The Longest Time
Five
“You look lovely,” Leo said for the third time in an hour. My fingers laced between his, he led me around the crowded gallery, pointing out different pieces and occasionally stopping to study them. Having grown up in a city that undervalued art, I was surprised by the large turn out. While most of the patrons were obviously upper class, well bred, business people over the age of fifty, there was a handful of young, fresh faced artists circulating the room. All of whom seemed to know Leo. We couldn’t go two steps without someone stopping him. The conversations all seemed the same, an obnoxious hello, vague conversation about vapid aspects of their lives, a few names dropped, and the promise of getting together sooner rather than later. As lonely as I’d felt during my first month in Pittsburgh, after watching the repetitive interaction I was incredibly thankful for my limited local rolodex. I could move about the city freely without bumping into anyone and being trapped by small talk and disingenuous interaction.
“The art world is a very small community,” he told me, after introducing me to the third long haired acquaintance in oversized glasses and skinny jeans. “Meeting people is the best way to make your mark.” He squeezed my hand, then dropped it to grab two glasses of champing from the passing tray. I noticed for the first time that he didn’t look much different from the people he’d been introducing me to, his brown corduroy blazer was worn and a size too big, his hair slicked back away from his face. He was undoubtably beautiful, but I couldn’t tell if he tried far too hard, or not nearly enough.
“Where do you want to take your career?” he asked, sipping from the delicate glass in his hand. I’d already finished the majority of mine in one gulp.
“What do you mean?” I tried to gather information from his facial expression but he was impossible to read.
“What do you want to do with your talent?” he ran his fingers gently down my arm. We were hidden in a quiet corner of the room, away from the high transactions and vocal art critics.
“I want to take pictures,” I said simply, eyeing the area for a saviour with a tray of champaign.
“Of course you do,” he brushed his thumb over my cheek affectionately. “But do you want to take pictures of people’s children for the rest of your life, or do you want more?”
I shot him a confused look and wondered how he knew what my newest portfolio consisted of.
“I saw your prints when you dropped them,” he answered without my asking, winking for good measures.
“Oh,” I said flatly. “I enjoy my subjects, but I suppose if I could aspire to anything it would be to shoot regularly for Vogue.” I polished off my glass and set it on the window sill beside me.
“Really Colbie?” Leo gave me a look of disapproval and I picked up the glass again, my stomach tightening uncomfortably and my skin feeling warmer than before. “Of all the things you could do with your talent you want to shoot for a vapid, capitalist, rag?”
I frowned and excused myself to the washroom, finding a server and taking a glass of bubbly liquid in each hand with me. I wondered, as I sat locked in the bathroom stall, if I was so out of practice in the dating scene that I was being sensitive. Surely things couldn’t have changed that much in the few years I had dedicated to one night stands and failed self improvement. I sat consuming the the contents of the glasses at an alarming rate, relishing the fact that I hadn’t had to pay for them. Of the few men I’d been with, none of them had been as forthcoming and bold as Leo. I thought fondly of my high school boyfriend, Ben and his reserved demeanour. Ben’s quiet confidence and gentle approach was what had attracted me to him, his lopsided grin and hesitant speech kept me with him for years. The qualities I admired in my once best friend were the exact ones I found Leo lacking. So far it seemed that any grace he may have had was violently overpowered by his pretentious confidence and limited mindset. I’d known him for less than a week and already I could feel the smothering affect of his superiority complex. I swallowed the last drop of champaign and in the interest of being open minded, promise myself I’ll give him another chance before running away screaming.
“I hope you weren’t offended by my observation, Colbie,” I came face to face with him as I emerged from the safety of the bathroom.
“Not at all,” I smiled politely, noticing I was beginning to feel light headed in the wonderful way I’d been searching for.
“I just think the world puts far too much emphasis on things like fashion and the media. Who are those magazines helping?”
Me when I beat you with one. I thought, biting my tongue and nodding with the same tight smile still plastered on my lips. “I find it interesting,” I replied calmly, feigning disinterest and reaching for another glass as the tray passed.
“I suppose it is always an adventure to see how the other half lives,” he smiled and took my free hand in his. I tried not to pay much mind to his statement, it made little sense considering he was obviously far from the poverty line and while his look said starving artist, his Fred Perry shoes and Pendleton shirt told a different story. I wondered bitterly if he was on a first name basis with the staff of American Apparel and tried to keep a straight face.
