Becoming His Muse, Complete Set (41 page)

We stand there for a moment, breathing together, him clinging to me, me clinging to the shelf. The muscles of my arms and legs tremble. He leans into me and I’m not sure how long I can hold us up. I feel his cock soften, grow smaller. He slips out of me. The condom splashes on the cement floor between my heels. Evidence of our combined urgency and satisfaction. I smile, lick my dry lips.

“Kiss me,”I whisper.

He turns me around, draws me to his chest, kisses me on the forehead, the temple, the cheek and finally the lips.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says, leaning back and zipping up his pants. “I just wanted to congratulate you in my own way.” He attempts to adjust the triangle of my thong back into place and smooths down my skirt.

I still have to support myself with one hand on the shelf. I am hot, spent, sticky and satisfied.

“Thank you,” I say.

“It’s hell being in the same room with you and not being able to be by your side.”

I know what he means. I also wonder how much time has passed. Sex with Logan seems to transcend time and I can’t tell if it’s been an hour or five minutes. Probably the later or someone would have come searching for me.

I pick up my purse, which I’d flung to the floor when Logan pushed me up against the shelf. I apply more lip gloss and hand Logan a tissue to wipe off the pink smears at the edges of his lips.

“Should I go back in first?” I say.

“Can’t we both be coming back from the restroom?”

“Listen at the door first, make sure no one’s in the hall.”

He puts an ear to the door, and then cracks it to peer out. The hallway is empty. We slip out, close the closet door gently. I feel a rush of relief, and a flutter of excitement at having done that. I realize now that the risk of getting caught sharpened my desire. I’m sure I’ll have bruises from being banged up against that metal shelf, but I don’t care. Logan’s driving desire was intoxicating. I would do it all over again. And again.

“I’m going to stop in here,” says Logan as we pass by the men’s room door. He grabs my elbow and turns me around. “Just one more kiss, before I go.” His lips find mine and he sweeps his tongue inside my upper lip. I shiver with renewed desire as he palms one breast through my blouse, murmuring, “I didn’t get to play with these… You’ll have to come to my place later tonight. I have to have you again.”

A hinge creaks as the men’s room door swings open. I whip around to see who’s there.

Dr. T stares at us with wide-eyed surprise. Logan’s hand drops away from my blouse and we step away from each other.

The hinge creaks again. “What’s the hold up, Rich?” says Dean Ascott. As soon as he sees us, his brow furrows and his mouth turns down in a frown.

“What’s going on here?”

Logan clears his throat. “Ava was on her way back from the restroom, and I’m just on my way in,” says Logan breezily. “I just stopped her in the hall to say congratulations.”

Logan pushes past Dr. T and Dean Ascott to go into the men’s room. They make way for him, but Dr. T is looking at me strangely.

“He just gave me a hug,” I say, blushing. “He’s proud of my work. He helped me a lot with my paintings.”

I try not to fumble my words. Dr. T’s expression is disconcerting.

“Of course he did,” says Dr. T with a tight smile. “As one of your mentors, he’s a vested interest in your success.”

“Let’s get back in there shall we?” prompts Dean Ascott. “I’ve got another meeting tonight and didn’t you say one of the exhibits starts at a specific time?” He glances at his watch.

“Right. Eight thirty,” says Dr. T. “That would be Derrick and Casey.” He checks his watch. “That’s in two minutes.” He looks at me. “Ava, can we talk later?”

“Uh, sure.” This will give me a bit more time to make my hug story more plausible.

I hear the sound of sink water running in the men’s room. Logan will reemerge soon.

Dr. T leads the way down the hall and I follow him and Dean Ascott. I breathe a sigh of relief when I reenter the crowded gallery. That was a close one.

Derrick and Casey seem to be almost ready to make their presentation.

Aside from the strange puppets, painted curtains, and Hansel and Gretel type crumb paths on the floor in their quadrant of the gallery, they have set up a screen on the back wall and are now turning on a projector.

