The Tawdry Tangerine Farewell Pt. 01

Maybe I wasn't some love god but I didn't suck in bed ... or else she and the girlfriends before her were all due Oscars. And so what if she was the bread-winner? If we'd needed money, she knew damn well I could get my hands on a hell of a lot of it — now that I was thirty, all it really took was a signature from me and the trust was opened. And if she was embarrassed about being tied to an artist who wasn't a household name? Well, that brought me back around to: fuck her!

Molly

I knew Rick was going through a bad time. I was around him in the studio for eight or more hours a day; it was hard to miss. It had been two months since the final papers arrived and there were some signs that he was lifting himself out of the mire but, let's face it: The Bitch had carved a hole in his guts and, even though he took the smart way out by jettisoning her lock, stock, and Chloé bag, there was still some bleeding.

I didn't always think of her as The Bitch. When I first met her, I thought she was pretty cool. And, God knows, he needed someone to nudge him along.

I mean, his sister, Rachel, would stop by occasionally, take one look at that unkempt mess of dark hair, and drag him off to that bling-bling place to get a haircut. I get catty about it because it annoys me that Rachel sometimes treats me like a leper, but I have to admit the results looked really good.

And I was pretty brutal about his clothes, simply pointing and shaking my head. If he didn't get the hint and ditch whatever it was, there was usually an "accident" in the studio: somehow my palette would be right where he was going to put an elbow, a sweatshirt would get grabbed to stop a turpentine spill from spreading, or, more lately, my paint-spattered hand would land on his shoulder when I leaned in to look at what he was working on. Whatever.

He's not a movie star but he's not forgettable either. I guess it took a while. I'd seen some high school photos and, back then, he was one of those dudes that hadn't matured all the way: a lot of that puppy roundness, awkward, boy-still-turning-into-man.

However, since then he'd gotten his full height. His face had thinned so that his cheekbones were more prominent. It's the portrait artist in me: the pale gray eyes against the dark brows, the small scar decorating the left side of his chin — "stupidity with my first motorcycle," he explained — the creases instead of dimples when he smiled, the slight mismatch between left and right in those scuffed hands, all of it caught my attention. And it certainly didn't hurt that his profession demanded serious upper body work. No, not a movie star but unquestionably interesting.

He looked good in jeans, t-shirts, and that old leather jacket. He just didn't realize that a faded t-shirt from Green Day's American Idiot tour was quite a bit different from something that said, "Duct Tape Can't Fix Idiocy But It Can Muffle The Sound." Since I saw him on nearly a daily basis, I figured it was my job to police the situation and turn the dumb sayings into paint rags.

But those let's-clean-up-the-exterior assists from the two of us aside, he needed to get the hell out of his own head. I thought Kate was the one for that. She had it: the poise, the confidence, the social skills. I didn't know why she picked him — Rick told me once that she basically asked him out — but she did and it worked.

Even when my feelings began to change, I rooted for them ... until that day I came into the studio and found him sitting there, his face pale, staring at a photo on his phone of Kate looking at some dude helping her into a Bimmer. It took me about a half-second to recognize the look on her face and about another half-second to understand the implications: one second total and that's when it changed. I'd have used the c-word for her but I might slip and say it in front of my parents, and that word doesn't fly in the Trevisani family. So, The Bitch it was.

Yeah, I knew he was in a bad place. Unfortunately, so was I and I could really use his help. He was one of the few people I truly trusted.

My background was a little different. I grew up in a section of Pittsburgh that wasn't such a bad place during the day, but it's a druggie part of the city and that means that there's an underbelly. It meant I grew up a little rougher than someone from the burbs. However, it didn't give me any immunity to making mistakes. They just were different ones, usually involving a taste of things I never had.

And I had made a big one. Nothing fatal, or life-threatening, or even involving bad guys and kneecaps. Not pregnancy or something contagious. The law wasn't after me. But it was kind of big as far as I was concerned.

"I kind of made a video with this guy Connor Thompson," I said. "He's got me stark naked on screen and it's—"

"Christ, Molls," Rick interrupted. "That's TMI."

"Please, Rick! Listen to me, please! I'm in trouble."

That got his attention.

