I worked nonstop until after seven—not planned but because I lost track of time. And I still had to pick up some laundry before I met Luc.
I looked at my Timex. Expense a cab? I sighed and dashed out of the building to catch the Muni home.
Of course the bus was late, so I arrived at home with milliseconds before I was due to meet Luc a mile away. I grabbed all the laundry I could find and stuffed it into a large bag. I took the time to make sure my hair was under control and even touched up my gloss before I waddled out (my bag was heavy).
The bus stop was a couple of blocks away, and by the time I walked uphill to the corner where I was supposed to meet Luc I was breathless. And limping—my blister had flared up with a vengeance. Sweat made my glasses slip down my nose, which I hate, and the silk shell I wore under my suit stuck to my skin and bunched uncomfortably under my arms.
Luc stood on the corner unencumbered, looking cool and fresh. He dared smile at me—not trying to conceal his amusement at the spectacle I made.
The bastard.
I tried to remember that he was helping me, but I was tired and hungry and grungy. So my greeting was like a growl. “Where’s your laundry?”
He took the bag off my shoulder and I was suddenly much lighter. “At home. I have a washer and dryer, remember?”
“Then why do I have my laundry?” I could have met him at his loft and done it there.
“Because you need to meet more men.” He walked up the street, shortening his stride so I could keep up.
“So this is a
wax on
,
wax off
kind of thing?”
He grinned. “Exactly.” He pushed the door open. “After you, squirt.”
I gave him a dirty look and walked into the laundromat. “What does doing laundry have to do with meeting—”
I adjusted my glasses and then blinked a couple times for good measure. Wow—the place was really crowded. I glanced at Luc. “But it’s Friday night. I didn’t think people did their laundry Friday nights.”
“They do here. This is a great place to pick up people.” He dumped my bag in front of a washer that had just opened up (I didn’t miss the come-hither smile the woman who just finished using it gave him, or that he returned it) and stood back. “Get to it, squirt.”
Glaring at him, I began stuffing the machine. I didn’t have very many clothes to wash other than underwear (I have to dry-clean my suits and blouses), but I had linens like towels and sheets. I wrestled it all into the washer, slammed the door closed, and started the load.
“Done.” I looked up but Luc wasn’t there. It took me a moment to find him (yes, there were that many people). He sat on a plastic seat, talking to the woman who had just vacated our washing machine.
Hey! We were supposed to be finding men for me. I scowled at him. Fine. I could do this on my own. After all, I was the one who found Joseph.
I surveyed the scene, cruising for the perfect sperm donor. No, I wasn’t sure what the perfect sperm donor looked like, but some men were easy to eliminate. Like the guy in the back left corner who wore the spiky dog collar and had a green Mohawk. Though the mood I was in tonight, I was tempted to go over and get the guy’s info. Hey—if he had blue eyes and dimples he was viable.
But I decided to approach a man in the opposite corner of the room. I sighed, reminded myself of my dream, and straightened my skirt. Here went nothing.
I advanced upon my quarry, a smile pasted on my face. I felt disappointed when I saw he didn’t have the right color eyes, but I stifled that and forged on. “Excuse me.”
He raised both his eyebrows at me. “Yes?”
“Do you consider yourself ambitious?”
His face screwed up like he was giving the question serious thought. Great—he was introspective. That was excellent.
“I suppose,” he answered slowly.
Hmm. He sounded unsure. I wasn’t sure Lydia wanted an indecisive baby, so I had doubts about this one. Still, it couldn’t hurt to ask him a few more questions just to be sure. “Have you ever had a run-in with the law?”
“No.” He frowned at me. “Have you?”
“God no. I mean, other than that time in college when someone pulled the fire alarm and they questioned everyone in my dorm.”
His eyes crossed, which had to mean he was especially genetically evolved, right?
I bit my lip, wondering what to ask him next. Then I remembered my conversation with Gary. “Are you into kinky sex?” I was sure Lydia wouldn’t want a deviant for offspring.
His eyes widened. “Are you?”
