason and the Marina, out to the edge of the Presidio. We stopped often for me to sketch and paint while he played and sang.

We rode back to Quicksilver as the sun sank low, almost the year's latest sunset. It's solstice time! Nate cleaned and maintained the bikes as before. I was tired and happy until I dropped him at Suzie's door. Another work week lay before us. His compressed coursework would be over in a few weeks. I hoped to own a house by then so he could move in totally.

===== Monday-Thursday, week 8 =====

The week started normally, meaning only slightly frenzied. Nate rode in for a few drop-offs and pick-ups Monday but begged out of lunch; he had to see about applying to SF State. He smiled hugely that afternoon, and the next day at his late-morning Tuesday delivery. "Yes, let's do lunch."

We trotted to Wang's for much of the usual. The conversation was new.

"I deposited my check and learned the college costs yesterday. I filled out an application last night — that kept me up late — and I had time to submit it this morning. It should be pretty straightforward. But when I saw what it'll cost and how much of what I have remains, I turned in my notice. This is my last week at Quicksilver."

I squealed! Most in the eatery turned to stare at me. I did not care!

"Oh Nate! Lover! This is great! When can you—"

"I'll be FCC-licensed before long," he broke in. "I don't have to stay at Suzie's till then. Think we can squeeze all my stuff, a whole pickup-load of it, into your place while we go house-hunting?"

I squealed again, but a little more quietly, and did not draw as much attention.

"Yes yes yes! I'll make room! Will you need to rent a truck?"

"As it happens, Jenkins will be happy to schedule a regular Quicksilver truck run at about half the cost of a U-Haul. I'll even be the driver, probably for the last time. I'll set it up for Friday morning. Miryam takes Fridays off to help her mom prepare for Shabbos and Mahmoud usually fills in for her but we can swap for that morning run. He needs to bike more anyway; he's starting to blob-out. Mikey will be home so he'll help me load and unload."

"I'll make room for you at home," I gasped. "My landlords will help me push furniture around. I hope they don't freak-out at the lightshow you turned my hallway into."

"They'll love it. If you sign it, they'll have a unique L.Barnes original and can charge a premium rent. Maybe they'll have the Daughters of the Golden West or E Clampus Vitus install a brass plaque out front before long. Hey, we've been here long enough. Tempus fugit."

=====

We trotted back to the office and he was off to work. I called Argo.

"Hello, it's your star artist here and we need a new agency contract. With all the money flowing in, I want the split to go from 60-40 to 80-20. You're still on your way to being the richest art dealer in the Bay Area. How many Ferraris do you need?"

"I was afraid you'd come up with this. Gripe grumble groan, Lydia; hear me suffer! I'll just have to get more work out of you to make up for my loss. I have some prospects you might like; I'll tell you later. But for now, sure, shoot me down! Any other contract changes?"

"No, just the money. The side agreements on paying Nate still stand."

"Okay then. Courier me your revised contract, signed and witnessed; if my heart is still beating, I'll sign it with a witness, Xerox a copy, and you'll still want the original, I presume."

"Yes indeed. It's good doing business with you, Argo."

"I'd say the same if it wasn't for my blood pressure. Damn, an artist who knows law. G'bye."

I was delirious when I got home. Figgy and Almaden helped soothe me.

=====

Wednesday and Thursday flew by. Nate and I lunched both days. I deliberately did not squeal. After work Wednesday, I aimed a spotlight in my hallway and added details in black ink to the cutouts. I signed the wall. I would have Nate sign it, too, the next time he was here.

On Thursday, Terry and Beryl helped rearrange my rooms and no, the artistic hallway did not bother them. I posed them under soft lights in my studio and painted a tempera double portrait. I signed it, "with love, Lydia K. Barnes", and handed it over. They hugged me and cried... with more tears when I said I would leave all too soon. They understood.

I had decided to sign my full name to portraits I gave friends. They were special

===== Friday-Sunday, week 8 =====

Nate came to the office on Friday not long after my light lunch with Tracy.

"It's done," he said. "Your place is nicely cluttered, Miz Barnes."

"OUR place, Mr Kramer," I retorted. We still maintained a facade of professionalism.