"I made a video with him. Now he's threatening to post it. Not just to porn sites, which I could maybe, perhaps, somehow, possibly deal with, but also to my parents, family, friends, et cetera. He's already proven he can do it by sending them all an email with some stupid pictures of a party on his boat. He probably copied my address book out of my phone. He claimed he just wanted everyone to share all the fun we were having, but I knew he was really showing me what he could do."

"And you let someone like that have a—" He broke off, probably because he could tell I was close to tears. "Why is he doing this?"

"Because I told him I didn't want to see him anymore."

"Why?"

I couldn't meet his eyes. I didn't want to answer that.

"Okay," he said after a second, "I'm assuming there's an 'or else' to this that avoids him sending it out."

I'm sure my cheeks could have graced a poster for the word "mortification" they were burning so badly. "He wants me back in his bed. No girl walks out on him after he gave her the best sex of her life. Those are his words, by the way, not mine. It wasn't the best." I forced myself to look at him. "What do I do, Rick?"

"Every guy over the age of about twelve has seen bare boobs, Molls. And, my artist's eye tells me yours are probably pretty nice." I could tell from his hopeful expression that he thought I'd either smirk at that and make some snide comment about his body in return, or get irritated at the personal comment and bark at him. He figured either one would snap me out of my mood. Unfortunately, he didn't realize the depth of this shit hole.

So, being Rick, he tried harder. "And they've seen beaver shots, both—"

"It's not about nudity, you moron! Look, despite your jokes that I should model for you, you've never seen what's under the clothes. You've got some tats, Rick. I've got a lot more. A lot! Including places that are so private that even a bikini would cover them."

I could tell he was a little was surprised. He knew I was more into ink than he was, but I never played, "I'll show you mine, if you..." with him.

"We aren't talking about the sleeve here, Rick. Whoever sees this is gonna know that I was topless with some guy running a needle gun all over my bare boobs, and probably even naked because he was clearly less than an inch from my vagina. Let me tell you, that's not just 'skin art' to my parents or their neighbors." I couldn't avoid air-quoting the term. "Yeah, some won't give a damn. Others? I think the word slut is going to come to mind and that will hurt my family. My dad, especially."

"Your parents don't know you have them?" he asked me gently.

"No. If I wear reasonably conservative clothes, you think it's just the sleeve and a small one on my other shoulder. You've never seen the others, right? I never wear a bare midriff around them, or anything cut low. I'm not ashamed but they're a very different generation — old school Italian — and they already have major problems with what they can see.

I dropped my head down into my hands, the consequences of this coming back to me once again because ... well, because talking about the tats was just avoiding the real problem. I bit the bullet. "The ink isn't the worst of it. It's not just me naked. We were having some serious sexy time."

"Oof!"

"Yeah, I was stupid, I know. I wasn't sober but this was just ... just fuckin' stupid."

He tried to comfort me. "Molly, I get that this is really, really embarrassing. But everyone has sex and, hopefully, your parents will understand that you're an adult now and probably do adult things."

I bit my lip. He wasn't getting it, probably because I was pussy-footing around describing what was on that tape out of humiliation. "Rick. This isn't just a video of two people playing missionary under the covers. Or even on top of the covers."

"Okay, so they see you playing cowgirl and giving everyone a show of bouncing boobs. People have sex, Molly."

I realized that hinting wasn't going to get me where I needed to be with someone predisposed to think the best of me. And Rick did. Think the best of me, that is. The time for maidenly blushes sure wasn't now.

"It wasn't just me on top—"

He started to interrupt, "Still—"

"Are going to listen to me?" I said sharply, poking him in the chest as I asked that. His face showed his shock at my reaction. He nodded. "I wasn't just drinking. I was sky high on some club drugs. And I was into this guy or, rather, I was into his bod. And I'm not a shy girl in bed. When I say serious sexy time ... are you still listening?"

He had looked away from my face, clearly starting to be embarrassed. He looked back and nodded.

"Okay! Then pay attention." I took a breath. Here we go.

"This is a video that's got me going down on him and at least one position that would shock the good sisters of Sacred Heart School. Both all the way to the finish. And that's not even close to the heaviest stuff that ... well ... it's not close. Shit, Rick, it's got him talking about maybe trying spit-roasting some day and me too stoned to scream, 'No fucking way!', though I damn well would have if he ever asked for real." I couldn't meet his eyes. "Do you get what I'm talking about here? I made a fucking private porno with this guy!"

