It was bound to happen, that's what she said. I called my friend Georgeanne, she's an artist too. We have alot in common, we have alot of differences. The main difference between us is the fact that I have a fantastic relationship with my man and she is forever bored and frustrated, maybe even disappointed by her choice of mate. I am pacing across the kitchen floor, I can't stop fuming over the events of last night.
Tate brought a woman home, she was drop dead sexy. She has emerald green eyes and the body of an 18 year old female kickboxer. She's a vixen, a word I rarely use but it fit. Shoulder length blonde hair, sexy.
"She's coming to live with us" he said. "She's been with me all along, now get used to it."
"I need two, that's just the way it is."
I begin to reel in my head like a great whale on the end of a harpoon. I am carrying laundry baskets across the floor of our city apartment. Okay I can do this,I think to myself;anything to make him happy.
"Wait, what about when you had your heart attack?"
"She was with me, it happened at her house."
"You said you were in a hotel."
"Yeah, I guess I did."
"That's it!" I stormed out into the crowded street below, I threw a tantrum, an all out fit. I ranted and shouted; a large crowd gathered. "I am not having this, I am absolutely not sharing you with her, I'm out of here!" I smashed a beer bottle into the sidewalk; it exploded like a hand grenade. I got his attention.
"Okay, I get it. I love you and only you, I understand." Tate said words of reconciliation. He chose me.
I was unappeased. I was panicked and still furious.
I opened my eyes.
I was covered in a cold sweat.
There he slept, warm and strong, his breath mingling with my cheek. I kissed his forehead.
"Hmmn?" he murmured.
"She was with you when you had the heart attack. She's me isn't she?"
He said yes.
AND THEN, THE NEXT DAY
It's six o clock in the evening. I arrive home after work, Tate is cooking something fantastic as usual.
"The girls are bringing their paintings over." he told me.
A few weeks ago Tate sent me to the beach for the weekend to bond with the wild women, it's an annual event. It was the first time I had been invited. While the cats away. . .No, it couldn't be that bad, but in a sense yes. He went to an art opening of two novice painters. They are granola girls, they are organic gardeners. He spent ALOT of money. It wasn't a good time to be spending that kind of money. Maybe it never is considering... what he bought! (I am NOT kidding)
They wanted to see where their masterpieces would hang, they wanted to deliver their paintings to the house, our house.
Liza, shoulder length blonde hair. The most beautiful emerald green eyes, young(24?), compact perfect body and a maudlin pout anchoring high cheekbones, self portrait in watercolor. He loves it, it is very pretty. I enjoy the painting really, it's the other 3 pieces he bought that made me furious.
He spent over one hundred dollars on a 2"x2" watercolor in a cheap frame of two ugly flowers. More than that on a sketch of a barn that looked like something an unartistic 4th grader might doodle, and Oh forgive me, he bought one disasterly looking thing for me, for my CHRISTMAS present!(I am a bad person now aren't I?)
I excused myself after the initial viewing. Actually it was after I saw a twinkle in the eye of my Tate as he invited the vixen to step up onto the sofa to get a closer look at an etching he had previously bought. The entire motion was so similar to the day he came to my house, when it was only mine. The day I stepped onto a ladder to examine the failings of the heat duct and he stood up and touched my waist to make sure I did not fall. The day he told me after six years of friendship that he had been in love with me since the first time he ever saw me.
It was that look on his face.
I went to the basement to retrieve an enormous basket of laundry.
"Where do you work now?" he asked Ms. America.
"I am a painter only."
Yeah, me too, see my art. It's a preformance piece, it's titled "Laundry."
It was bound to happen sooner or later Georgeanne said. He was bound to make you mad eventually. "Sum it up" she said, "what exactly did he do to make you so furious?"
He bought bad art. That's what I tell myself. He bought bad art.