I tipped my chin and thought about that. I wasn’t sure, actually. I didn’t think I was, but then I’d only ever had two sexual encounters. Both in college with the same guy, and both suboptimal. At least I think they were suboptimal—I had no basis for comparison.
“I’m not sure,” I finally responded. “I suppose there’s always a possibility.”
His eyes widened more. Even though they weren’t blue, they were a very pretty shade of gray. If he wore the right color shirt, I was sure his eyes would look blue enough for Lydia.
Yes, I could add him to the list. I dug in my purse for my handheld. “Could I get your name and number?”
“Sure!”
I loved his enthusiasm—that was just what we needed. I quickly jotted down all the info he gave me (he was quite thorough, giving me his home, cell, and work numbers in addition to two e-mail addresses), smiled at him genuinely this time, and went in search of the next candidate.
I bit my lip. A lot of men, but they all looked kind of young. I wondered if that was a bad thing. Probably not, considering sperm was more vital the younger the guy was, right?
In fact, a younger guy might be just the thing. Variety was the spice of life, and the more choices Lydia had, the better.
I surveyed the crowd and found the perfect young specimen. He was clean cut, wore glasses (that was surely a sign of intelligence), and was reading the
Wall Street Journal.
It’d be a match made in heaven.
I made a beeline for him. He didn’t look up as I approached. Apparently the article he was reading was fascinating, because I stood directly in front of him and he didn’t notice me. Focus—that was a good thing. I took the opportunity to get closer and check out his eye color.
He glanced up, did a double take, and jumped back with a muffled shriek.
Hmm. He was a little jumpy. I wasn’t sure Lydia would like that.
I smiled. “Hi. Are you a student?”
“Y-yes,” he answered hesitantly.
He stuttered. Maybe I’d chosen the wrong guy.
But I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and interrogate—er, interview—him a bit more. “Do you work?”
“Um, yes. Part time.”
Industrious. He was looking better by the second. “Have you had any childhood diseases that could impair sperm production?”
He choked.
Odd. I frowned at him. He wasn’t chewing anything. Did he choke on saliva? Did I want someone on Lydia’s list who couldn’t handle spit?
Don’t think so.
I smiled at him, said “I think I hear my friend calling me,” and crossed the laundromat to rejoin Luc.
“What’d you say to that poor guy? He looked like he was going to hurl.”
“Did you know when frogs vomit, they eject their whole stomach, clean it on the ground, and then swallow it again?”
Luc grinned. “Charming.”
“Thanks.”
“So that guy”—he jerked his chin at the boy I’d just questioned—“wasn’t he a little young?”
I shrugged. “I thought there might be advantages to younger men.”
“Right. They might be more malleable. And more horny.”
“Please.” I held out my hands. “I don’t need details.”
He laughed. I took a second to bask in the joy of it before I went to check on my laundry.
Time to throw it in the dryer. I grabbed a basket and began unloading.
Luc came over to help. “So how many more names do you need on your list?”
I shrugged, shaking out my sheets. “Five would do it, I think. It’s hard to tell. I’ve got some candidates with great potential, though.”
“Jesus, Kat—we’ve got to take you clothes shopping.” He held up a pair of ratty bikinis.
“Hey!” I snatched them and glared at him. “Leave my underwear alone.”
“Seriously, Kat, we should go shopping.” He wheeled the cart over to the only available dryer. “You need some casual clothes and obviously some lingerie.”
“Lingerie?” I wrinkled my nose. “What do I need lingerie for?”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me I need to draw you a picture.”
I flushed. In high school, I heard some girls in the locker room giggling about sixty-nine. Like an idiot, I asked Luc what that meant. He drew me a picture. A very detailed one.
The way he gazed at me, I knew he was remembering the same incident. Except instead of the amused light I expected to see, he looked like he was considering something.
“I see a man over there I need to go meet.” I gestured behind me, hoping there actually was someone. “Be back soon.”
