Beautiful Confusion (New Adult Romance) Room 105 (5 page)

“What happened to Billy? Where is he now?”

“I don’t know. He was my neighbor then, but soon after that, his parents got divorced and put their house on the market. Billy waved to me on the day he moved, and that was the last time I saw him.”

“I’m glad he’s gone. I don’t want to have to think of him as competition. I want to be your first real kiss.”

My first real kiss.

Had I been waiting for Duncan all this time, purposely avoiding other boys? Abby kept insisting that I was going to kiss the warrior someday.

But the warrior didn’t exist, I reminded myself.

Then why had Duncan painted that picture, identifying himself that way, with the stallion I’d given him?

He gazed curiously at my mouth, and I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth. If he wasn’t my creation, then who was he?

He said, “I figured you for a good girl. You just have that virgin vibe about you.” He zeroed in on my mouth again. “But it wouldn’t have occurred to me that you’ve never been kissed.”

He made me feel thirteen all over again. Too inexperienced, too innocent. I should be more sophisticated at my age.

Then I remembered that Painted Ladies were also known as Cosmopolitan butterflies.

“When are we going to go out?” I asked, officially accepting the date, the way a Cosmo girl would.

He smiled his beautiful smile. “As soon as we can arrange it.”

I touched a finger to my lips, imagining the taste of his kiss. Duncan’s sexiness was shining like a jewel, and I wanted to lie at his feet and bask in it, to feel it glimmer, like sun-dappled diamonds, on my skin.

I softy said, “I’m glad we had the chance to talk by ourselves.”

“Are you more comfortable around me now?”

I nodded. I was still nervous, but it wasn’t as bad as before. “You still have to meet my aunt.”

“Where is she, anyway?”

“She went to the bar get some sodas.”

“After your aunt and I get acquainted, I’ll introduce both of you to Eleanor. She’s the friend who owns this gallery.”

I blinked my surprise. The person sponsoring him was a woman? I hadn’t envisioned a female being involved. “How old is she?”

“Probably about your aunt’s age.”

“My aunt is in her sixties.”

“Then she’s a little younger than that. Early fifties, I guess. She owns galleries all over the world.”

I pictured the eccentric type who strutted around with a cigarette holder and Cruella de Vil-colored hair.

“Eleanor’s daughter’s name is Lori. We hooked up a while ago. But it only happened once.”

Someone kill me now. Or at least jab me in the eye with a hot poker. I’d just told him how squeaky clean I was, and he was dropping the name of his former hookup. “Are you going to introduce us to her, too?” I tried not to sound jealous. I barely knew him, aside from the insane possibility of giving him life.

“Yes,” he replied. “I was planning on having you meet her, if that’s okay with you. I’ve been with a lot of girls, but Lori is the only one I’m still friends with.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“That I’m still friends with her?”

“No. That you’ve been with lots of girls.”

“Because you’re going to be the only one I’ve ever taken on a proper date. It’s easier for me to just sleep with them.”

I didn’t know whether to be flattered that he wanted to date me or offended by the way he lived his life. I didn’t know how to comment, either.

He said, “Sweet girls aren’t my usual type. Being with someone like you is scary for a guy like me. I even told Lori about you. That you seemed kind of virginal and whatnot.”

I imagined them sitting cozily on a couch somewhere, marveling over his attraction to me. “So what’s the verdict? What’s her opinion?”

“She thinks I better be careful not to rush things with you. She also thinks that I’m even more screwed up than she is. She sleeps around to purge the pain of being jilted by her old boyfriend. But she says that I use sex as a tool to keep from feeling too much, other than the high of getting off.”

My cheeks went warm. He almost made himself sound like a sex addict. Or maybe it was Lori who was making him sound like that. “Do you think she’s right about you?”

He shrugged. “The amnesia thing makes connecting with people difficult, I guess.” His voice went quiet. “And losing Jack. No one understands that part of my life. Lori gets creeped out when I talk about him.”

“I would never be creeped out by Jack.”

“I know.” He reached for my hand, treating me like the innocent I was. “I want you to see the painting I did of him. I want you to see all of my work.”

