The Colorman (17 page)

Just then, as the awkwardness began to settle in to a distinct feeling of unease, Rain heard the crunch of wheels on gravel. Rain thought it might be a good time to interrupt where this conversation appeared to be going, the strangeness and contrarian moods the guests seem to be indulging. Thinking it might be another of Violetta's staff arriving, Rain rose and looked at Violetta.

Door-slamming and muttered-curses wafted too loudly through the open front of the cabin. A sudden banging at the screen doors made Rain straighten and exclaim in amazement, “Karl!”

Karl ripped the screen on the lower panel with his suitcase and continued to shove against the sliding door like it was stuck. “Could you get this?” he shouted.

Rain realized she had made no move to help him and, recovering, put down the plates she'd picked up and rushed up to the entry level to help slide open the door.

“What are you doing here?” Rain asked as he banged again against the door jamb struggling with his luggage over the threshold.

“What does it look like?” Karl snapped. “Trying to get my damn bags through the door.”

By the time Rain had controlled her surprise enough to look around, everyone had gotten their coats and were gathering up bags, stacking plates and saying their good-byes.

Chassie and Marisol stood in the doorway and gave Rain upbeat farewells. They embraced her, keeping a very purposeful cheer to their manners, despite Karl's loud ablutions in the kitchen.

Anne gripped Rain in too tight a hug, indicating clearly she knew this wasn't a good surprise, wordlessly conveying her support. Rain averted her gaze from her friend's face, the connection between the two of them wouldn't allow it, far too much might be revealed there. As she and Alvaro headed toward their car, Anne turned and called out, “Call me!,” catching Rain's eyes. So much sympathy and understanding flashed from her that Rain just turned away without answering.

Karl was griping while hunting around for something to eat. Violetta's catering assistant was quickly washing dishes and packaging leftovers. Tugging up the sleeves of her long, leather gloves, Violetta said. “She will stay until she is finish, you must keep the dishes, darling.”

“Oh, my goodness!” Rain said. “That's too much!”

“No,” Violetta said, putting her hand over Rain's. “We have more nights like this one, eh?” As she air kissed Rain on both cheeks and back for a third, she let her eye stray over to Karl for an instant. “Hunter? You need driving?” she asked.

Karl hadn't made any effort to speak to any of the guests and was almost grunting as he poked around in the plastic dishes inside the fridge.

“Nah, thanks, Violetta, the girls are waiting for me.” Hunter didn't seem to be in any hurry as he carried his untouched guitar along with some glasses up to the kitchenette. He gave Karl a cursory hello and placed the glasses by the sink and his guitar case on the floor. Turning to Rain, who was standing awkwardly in the doorway as her guests paraded out, Hunter boldly took her hand and kissed it and then her cheek. “The work is great,” he said. “You keep that up, okay?”

Rain looked at him, a little confused. He glanced over at her paintings and nodded slightly. She was trying to work her mind around Karl only feet away from her and this Hunter with this scent, this redolence that hovered around him and that left her breathless. “Okay,” she said, trying to bite off her regret. “Okay, you have a safe trip.” Rain felt a growing pang of sadness roll through her, her gut betraying her mind.

She closed the door thinking everyone had left and asked the catering assistant if she could help. She insisted that Rain should leave it to her. Rain felt oddly almost afraid of Karl. Guilty for what she was thinking. Turning around toward the studio, Rain was surprised to see James strolling casually over to the couch and sitting down with his freshened glass of port.

It was all too exhausting: Karl's surprise, his moodiness, this James. She was not sure why he had stayed, but she found she was glad for it. Rain stepped back down to the living-room to James.

Quietly, she said, “Well, I'm glad
some
body could stay!”

“The port's too good,” Morrow said, eyeing his glass critically. “Violetta knows her spirits.”

Karl emerged from the bathroom and crossed to the kitchen. He didn't acknowledge the woman there, but called to Rain, “What is this stuff? What kind of…”

Rain came back up and set a plate, silverware and a glass for him.