I rushed off, trying to calm myself. I wasn’t sure what had just happened, but it felt significant. Something that felt like panic welled in me. I pushed it back and strode toward the first man I saw.
He wore a leather jacket and had an elaborate tribal tattoo down one side of his neck. His hair was long and tangled but at least it looked clean. I couldn’t tell what color eyes he had because of the sunglasses perched on his long nose.
I was beyond caring about the criteria. I took a deep breath and stopped right in front of him. Smiling professionally, I asked, “Do you wash your whites separately, or do you throw everything in together?”
He slid his glasses down and stared at me from above the rims. I think I heard him growling too, but it might have been the hum of his dryer.
Not that I was taking chances. I backed away—very slowly. “Good boy. Down.” I wished I had a treat to throw at him. I wondered if a box of dryer sheets would be an appropriate substitute.
I bet if I tossed him a pair of black lace panties he’d heel. Maybe that’s what Luc was talking about. I made a mental note to buy a pair of black panties to keep in my purse. For emergency situations like this.
Chapter Seven
I met Gary at his flat Sunday morning, eleven o’clock sharp. I would have liked starting earlier, but in retrospect eleven was good. Spending the entire night out was wearying.
Okay, Luc and I weren’t out the
entire
night. I guess not even half the night. But after a couple days in a row it seemed like all night.
Though last night was pretty mellow. We went to a reading at a bookstore.
Now—standing in front of Gary’s door and reflecting on the night before with Luc—a happy, warm glow infused me. I was still smiling softly when Gary opened the door.
“Katherine! You’re just in time.” He grabbed my arm and yanked me in. “The light is absolutely perfect right now. Come, come.”
He guided me through his house so quickly I barely had time to register the enormous canvases lining the walls, floor to ceiling. Or the plush white furniture and rugs. I glanced down at my shoes and hoped they weren’t muddy.
“Nice place,” I commented as Gary dragged me up a narrow staircase.
“Thanks. My parents left it to me when they passed on.”
If only I had parents who left me a cottage in Sea Cliff. I wouldn’t be able to afford a closet in this neighborhood, much less a house.
Jealous?
Me
? Never.
I craned my neck to look up where we were headed. “It’s pretty big, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but I rent out the bottom floor. It affords the luxury of working on my art. And the whole house is too big for just me and Jeremy.” He glanced back at me. “That’s my boyfriend.”
Right—the slight, bookish man at the gallery opening.
We reached the top of the stairs and Gary pulled me through a doorway into a room of light.
“Oh wow,” I murmured reverently.
Gary laughed, the deep belly laugh I was beginning to recognize as part of who he was. “It is spectacular, isn’t it?”
“Understatement.” Half the roof was glass as well as one entire wall, letting light stream in unfiltered. He had canvases in various stages of production propped up all over, an easel standing in the middle of the room. In one corner, there was a long lounging couch. It made me want to go drape myself across it dramatically, like in a faint. “It’s fabulous.”
“Thanks.” He grinned at me. “But we’re wasting time.”
“Okay.” I couldn’t help it. I went to the fainting couch, dropped my bag on the floor, and flopped across it. “Ready.”
Gary laughed. “Perfect. Hold that pose.” He rifled through a box and pulled out a huge pad and thick pencil.
Propping my chin on my fist, I watched him begin his maniacal sketching. He was a paradox. Just looking at him, I’d think he was more at home on a motorcycle than in an attic studio. Amazing that such big, hamlike hands could produce what they did.
“Tilt your head to the left. Not so much—yeah, just like that. Wait.” He reached over and plucked my glasses away.
“Hey!” The world was suddenly sharply out of focus.
“Better,” he muttered. He flipped a sheet of paper over and continued his crazy drawing.
I stared at him a while longer before I gave up trying to bring him into focus and let my mind wander to the night before. Unfortunately, I hadn’t met any men to put on the list. I completely forgot that was what I was out to do. Once, I started toward a promising-looking guy, but Luc pulled me back and said, “I don’t like all this attention you’re giving other men. Be with just me tonight, Kat.” I’d felt so guilty about being a lousy friend that I didn’t give my assignment another thought all night.
