The Opposite of Love (8 page)

A month after their father’s death, the girls sat on the living room floor on Christmas morning, somberly opening presents. The girls had forgotten all about the prints and they all sat in stunned silence. “Your father secretly returned to the mall and bought the prints,” their mother told them.

Even little Jenny just stared at her print on the living room carpet, matted beautifully, framed, almost bigger than she was.

The horse in Melanie’s own print reminded her of her father, of his strength and support. But as the time went on, as she stared at that print for years on the wall of her childhood room, as a tween, then a teen, she thought that maybe Athena wasn’t on the horse for a reason. Maybe it was ok to walk next to someone, to lean on them a little, but never to count on their support; they might not always be there.

The invitation to hang out had come from Jen, and the three of them did so little together lately that didn’t include their mother, it seemed like a novel idea. Melanie picked Sarah up and they met Jen at the Arts Factory at First Friday in the downtown Arts District. Jen bounded up to like a teenager, all energy and enthusiasm.

Throwing her arms around Melanie’s neck, she squealed, “I’m so glad you guys came.” Then she hugged Sarah. “You both look so pretty.”

Melanie was in flats and shorts with a peasant top that, while colorful, was only meant to be comfortable. It was July, and at eight in the evening it was still hovering at ninety-seven degrees. Sarah wore a pair of jeans and a white blouse. Sarah was more like their mother in the fashion department with her crisp, understated but classic style, but more like Melanie in the looks department, with dark hair and eyes. She was an inch taller than Melanie and Jen, which felt appropriate to Melanie since Sarah was the oldest.

They stopped at a beverage cart for a drink; Melanie ordered a beer, Sarah white wine, and Jen a vodka cranberry. Stepping inside the Arts Factory, Melanie was stunned by the density of the crowd. She hadn’t been here in two years, when the recession had almost destroyed the art industry—in Vegas anyway. But now there were even more people than before the downturn; Melanie had to wonder if that was because admission was free.

They wandered through gallery after gallery, each sister chiming in on what she liked and what she found distasteful—there was plenty of each, as Las Vegas artists were not about pleasing the masses. They stopped into the Sin City Gallery downstairs, which always featured some of the sexiest, most titillating art in the country, and Jen giggled like a schoolgirl at the busts of penises and vaginas. Upstairs they stepped into Derek’s gallery. Melanie hadn’t told him she was coming, and when he spotted her his face lit up.

In her flats, she barely came to his chest when he hugged her, and when he bent to give her a kiss, she offered him her cheek, then pulled away to introduce him to her sisters. He’d met Sarah two years before, but not Jen.

“Wow,” Melanie said. “When did the crowds pick back up?”

“It’s great, isn’t it? I guess it’s been a gradual thing. But I can count on selling at least ten full-size prints a month now. And dozens of the postcards and smaller prints.”

“Any originals?” The real money came from original art, but Melanie knew there wasn’t much market for it. People were happy to have the prints at a fraction of the cost.

“Not yet, but the night is young.”

She smiled at his unwavering optimism.

“I hope you gals don’t plan on going to the Artisan without me tonight. You get into trouble at that place.”

Melanie shushed him. Her sisters didn’t know how they met, and they certainly didn’t need to find out.

Melanie and her sisters wandered Derek’s gallery, stopping to admire the ones they liked best. Sarah stopped for a long time at a print of the San Francisco skyline with the Golden Gate Bridge in the foreground. Jen said her favorite was the original of a beach in Half Moon Bay with the moon over the water. She and Melanie moved on from that one and stood in front of an original painting of the bridge over the Ponte Vecchio.

“Where is this?” Jen asked.

But before Melanie could answer, someone else said, “It’s in Italy, dumbass.”

Both girls whipped their heads around to see the culprit, Justin, standing there wearing a smirk.

“You,” Melanie said. She pushed Jen gently aside and stepped forward putting her hand out, fingers spread, fingertips-first into his chest. He was a good seven inches taller than her, and she could feel the hard rise of his pectorals under her fingers, her middle finger falling into the valley between. The wisdom of putting her hands on him was only now starting to come under question in her mind, but she was pissed.

“You stay away from my sister, you hear me you little punk?”
‘Little’ being a relative term,
she thought.

Justin raised his eyebrows in amusement, then grabbed Melanie by the wrist and pulled her toward him, bending so that their faces were inches apart. “Or what, little lady?” he said.

Before she could answer, Justin released her wrist and made a whining noise, like air escaping from a balloon. He started to bend forward as though he might collapse on top of her, then snapped backward from the waist. Derek stood behind him, wrenching Justin’s arm behind his back. He guided Justin out of the gallery, and presumably out of the building, because it was five minutes before Derek came back. In the meantime, Jen was laughing maniacally. Sarah stood with her arms crossed.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Sarah asked.

Melanie just shrugged. Jen sat down cross-legged on the floor of the gallery, held her stomach and continued to laugh.

Melanie saw Derek come back in and went over to him.

“You ok?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said. “You?”

“Not a scratch.”

“Sorry I caused a brawl in your shop.”

He hugged her to his chest so that her head was smothered between his arms and his pecs; it would seem he had the same workout regime as Justin. She spoke into his shirt but it came out muffled.

“What?” Derek said, releasing her a little.

“Can’t breathe.”

“Sorry.” He let her go then. “What were you thinking, by the way?”

“That was Jen’s ex. He’s a pig and he cheated on her, and he just called her a dumbass.”

“Sticks and stones, Mel. You can’t pick a fight with someone who outweighs you by a hundred pounds. Not every man is evolved enough to know not to hit a woman, and that guy is a Neanderthal.”

