The Memory Painter

Of course, the new look required a new outfit. Her old black cocktail dress wouldn’t do. Glancing at her watch, she saw that she had a few hours before she needed to pick up Bryan, so she headed to Copley Mall, planning to just cut the tag on whatever she bought and wear it out of the store. I’m acting like a lovesick teenager. Linz couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of it, amazed at herself—she had never acted like one when she was younger.

An hour and a half later, she slid behind the wheel in a siren-red Nina Ricci dress and a pair of sexy Manolos. She didn’t want to overthink tonight, but she also had never made this much of an effort to impress a man before. But Bryan was changing her. When he was around anything seemed possible; nothing felt certain.

She saw him waiting outside his building, looking quite the artist in a funky suit and tie straight from the seventies. The pea-green color collided with her red dress like a train wreck, making her wish she had chosen a more conservative black. She began to get the feeling that tonight wasn’t going to go well.

She pulled the car up beside him and Bryan hopped in. He looked stunned.

“I had my hair done,” she said, turning her head self-consciously. Bryan continued to stare. “It’s a new dress.” Linz wished he would say something so she could stop making this stupid commentary.

“Are we in park?” he finally asked her.

“You mean the car?”

Not waiting for an answer, Bryan reached over and pulled her onto his lap. He kissed her. Linz’s dress rode up as she turned to fully face him.

The kiss went on until a horn blared behind them. They broke apart, both breathing heavily.

Bryan whispered, “Why don’t we forget the party and go to your place?”

Another honk sounded and the car finally drove around them. Linz closed her eyes, trying to gain some self-control. “I can’t. I need to make an appearance first. It’s my work.”

Bryan let go of her and leaned back in his seat, looking tortured. “Okay, let’s go.”

Linz climbed back over to the driver’s seat, already regretting her decision. She drove to Belmont Hills on autopilot. They kept their conversation limited.

“So what have you been up to?” Bryan asked.

“Oh you know. Stuff. What about you?”

“Stuff.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence. Linz glanced down at her fake nail tips and grimaced. She could not wait to get home and rip them off.

Bryan stared out his window at Belmont’s gated mansions. They looked more Beverly Hills than Boston.

Linz finally turned into a long driveway. Valets stood at the end, waiting to whisk the car away. Bryan took in the enormous French classical chateau and whistled. It was nestled in its own little forest. “Who lives here?”

Linz hesitated. “My dad.” She got out, leaving him flummoxed.

“This is your house?”

She threw him a look. “I moved out in college.”