The Graphic Details (3 page)

…

MUST. STAY. PROFESSIONAL.

Payment For “Services”

The day went on at a crawl. I kept watching
the clock, like I was in elementary school waiting for the school
bell to ring signaling when I could get the hell out of there and
go catch a drink with the popular guy in class. And you know what
they say about that, the more you look, the slower it goes.

It was tough to get through my work. I
couldn’t focus on any tasks; I kept peering at him from behind my
computer like a little girl with a crush, and I was disgusted with
myself for feeling that way. I was twenty-three, not twelve. And
the reason I was infatuated was equally as silly. It was all purely
looks at that point. I didn’t know his personality yet. How shallow
was I? I’m not a man. Men are that shallow. Not a strong woman like
myself. I was able to look past things like that and focus purely
on personality. Yep. That’s exactly what I kept telling myself
every time I looked at his tight, firm ass in those blue jeans of
his.

Professionalism had all been thrown out of
the window by the end of the day.

5 o’clock had finally rolled around and
Charles came around to my desk.

“So, ready for that drink?” he asked me.

“Yeah, just let me save my work,”

“You better not disappoint me tonight. If you
do, I won’t do that font for you,” he said jokingly. But I took it
seriously.

“What? You promised me a font, you…”

“I’m kidding,” he laughed his cute little
laugh. “Let’s get outta here already.”

He took me down to the parking garage and we
walked to his car: a purple Porsche 911. I only knew that because
my brother was into cars, especially Porsches. One thing was for
sure, this dude had to be well off.

“So, do you want to take my car or yours?” he
asked.

“Oh, I walked here. I don’t live too far
away.”

“Mine it is then,”

On the car ride there I kept looking at his
face as his drove, not because he was attractive, which he was, but
because the more I thought about it, the more he looked familiar to
me. But I couldn’t quite place my finger on it. I put it out of my
mind though.

We reached a little dive bar I knew not too
far from the office with an extremely generic name called ‘The
Fishing Hole.’ We went in ordered some drinks––a Modelo for him, a
Vodka Tonic for myself––and we took them to a little table in the
back corner.

“Cheers!”

“Welcome to the office, Charles.” I said.

“Thanks. And it’s Chuck.”

“What?”

“My friends call me Chuck. So call my that
from now on.”

Was he already considering me his friend?
That’s great and all, but did that mean he didn’t see me in a
romantic light? Just as well, I wasn’t looking for anyone anyway.
But still, it would have been nice to know I had something of a
chance.

“Okay, Chuck. Well, in that case, call me
Kathy,”

“Look at us, both with generic nicknames.
That’s two you know,”

“Excuse me?”

“Two things we have in common,” he said. This
has
to be considered flirting.

“Well, Chuck, judging by your 911 out there,
you seem to be doing pretty well in the graphic design business.
Better than I’ve ever been able to do.”

That made him laugh that adorable laugh
again.

“Well, I wasn't always in graphic design. I
was in another business before this,”

“Oh, and what business was that?”

“I was a model,” he said. Of course he was.
That would be one waste of a gorgeous face. He continued.

“I also did a little acting. Mostly
commercials here and there.”

“Acting… commercials…” I took a sip of my
tonic and damn near spit it out when I figured out where I had seen
that face before.

“
You
! That’s you in those Gap ads that
were all over TV about six months ago!”

“Yep, you guessed it.”

“And you were in those Abercrombie and Fitch
ads all over their store down the street.”

He nodded.

“Come to think of it, you’re the one hocking
that mouth wash too, aren’t you,”

He nodded again, and took a swing of his beer
and did a swishing motion with it in his mouth, and made an over
exaggerated expression on his face, mimicking what he had done in
the commercial.

“Holy shit! I’m sitting here with a
celebrity,” I said as I took a huge gulp of my Vodka Tonic.

“I am no celebrity. You didn’t even recognize
my name. What kind of celebrity is that?”

“As someone once told me recently, don’t sell
yourself short. But tell me, why did you leave modeling and acting
for the glamorous world of graphic design? I mean I get the appeal
and all, but humor me.”