She located the neatly stored leftovers in the fridge and set them next to the place setting at the kitchen table. She poured wine into a clean glass and, without looking at him, asked, “So, what happened?”

“What happened?” Karl repeated, looking at the table Rain had set and the containers of food as if he had no idea what they were for. “The thing has to end sometime. Nobody said it was permanent.”

“I just thought you'd said you were staying past New Year's,” Rain explained and she stepped slowly away from the table, having stopped short of actually serving him.

Karl started ripping the tops off the containers. “What, do I need permission to come here? Is that what this is?”

Rain turned away from him and went back down to sit in a low chair next to the couch. She and James watched Karl standing in the kitchen shoveling food out onto the plate noisily and shakily, as if this were the first time he'd actually had to serve himself. He managed to make this most mundane of tasks dramatic and filled the space with a blunt energy.

“I knew this man who lived in the Hudson Valley in the seventies,” Morrow said to Rain, but loud enough to project toward the kitchen. “Amazing fellow.”

Morrow kept his tone casual, but clearly included Karl. “Completely blind. More than legally blind. The man couldn't see the slightest glimmer of light. He was my supplier for a certain root that's very tricky to find.”

Karl didn't look up or indicate he could hear, but James continued, watching Karl as he spoke. “Extraordinary stuff,” he said. “The highest grade of it is dusty and ragged in its raw state. This man could sniff out the good stuff. He was genius at it.”

Karl banged the plates around on the table, shoving them aside and hunting around for a napkin, finally settling on a paper towel.

“Imagine that,” Morrow continued. “A blind man, my best supplier of the finest grade madder root whose only purpose he'll never ever have the ability to appreciate. “

“Sad,” Rain said, watching Karl, too.

“What's that?” Morrow asked her.

“It strikes me as sad,” Rain said, finally looking over at James.

Morrow sipped his port. “Somehow he never struck me that way. He seemed profound. Generous in a spiritual sort of way. He valued those roots for what they gave him. A good and pleasant living. And you know the most extraordinary thing…?”

Karl finally sat at the kitchen table on the upper level, even though the larger table was still in the center of the space with chairs all around it.

“What's that?” Rain asked James.

“This man had the most beautiful wife,” Morrow said. He looked back over toward Karl, who was exerting all his energy eating now, breathing heavily through his mouth as he chewed. “You can't imagine. She was stunning. Ice-blue eyes, subtle glow to her skin, white-blond hair. Not the slenderest girl in the world, but that only added to her beauty. Like a rose,” he added, “a figure from classical painting.”

“That's a waste,” Karl finally contributed, his mouth full. “Fat girl?”

“No,” James said. “It just used to strike me that however pleasant she may have been to touch, her visual impact was unsurpassed. And I always wondered whether he knew.”

“Well,” Rain said, “what's beauty for, anyway? Or for whom?”

“For her own pleasure, surely?” Morrow replied, looking at Rain again. “Most men stop seeing their wives after a time, don't you think?”

The catering assistant finished and took her coat from Rain's bed, pulling up the zipper and strapping a messenger bag over her head. She gave a little wave and slipped silently out the door.

Morrow finished his port and put his hand out over it palm down when Rain reached for the bottle.

“I should be going,” he said.

Rain stood with him. “Thanks for staying,” she told him.

Morrow looked down and hesitated, took a breath as if he wanted to tell her something. Rain looked at him curiously. But then the moment passed, and Morrow was putting on his jacket.

“I have a short trip home,” he said dryly.

As Morrow passed him, Karl muttered, “Nice to meet you,” without looking up at him.

At the door, Morrow stopped, looking out toward the darkened factory. Quietly and without looking at her, he said, “If you need anything…” to Rain, and then walked away into the darkness.

Rain stood on the threshold, watching him go.

Walking slowly back down into the studio, she sat in the sofa, facing her paintings. She stared at them, almost surprised to find them still there—hard evidence of the time she and Karl had been apart.

Karl finished his dinner, wiped his mouth and threw the paper towel back down on the plate. “This place is posh, huh?” he said. “Didn't expect it to be so nice.”

