“Is that your car?”
“No, I’m going to pay this poor fool’s parking tickets. Yes, it’s my car, silly.”
“Are you going to pay those?”
“No. I’m going to throw them away.”
“You’re not serious.”
“I am. I’ve learned lately that I only have so many fucks to give. I’ll move my car tomorrow, but tonight, I don’t give a fuck about these parking tickets, or the car.”
“What do you give a fuck about?”
“Getting to know you.” He squinted. “Maybe even painting you.” I didn’t believe for one second he was going to throw the tickets away, but I was getting the sense that Adam was undergoing some sort of change in his life. People who become lawyers aren’t the type to forget their phone at home and amass a ton of parking tickets. I wondered what happened at his job that had turned him into the person in front of me at that moment.
When we got to the top of the stairs, he stared at his keys for a while. “Here we go,” he said, but the first one didn’t work. The second one opened the door. “You know the bartender at that bar we were just at, but you don’t know which key opens your front door?” I teased. He just winked at me.
It was a traditional high-beamed, open loft space with big floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the street. The other walls were exposed brick. There were canvases, tarps, and paint supplies everywhere—literally hundreds of paintings just leaning in stacks against the walls. Other than a few kitchen appliances, a dresser, and a small table with two chairs, there was only a bed. No other furniture. The bed was unmade. I noticed the first four paintings I saw were of women. One in a park, one in a taxi, one lying across a bed in a flowing orange dress, and one looking out onto the ocean.
The loft was, in fact, a mess. It wasn’t filthy—it was actually quite clean—but there were items strewn about everywhere. I spotted a bra hanging over the chair near the table. I spun around and glared at Adam.
“You never answered me. Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No, that’s my friend’s. She models for me.”
“It looks like you have a lot of friends who model for you,” I shot back.
He looked at me curiously. “Does that bother you?”
“No,” I said lightly, suddenly feeling insecure.
“Are you hungry? I’m starving. And we need to finish this.” He held up the bottle of wine. “Plus, this is the best Chinese food ever.”
I had a feeling I was heading straight for bedpost-notch town. I’d never been there and frankly never wanted to go down that road. Until I met Adam.
“Okay,” I said. So what if he slept with a bunch of girls and then painted pictures of them? He was an artist. Isn’t that what artists were known for? Weren’t they so romantic that they’d cut their own ears off and mail them to the women they loved?
Wait, that’s not romantic; that’s insane.
Helen’s dumb bucket list had all kinds of things wrong with it, including being someone’s muse. If I became Adam’s muse, just for one night, would I get an ear in the mail the next day?
I banished my crazy thoughts and continued to walk around Adam’s apartment. His paintings were gorgeous—truly stunning. They were current but also felt classic, in the way that figurative paintings sometimes are. Some of the portraits were photorealistic, and others were intentionally out of proportion, like a Picasso. I wondered if my image would ever get lost in a stack somewhere in his cluttered loft.
I followed him into the kitchen area. He dished the food out onto two plates and then stuck them in the microwave. When I leaned against the counter near the microwave, he took my hands and spun me around to lean against the counter on the other side. “You shouldn’t stand near the microwave when it’s on.”
“Why?”
“It’ll cook your brains.”
“You don’t actually believe that.”
He opened his eyes wide. “Yeah, I do.”
I chuckled. “So, what’s the plan?”
“We’re chilling. We’re hanging out,” he said with his back toward me.
“This feels way too comfortable for two people who don’t know each other at all.”
He looked back at me. “We don’t know each other?”
I laughed, but it didn’t seem like he was kidding. He smiled, finally. “It does seem like that, doesn’t it? Let’s embrace it. We’re getting to know each other. What else would you be doing right now?”
“Um, sleeping? It’s pretty late.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” He took two steps before I was pinned against the counter, his body pressed to mine. “If you don’t want to be here, I understand. I can walk you home.”
My head tilted back and I looked him in the eyes. Our faces were inches apart, and then centimeters, and then millimeters, and then we were kissing.
I was dizzy when he pulled away. “I’ll stay for a while,” I said.
“Good, let’s get naked!”
“I don’t think so.”
The microwave dinged. “Okay, let’s eat then.”
I was in love with his spontaneity. I envied it. We sat at the small table, drank wine, and ate the warmed-up Chinese food.
“So tell me everything about you, Adam.”
“Well, I’m twenty-nine. I grew up in Northern California. My dad was one of those guys who got in early on a little company called Google, so we had lots of money growing up.”
“Oh that little company? Yeah, I’ve heard of it. Go on.” Jeez, this guy must be loaded. No wonder he paints all day.
“I went to law school here at Loyola, and that’s about it. Up until now, my adult life has always been about work, work, work.”
“You always painted on the side, though?”
“No, I just started a year ago. I just have an affinity for it.”
I looked around. “You’re kidding me. You painted all of these in a year?”
“I’m fast.”
“I guess.”
“Not at everything though.” He winked.
Adam didn’t have any framed pictures of family or friends anywhere. In fact, it looked like he didn’t really live there, like maybe it was just his studio. “Do you live here?”
He laughed. “Yes. Why would you ask that?”
“Well, there’s not really any personal items around.”
“What, like tchotchkes?”
“Yeah, or vacation pictures.”
“I had a really boring life when I was a lawyer. I thought I was doing the right thing all that time, billing hours and living for work, but then . . .” He hesitated. “One day, I just sort of woke up and realized I didn’t want to waste another minute of my life. I had been working so hard to make money, but I had no time to spend it. I lived and worked in a high-rise downtown, but when I ‘woke up,’ I realized I was suffocating. I bought this place, quit my job, and started painting. And I’ve never been happier.”
I was dying to know what had triggered his breakthrough moment. I had a feeling I wasn’t getting the whole story, but I didn’t want to pry.
“Do you have siblings?” I asked.
“No, I’m an only child. My parents were of the mind-set that people should do one really well.”
“Did they?”
“I’ll let you be the judge.” Before I could ask another question, he said, “Do you like donuts?”