I opened my mouth to reply, but was fortunately interrupted by another messy haired, Edie Sedgwick wannabe in high tops. She whispered something in his ear and they both laughed obnoxiously. I watched her place her hand on his chest and I felt like an unwelcome voyeur, watching their intimate moment.
“This is my date, Colbie,” he finally introduced me.
“She’s lovely, Leo,” the girl smiled up at him, as if I wasn’t there.
“Colbie is a photographer,” he grinned.
“How adorable,” she purred. “Do you have your own Facebook page?”
“No,” I sputtered, taken aback by her question. “I prefer film.”
“How kitschy,” she replied and I looked to Leo, hoping he’d interject. Instead he stood smiling, watching this complete stranger mock me so delicately that should I protest I’d be the one overreacting. My first real introduction to what he affectionately referred to as ‘the art world.’
After dropping me off and pressing his lips tenderly against me, I watched Leo drive away from Jessica’s front lawn. It was just past midnight and too late for me to go inside in search of a conversation. Instead I stumbled to my car and crawled into the front seat, slipping my shoes off and tossing them in the backseat. I’d had five drinks too many and no way to get home. Everything felt fuzzy and bright at the same time. Resigning myself to sleeping in the car I rest my head against the steering wheel and closed my eyes, searching desperately for sleep. Instead my mind drifted to the events of the night; the crowd of art aficionados in their overpriced clothes and smug looks, Leo’s comments and the feeling of my hand in his. It wasn’t all bad, the champaign was good and the art was inspiring, but more than that despite his arrogance I was wildly attracted to Leo. Convinced there had to be more to him I was intrigued by the parts I had yet to see. Admittedly a great deal of my interest in Leo was of a sexual nature, he was hot and I wanted him in ways I hadn’t had in a long time. Artist costume aside I knew underneath the faded t-shirts and skin tight pants was someone worth being with emotionally and physically, I just needed to find a way to get under the persona.
I was startled out of my day dream involving Leo and a shower by a soft tapping on the window. Hoping it wasn’t any law enforcement I lifted my head slowly and tried to appear sober. Instead of a cop I found James leaning down to peer in the window, still dressed in his post game suit.
“Are you okay?” he asked as I rolled down the window.
“Yes,” I blushed, pawing at my flushed face.
“What exactly are you doing?” he rest his arm on the roof of the car, smirking.
“Sitting,” I stammered. “I… can’t drive.”
“You’re drunk,” he grinned, breaking into boyish giggles.
“No!” I cried defensively, the world spinning around me. “Maybe a little.”
“You wanna come in? Or would you rather sleep in your car?” he smirked, cocking an eyebrow.
“Inside would be nice,” I hiccuped and looked up at him with bleary eyes.
He opened the door and held out his hand to pull me up. I stood shakily, staggering a few steps then falling into his waiting arms.
“I’m sorry,” I giggled, blushing furiously. “It was really good champaign.”
“And how much of the really good champaign did you have?” he asked, helping me back to his house. The road was cold under my bare feet but I couldn’t feel the rocks digging into my heels.
“Not that much, like seven glasses? But they were small!” I rest my head against him trying to bite back giggles.
“That’s more than a whole bottle,” he teased, helping me up the steps.
“Nooo!” I stared at him in shock. I’d had no intention of getting drunk, it was just something to do while Leo prattled on about art and introduced me to people I’d never see again. It was so good, and so free.
James helped me into the living room where I plopped onto the couch giggling uncontrollably. Nothing was funny, but everything seemed hilarious. I’d spent my night with a beautiful pretentious date and somehow found myself in the home of a beautiful athletic fantasy. My life in Edmonton was nothing like this. There I’d found myself settling for average looking trades workers, searching for a good night. I’d have never imagined being in the same room as someone like James Neal, let alone laying on his couch.
“Here, drink this,” he came in holding out a large glass of water to me. I took it from him and pressed the glass against my lips taking a few gulps before forgetting what I was doing and spilling most of it onto my dress.