We were holding hands when Carol came into the room. Her eyes went happily wide. Then she caught sight of Duncan’s nude hanging on the wall and cleared her throat like an old schoolmarm.

I released Duncan’s hand and made the introduction. Carol absently gave me my drink and acknowledged him.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” she said, doing her darnedest not to look at the painting.

Duncan didn’t miss a beat. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I appreciate you coming to the show.”

“It’s quite a presentation,” she told him.

Although she was avoiding the nude, I could tell how badly she wanted to study it. Finally, she gave up the fight and braved her way toward it. I guess she figured if he was brazen enough to display it, then she ought to be bold enough to take a closer look.

After a few moments of clock-ticking silence, she asked, “Are you a horseman?”

“No,” he replied. “I’ve never ridden. Or at least not that I can recall. But it felt right to include the stallion, as if he’s part of me somehow.”

I wished I could tell Duncan about the warrior Abby had coaxed me to create, but how could I admit the truth without telling them that I’d cursed him to die?

As I stood there, steeped in my fears, I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t responsible for Duncan’s life any more than I could be held accountable for his death, yet I was still worried that 105 might be real.

Duncan noticed me looking at him. He rewarded me with a darkly delicious glance, and I plucked the cherry from my soda and sucked it off of its stem, as if I was giving him permission to deflower me. Nothing in my head made any sense.

Carol continued her conversation with him. “Are you going to ride someday and see if it brings back memories?”

He shook his head. “I’m not interested in getting my memory back. I’d rather just move forward.”

“But how can someone move forward if they don’t know where they’ve been?” she wanted to know.

“You sound like Lori,” he replied. “Her mom owns this gallery. I already told Vanessa that I’m going to introduce both of you to them.”

Yes, he’d already mentioned it. I just hoped that Lori wasn’t as gorgeous and glamorous as I assumed she would be. But considering her artsy-chic background, I couldn’t imagine her being the nondescript type.

Carol said, “I’ve never been to a gallery of this caliber. But I’ve never spent much time in L.A. Vanessa’s mother used to come here for concerts. She loved rock music. She even dressed up Vanessa as a rocker for Halloween.”

I shifted my stance. My mom being a hair band enthusiast didn’t make me cool, especially with Smiling Seven added to the twisted mix. Mom’s favorite Mötley Crüe song was
Smokin’ in the
Boys Room
. She’d played it practically every day.

“My dad was a dairy farmer,” I announced, revealing the other side of the coin.

“Yes,” Carol said. “My country-boy brother.”

“I guess it’s true what they say,” Duncan remarked. “That opposites attract.” He turned toward me. “Your parents sound interesting.”

“I only have scattered memories of them,” I said, reminding him of how young I’d been when they died.

“I remember everything,” Carol put in. “They were a wonderful couple. Madly in love.”

“Love is a mystery.” Duncan looked directly at me. “I don’t understand it. But maybe someday I will.”

My heart began to race. He didn’t have to take me on a proper date. All he had to do was say things like that to make me swoon. Did he talk that way around other girls? Was it his way of getting them into bed?

No, that wouldn’t make sense, not if he only played around with girls, like Lori, who were as wild as he was. I was nervous about meeting her. I wasn’t versed in how to behave around someone’s former bedmate, even if they’d only been together once.

Carol and I finished our sodas and Duncan escorted us through the gallery. The first place he took us was to see Jack’s portrait.

I walked right up to it, wanting to know the man who’d taken a young and frightened Duncan under his wing. Jack was probably all of forty but he appeared older, the years he’d spent on the streets weathering his skin and dimming his pale blue eyes. Wisps of brown hair stuck out from beneath his beanie, and his teeth were gapped and chipped. He stood tall and thin, with long, tapered fingers and dirt embedded under his nails. I wanted to cry for him and for the boy Duncan had once been. In the painting, Jack was smiling.

“He looked like a nice man,” Carol said.

“He was my hero,” Duncan replied. After an emotional beat of silence, he added, “I want to help bring awareness to mental illness and stop the stigma associated with it. Jack withdrew from society because he knew he didn’t fit in. But if people had been more tolerant of him, if he hadn’t been discriminated against, maybe he would have seen more value in himself.”

“He clearly saw the value in you,” Carol replied. She was looking at Duncan as if he was the true hero.

