WORKS IN PROGRESS

This is the edited, slightly expanded version of the story I posted several weeks back.

WORKS IN PROGRESS

A Short Story By Willys Watson

　

Trying to decipher the seemingly haphazard agenda of Fate, the forever fickle mistress of destiny who unequally rations out unapologetic rewards and deprivations, can lead a relatively sane man into insanity. So Willys long ago defiantly chose not to butt heads with this unstable muse. And to ride out the harsher pratfalls that derail many creative souls he cultivated a personal arsenal of self-assurance, adaptability and persistence. Anything short of his own untimely demise he learned to take in stride. Still, as he was about to discover, rationalized defenses were all too vulnerable to the whims of Serendipity, Fate’s younger sister.

Although the paintings had been carefully hung the night before Willys dropped by the next afternoon to sit and ponder possible adjustments to or rearrangements of their allotted wall space. He chose this time knowing the shop would be sparsely occupied because the noon crowd had already dissipated and it would be hours before the after work patrons filled the place.

As he entered the establishment he quickly studied the two customers, neither of whom he knew by sight. The first had taken the booth closest to the front window. She was a petite woman, perhaps thirty, with long stringy hair and a serious expression. Absorbed in a book she was reading while her laptop recharged she reminded Willys of the kook character from ‘The Breakfast Club’. The second customer was seated directly under Willys’ large 4'X6' painting of a complex maze. The guy was a tall, lanky young man, perhaps the same age as the kook. On his table were a legal pad, an open briefcase and a stack of thin books that looked like self-published volumes of poetry. Yet something about this man made Willys instinctively uncomfortable.

When Willys approached the counter the barista, a pale skinned woman with spiked red and green tinted hair, had already filled a mug with his regular straight black house coffee, without sugar. He smiled and paid for his brew as she returned the smile. Then he headed towards a small table centered directly across from the long wall holding his work.

While he sat sipping his coffee and contemplating the esthetic display configuration Willys noticed the young man glancing up at the maze several times. This didn’t surprise the artist because he knew in advance this large work, painstakingly rendered over several weeks, would attract attention. Simultaneously complicated and perplexing, it was still a solvable puzzle, though one that could never be worked without destroying the art itself.

After a half hour of mentally debating the effects of leaving the display as is or making changes Willys decided everything was fine. He took a last sip of coffee, rose from his chair, then headed towards the door. He was already down the street when he remembered he should have returned the empty mug to the counter. A moment later, as he re-entered the coffee shop, he realized the young man had risen, was holding a black marker and trying to work the maze.

                     

Willys rushed up behind him, grabbed his writing arm and twisted it behind his back, then shoved him onto the table. With one hand used to pin the culprit down, Willys pulled his other arm backwards and clinched his fist, implying he was about to use it forcefully. Suddenly a small hand appeared between his clinched fist and the young man’s face. Willys turned to see it belonged to the kook.

As she shook her head no Willys asked her, "Do you see what this a*****e was doing?’

"Not until I looked up when you ran by me," she replied. "But I got here as quickly as I could." Then she placed her hand over Willys’ grip hand and added the rhetorical question, "Would whomping this cretin really resolve anything?"

"Symbolically, yes," he responded.

"Then you’ve got my symbolic support, symbolically speaking."

Willys stared at her a moment, shrugged his shoulders, then turned back to the young man still face down on the tabletop and, in as menacing a voice as possible, told him, "Dude, you’ve got two options. One, you gather up your crap and get the hell out of here or, two, the hot babe and this hunky guy pound the holy s**t out of you."

When Willys released his grip the young cretin, visually shaken, pulled himself back onto his chair. He glanced at Willys for a second, then at the kook, who gave him the finger, then towards the barista behind the counter, perhaps hoping to find a sympatric alley. When she shook her head no and laughed at him the young man frantically crammed his tabletop possessions into the briefcase, stumbled to his feet and scurried out the door.

Following the young man’s departure Willys offered the kook an explanation, "You can’t teach a******s respect or relevance but you can remind them of consequences. And I really wasn’t going to hurt him."

"I didn’t think so, but still - "

"I was more concerned about the damage you would inflict."

Then Willys headed to the counter and the kook stepped back from the booth to study the paintings hanging on the wall. At the counter Willys offered the barista an apology.

"Sorry about chasing off your best customer, Lilly."

"Don’t worry about it, sweety, " she assured him. "We all thought he was a pretentious jerk and I’m glad he’s gone."

                

Willys smiled warmly, grabbed a handful of paper napkins and a cup of water and returned to the empty booth. He wet several napkins and started washing off the lines made by the marker.

"These your’s?" the kook asked as she approached him. When he looked at her and nodded yes she added, "Quit a unique, diverse range of styles. Like nothing I’ve seen before."

"What can I say?" Willys replied as he continued to wash off the marker lines. "I’ve got a Gemini moon and get bored easily."

"Bullshit,"

"Let’s just say I wouldn’t bother to paint if I thought my work even remotely imitated other artists. So I create a style and take it as far as I can, then come up with another style while always striving to avoid repeating myself."