“Thanks,” she said. She looked around the room feeling how awkward it was to have a home without him. He had been gone less than three months, but it already felt like he was a piece of history.

As he approached her, Rain subtly recoiled and, surprising them both, Karl noticed this. He slid to the far end of the couch, his back to her paintings. He hadn't looked at them yet, or if he had, he'd said nothing about them.

He sat and picked at his pants. “Look,” Karl said, “look,” like this was difficult for him. “I think I haven't been so great lately.”

Rain still felt guilty about how disappointed she was to see him darkening her doorway that evening, and she self-consciously tried to open herself to him, opening her folded arms, her whole body projecting her feelings.

“Right,” Rain said, not having expected honesty from him.

Karl said, “I had…it was…in England…”

And all at once Karl was sobbing. Rain watched him with a mixture of shock and utter lack of feeling.

Karl cried and blubbered and wiped his face with his sleeves. His face was red and puffy. She had never seen him actually cry before. She had never even seen him vulnerable. “What is this?” she asked, honestly confused. “Is this about us?”

“NO!” Karl sobbed and then caught himself. “Yes…well, sort of. I'm so sorry, Rain!”

Rain grabbed a napkin from the side table and handed it to him. He reached out to her, but she pulled her hand away and sat back again gazing at him.

He mopped up his face and blew his nose.

“This isn't about me at all, is it?” she asked.

Karl began crying afresh. “Oh, my God. I'm in so much pain, I think I'm going to die!”

Finally it hit her. She had really thought this could have been about them. A little bit. But the emotion didn't fit. It was sad, but nothing like this. And all at once, like Tetris, click-clickclick-click-click, it all fell into a solid brick wall of fact.

“You had a girlfriend!” Rain announced slowly but confidently.

Karl grunted, like he'd been shot. “Oh, my GOD!” he snorted and coughed.

Of course. The day she came home early and he was naked in the bed. The elevator, the phone calls, the having to go out to endless meetings leading up to the trip. Suddenly not wanting her to go to England. The emaciated, nasty, British Turner Prize chick.

Rain said calmly, “Uh-huh, and now you've come crying to me about it.” She shook her head and looked at their clearly reflected images in the enormous window. The old glass warbled the image of the brightly lit room behind them. They were silhouetted little heads poking above the big block of darkness that was the heavy couch. They were stowaways in a cartoon boat. Or children in a huge tub.

Rain felt a surge of anger roll through her. “You were such a dick to me. Practically the whole time we were married. MARRIED!” She shook her head. “Why did I ever marry you?”

Karl sniffled, “We were…”

Rain interrupted him. “No, don't bother. Really, I do know what it's like to be this hurt,” she said, looking back at him now. “I do. I honestly never knew you had girlfriends, but it might have helped all those times I was suffering.”

“Not girl
friendsss
!” Karl insisted, offended.

“So this one was the only one?” Rain asked.

“No!” Karl cried and then quickly corrected himself. “Yes, I mean.” He crumpled again. “Oh, my God! She ripped my heart out!” He was crying again and reached for a used cocktail napkin himself this time.

“Alright,” Rain said impatiently, as if she could stop his tears by the sheer intensity of not caring. “I mean, it just astonishes me that for such a long time I let you hurt me and hurt me.”

“I didn't do this to
you
!” Karl insisted. “I stayed with you, I came back, I'm here now!” As though his presence was all that was required.

“No,” Rain said. “No you're not.”

“Those people are still at the loft!” he whined. Could it be that the grain of feeling she thought had guided him to her for comfort in his moment of great pain was just about the apartment?

Rain stood unsteadily. She glimpsed her reflection in the plate glass behind Karl's head: a grown woman now, the port going to her head. The bathtub image reminded her of that slidey feeling you got when you stood up out of a warm tub and regular gravity had you again as the bubbles slowly slid down your skin toward your still-submerged feet. There was a pull to just sit back down into the remaining warmth, but you knew only further pruniness and rapid cooling awaited you there. The more bracing scrub of the towel and jammies and bed would make the cold and depressing gravity of stepping out worth it in the end.