I was probably gazing at him with the same kind of awe. I’d thought of the warrior as an angel of schizophrenic mercy on the day Abby had dragged me into this crazy mess, and now Duncan seemed like that angel. He was marvelously passionate about Jack.

My aunt glanced over at me, and I waited for her to bring up Abby’s name, but she didn’t. Even after what Duncan had said, the stigma he’d mentioned, Carol didn’t refer to her. But that happened a lot when we were in social situations. I was always telling Abby how much Carol loved her, yet at times like these, it was obvious that Carol longed to be free of Abby. I wondered if that was part of why my sister was so paranoid of her.

As I studied Jack’s portrait, I labored over Carol’s shame. Duncan wasn’t ashamed of Jack. He would probably do anything to have him back. He idolized him, immortalizing him on canvas.

Maybe I should commission Duncan to paint a picture of Abby. Maybe my sister should be immortalized, too, along with the “people” in her head.

Duncan continued the tour, showing us more of his work and the graffiti style he’d mastered on the streets.

After that, he took us to see his fantasy art.

The first one, titled
Danger
, was of a primitive dwelling, a hut of sorts, shrouded by a copse of ghostly oaks.

I envisioned being there, with the war-painted warrior astride his stallion, thundering out of those trees and headed straight for me. I didn’t know if I would hide before he spotted me or stand there and allow him to scoop me up and take me wherever he wanted to go. I could barely breathe just thinking about it.

“Are these places that you’ve lived?” I asked.

“They’re places I could imagine living,” he said.

“That’s what I meant.” I released the air in my lungs and focused on the second painting, a fluid acrylic called
Life
. Here, Duncan had showcased a ranch house with a pretty red barn. Amid the clouds were the billowing shapes of feathers, flowers, and broken arrows.

The third piece in the series was called
Magic
, and the subject was a glittering estate with impressive details. Heavily carved and highly decorative, the massive stone structure boasted intricate doorways and narrow passageways. The landscape was lush and green, surrounded by reflective pools. Bold strokes of color slashed across the water, then faded into romantic hues.

Carol remarked, “That one looks the kind of place where a man might rescue a damsel in distress.”

“I’ve never rescued anyone,” Duncan replied.

“I’ll bet you could if you wanted to.” She glanced at me when she said that.

Was that how my aunt saw me, as a girl who needed saving?

Duncan didn’t seem aware of the look Carol had given me. I was grateful that he’d missed it. I didn’t want him to know that I was the damsel she was referring to.

Then, suddenly, he shifted in my direction and our gazes met. I had no idea why he seemed so much like the warrior. All I knew was that whoever he was, our paths must have been destined to cross.

I could feel Carol watching us. I’d never asked her if there was an important boy from her youth. We’d never talked about her past or if she’d ever been in love. But I didn’t want to think about love, especially not while Duncan was staring at me.

Carol kept watching us. Clearly, Duncan was everything she thought a young man should be.

I deliberately broke eye contact with him. He wasn’t as well-behaved as my aunt thought he was. He’d already admitted that he slept around and that sex gave him a high.

But, heaven help me, I wanted to experience that high with him. I wanted it so badly, I teetered on my feet.

“You okay?” Duncan asked and reached over to steady me.

I nodded and pretended that one of my wedged sandals was the culprit.

When I quit fussing with my shoe, he guided us to the next phase of our tour, taking us to meet Eleanor and her promiscuous daughter.

Eleanor didn’t have hair like Cruella de Vil, nor was she puffing on a cigarette holder. She looked more like Miranda Priestly, Meryl Streep’s character in
The Devil Wears Prada
. But in some weird way, I thought the snippy Prada lady and the over-the-top Dalmatian lady bore a resemblance to each other, so I actually wasn’t that far off the mark.

In spite of her intimidating appearance, Eleanor was sweet and gracious, with a genuine smile. She was especially friendly to Carol. Funny thing about my aunt, but sometimes I compared her to a celluloid person, too. She reminded me of the mom in
Edward Scissorhands.
I’d seen that movie countless times on cable and I’d always thought that if Carol hadn’t been a consignment store owner, she would have been an Avon lady.