Look like, c’mon, Patrick, look like you’re enjoying it.” I peered through my lens to frame the shot I was supposed to use in an ad for a local café. “I’ve seen you look more enthused about watching Lawrence Welk reruns.”
“What do you want me to do, look like I’m getting ready to fuck the mug?” Patrick frowned and lifted the cup higher and forced an entirely false grin onto his handsome mouth. “Is this better? How’s this, Olivia? Ooh, coffee, I’m so horny for you…”
I snapped a couple of shots just to annoy him with later, when he saw how ridiculous he looked. “Quit being a jerk. C’mon, I need this for tomorrow.”
“Nothing like running behind schedule.” Patrick licked the mug.
I snapped another shot and thought I might frame that one as a gift. “It’s a last-minute job, and I can’t afford to turn them down.”
He shot me a glance, then put his pout into place. “How’s this?”
“A little less constipated, but yes. Good.” Finally I got something that would work. It wasn’t art, but it would do. Patrick put the mug down while I transferred the pictures to my computer.
“You’ll come, right? And dinner on Friday. You haven’t been over since the party.” He flipped through the large album of photos I’d chosen as my best, to show off to potential clients. “Oh, I like this one. Why don’t you do more of these, Livvy? They’re so good.”
I glanced at the picture, a nude I’d taken at a photography workshop I’d gone to the year before. “Because I’m not an erotic photographer and I don’t have much use for nudes.”
“She’s pretty.”
I gave him a look. “Yes. She is. She’s a model.”
He flipped a few more pages. “I like this one, too.”
A landscape. Nothing special. I could add text to it and playwith the dimensions to use in brochures or Web sites. I shrugged.
“You don’t take compliments very well.”
I laughed and began toying with the pictures I’d taken of him. “I want to make my living doing this, Patrick. I don’t have any grand ideas of becoming a famous artiste. The work’s good. Yes. I get it. I’m not setting up shop at the street fair to sell my prints, okay?”
“You could have a gallery show. Your work is good, as good as some of the stuff I’ve seen hanging up downtown. You know I have a friend of a friend—”
“Stop,” I told him firmly. “Patrick, I love you, but I’m not having a gallery show. And besides, I know people, too, you know. It’s not like I couldn’t get something going if I wanted to.”
“So why don’t you?” He leaned against the large wooden chest of drawers I’d salvaged from the back alley.
I thought about warning him he’d get his designer jeans dirty rubbing up against the old wood, but decided against it. As fussy as Patrick could be, he liked to pretend sometimes he wasn’t, especially when we were alone and sort of reverted to the way we’d been as a couple. When he’d had to be what he felt was “manly.”
“Because I don’t want to.” I shrugged again.
“You should do it anyway.”
Now I turned to look at him full-on. “You know, you can leave anytime.”
Patrick-my-boyfriend would never have flipped me the finger. Patrick-my-boyfriend had insisted on using tools and playing sports. He’d farted and burped a lot more back then. I couldn’t say I wasn’t happy he’d let go of that.
“You don’t go that way, remember?” I said with a glance at his middle finger.
He snorted and stood up. “You’ll come to dinner.”
The past two Fridays I’d spent watching movies with Alex. “I might have plans.”
“What on earth could you be doing on a Friday night that would be better than games and food and drinks at my house?” He paused. “Do you have a date?”
“I love how you make that sound like science fiction.” I sighed, giving up trying to work on the pictures with him there. “As a matter of fact, my tenant and I are probably going to be
“What do you want me to do, look like I’m getting ready to fuck the mug?” Patrick frowned and lifted the cup higher and forced an entirely false grin onto his handsome mouth. “Is this better? How’s this, Olivia? Ooh, coffee, I’m so horny for you…”
I snapped a couple of shots just to annoy him with later, when he saw how ridiculous he looked. “Quit being a jerk. C’mon, I need this for tomorrow.”
“Nothing like running behind schedule.” Patrick licked the mug.
I snapped another shot and thought I might frame that one as a gift. “It’s a last-minute job, and I can’t afford to turn them down.”
He shot me a glance, then put his pout into place. “How’s this?”
“A little less constipated, but yes. Good.” Finally I got something that would work. It wasn’t art, but it would do. Patrick put the mug down while I transferred the pictures to my computer.
“You’ll come, right? And dinner on Friday. You haven’t been over since the party.” He flipped through the large album of photos I’d chosen as my best, to show off to potential clients. “Oh, I like this one. Why don’t you do more of these, Livvy? They’re so good.”
I glanced at the picture, a nude I’d taken at a photography workshop I’d gone to the year before. “Because I’m not an erotic photographer and I don’t have much use for nudes.”
“She’s pretty.”
I gave him a look. “Yes. She is. She’s a model.”
He flipped a few more pages. “I like this one, too.”
A landscape. Nothing special. I could add text to it and playwith the dimensions to use in brochures or Web sites. I shrugged.
“You don’t take compliments very well.”
I laughed and began toying with the pictures I’d taken of him. “I want to make my living doing this, Patrick. I don’t have any grand ideas of becoming a famous artiste. The work’s good. Yes. I get it. I’m not setting up shop at the street fair to sell my prints, okay?”
“You could have a gallery show. Your work is good, as good as some of the stuff I’ve seen hanging up downtown. You know I have a friend of a friend—”
“Stop,” I told him firmly. “Patrick, I love you, but I’m not having a gallery show. And besides, I know people, too, you know. It’s not like I couldn’t get something going if I wanted to.”
“So why don’t you?” He leaned against the large wooden chest of drawers I’d salvaged from the back alley.
I thought about warning him he’d get his designer jeans dirty rubbing up against the old wood, but decided against it. As fussy as Patrick could be, he liked to pretend sometimes he wasn’t, especially when we were alone and sort of reverted to the way we’d been as a couple. When he’d had to be what he felt was “manly.”
“Because I don’t want to.” I shrugged again.
“You should do it anyway.”
Now I turned to look at him full-on. “You know, you can leave anytime.”
Patrick-my-boyfriend would never have flipped me the finger. Patrick-my-boyfriend had insisted on using tools and playing sports. He’d farted and burped a lot more back then. I couldn’t say I wasn’t happy he’d let go of that.
“You don’t go that way, remember?” I said with a glance at his middle finger.
He snorted and stood up. “You’ll come to dinner.”
The past two Fridays I’d spent watching movies with Alex. “I might have plans.”
“What on earth could you be doing on a Friday night that would be better than games and food and drinks at my house?” He paused. “Do you have a date?”
“I love how you make that sound like science fiction.” I sighed, giving up trying to work on the pictures with him there. “As a matter of fact, my tenant and I are probably going to be
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