The kook’s eyes widened with an acknowledgment she wasn’t ready to try to verbally articulate. Instead, she focused her attention on the maze.

"This maze is simply amazing, but you must have realized that this painting is a magnet."

"I’ve taken precautions," he assured her as he pointed to a stack of 8x10 glossy reproductions of the maze sitting on a nearby end table. "Those are for anyone who wants to try to work the maze themselves. And the painting itself is covered with several coats of protective varnish."

"And - "

"I’ve had a custom made plexiglass cover ordered and will install it late tonight."

"Okay, precautions noted. Now I suppose it’s time for basic etiquettes. I’m Kathleen," she said, then quickly added, "Kate is okay but I prefer Kay, and never Kathy."

"Hello, Never Kathy, I’m Willys," he replied as he washed off the last traces of marker residue.

"Willys, as in the jeep?"

"Yes, but how - "

"My Grandpa owned one."

"My parents were the adventurous types and I was conceived in the front seat of one." he offered as he gathered up the used napkins and cup and headed towards the counter.

                 

"Will you join me at my table for a quick Q&A?" Kay asked as she caught up with him.

"Well, I was actually trying to leave and - " he wanted to explain but never finished because Lilly, winking at him, pushed two full mugs of steaming coffee across the counter top towards them. "Yeah, I’ve got time as long as the Q&A can be a two way."

"Of course," she said, then abridged the reply whimsically, "unless you’re kinky enough for a three-way and we can go catch your art critic you chased out the door,"

"Na, I think we’ve already given him enough angst to fill several new poems," he responded as they both stared at her mug.

"I remembered your preferences," Lilly assured her.

"You drink it black?" Willys asked.

"With just a smidgen of sugar. I want my coffee to taste like coffee and not some candy flavored trendy mocha." she explained as they grabbed their mugs and headed towards her table.

Though the distance to her booth was not that far it afforded him enough time to run a number of scenarios through his head. ‘Was she flirting? Unlikely considering I’m twenty years older than her. Looking for a sugar daddy? Lots of luck there with someone barely able to pay his own bills. Obviously sharp, knowledgeable, but attractive? Not my idea of an ideal but, strangely, yes in an exotic sort of way. Barely five foot tall, but she seems to take care of herself. Reminds me of a scaled down version of a full sized woman. So, what is her intent? Not romance, so probably some wonky academic type doing a case study of eccentric artist types. Sounds more logical.’

Kay’s thoughts were also running the gauntlet reviewing his attributes. ‘Tall, muscular, full head of hair, neatly trimmed beard, not handsome by media standards but appealing in a rugged mountain man sort of way. Witty, intelligent, passionately principled, a mountain man with a well stocked library in his cabin. Why ever did I invite him to coffee? Aside from his art is he that interesting? That worth getting to know? And if so would he settle for becoming just friends? Would I? Do I even know what I’m -‘ a question that was interrupted as they reached her table.

Seated across from each other Willys watched as Kay turned off her cell phone, then close the laptop and book. The book was a biography of Charles Ives, an accomplished, innovative composer whose recognition for his music came late in his life. He couldn’t help but be intrigued by her hands because he thought, for such a petite woman, her fingers were long, narrow and graceful.

"You’re a musician?" he wondered out loud.

                

"Oh, I’ve been called one and I’ve learned to play a dozen different instruments, but have really managed to master none," was her modest reply.

"Then either you’ve got moon in Gemini or you’ve fulfilled all the basic requirements for a composer."

"Astutely observed, composer it is," Kay admitted as her eyes widened again, "And I suppose you could classify what I compose as modern music."

"I figured either a safe cracker or composer and your choice is incredibly admirable and courageous, assuming it’s more sophisticated than Glass and more accessible than Adams."

"You’ve defined my niche," Kay responded, followed with a robust laugh that lit up her face and surprised both herself and Willys.

While Willys was recalculating with each moment, a trait they both shared because their minds registered significant details, no matter how obvious or subtle, Kay was doing the same. And she knew, from watching him wash off the marker stains, that he was left-handed and saw, as he now gestured with either, that both hands were calloused, the hands of a man who did not shy away from physical work. This didn’t bother her because she instinctively knew only gentle hands could paint as he does. What began to trouble Kay was her imagining how those hands would feel touching her skin. Her mind and her emotions were not yet in sync, an untypical inner conflict she wasn’t used to, and the brain’s curiosity won the round as it expected her to approach this subject on a more impersonal level.

"Those brushes you use must take a toll on your hands, huh?" was the only valid, though truly lame, excuse to probe she managed to come up with.

"I’m a sometimes electrician by trade. It pays the bills until destiny finally manages to recognize my creative genius."

"I do paralegal temp work to cover mine," she added, punctuated with a mischievous laugh, then continued "for pretty much the same reasons as you."

"Nothing wrong with healthy egos."

"Belief keeps us focused. It also helps me if I avoid listening to Carmina Burana too often."

"The Orff or the You Tube interpretations?" he teased her.

"Both." she replied and a laugh followed that again lit up her face and surprised neither of them. Then she confessed, "You’re certainly not like what I’m used to.