“You’re right. Sorry.”

Jen had picked herself up, and she and Sarah came over. “What did you do to him?” Jen asked.

“Just a kidney punch,” he said. Jen walked away giggling uncontrollably.

“So do you do martial arts or something?” Sarah asked.

“Not really.” Derek shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Just know a few tricks. I work at a public high school so it comes in handy.”

Sarah scowled, then nodded, trying to be polite and hide her disapproval. Her kids were still only five and one, but Melanie could imagine that she was already concerned about them being kidney punched by their teacher upon starting high school.

After the incident with Justin, Melanie said goodbye to Derek and went downstairs to the restaurant patio with her sisters to order another round of drinks. They sat outside under the misters and listened to the band play reggae music. It reminded Melanie of a tropical vacation.

"Sarah, we're still on for Cancun, right?"

"Absolutely," she said. "Can't get there soon enough. I've been working out like a fiend so I won't look like a cow next to you on the beach."

"You look great," Melanie said waving a hand. "Still can't believe you pushed Braden out a year ago."

"Look at that guy over there," Jen said, pointing with her chin. "Hot, right?" She often grew quickly bored with conversations that didn't involve her.

The guy she was nodding toward looked about twenty-five. "A bit young, don't you think?" Sarah replied.

Jen shrugged, then sat back with her vodka cranberry. "I wish I could go with you guys," she said pushing her bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout.

"I do too," said Melanie. "Hopefully next year you'll be able to save the money in time."

Jen rolled her eyes. "I know, I know."

Truth be told, Melanie would've sprung for it in a heartbeat. It was their mother who insisted they try to teach Jen responsibility. She'd always been a little irresponsible with finances, and Melanie often helped her out with the small stuff rather than let her flail around and suffer. She couldn't see telling her she'd be there for her, then trying to teach her a lesson over something as silly as a hundred-dollar phone bill. In her opinion, it was much more important that Jen felt safe and loved than learn to calculate compound interest.

“I don’t remember what kind of wine we were drinking that night, do you?” Melanie asked.

Around eleven, Derek texted and asked if she wanted to have a drink at the Artisan. A nostalgic pang made her smile. She assigned Jen to drive Sarah home. Now she and Derek were sitting at the bar in the same seats as the night they met. It was a minor miracle they’d found seats at all; the place was jumping and a DJ was set up in the corner playing hip-hop and top-40 music.

“Some kind of chardonnay, I think,” said Derek. He ordered a bottle and they toasted the recovering Arts District.

“It must be nice to have the extra income again,” Melanie said.

“You said it. A teacher’s salary is no way to live.” Derek laughed morosely, then brightened. “But if the gallery keeps up at this rate, I’ll be coming to you for investment advice.”

“I hope you do,” said Melanie, but she knew he was exaggerating. “What else has been going on? How are things with Sharon?”

“That didn’t go so well.”

“What happened?”

“We split. She was pushing for something serious. I couldn’t commit.”

“Really? Mr. Love-is-everything couldn’t commit? What’s the deal?”

“I can only commit to the right person. We didn’t have as much in common as I would’ve liked.”

“Like what?” Melanie asked. Anticipating that he’d be providing her with ammo she could use in a future debate, she turned in her chair to face him and give him her full attention.

“Don’t get all righteous on me.” Derek shook his head. “But we weren’t compatible in intellect. Or in bed.” He took a swig of his wine and Melanie thought she could see the color rise in his cheeks, although it was hard to tell for sure in the dim lighting.

“I’ll be damned.”

“What?” He still wouldn’t look at her.

“Compatibility, huh?”

“Yep.” He nodded repeatedly. “It matters.”

“So then why am I dating a friggin’ cop with no advanced degree and no apparent limit to the kinkiness of his sexual preferences.”

Derek choked on his wine, struggled valiantly to recover, and said, “Where to begin, Mel?”

“You tell me.”

“Does it bother you that he’s a cop?”

Truth be told, it had at first. In fact, she’d pocketed it thinking it would make a nice exit strategy if nothing else worked. She could always say that his work was too dangerous, that she was afraid of him getting killed. But his job wasn’t even remotely dangerous. He’d only pulled his gun once since he’d been promoted to detective, and even then it was on a dog, and he hadn’t fired. She’d also thought that a blue-collar man was beneath her, but she found that he was smart—even without an advanced degree—smart enough to debate with her, and to occasionally be right. And she also found nobility in his reasons for becoming a cop in the first place. To want to make a difference on such a substantial scale, even in the face of bureaucracy and cutbacks and painfully incremental successes was admirable, and she could see the value in being with a man with that kind of moral virtue and determination.

Derek nodded as she explained her thoughts on James’ job. “What’s this about the kink?” he asked.

“It’s been interesting,” Melanie said. And it was her turn to blush. She spared him the pooling, the spanking, and simply explained that he introduced her to things she’d never really explored before.

“Like what?”

“Well, have you ever been to the Green Door?”

“Actually, I have. It’s pretty cool if you’re open-minded about that kind of thing. Place is huge. Like the Disneyland of sex.”

Melanie gaped at him.

“What?”

“I had no idea you were so…”

“So what?”

“Freaky.”

Derek laughed. “Hardly. Went there once with a girl I was dating who liked to be tied up. Went another time on my own. That’s pretty much it.”

“Really? Tied up?”

“Yeah. And choked. It was kind of weird. But I’d never done any of that before so I figured, what the hell. You never know what’s going to flip your switch ’til you try it.”

Melanie thought about the spankings she’d been getting, how it turned her on so much that her juices wet the insides of her thighs before James even touched her there. She never would have thought it would be so hot to be the recipient of pain.