"Ours and Señor Figueroa's for now, Miz Barnes. He fled from Mikey, of course. I suppose he'll have a fine afternoon sniffing everything. I'll skip class tonight and take extra work to study when the weekend madness is over. Let's bus to the gym after work, soak the week away, and call from your place for Argo's limo to provide snacks and transport."

"Yes, Mr Kramer, and we'll leave in time to be back home by midnight. We shall need energy tomorrow. Kingsley will send us a taxi to his 'blastoff' by ten, then the limo Argo sends will take us down to our Santa Clara hotel where we can rest a little for the showing. So I'm a 'star artist' now? It's all been so fast!

"But I'm getting anxious. I want a home for us. For US, Mr Kramer! You can study Monday since you won't be a courier anymore, right? I'd like to go house-hunting Sunday if we don't return totally exhausted. I'll call the realtor today. Argo knows her and says she can keep secrets. I can take Tuesday off if we need another day."

"Sounds like a good plan, Miz Barnes."

Tracy rushed out with a packet for Caldwell.

"That's my signal," Nate said. "Cheerio!"

=====

Friday night in Napa was not bad. I sold more paintings at even higher prices and sketched many impromptu portraits for buyers, earning Nate a commission on each. We were home before rigor mortis set in.

The Saturday morning 'blastoff' was a freak show of photographers, reporters, and curious passers-by. Van Ness Avenue is US-101 through town and traffic was clogged. Police had to direct traffic onto already-crowded side streets. News helicopters circled overhead. Kingsley's staff sold 8mm copies of the film and many paintings; Argo had delivered an extra supply. But this event was too crowded for me to sketch buyers.

TV camera crews left early enough for the noon news. The mob had thinned by lunchtime. We bid a fond farewell; the limo driver had a Hawai'ian takeout meal for us. Adequately fed during the hour-plus drive south to the luxurious Santa Clara lodging, we had time for a short nap (clothed, dammit!) before another, more lavish limo took us to Argo's gallery.

This was the nutsiest showing yet. The sidewalks outside overflowed with humanity. Guards at the door only admitted holders of American Express credit cards. TV crews recorded the action but, lacking AmEx cards, were not admitted inside. Guards inside kept grasping hands off me, and confiscated cameras.

Paintings sold for the most money ever. Hey, I am not Picasso or O'Keefe! Buyers wanted initialed sketches so Nate's commissions zoomed.

=====

Argo forced me to take a wine break in his gallery office. Nate sipped and listened at my side.

"I have a sideline for you. People really like your portraits, and the paintings of your cat. I'm getting requests for personal portraits and pet portraits. I can check the highest price for your work and set a private portrait at twice that, and nudes and erotica for twice again or more. It's upwards of this." He named a fat figure. "Interested?"

I mouthed a crisp Sonoma Sauvignon blanc and thought. But not for long. I had assumed this might arise. I had a list in mind.

"I'll have conditions. You might want to take notes."

"Talia," he called to his gallery girl, "bring your steno pad. Okay, go ahead."

I shifted to Gatekeeper mode.

"I'll rent a studio space away from my house for all commissioned portraits. Subjects apply to you. I decide if I want to paint them and for how much. Nudes cost extra. They taxi to my studio; no fancy cars. Nate is my partner and is with me for all commission work. He is paid for this. They pay a full deposit in advance, and a surcharge if they're difficult or demanding.

"They should know I paint fast and precisely, so I want no complaints about rushing. They can suggest a style but I decide in the end. If they don't like the result, we return half their deposit and I can sell the piece elsewhere. If they like the result, they've bought the picture for their own use, not for reproduction; I retain copyright.

"I'll think of surcharges or discounts for multiple or group sittings, and any more conditions and limits. I'll hire one of S&J LLC's paralegals to write contracts... after I consult more with Nate."

We finished our wine. "Back to the circus," I said.

Nate and I returned to face the animals disguised as excited, well-off, likely customers. I had more sketches to emit.

=====

We survived the event that lasted until two and slept well, awakening Sunday morning with gentle lovemaking before a fine breakfast was delivered to our room. We were back home by noon, in time to comfort Figgy before meeting with Rita the realtor. We inspected about a third of the offerings within the range of an acceptable walk to Julia and Romero's gym. We took notes, and scheduled another tour on Tuesday.