                                  

"And you’re certainly a unique entity into itself! Someone I would - "

"Not bad for a pickup line," she laughed, then included a disclaimer. "Just joking. We both know the difference between picking someone up and picking someone out, right?"

"Right, but I’ve been wondering why I haven’t noticed you here before? Am I that unobservant?

"You? Not likely. My first visit. The job interview I had this morning was canceled and I was driving down Ventura, saw this quaint shop and thought, why the hell not? I like the home owned atmosphere better than the chain store types anyway" she offered as her reason, then asked, "And I’m wondering about your knowledge of music beyond whatever’s trendy?"

"Eight kids in our family, all gifted musicians but me. From my folks to the older siblings, their passions filtered down, from big band to jazz to the classics. They were even unitarian enough to love folk and poetic rock. I was never forced to, but chose to, love the music I do. And you?"

"Always had the music in my soul but was pressured to go into a more respectable vocation, she confessed. "I gave in for awhile but, you know?"

"I have a degree in Criminal Science, was a proficient investigator for awhile, rewarding enough, but too time consuming so, well, you know. Guess we showed them, huh?"

"Yeah, so selfish of us, wasn’t it?

As Willys smiled warmly she took a leisurely sip of coffee, a calculated time out to ponder the two of them as a possible them because her heart wasn’t listening to her head’s other options. Willys also needed this pause to consider how to address an issue he felt he needed to bring up and glanced out the window at the pedestrians passing by to buy some time. And moments later when he turned back to her she was not anticipating the fatherly type expression on his face.

"Kathleen, there’s little in the world I would love more than to have you as a dear friend, but - "

While thinking to herself ‘Oh! Oh? Whoa!’ Kay held up her hand to interrupt his sentence, hoping he would accept the pause long enough for her to consider her reaction. His bafflement bought her the few seconds she needed to run her mind at high speed while she asked and answered herself. ‘Could he possibly be gay? Nothing wrong with that, but not likely. Asexual? Ha! Even less likely! Still running from a bad marriage or pining away from a broken heart? Perhaps. Or perhaps he doesn’t find me that kind of appealing? God, I hope not! But more likely he thinks it’s the age factor? That’s got to be it.’ she concluded as she considered her next reply.

"I’ve had several relationships before, more a physical thing than an emotional connection, and - "

       

"Nothing wrong with itches being scratched," he assured her.

" - and I’ve tried to protect my heart because so much of it goes into the music," she vocalized solemnly, openly for the first time in her life.

"As you should." he replied, and Kay interpreted this as a kindred spirit understanding that finally convinced her head what her heart had already figured out.

"Well, it’s still kinda hard to ignore Serendipity suddenly kicking me in the a*s."

"Oh? I - er - I see, but Kay, look, even if I professed to being smitten -," he started to explain and was caught off guard by her sudden smile, "the reality is I’m twice your age."

"Ha, nice try, grandpa!" she laughed. ‘Maybe fifteen, tops!"

"Still, there's - "

"You can’t be suggesting you’re carrying a lot of baggage, can you?"

"The broken heart kind?" he guessed rightly as she nodded. "A few times long ago but donated all that luggage to Goodwill years back."

"Then we’re back to the ancient relic excuse?" Kay asked, and when he acknowledged this she held up a hand again to ponder her reply for a moment, then offered him a response. "Okay, Mr. Smitten, consider this: I fall in love with a man my age. A year later he dies. Though we’re the same age technically when he passed, chronologically he would already have been in the last stages of his life, already an old man, when we met."

"Admirable logic, I agree, though I’m not sure such reasoning is playing fair," Willys said, then laughed, still unsure he was ready to admit to himself he was already infatuated by her.

"Fate doesn’t play fair, not I, and she wasn’t invited to this tete a tete," was Kay’s retort and he could only nod in agreement. "What if I went the Oona O’Neill route, fell in love with a middle aged fart like Chaplin who ended up living a long life while I died much younger? Was our wonderful life together worth the irony of it all?"

"Okay, you win the points made round, but throwing perspective at me works surprisingly well only if you’re as equally smitten" he replied after embracing her rationalizations.

"Well, duh!"

Willys leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head for a moment while she whimsically fluttered her eyelids. He released his hands and placed his left hand on the table, gently tapping it.

"I’m pretty much an old school romantic, so can we start with a real first date first and see where it takes us? That okay with you?

"The whole romantic get to know each other routine?" she asked and he nodded. "Oh, hell, Willys, we already both know where this - " Kay started, but stopped long enough to reach her hand across the table to squeeze his, " - but, hey, first real first dates add to the wonder of it all. So, would a long walk right about now count?"

When he nodded yes she rose and carried her laptop, book and phone to the counter to ask Lilly to hold them for her.

Willys was already waiting near the exit when the ex-kook approached him. As Lilly placed Kay’s items under the counter she smiled watching Willys open the door for Kay and take her hand as they stepped onto the street. And it appears that Serendipity, unlike her more cynical sister, only plays the hands she feels should be played.