“It wasn’t all that great. I was only in a
couple of national spots, and I appeared in fashion magazines here
and there, and it pays great, don’t get me wrong. But being in that
whole world… I don’t know… I felt kinda empty.”

I continued to sip on my drink and I nodded
along like I understood, but I really didn’t.

“But why graphic design? Why not, I don’t
know, film or something?” I asked, innocently.

“Film would have just been an extension of
that modeling world. And I wanted to do what I wanted to do,
something that fulfilled me. I was pressured into modeling by my
family and agents all around me, and… it just wasn’t me, you
know.”

“And graphic design is?” I asked. I thought I
was beginning to slur my words a bit by that time. I hoped he
hadn’t noticed.

“Graphic design is absolutely me,” he said,
and his eyes trailed off toward the bar floor, as if he were
looking off into the far off distance. “From childhood, I’ve always
been infatuated with the design of things. Even in nature, like
fields of grass and mountains. You know, it’s amazing the design
you can find in something as simple as, say, rocks. Sometimes I go
and study them, and I swear I can see faces staring back at me,
like Mother Nature herself trying to communicate with me, telling
me that I’m not alone in this world. I feel like she created the
designs just for me.”

I watched his mouth intently as he said this.
His words flowed out like poetry to me. It was nice him opening up
to me. It might have been that Vodka Tonic, but him saying all this
made me feel warm inside. He finally noticed the way I was looking
at him and his face immediately turned red.

“I’m sorry. That must sound like the craziest
thing you’ve ever heard,” he said. I wanted to grab his face and
give him the deepest kiss I had ever given anyone, and tell him
that I grew up feeling the exact same way about the design in
nature, that Mother Nature was my parent as well; that she had
designed the world just for the two of us to play in and to help
her with its on going creation.

“Oh no. I totally get it,” was what I said
instead. I figured it was much less clingy and creepy.

“How about a couple more drinks?” he offered
and I nodded.

He came back with another Tonic for me, and
he switched it up and got himself a rum and coke.

“How about yourself, Kathy? How’d you get
into design?”

“Well, I, like yourself, was into design at a
very young age. I would doodle a lot. In fact, I filled up what
seemed like hundreds of sketchbooks with all kinds of stuff. It’s
kind of funny, and kind of pathetic, but I have a whole closet full
of those books. You’d think I was nuts if you saw ‘em.”

“You should show ‘em to me sometime.”

“Yeah, sure. Come over and see my crazy woman
closet full of sketches. When’s good?” I ask, half jokingly, half
hopeful.

“How about tonight? After this?”

“What?”

“You said you lived close, and I’d love to
see your stuff, no matter how out of date it might be.”

Maybe it was the alcohol that made him brave
enough to ask that. I looked at him suspiciously, and he recognized
it.

“I… I’m sorry. That was way too forward.”

I put up my hand to stop him saying anything
else. Perhaps, the alcohol was getting to me as well, but I
answered, “Sure. Why not?”

“Are you sure? Because, I don’t want to make
it seem like I’m pressuring…”

I put up my hand once again as downed the
contents of my glass in one, long gulp.

“Well, what are you waiting for? I’ve
finished mine. Finish yours so we can get outta here.

“
Services” Rendered

We actually stayed for a bit more and had
three more drinks while we talked about arbitrary things like music
and television––it was like we were both trying to save the good
conversation for later. When we got to my place, I stumbled into my
apartment and I turned on my dim lighting and I sloppily threw my
things on to the couch. I was slightly drunk and because of that, I
lacked a little finesse at the time; five vodka tonics tend to do
that to someone with as low a tolerance for alcohol as I have.

“Make yourself at home, Chuck,” I slurred at
him.

“Well, here’s the obligatory ‘This is a nice
place you got here.’”

“Why, you sarcastic fuck.” The irony was that
I had said that sarcastically. He smiled and said, “In all
seriousness, I do think it’s a wonderful place. I love the
placement of these pictures. You really do have an eye for that
kind of stuff.”

“I try. But I bet it’s noting compared to
your lofty, money palace,” I said. I knew how much of a fool I was
sounding but I couldn’t stop myself.

“Katherine,” he said as he walked over to me.
When people call you by your real name, especially after you just
told them your nickname, it usually means they are serious.