“Shit!” I cried, the cold water trickling down my chest, having an unwelcome sobering affect. I tried unsuccessfully to brush the water from the black fabric but instead made it worse, my chest and lap soaked from my own stupidity. “I’m such an idiot,” I sighed defeated, sitting on the couch looking up at James who was trying not to laugh.
“Do you want to take your dress off?” His voice was hesitant, he stood awkwardly at the end of the couch. I bit my lip and willed my mind not to go there. Not to imagine James tugging gently on the zipper positioned between my shoulder blades, pushing the dress over my shoulders and down my arms. I tried not to think about his strong hands on my bare skin, his warm breath on the back of my neck. I wanted to turn around and press my body against him, run my hand through his hair and feel the muscles under his shirt. Instead I just stared at him.
“Like to dry?” I squeaked.
“Yeah, I can get you something to wear,” he motioned towards his bedroom door on the other side of the living room.
“Thank you,” I croaked, biting back the urge to comment about him getting me out of my dress so quickly. He disappeared and came back holding a sweatshirt and shorts.
“You can change in the bathroom,” he handed them to me and smiled awkwardly.
I stumbled into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. Considering my condition I looked pretty good, hair slightly out of place and makeup a bit smudged, but presentable. Remembering what I was supposed to be doing I reached back to unzip my dress, my clumsy fingers couldn’t reach the tiny zipper and after a few attempts I gave up, instead trying to pull the dress over my head. Two uncoordinated tugs and the waist was around my shoulders, pulling a little harder I tripped over my own feet and landed with a thud on the cold tiled floor, my arms around my ears and the thick black fabric suffocating me. I considered the idea that I might never be freed from the tight grip of my form fitting party dress and imagined the obituary. ‘Colbie O’Connor, 20, drank too much really good champaign and was found dead in the bathroom of hockey player James Neal. It is believed that she was killed by a killer little black dress. Family speculates the death may have been from humiliation, reports show suffocation. Colbie is survived by her camera and collection of undervalued vinyl albums. She will be missed by all the rig pigs in Alberta.’
I refused to go in such an undignified way! I would not die before seeing him shirtless, it couldn’t end like this. I struggled to break free from the damp, restricting dress but like a Chinese finger trap, the harder i fought the more trapped I felt. I knew what I needed to do. Better to humiliate myself once than end up on 1,000 ways to die.
“Jaaaammmmeeessss,” I whined from my spot on the floor. It felt like hours and he hadn’t replied, light headedness washed over me, dehydration setting in I tried to suckle the liquid from the fabric in front of me, my captor, but instead got a mouth full of cotton.
“Mr. James Neal?” I tried again. “Sometimes I hear you’re called The Real Deal, I really need you right now.” Moments past and finally I heard him chuckling from the door.
“What did you do?” he roared with laughter.
“I’m stuck and I’d really rather not die this way,” I sputtered.
I felt him walk around me and crouch behind me. “I’ll never be used to girls laying half naked screaming my name,” he teased, pulling down the zipper and freeing me from my fabric prison. He helped pull the dress over my head and I let out a sigh of relief as it hit the floor beside me.
“Freedom,” I moaned, standing up and reaching to the wall for support. I turned to face him, he was grinning, face red from laughter and eyes wide and enchanting. “How long were you standing there?” I scowled and grabbed a hand towel to cover my nearly naked body.
“I heard you fall, do you always leave the door open at other people’s houses?” he eyed the towel in front of me and smirked.
“No!” I blushed. “Do you always invite strange girls into your home late at night?”
“Only when they’re at risk of freezing,” he winked and headed for the door. “I like the ducks by the way,” he pointed to my lower half and I looked at him confused, until I realized I was wearing my rubber duckie underwear. Laundry day had me again.
“So where did you go tonight?” James asked as we sat side by side on the couch, Sports Centre playing in the background.
“I was on a date,” my head flopped back on the couch I turned to face him.
“You were on a date and you ended up at my living room?” he looked at me amused. “Was it that bad?”
“I can’t decide,” I admitted. “I don’t know if it was a bad date or if he’s just different from what I’m used to.”
“Well what are you used to?”
“Not dates with painters to places that serve free booze,” I laughed, not wanting to admit that dates weren’t exactly my forte.
“You going to see him again?” he took drink of his Gatorade.
“Maybe,” I shrugged. “He’s not bad looking.”