"What do you think of that small Hanoverian-style house?" I asked Nate. We sipped more Almaden Chablis and reviewed our notes, sitting on the sofa while my lasagna baked. Hint: When boiling big slabs of pasta is too much fucking trouble, use thin layers of fine cornmeal.

"No north window in the only room big enough for your private home studio. And how far do we want to be from your rented studio space for portraits? Maybe that should be the first priority. After I finish studying tomorrow, I can look for possibilities."

"I think there's an old garage behind the Watkins paint store on Geary," I said. "I won't need and can't really depend on natural light for portraits; studio lights, filters, and reflectors will be fine, and a lack of windows means privacy. Do I want new limits on the house search? Do I want to live close to that studio, or is it better to have more distance so I'm harder to track? Am I becoming such a celebrity that maniacs will hunt me down? Am I going paranoid?"

"Even paranoiacs have enemies," he quipped. "Someplace further on Geary might be prudent."

"Okay then, the right house close to the gym is the priority, and the rented studio is next, it should be within a mile. But those come after this. After you and me."

We sat naked on the sofa, thigh to thigh. I pushed Nate over and lay on him, my breasts poking his chest, my mouth finding his. His arms wrapped me. His hands stroked my back, my butt.

The oven timer bell rang in the kitchen. Damn.

"Don't go away," I said, reluctantly rolling off him. "I'll be right back."

"I have a better idea," he said, his hands still on my ass. "Pull that pan out to cool, then meet me in bed. Figgy's still outside, right? Good."

=====

Even with hot pads to hold the Pyrex pan, my hands were warm when I climbed on Nate, fondled his rising cock, and kissed his mouth, our tongues as tangled as ever. My warm hands kept to his cock when I slid down and took him in my mouth. His warm hands gently massaged my scalp. No pressure, no head-fucking; only pleasant retribution.

He reached to my shoulders. I knew the signal; I twisted around and put my pussy over his mouth while mine swallowed that gorgeous cock.

Energetic doggy-fucks are fine. Face-to face missionary fucks, fast or slow or both, are beautiful. But 69ing has us touching more and giving our essences to our lovers, tasting their inner selves. It is, to me, the most personal position. My muted screams mark many orgasms. But finishing with a strong face-to-face fuck can top it off.

Cowgirl is another great finale. I felt his strong cock trembling in my mouth, his testicles swelling in my hands, and I knew he was almost there. I rolled off his sweaty body, swung my leg over his hips, and lowered myself, guiding him into me. Further, further, all the way inside, oh yeah. Ohh yeahhh...

I rose, and dropped, and rose again, with his hands on my hips, helping me rise, gentling my drop. Up and down, back and forth, swirling around in pulses, and up and down again, until his hips were pounding into me, faster and harder, and he slowed, and exploded! I felt every drop of hot cum wash into my womb.

I thought briefly of going off The Pill and risking motherhood, but I pushed that aside. This was a time to concentrate on the waves of sensation sweeping through my body, my heart, my soul.

I was lost in Nate. I love Nate. He loves me. My joy fills the Earth till the end of time.

We slept well. Figgy snuggled into us. He approved.

===== Monday-Thursday, week 9 =====

I still had a job and I did not need to be Business Bitch on Monday. Nate had his classwork to make up before tonight. He said that, as time allowed, he would check vacancy listings in the Chronicle for a rental studio.

Before I left, he asked, "Does Argo have anything set for next weekend?"

"I think he wants 'star artist' showings in North Beach again, and in Alamo across the Bay, home of many rich actors, athletes, and capitalists. Those will be much easier. I'll call him for details."

As planned, I took Tuesday off work; we had our scheduled tour with Rita the realtor. Some possibilities looked good, one especially. We took notes and reviewed them that evening, and possible studio rentals he had explored.

=====

Nate spent Wednesday checking every possible studio space that met our criteria and thought he had found a good prospect, on a side street a half-mile from our favorite house: an old manor garage that was used for storage, now empty and available, with a people-door set in the big door. High glass-brick windows in the rear provided barely light to see by in full daylight and no way to see in.

We walked to view it after I bused home from work, and to me it looked perfect! Plenty of power outlets and even a washroom with toilet. The rent was low, too. I decided it was time to go corporate; one of the paralegals would do the paperwork for me, and I would tell Argo to send our checks to the corporate account. This rental would be a deductible expense.