“I don’t want you to treat me like I’m some
kind of, I don’t know, Hollywood douchebag, because I’m not. Don’t
think I’m different just because I did a little modeling or acting
here and there. It truly is no big deal. That was a life I left
behind. I’m a graphic designer now, and I’m happy doing this.”

I look into his eyes, and I nodded. It was
hard to speak when I did look into them.

“Now, where are those sketchbooks?”

I led him into my bedroom––he helped me keep
my balance on the way there––and stopped him just before I opened
my closet door. I wasn’t about to let him see all of my
unmentionables right off the bat. I was a little more than tipsy,
but I wasn’t crazy.

“Look away,” I told him, and he looked at me
weirdly. “I’m serious. Look away or you go home without seeing
them.”

“All right, all right.”

I grabbed a couple of my sketchbooks from a
shelf at the top of my closet. I made sure to grab some of the
later ones, the ones I had drawn in high school, the better stuff.
As I exited my closet, I saw him sitting on my bed and I was taken
aback.

“Um, you don’t have any chairs in here so I
figured I’d just sit here.”

I stayed silent.

“Uh oh, I was too forward again, wasn’t
I?”

“No, no. You’re right. No chairs,” I said as
I sat next to him and handed him a book. He slowly flipped through
it, nodding every now and then as he did, a quiet ‘wow’ slipping
from his lips every other drawing. Then, he stopped at one I did in
my sophomore years.

“Kathy, this one. Please explain,”

“Um, well, basically, I was sitting under a
tree at lunch, thinking of things to draw, when I thought to
myself, why not draw this tree. So, I moved to a point where I
could see the whole thing and just started sketching. Of course, I
couldn’t finish it all in one sitting, so I did this over a period
of, maybe about a week. It started off just being the tree, but I
couldn’t stop myself, and just drew the whole scene. That’s the
cafeteria back there, and that’s the main hall over here.”

“This is not a sketch, this is a work of art
Kathy. I am truly blown away by your skill. And at such a young
age, too. This… I really can’t find the words.”

And he didn't have to, because right
then––and I’m blaming it on the strength provided to me by the
alcohol––I lurched forward and started kissing him. But that wasn’t
the surprising part. No, the surprising part was that he was
kissing me back. This gorgeous, rich, successful, young guy, a guy
I would have never believed was in my league, was kissing me back.
A simple nerdy, and now drunk, girl from Utah was actually making
out with a dude whose visage was plastered on the walls of an
Abercrombie and Fitch. And it felt fantastic. It sent tingly
feelings up my spine; tingly was another feeling I wasn’t used to.
After a few more blissful moments spent with my lips pressed
against his, I, for some strange reason, pulled away.

“What’s wrong? He asked, very innocently.

“Nothing. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“I’m just this little graphic designer girl.
Why on Earth would you be kissing me?”

“Well, you kissed me first.”

“But you didn’t push me back.”

“Why would I push you back?”

“You could have any type of model girl you
wanted, but you’re here making out with me, a nobody, and…” He
brought his finger to my lips to shut me up. Then he reached under
my hair and placed his hand gently on the back of my neck and
brought my head close to his so that I our foreheads were touching,
and we were, once again, staring into each other’s eyes.

“What did I just say back there?”

“I know, but…”

“I told you not to treat me like anything
special, right?” I nodded. “I find you incredibly attractive and
talented, and you turn me on so much. And I’m here with you, now,
and that’s all that matters. Okay?” I nodded once more, and we were
soon kissing passionately once again.

He guided me gently down to the bed, and
before I knew it, he was slowly unbuttoning my blouse, taking great
care to not break off any buttons. I, on the other hand, was much
too impatient, as I grabbed hold of his V-neck and peeled it off
with one swipe, revealing the most pleasing, rippled body I had
ever had the pleasure of being that close to. I was anxious, but
also nervous. I hadn’t been with anyone sexually since Phil, and I
wasn’t even absolutely sure about that. Despite proof of the
contrary, I’m pretty positive that I’m the first girl to have her
hymen mysteriously grow back. I was trembling slightly and he took
notice.