“Well if he’s good looking what else matters?” he chuckled.
“He thinks hockey is mindless violence,” I rolled my eyes.
“What is violence anyway?” he wrinkled his brow.
“That’s what I said!” I cried.
“He sounds like a pylon,” James wrinkled his nose and shook his head.
“Yeah well, you can’t have everything,” I sighed and snuggled into the oversized hoodie I was wearing.
“The art world is a very small community,” he told me, after introducing me to the third long haired acquaintance in oversized glasses and skinny jeans. “Meeting people is the best way to make your mark.” He squeezed my hand, then dropped it to grab two glasses of champing from the passing tray. I noticed for the first time that he didn’t look much different from the people he’d been introducing me to, his brown corduroy blazer was worn and a size too big, his hair slicked back away from his face. He was undoubtably beautiful, but I couldn’t tell if he tried far too hard, or not nearly enough.
“Where do you want to take your career?” he asked, sipping from the delicate glass in his hand. I’d already finished the majority of mine in one gulp.
“What do you mean?” I tried to gather information from his facial expression but he was impossible to read.
“What do you want to do with your talent?” he ran his fingers gently down my arm. We were hidden in a quiet corner of the room, away from the high transactions and vocal art critics.
“I want to take pictures,” I said simply, eyeing the area for a saviour with a tray of champaign.
“Of course you do,” he brushed his thumb over my cheek affectionately. “But do you want to take pictures of people’s children for the rest of your life, or do you want more?”
I shot him a confused look and wondered how he knew what my newest portfolio consisted of.
“I saw your prints when you dropped them,” he answered without my asking, winking for good measures.
“Oh,” I said flatly. “I enjoy my subjects, but I suppose if I could aspire to anything it would be to shoot regularly for Vogue.” I polished off my glass and set it on the window sill beside me.
“Really Colbie?” Leo gave me a look of disapproval and I picked up the glass again, my stomach tightening uncomfortably and my skin feeling warmer than before. “Of all the things you could do with your talent you want to shoot for a vapid, capitalist, rag?”
I frowned and excused myself to the washroom, finding a server and taking a glass of bubbly liquid in each hand with me. I wondered, as I sat locked in the bathroom stall, if I was so out of practice in the dating scene that I was being sensitive. Surely things couldn’t have changed that much in the few years I had dedicated to one night stands and failed self improvement. I sat consuming the the contents of the glasses at an alarming rate, relishing the fact that I hadn’t had to pay for them. Of the few men I’d been with, none of them had been as forthcoming and bold as Leo. I thought fondly of my high school boyfriend, Ben and his reserved demeanour. Ben’s quiet confidence and gentle approach was what had attracted me to him, his lopsided grin and hesitant speech kept me with him for years. The qualities I admired in my once best friend were the exact ones I found Leo lacking. So far it seemed that any grace he may have had was violently overpowered by his pretentious confidence and limited mindset. I’d known him for less than a week and already I could feel the smothering affect of his superiority complex. I swallowed the last drop of champaign and in the interest of being open minded, promise myself I’ll give him another chance before running away screaming.
“I hope you weren’t offended by my observation, Colbie,” I came face to face with him as I emerged from the safety of the bathroom.
“Not at all,” I smiled politely, noticing I was beginning to feel light headed in the wonderful way I’d been searching for.
“I just think the world puts far too much emphasis on things like fashion and the media. Who are those magazines helping?”
Me when I beat you with one. I thought, biting my tongue and nodding with the same tight smile still plastered on my lips. “I find it interesting,” I replied calmly, feigning disinterest and reaching for another glass as the tray passed.
“I suppose it is always an adventure to see how the other half lives,” he smiled and took my free hand in his. I tried not to pay much mind to his statement, it made little sense considering he was obviously far from the poverty line and while his look said starving artist, his Fred Perry shoes and Pendleton shirt told a different story. I wondered bitterly if he was on a first name basis with the staff of American Apparel and tried to keep a straight face.
I opened my mouth to reply, but was fortunately interrupted by another messy haired, Edie Sedgwick wannabe in high tops. She whispered something in his ear and they both laughed obnoxiously. I watched her place her hand on his chest and I felt like an unwelcome voyeur, watching their intimate moment.