"Jesus, Molls."

"Ya think?"

He sat silently for a while. I knew one part of him was shocked by what I had told him. However, I knew that he'd set that aside for some other time. I didn't know what would happen when that time came around: whether he'd be "whatever", or disgusted, or maybe turned on. Right now, I knew the other part of him was trying to figure out what to do.

"Would money help? Maybe buy him off? I can get money."

"I don't think so. He's got a shit-ton of it and I think this is a little personal for him. I've offended his 'male pride'." Again with the air quotes. I felt stupid that I couldn't stop myself doing that. But, then again, I guess I was stupid because ... video!

"Police?"

"What's illegal? I agreed to it and he'd just deny the extortion part."

"Sue him about non-consensual distribution..." he trailed off. "No, that's a stupid idea. He'd do it anonymously."

He thought for a while more. "I don't have any ideas at the moment."

"Me neither. It's why I told you even though I'm so humiliated I'll probably avoid you for a year."

He pulled me in against him and shook his head. "No." It felt good to lean against him. "Though I may never look at you the same way again." I could tell he was smiling as he said that and didn't feel hurt.

"What if you just sucked it up?" he finally asked. "Spit in his eye and told him to get lost? You're not a slut. Everyone who knows you, knows that. Couldn't you just live it down?"

I pulled back from his shoulder and looked him in the face. "Couldn't I live it down, Rick?" I repeated quite calmly. "Of course, I could live it down!

"I'm sure someday the first thing my parents would remember about me was how proud they were about a piece of art I did, rather than how embarrassed they were knowing the neighborhood boys were jerking off to their little girl with tattoos all over her tits."

I could see him trying to object but I kept going over his protestations, my voice getting more heated with each word. "And maybe there'd come a day when guys didn't ask me out and girls smirk just because they knew I was willing to—"

He put his hand over my mouth to stop the rant and I cut myself off with nothing more than a raised eyebrow and a challenging look that said, "Well, asshole, what do you have to say to that?"

"I get it, loud and clear," he said. "I'm sorry. I get the seriousness of the situation. I also get that my question was patronizing, stupid, and completely piggish. I'm sorry. That was an asshole thing to ask. I'm really sorry." His words were stilted and awkward as hell. I could tell he was totally floundering.

But I also realized that he meant it and I relented. "I forgive you. How would you fucking guys understand what it's like to live on the wrong side of the double standard?"

It was a rhetorical question, obviously, but he answered it anyway. "I guess you could make us — make me — understand, and I guess you could kick me in the nuts if I don't learn from my mistakes."

That amused me. I leaned over and pushed his hair off his forehead. "You're a guy, but at least you try to be a better guy. Okay, here's a lesson: it doesn't matter what everyone does privately. People are fucking hypocrites. The fact that that video exists will make me a whore to some people, and it's always open season on whores. Capisci?"

He nodded.

His question had set me off. It was a ... a guy thing to ask and I lost my cool. Men in these videos were studs. Nobody's walking around talking about how Rick Salomon or Ray J were whores. Yeah, I'd lost it. In my defense, though, I was a bit stressed.

I didn't lose it totally. One thing I didn't say in my rant was: "There'd come a day when I might make a pass at a guy I was seriously interested in without worrying that he'd just found out I was a porn star."

"How'd you end up with this guy?" he wanted to know.

"I met him in a club last Saturday. We got to talking and ended up hooking up," I answered. "He took me out to his boat and one thing led to another."

"I don't mean to judge, but you don't seem like the guy-with-boat type."

The irony of that wasn't lost on me, but I didn't let any of it show. "I really liked his looks. That's all it was, really. I was buzzed and he had some caps of molly — yeah, he made the same stupid joke; ha, ha; I get it. You know that most of the time I don't touch anything. I was just in a weird mood and felt like cutting loose.

"And, yeah, maybe there was a tiny bit of the whole lifestyle thing. I mean, you're right, it's not me normally, but maybe I was just a little curious what three-hundred-dollar champagne tasted like," I said, hating the defensive note in my voice. "But, mostly, I just liked his looks and wanted to get laid."