Long, thin strips of gauzy fabric hang between the projector causing narrow, wobbly shadows to break up the screen images. The crowd does its best to gather in behind the projector so they can get a good view of the screen.

I rejoin my mother and Warren as Derrick and Casey take the mic.

“So we’re about to start the film part of our multi-media installation entitled,
With Our Own Eyes
, which really needs no introduction.”

I roll my eyes at this. No one has a clue what their project is about. Maybe it’s not the responsibility of the artist to explain a project, but claiming it doesn’t warrant an explanation seems pretentious. For the first time I notice that the strange polka dots on their clothing are tiny toy eyes, the kind they might have sewn on to their eyeless puppets.

In my peripheral vision, I see the door to the hall and restrooms open and close. Logan remains near the wall at the side of the room, whereas I’ve been pushed up closer to the front. Warren comes to stand close beside me. I hope he doesn’t smell sex on me.

I shift from one foot to the other, conjuring up the feeling of Logan between my legs. What just happened was so sexy, so risqué, and I can’t believe we just did that with everyone, including my mother, just down the hall. I chuckle, marveling at my own boldness.

Warren leans down toward me. “What’s so funny? These guys?”

I look up at him. “Yeah, it’s all these crazy puppets.” I slide my arm through his, feeling happy he’s there with me as my friend. He smiles at me and I hope Logan doesn’t feel jealous. Or maybe it’s okay if he does. Just a little bit.

“I love your paintings, Ava,” he whispers to me as DnC’s video begins to play.

“Thank you,” I whisper back, feeling very proud and happy.

I try to focus on the video now. The images start out quite choppy, with flashes of bright light every few seconds. The image is blurry and rather dark green, and then I make out two turtles munching on leaves. They’re Derrick’s turtles from the terrarium. Then there’s an image of them snapping at one another. Then there’s another sequence of one on top of the other. Oh, they’re mating.

After an uncomfortable minute of slow turtle thrusting, the picture changes to a woman on crutches twirling. It’s Madeleine. With snow banks behind her. I remember that day.

Someone in the crowd off to the left gasp-screams as one of the suspended puppets starts twirling overhead. The one with crutches.

Next there’s a bit of video with Ronnie wearing an apron and sweeping. I thought I was the only one who knew he worked at that pub?…

A puppet with a broom sweeps across the crowd overhead. A few people start laughing.

Then there’s a clip of Ronnie kissing someone out back of a building. Not Owen. Someone else. The cook from the pub? The cook puts his hand down Ronnie’s jeans. Uh oh…

Two puppets move together overhead. The movement above stirs the air and the strips of ribbon hanging from the ceiling start undulating. Their movement either blocks or reveals the images depending on where you’re standing.

I look around for Ronnie but can’t see him. I’m not sure if Owen’s arrived yet but what will happen if he sees that clip? How could DnC be so tactless?

Thankfully, the image changes from Ronnie being man-handled to what looks like a bird in a nest. Is that from the day I saw Derrick standing on a bench?

People’s eyes jump from the puppets to the video screen. From the video to the puppets.

Now there’s an over-the-shoulder shot through a window. Someone’s at a desk, typing or… the hand movements are rhythmic and intense. There’s a blurred image on the computer screen. Oh my god, is that Logan’s office? I cover my mouth, willing the scene to change and ignoring the masturbating puppet on the ceiling. The picture changes. It’s a close up of Casey eating something… Oh man, it’s Derrick’s… Oh, god. Everyone looks to the ceiling and sure enough, one puppet’s going down on another.

Dean Ascot steps forward, “I think we’ve seen quite en—”

Gasps cut him off as the scene fills, quite clearly, with an image of a bed covered with silk pillows and two people… a couple…

Oh man, I think I might be sick.

“Ava, that’s not …?” Warren looks incredulous.

The black robe. Nothing under it. Logan under me…

My head spins. Cut to the turtles mating. And then a shot of Dr. T kissing Madeleine Hare. What?