“This is my date, Colbie,” he finally introduced me.
“She’s lovely, Leo,” the girl smiled up at him, as if I wasn’t there.
“Colbie is a photographer,” he grinned.
“How adorable,” she purred. “Do you have your own Facebook page?”
“No,” I sputtered, taken aback by her question. “I prefer film.”
“How kitschy,” she replied and I looked to Leo, hoping he’d interject. Instead he stood smiling, watching this complete stranger mock me so delicately that should I protest I’d be the one overreacting. My first real introduction to what he affectionately referred to as ‘the art world.’
After dropping me off and pressing his lips tenderly against me, I watched Leo drive away from Jessica’s front lawn. It was just past midnight and too late for me to go inside in search of a conversation. Instead I stumbled to my car and crawled into the front seat, slipping my shoes off and tossing them in the backseat. I’d had five drinks too many and no way to get home. Everything felt fuzzy and bright at the same time. Resigning myself to sleeping in the car I rest my head against the steering wheel and closed my eyes, searching desperately for sleep. Instead my mind drifted to the events of the night; the crowd of art aficionados in their overpriced clothes and smug looks, Leo’s comments and the feeling of my hand in his. It wasn’t all bad, the champaign was good and the art was inspiring, but more than that despite his arrogance I was wildly attracted to Leo. Convinced there had to be more to him I was intrigued by the parts I had yet to see. Admittedly a great deal of my interest in Leo was of a sexual nature, he was hot and I wanted him in ways I hadn’t had in a long time. Artist costume aside I knew underneath the faded t-shirts and skin tight pants was someone worth being with emotionally and physically, I just needed to find a way to get under the persona.
I was startled out of my day dream involving Leo and a shower by a soft tapping on the window. Hoping it wasn’t any law enforcement I lifted my head slowly and tried to appear sober. Instead of a cop I found James leaning down to peer in the window, still dressed in his post game suit.
“Are you okay?” he asked as I rolled down the window.
“Yes,” I blushed, pawing at my flushed face.
“What exactly are you doing?” he rest his arm on the roof of the car, smirking.
“Sitting,” I stammered. “I… can’t drive.”
“You’re drunk,” he grinned, breaking into boyish giggles.
“No!” I cried defensively, the world spinning around me. “Maybe a little.”
“You wanna come in? Or would you rather sleep in your car?” he smirked, cocking an eyebrow.
“Inside would be nice,” I hiccuped and looked up at him with bleary eyes.
He opened the door and held out his hand to pull me up. I stood shakily, staggering a few steps then falling into his waiting arms.
“I’m sorry,” I giggled, blushing furiously. “It was really good champaign.”
“And how much of the really good champaign did you have?” he asked, helping me back to his house. The road was cold under my bare feet but I couldn’t feel the rocks digging into my heels.
“Not that much, like seven glasses? But they were small!” I rest my head against him trying to bite back giggles.
“That’s more than a whole bottle,” he teased, helping me up the steps.
“Nooo!” I stared at him in shock. I’d had no intention of getting drunk, it was just something to do while Leo prattled on about art and introduced me to people I’d never see again. It was so good, and so free.
James helped me into the living room where I plopped onto the couch giggling uncontrollably. Nothing was funny, but everything seemed hilarious. I’d spent my night with a beautiful pretentious date and somehow found myself in the home of a beautiful athletic fantasy. My life in Edmonton was nothing like this. There I’d found myself settling for average looking trades workers, searching for a good night. I’d have never imagined being in the same room as someone like James Neal, let alone laying on his couch.
“Here, drink this,” he came in holding out a large glass of water to me. I took it from him and pressed the glass against my lips taking a few gulps before forgetting what I was doing and spilling most of it onto my dress.
“Shit!” I cried, the cold water trickling down my chest, having an unwelcome sobering affect. I tried unsuccessfully to brush the water from the black fabric but instead made it worse, my chest and lap soaked from my own stupidity. “I’m such an idiot,” I sighed defeated, sitting on the couch looking up at James who was trying not to laugh.