I looked at his face to see how he was taking this. I couldn't tell for sure, but it didn't look like he was judging me. "Anyway, I guess I was way higher than I realized," I ended lamely.

We fell silent, neither of us sure what to say. "What's he look like so I'll know him if I meet him?" he asked.

I showed him a selfie of us on the boat, fortunately taken the first evening when we were still wearing clothes. Rick frowned momentarily, "He looks familiar. Not sure why." I didn't say anything.

He took in the custom suit and shirt, the Charvet tie. "Definitely not what I expected for you, Molls. And, to be honest — don't take this the wrong way — you aren't what I'd expect for him." Before I could read something negative about my looks in that, he added, "I'd have figured him for a blonde model with implants and collagen lips."

I shrugged. "Maybe I was a bit of the wrong side of the track for him."

"If it was just a hookup, why is he all bent out of shape?" he asked eventually.

"It's possible, when he called me for the second time after I said no, that I was less than gracious."

"The woman who called my mustache a birth control caterpillar? Couldn't be!"

"It was!" I protested. "Even your sister agreed you had to shave it." He got that mulish look he did when he felt I was managing him, so I let it drop. "Anyway, I wasn't rude at first. All I said was, no thanks, I'd had a good time but I wasn't looking for anything more. He tried a little bribery with the boat and the partying but I said no again. I wasn't looking for a relationship and, besides, partying really wasn't my thing. He didn't want to take no for an answer and, finally, I said he wouldn't do it for me long term."

Rick winced.

"I didn't mean it that way!" I said quickly. "I just meant I didn't see us getting along when we were sober but," I sighed, "too late. He got all Mr. Stud on me and said that wasn't the impression he got that weekend and did I want to hear a playback of the soundtrack? Then I may have said something unfortunate about, yeah, well, I'd been on a bit of a dry spell lately, so my standards—"

He held up his hand to cut me off and shook his head in disgust. "Less than gracious," he mimicked me. "Nice understatement, Trevisani."

We sat in silence for a little while. I could tell he was embarrassed at what I had revealed. I was, too. I noticed a little sideways scan, just a quick flick that didn't meet my eyes.

"You're wondering what's under my shirt right now, aren't you?" His glance away answered that. "Are you going to be perving on me all the time now, trying to sneak a peek?" I demanded hotly.

"Jesus, Molls!" His face was red. "You ask for my help and then you start busting my balls? Nice!" He stood up and headed for the door. "No wonder he thinks you're a bitch."

I didn't give a fuck what Connor thought but I didn't like Rick thinking I was a bitch. "Rick! I'm sorry. I'm just self-conscious, okay? I was just giving you shit to cover that up. Come back."

He turned to look at me but didn't sit back down.

"Please," I said again. He reluctantly came back and sat, but I could tell he was still pissed.

Rick

Yeah, I wondered what the tattoos looked like. Who wouldn't after that buildup? That's no reason to start giving me grief just because I glanced at her. It was a half-second glance; I wasn't staring at her chest. I'm sure she's glanced at guys herself.

I felt her hand on my shoulder, something she did a lot. "Rick, I'm sorry. I'm embarrassed at how stupid this whole thing makes me, and I took it out on you. Don't shut me out."

"I'm not shutting you out, Molls," I said.

Silence descended again.

Finally, I felt obligated to add, "I'm sorry I said that about you being a bitch. I mean, you were a bitch, but he should've taken no for an answer. And no one deserves what he's threatened you with."

She put her head down on my shoulder. "What do I do, Rick?"

"I don't know, Molls. Let me think about this a bit."

I felt her nod. Then she said quietly, "If you want to see the ink, I'll show you."

"No, never mind."

"It's okay. I'm not ashamed of it. And I don't think you're a perv. Anyone would wonder. You've seen a billion naked models, seeing me isn't going to be a big deal." She leaned forward so she could turn and look back up at me. "Look, you really wanna spend the rest of your life trying to pretend you're not curious? That's awkward. Besides, it's a really good tattoo. It's an Alfred Kender."

"I have one by him."

"I know," she said. "You showed me once."

Kender was a tattoo artist here in the city. You may have seen samples of his work in the magazines. He'd do pretty much whatever you paid for but, if you were willing to put yourself in his hands, you'd end up with something strikingly different, something he pulled out of this fascination he's got with myths and legends.