At least, I think that feeling in the pit of my stomach was guilt.
Surprisingly, I didn’t mind the lack of progress. I’d had fun. Luc was fun. I’d forgotten what it was like to have all his attention focused on me. It was like a sugar high without the inevitable crash.
“Whatever it is you’re thinking, don’t stop. No—don’t move.” More furious scribbling.
I froze in midmotion.
“Damn, you’re not thinking it anymore,” Gary mumbled under his breath. “I want that smile back on your face. I’ve never seen that smile on your face before.”
I was going to point out that Gary hadn’t exactly known me for long, but I decided to keep my mouth shut. Instead I shifted to get more comfortable and dreamed about the color of the tile I was going to put in the bathroom of the house I was going to buy after I got my promotion.
It was the change in the room’s light quality that alerted me that quite a bit of time had passed. I listed in my mind everything I needed to do today, starting with finalizing my sperm donor list and the reports on each one. I tried not to fidget but I could feel the seconds tick by—each second I could be spending working toward my dream of owning a home.
Gary sighed and slapped the gigantic pad against his thigh. “You lost that look again.”
“Sorry.” I hoped I sounded sincere. Not that I wasn’t—I just didn’t really know what I was apologizing for.
“That’s okay. I think I got what I wanted anyway.”
I swung my feet down and sat up. “I can’t believe you want to make a painting of me.”
“You have such an interesting face. Urchin, with these great eyes full of wise naïveté. It’ll be a challenge conveying that on canvas.”
Personally, I thought my lips were more of a selling point than my muddy green eyes, but I let him think what he wanted.
“Do you always wear suits?”
I looked up from straightening my clothes. “Excuse me?”
He shrugged and then stretched. “Just wondering. I’ve only ever seen you in suits.”
What was it about this guy? You’d think he’d known me forever, the way he talked. I couldn’t help pointing out our brief relationship this time. “This is only the second time we’ve met.”
“But it’s Sunday. No one wears suits on Sunday.”
“Well, I do.” Really, I had no choice. All I had were suits. They were easy and practical. And I didn’t want to spend money on casual clothes when I didn’t need them.
Gary walked me down to the main floor of his flat. To my surprise, Luc and Gary’s boyfriend were chatting and having coffee.
I frowned, hands on hips. “What are you doing here?”
“That’s what I love about you, squirt. You always make me feel so welcome.”
Gary’s chortle turned into a cough when I shot him my Lydia stare. “Katherine, have you met my boyfriend?”
Jeremy smiled at me. “Gary’s been so excited to get started on your portrait.”
“Oh.” I glanced at Gary, who beamed proudly at his man. “Did you know the U.S. government won’t allow portraits of living people on stamps?”
Luc snorted and stood up. “We should go.”
“We should?” I wrinkled my nose at him.
“Yeah. We have things to do.”
Oh—he was going to help me with my assignment again. I smiled at him, full and genuine. Luc was such a great friend.
He smiled back and took my hand. “Thanks for the chat, Jeremy. And the ideas.”
“Anytime.” Jeremy winked.
I stared at them. What was that about?
But I didn’t have time to ponder it before Luc started dragging me out the door. (What is it about men manhandling me all the time?)
Normally, I would have been full of questions about where we were headed as well as cluing him in on my schedule, but today I was distracted by the way he held on to my hand, firm but not restricting, as we walked down the street.
Luc is touchy-feely. I know this. But holding my hand for so long was unprecedented, even for him. Usually he’ll put an arm around me as we walk, sure, but this holding hands business was weird. Really weird. I began to feel uncomfortable, trying to discreetly pull away, but he held on tighter.
“Where are we headed?” I opted for an innocuous question.
“To my car.”
I nodded. Sure. Of course we were. “Are you going with me to the park?”
He looked down at me and cocked an eyebrow. “The park?”
“I thought it’d be a good place to meet men.” On Sundays, Golden Gate Park was closed off to car traffic and opened to rollerbladers, bicyclists, and pedestrians.