“Do you want to take your dress off?” His voice was hesitant, he stood awkwardly at the end of the couch. I bit my lip and willed my mind not to go there. Not to imagine James tugging gently on the zipper positioned between my shoulder blades, pushing the dress over my shoulders and down my arms. I tried not to think about his strong hands on my bare skin, his warm breath on the back of my neck. I wanted to turn around and press my body against him, run my hand through his hair and feel the muscles under his shirt. Instead I just stared at him.
“Like to dry?” I squeaked.
“Yeah, I can get you something to wear,” he motioned towards his bedroom door on the other side of the living room.
“Thank you,” I croaked, biting back the urge to comment about him getting me out of my dress so quickly. He disappeared and came back holding a sweatshirt and shorts.
“You can change in the bathroom,” he handed them to me and smiled awkwardly.
I stumbled into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. Considering my condition I looked pretty good, hair slightly out of place and makeup a bit smudged, but presentable. Remembering what I was supposed to be doing I reached back to unzip my dress, my clumsy fingers couldn’t reach the tiny zipper and after a few attempts I gave up, instead trying to pull the dress over my head. Two uncoordinated tugs and the waist was around my shoulders, pulling a little harder I tripped over my own feet and landed with a thud on the cold tiled floor, my arms around my ears and the thick black fabric suffocating me. I considered the idea that I might never be freed from the tight grip of my form fitting party dress and imagined the obituary. ‘Colbie O’Connor, 20, drank too much really good champaign and was found dead in the bathroom of hockey player James Neal. It is believed that she was killed by a killer little black dress. Family speculates the death may have been from humiliation, reports show suffocation. Colbie is survived by her camera and collection of undervalued vinyl albums. She will be missed by all the rig pigs in Alberta.’
I refused to go in such an undignified way! I would not die before seeing him shirtless, it couldn’t end like this. I struggled to break free from the damp, restricting dress but like a Chinese finger trap, the harder i fought the more trapped I felt. I knew what I needed to do. Better to humiliate myself once than end up on 1,000 ways to die.
“Jaaaammmmeeessss,” I whined from my spot on the floor. It felt like hours and he hadn’t replied, light headedness washed over me, dehydration setting in I tried to suckle the liquid from the fabric in front of me, my captor, but instead got a mouth full of cotton.
“Mr. James Neal?” I tried again. “Sometimes I hear you’re called The Real Deal, I really need you right now.” Moments past and finally I heard him chuckling from the door.
“What did you do?” he roared with laughter.
“I’m stuck and I’d really rather not die this way,” I sputtered.
I felt him walk around me and crouch behind me. “I’ll never be used to girls laying half naked screaming my name,” he teased, pulling down the zipper and freeing me from my fabric prison. He helped pull the dress over my head and I let out a sigh of relief as it hit the floor beside me.
“Freedom,” I moaned, standing up and reaching to the wall for support. I turned to face him, he was grinning, face red from laughter and eyes wide and enchanting. “How long were you standing there?” I scowled and grabbed a hand towel to cover my nearly naked body.
“I heard you fall, do you always leave the door open at other people’s houses?” he eyed the towel in front of me and smirked.
“No!” I blushed. “Do you always invite strange girls into your home late at night?”
“Only when they’re at risk of freezing,” he winked and headed for the door. “I like the ducks by the way,” he pointed to my lower half and I looked at him confused, until I realized I was wearing my rubber duckie underwear. Laundry day had me again.
“So where did you go tonight?” James asked as we sat side by side on the couch, Sports Centre playing in the background.
“I was on a date,” my head flopped back on the couch I turned to face him.
“You were on a date and you ended up at my living room?” he looked at me amused. “Was it that bad?”
“I can’t decide,” I admitted. “I don’t know if it was a bad date or if he’s just different from what I’m used to.”
“Well what are you used to?”
“Not dates with painters to places that serve free booze,” I laughed, not wanting to admit that dates weren’t exactly my forte.
“You going to see him again?” he took drink of his Gatorade.
“Maybe,” I shrugged. “He’s not bad looking.”
“Well if he’s good looking what else matters?” he chuckled.
“He thinks hockey is mindless violence,” I rolled my eyes.
“What is violence anyway?” he wrinkled his brow.
“That’s what I said!” I cried.
“He sounds like a pylon,” James wrinkled his nose and shook his head.
“Yeah well, you can’t have everything,” I sighed and snuggled into the oversized hoodie I was wearing.
WOop
2/9/18