There’s a shot of Logan behind the wheel of the white Aston, and me climbing in to the passenger seat. I can’t bear to look Dr. T’s way. Next is Jonathan, with his shirt off, flanked by Jenny and Laura, in the theater’s props room. And then me and Logan again at the height of rapture. And then everything we’ve seen already repeats at a fast motion as an African drum beat rises in crescendo and the ceiling writhes with puppets. Everyone’s looking at one another or getting up to leave, shocked and disgusted, some with mouths agape or heads shaking.

Dean Ascott is trying to shove his way to the projector to turn it off, but the images just keep coming and I’m dizzy with confusion and rage and looking this way and that, trying to find Logan when I catch Dr. T’s eye and he looks so shocked and disappointed, and my mom and Caroline are staring at me, dumbfounded.

I see Ruby yelling at Jonathan and Jenny’s trying to defend him and Ronnie’s in tears with Owen stomping away from him. Derrick and Casey stand off to the side of the monitor looking rather smug and proud. I look up then, realizing that they have probably placed cameras everywhere to capture the mayhem they have just created.

Suddenly the image goes dark, as if the electricity’s been cut. The drumbeat is silenced and the puppets stop moving. The crowd is slower to settle. Dozens of people turn to stare at me, including Dean Ascott. Warren, who’s been standing stock still beside me as the madness unfolded, now wraps an arm around my shoulders and guides me out of the gallery. He practically has to hold me up, my legs are so wobbly.

On the way out I see the unplugged cords by the wall near where Logan was just standing. I don’t see him anywhere now.

Warren takes me back to my dorm room but the door is locked and I left my purse, with my phone in it, back at the gallery.

He tells me he’ll go back to get it, and he’ll smooth things over with our mothers, and he says not to worry, and it’s only when I try to say ‘Sorry’ and ‘Thank you’ and ‘How did that happen?’, do I realize that I’ve been blubbering the whole time and my cheeks are wet with tears and my throat is sore with sobbing.

Warren holds me tight one last time and says he’ll be right back, but I don’t want to let go. I want to climb back into the old story of our possible future. I cling to him. And in the moment I’m least proud of, I try to press my lips to his. He pulls away and strokes my hair. “Don’t,” he says gently.

I say ‘Sorry’ over and over again. I feel crazy. What just happened? How could Derrick and Casey have done that? How could I have been so stupid? How could I have
known
?

And now everyone knows! And they don’t just know. They’ve seen it with their own eyes.
With Our Own Eyes
… I am filled with seething hatred for Derrick and Casey, for their parasitic attempts to make art. Who do they think they are?! How could they take such advantage?

I’m sitting on the faded carpet of the empty dorm hallway. I’m sobbing, seething, and searching for some kind of sense in all of this. I wipe away the snot tricking from my nose. I smell my own sweat and the scent of sex between my legs. I wonder what happened to Logan… ? Where did he go?

I drag myself up to my feet. I stumble down the hall and out of the dorm.

I can’t call him or text him since I don’t have my phone. I go to the faculty apartments. I walk right through the front door and take the elevator to his floor. I knock violently, but there is no answer.

I leave the apartments and make my way to the English department offices. He’ll be there… He’ll be there waiting for me…

His door is open but he’s not there. I look around at the desk, the books, and the leather chair for some sign, or a note, or some evidence that he’s been there and has left me a trail of bread crumbs to find him. I notice that his laptop is gone. And his hat. I survey the shelves. The family photos are gone. His grandfather’s pipe has disappeared. And the book.

I collapse into the leather chair and cry for an entirely different reason.

Ruby finds me in Logan’s office sometime later that evening. I’d fallen asleep in the leather chair. My neck is stiff and sore. My eyes and throat hurt. She has my purse, which she says Warren had entrusted to her.

“Your mom and them are staying at the inn,” says Ruby guiding me back toward my dorm room. “They want me to call to tell them you’re all right.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re still breathing, and that’s good enough for now.”