“You’re going like that?”
I looked down at myself. “Like what?”
He shook his head. “Sometimes you’re so clueless, Kat.”
What the hell? I looked down again. I was wearing Donna Karan. My Ferragamos were polished, my suit ironed, and my nylons had no snags. I was no cover model, but I did really well in the clothes department, I thought, considering I had no female influence growing up. Not past the age of six anyway.
Besides, I remembered my mom to be dressed up most of the time. Heels, dresses, make-up—the whole works. So my dad would remember how attractive he found her and wouldn’t be tempted to stray, I heard her tell a friend once.
It worked too well—he still hadn’t forgotten.
Luc unlocked the car door and held it open for me.
A moment on his car. If he were ten years older, I’d think he was going through a middle-life crisis. Luc drives an
expensive
convertible Mercedes. He maintains that the car’s older and that he got it for a steal, but I looked up the Blue Book value once (the Internet is a wonderful thing) and saw exactly what it was worth. Which wasn’t taking into consideration that he kept it in mint condition and spent what I was sure was an obscene amount on upkeep.
I was strapped in and ready to get rolling by the time he climbed in. I was already mentally arranging the list of questions I was going to ask the men I met by the time he turned the key in the ignition.
I suppose it was because I was so focused on my questions that I didn’t notice we were headed in the opposite direction from the park. “Where are we?”
“Union Street.”
What the hell were we doing on Union Street? The only things there were expensive clothing stores and chichi restaurants. I never came to Union Street.
I was about to protest, but then I noticed all the men walking around on the street. I turned to Luc and smiled. I knew I could count on him. “Thank you so much.”
He glanced at me. “We haven’t done anything yet.”
“But it’s going to be fantastic. I just know it.” I sat back and rearranged my questions again. Asking someone if he was prone to athlete’s foot probably wasn’t the place to start in a nonathletic setting.
Luc pulled into a parking spot right on Union Street. His parking karma is remarkable. If I a) had a car and b) were trying to park it, I was sure I’d have to go Timbuktu to find a spot.
As he locked up, I took the opportunity to look around. Where to start? “Do you think it’d be too abrupt if I just walk up to someone and ask them if they wear boxers or briefs? Briefs inhibit sperm production, you know.”
Luc rolled his eyes and took my hand again. “Come on.”
What was with the hand-holding?
But I didn’t say anything since he was guiding me with purpose. Obviously he had a plan, and when Luc has a plan there’s no standing in his way.
I didn’t notice where we headed because I was so distracted by all the successful preppy men strolling in the street. In fact, Luc had opened the door to the shop and was guiding me in before I snapped out of my reverie.
“What the—” I slapped my hand on the door frame to keep from being pulled in. “Where are you taking me?”
“Inside.” He tugged on my hand. “We’re buying you some clothes.”
“The hell we are.” I gripped the wooden frame with all my might.
“Come on. You need some casual clothes. You can’t keep going out on Sundays dressed like that.”
“Sure I can.”
“No, you can’t. Remember junior year when I convinced you to go to the winter formal?”
“I wish I could forget.” I’d worn this glittery pantsuit I found at the thrift store and had stood out like a sore thumb. Who knew bell-bottoms were out? I winced, recalling the way the other kids had whispered and pointed. It would have been better if I’d been invisible like I was every day at school. At least Luc had been there, and having him at my side kept any
Carrie
-like situations from happening.
“If you’d been wearing something appropriate for the occasion, you’d have had a great time.” He squeezed my hand. “That’s all we’re going to do. Get you some clothes so you have better success.”
“Thoreau said to beware of all enterprises that require new clothes.”
“It won’t be so bad, Kat.”
“Easy for you to say.” My fingers slipped and I was in the store.
Finally I knew the location of hell on earth.
Shit.
I turned around to dash out but Luc wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me back. He leaned down to speak softly into my ear. “You need some casual clothes. Don’t worry. I’ll help you. It won’t be so bad.”