Reality crashed back in.
How could I share my anxious world with another person? How could I share the secret side of me? What if he ruined PERL? What if it didn’t work out and shattered my already fragile resolve? I don’t think I was strong enough for that.
I couldn’t trust anyone but Cat, and even that scared me. What would become of me when she died one day? Cold sweat broke out across my skin at the thought of being that alone with absolutely no one to call if I needed help.
My arms squeezed around me, offering false comfort.
Thinking that way was harmful. I knew that.
Kicking at the pavement, I wondered if I’d ever be free of this fear that held me hostage. After twenty-eight years, I was convinced this feeling would never vanish. Besides anger, it was the only emotion I’d known.
Bill stopped to relieve himself on a tree, and I waited, picking at the frayed end of one of my sleeves. I felt self-loathing creeping in, its tendrils weaving over my skin. Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t I be better?
After Bill finished his business, we walked on and soon arrived at the storefront I’d picked for the show. Paper coveredthe front windows and doors that sat back from the sidewalk. Leaves, sticks, and garbage that someone had discarded without thought covered the large front patio over the waist-high gate surrounding it. The paint was peeling around the trim, and the brick facade had seen better days.
It had been a deli, which was fun. I wanted to maintain the deli feel. My plan for the inside was to keep the counter and the kitchen, clean it up, black it out, and adapt to what it offered.
The bar would be the old deli counter, allowing free circulation for patrons. Out front on the patio, I’d bring in black tables, paint the sidewalk, and let the dark bleed out into the street like a stain of night.
Black to me was beautiful. It offered solace and certainty. Black was black to me and everyone else. I could fit in with black. Black is the complete absence of color, just like me.
The logistics circled through my thoughts. I’d only need a few counter staff, maybe three bartenders and two assistants. To stay near the art, I’d take one of those jobs.
I enjoyed listening to the comments from patrons. Those remarks were, above all, a highlight. Some patrons over-exaggerated the meaning behind my art, and to be honest, it was beautiful.
Through them, I could almost see the colors I’d painted. They’d point and comment on a streak of paint here, or there, and their descriptions helped me understand my creation.
“Look at this bit of red fire here, and electric neon there,” and so on.
Descriptive words like that, with a tactical feel, helped. Iknew fire was hot. I knew electricity was shocking. Those sensations let me view the world.
Judging from the sidewalk space, I estimated about twenty tall tables would be suitable. Some candles, some overhead garden lights. It’d be dreamy. I’d also add light to the wrought-iron waist-high gate around the entire patio. I’d make it something minimal and hidden, but enough to draw in the street crowd.
Out here, I’d hire several bouncers to make sure we didn’t become overcrowded. It was never fun getting shut down by the New York Fire Department. They took overcrowding seriously.
My temporary alcohol license allowed me to have a few walking servers here as well, with champagne, and small tumblers with bourbon to help minimize returning guests to the bar, causing a bottleneck. I found champagne and bourbon just about covered most tastes.
Bill was sniffing around the perimeter of the patio, his leash in his mouth as though leading himself. He was likely cataloging the rich tapestry of smells as I was: damp cement, blooming honeysuckle, and something savory from a nearby grill.
Moonlight dappled through dry overhead leaves, their branches a constant whisper. Distant laughter and the rhythmic thud of a basketball punctuated the quiet.
Bill returned to my side, a low rumble of anticipation in his chest. I could tell he was ready to go home.
“Ready for a late-night pizza and the couch, boy?” I gave him a scratch between his ears, and his whole body began swinging with his tail. “Okay, let’s go.”
He deposited the end of his leash at my feet for me to pick up, and we stepped away from the storefront and back toward home and pizza.
I opened DoorDash, reordered our favorite sausage and cheese pizza, and set it to arrive before we got home to avoid running into the delivery person. I’d had enough awkward encounters for the night. As it was, I was going to enter the house from the back from now on just to avoid the neighbor.
We could deal with that, though. It was fine. We didn’t leave the house much anyway, and it was more private that way. We’d adjust, wait a few years, and then we could use the front door again. By then, the Nash guy would be married, kid on the way.
I’d be anobody to him.
Solid plan.
CHAPTER 5
Nash
