The Artist and the Wall Street Banker

This was the beginning to a series of stories I wrote a few years ago.

Laurie had a beautiful Japanese face but her hands were beautiful above all. Mack loved how they were, on almost any given occasion, deeply stained with greens, blues, all colors. He was more in love with her than he ever imagined and he hated it more every day.

           "If only it would fit. It looks so awkward," she said about a picture she was arranging within one of her many scrapbook journals. He read a few words from a corner of the page: “Oh save me, from being blown forever outside the loop of time.”

           He looked at her face once more, her nose wrinkled, eyes frustrated, hands balled up in tight fists.

          "Would you like some champagne darling?"

          "What the hell are you talking about, now is not the time for champagne. Besides, we need to be at your mom's in twenty minutes."

          "We are not going."

          "Really? Why?" She looked like she was trying to hide her smile.

          "Because you don't want to."

          "What? What is that supposed to mean? When did I say that?"

          "You didn't have to. I see it in your beautiful eyes. I see it in your frustrated hands."

          "I do not mind going by your mothers, why are you starting something?" She closed her journal. She tucked her hair behind her ears. Every bit of her was trying to hide her irritation and he appreciated it.

          "It's okay."

          "Mack, please stop this. You always do this, create something that isn't there."

          "I am not creating anything. It is okay. We do not have to go by. I will see her Sunday evening." She pressed her lips gently together, collected her things and began walking to her studio room at the back of their ranch style house. He saw the soles of her feet walk away off the carpet onto the cool tile. So gently she walked away. He was losing her and he knew it. When he was attempting to be his nicest he was still nasty to her. He saw it in her eyes. He focused on it and thought about it for a few moments.

           She entered her room and didn't close the door. He slowly approached the room. He stared through the doorway at her back as she began putting away paint tubes and assorted instruments.

          "Oh, your brother called earlier for you. He said he couldn't reach you on your cell." Mack said hoping the distrust he feels for her wouldn't come out in his voice. Her shoulders slightly moved once he began to speak.

          "I was playing tennis with Pete. She is in town remember?" She turned around and walked past him towards their bedroom.

          "Oh, what is this Buster, your clothes are everywhere," she entered their room.

          "Sorry, I was looking for something."

          "What were you looking for?"

          "You know what I was looking for Darling, where is it?"

          "Oh, the painting?" She said it cheeky but she knew he was going to be angry. "I thought Tim could borrow it for a while."

          "People don't borrow paintings." He said as he entered the bedroom and stood before her. He tried to transmit to her every bit of feeling flowing through him through his stare. He did not want to say that she was a bad wife and she was always hurting him. That she was too secretive and spent too much money.

         "Who says? His living room looked lonely."

          "Why that painting Laurie?" He rubbed his hands through his hair. He knew she would never understand how cold she was. He knew they would not be together forever. He knew her tequila was still in the cabinet. He knew they would never have children.

          "I'm glad we are not going to your mothers," she said before coughing gently, "I don't think I feel very well."

          "Well you look beautiful darling, very beautiful." She lit a cigarette while thinking about what he meant by that. She didn't believe it had anything to do with anything but he was always telling her that at every odd moment as if it was poison.

           "Thank you." She looked over at the window sill at the orange flowers that were about to die, she was very hungry but wasn't going to say anything. She entered the closet and he left the room and he walked out onto the back porch. The sound of the screen door slamming startled her.