We talked as we walked back home.

"Nate, lover, we need to incorporate, with each of us a subsidiary under the parent structure. Now we need to be creative and think of names."

"We should be anonymous for security," he said. "Call the parent Open Services LLC and we're Light (that's you) and Night (that's me). Or maybe Left and Nought. Or how about Limited and Noted? They sound innocuously boring."

"Great! You're a very clever guy, lover! Let's put down a cash deposit in your name, and we'll build the studio after the corporate filing goes through. Should be quick, like three days, expedited. Our paralegals do that all the time."

"Okay. I've got to get to class now so I'll contact the rental agent tomorrow."

"You haven't had dinner yet! I'll fix you a big sandwich and drive you over."

I collected him after class and spun home for a night of hot sex. Call it a celebration.

=====

On Thursday we had the incorporation paperwork filed and the garage slash studio rented; we should be able to move in next Tuesday. I will decide how to outfit the studio.

We had time for a decent dinner after work; I drove him to class again. I must admit that the Citroën was fun! I picked him up after class but instead of going back home, I drove to the bar at Seal Rocks Inn, above Cliff House, with a higher vista but less surf and seal songs. I plied Nate with fancy drinks. I only took sips of his because I had to get us home alive.

I got Nate too drunk to perform sexually but he cuddled and snored nicely, and got plenty of rest for the upcoming events, a weekend that will be tough but not TOO tough.

=====

And what was I doing while he was in class those evenings? I was painting, expanding many of my sketches, re-doing scenes from slightly different angles, making them new pictures. I repainted many 'scapes and older portraits too, showing them in new ways.

Was I becoming an art factory? Nate mentioned a friend who visited Antigua Guatemala and saw many street 'artists' showing their works on sidewalk walls for passing visitors, or filling touristy shops and galleries with such, all the same views of the same townscapes and volcanos and stylized figures in bright garb, over and over again.

I was not like that. Even when I repainted Nate's goopy cock and balls, I made each version unique, with different details seen in new ways. That was integral to my artistic vision.

Would I paint other goopy genitalia? Not with MY juices on them! Probably. Would I paint my own? Via a mirror or photo? Hmmm...

Argo thought my major market would be portraits, pets, nudes, intimates. So I looked closely at faces and bodies I had painted, then sketched them as changed, and then painted them anew.

And I re-did florals, gnarly old structures and trees, land- and sea- and sky-scapes. I realized that for all my plein air pretensions, I was really a portraitist, incisively portraying each rock and tree and cloud as if it were part or all of a person, showing the personalities I see within them. I think that explains the reactions; viewers see emotion in each painting and sketch.

No, I am no Picasso, no O'Keefe. But I will admit it: I am not bad.

===== Friday, week 9 =====

I still had a job Friday but Mr Salman said that Monday I would start training my replacement, Teresa Lindström, formerly junior office manager at Langens and Associates LLC. She was here for a meet-and-greet, which means our staff learned how annoying she could be. Nobody freaked out so I guessed she had a chance.

I had Argo send a taxi for Nate when class ended, to join us at the North Beach 'star artist' event which again was limited to AmEx cardholders. Nobody at Phratos had tipped-off Herb Caen or other media, but Argo had his gallery girls phone existing customers and tell them to bring well-heeled friends. Somebody blabbed; KCUF ran notices in the noon and afternoon newscasts; so security and traffic control were necessary.

"I had to walk two blocks to get here," Nate griped, dropping his briefcase of class materials in Argo's office. "At least they aren't howling hyenas tonight."

Once again, Argo did not empty the gallery before the bars closed. Once again, I sketched any buyers and made Nate a fat commission. Once again, Argo had interesting news.

"Like to guess how many suckers, I mean honored, high-class folk, have applied for portraits already? Three dozen humans, some erotic; a dozen animals; and even Wilona 'Legs' Smithers. She wants a series of paintings with her in various states of undress. She hinted at a special request which I suspect would include her heroic rescuer Nate in some scenes."

"Take it, m'lady," Nate said. "Yes, you and I will still be friends. She wasn't much of a kisser during CPR. I'll admit her tits were good."

He grinned snarkily. I slapped him gently.

"I'll think about it," I said. "Forward me her application, Argo, and I'll see about making her pay for ruining our lives."