Story Draft

In Bed

by Ford McLain



“I want to live in Spain.”

Ted MacClesh lay naked in bed, his glasses on top of his head, and a glass of garancha in his hand. It was a very cold night in Albany, below zero, but the studio was warm, and he was comfortably ensconced beneath a flannel top sheet and a heavy down comforter. On his nightstand, to his right, was a stack of books, which included “Don Quixote,” “Iberia,” and “Death in the Afternoon.”

“Did you hear me? I want to live in Spain.”

Jane, who was lying on her side to his left, was also naked and was trying to sleep. She had heard this before.

“I know you do, love. But if we are going to get up early for the drive tomorrow, I need to sleep now.”

“Fair enough…but I will have no one to talk to, and it gets quite lonely here when you are asleep.”

“It doesn’t get lonely here without me?”

“Not as much. It’s worse when you are here and are asleep ahead of me. When you are not here, I am used to being alone. When you are here, it seems more lonely.”

Ted took a sip of his wine and placed it on the nightstand. He could hear his cat, Mister B, breathing noisily in the main area. He must have a cold again.

“Well, why don’t you turn off the lights and put your arms around me?”

“I can do that,” mumbled Ted.

And he turned off the light on the nightstand, took a last long drink from the wine glass and rolled over on his side, shimmied closer to Jane, wrapped his right arm on her side and had his left arm above her head, his hand playing with her hair. Jane smiled as she felt the tickle of his chest hair against her back and could smell the wine on his breath as he kissed the back of her neck.

“I love you, you know, Jane.”

Jane smiled, closed her eyes, grabbed his right hand with hers, brought it to her lips, kissed it, and held it close to her chest.

It had been a long day…for both of them…and a long night, most of which was spent at the Black Vulcan. Jane was happy being in bed, and she was drowsy and almost asleep. She enjoyed visiting with Ted, going to his bar with him, watching him work the room and schmooze with his bar buddies and the lovely female wait staff, and she kept an eye on him to make sure he was not drinking too much, and smiled when she saw that the bartender, Carol, was watching out for him, too. Ted could drink when he got social, and sometimes he would go beyond what he should. But not tonight. He was gregarious and enjoyed the talk and the flirting, but he did not drink anything beyond his usual stout and whiskey. He only had two stouts and two whiskeys, the last round of which he nursed.

Ted was more into something else that night. And she was a redhead.

“Did you have fun tonight, Janie?”

“I did. And I am glad that you did not drink so much. Thank you.” She squeezed his hand and he kissed the back of her neck.

“Well, we have a bit of a drive tomorrow morning. Quebec City is about 7 hours away.”

Jane thought about the redhead in the bar, the one that Ted’s eyes followed all night. She seemed to be in her late 20’s or early 30’s, was about the same height as Jane, a bit buxom, but well-proportioned, and she had the bluest eyes Jane had ever seen. And her hair was a dark red that almost seemed brown in the darkness of the oak-paneled room. Only the lighting above the bar when she came around to get a drink revealed her to be a redhead.

“Did you ever get to talk to her,” Jane asked Ted, keeping his hand against her.

“Who?

“You know. The redhead.”

“No.” Ted moved even closer to Jane and squeezed her a bit more with his arm. She could feel him against her behind, getting a little firmer.

“I should helped you out. Why didn’t you talk to her?”

“Well, I was there with you, and a gentleman always leaves with the one who brung him.”

“We are friends, Fyodor. I would have helped you out. Were you feeling shy?”

“Not at all. I was with you, and I knew you were sleeping over, so why complicate things?”

“She was awfully pretty. Nice breasts, nice ass, well-dressed, and she wore glasses. She was perfect for you. I would not have minded. You could have gone with her.”

Ted thought of the redhead, and he thought back on some of the fantasies that went through his head earlier that night as he watched her. He wanted her, and he wanted to bring her home with him, but he also wanted to spend time with Jane, as he was doing at this moment. And there was the trip tomorrow.

“I was with you. I am here with you now. We are driving to Quebec tomorrow morning. Why complicate things?”

“But you were into her, I could tell. Why deny it?”

Ted kissed her ear and kept playing with her hair. His other hand went back to Jane’s waist and started to move onto her hip.

“I don’t deny that I wanted her, but sometimes men need to have some sense of self-control, some sense of proportion. Priorities. I was with the woman I wanted to be with tonight.” This was the truth, he told himself.

“What if I said that I wanted you to have her?”

Ted smiled and kissed her ear, then her neck, and then her shoulder. He loved Jane’s body.

“Would you have wanted her, too?”

“You know I don’t like girls like that. But I am a bit of a voyeur. I would have enjoyed watching.”

Jane smiled, as she knew that thought would stir Ted. She felt him against her and she felt his hand move slowly from her hip down her leg and then behind and between her legs until it was where he had planned for it to be all along.

“I would have enjoyed her, if you would have watched…but we never would have gotten out of here on time in the morning. We would have had to make her breakfast and talk to her and make her feel at home and welcome, and there would have been some sort of girl talk while I took a shower, and then you two might have decided she should go to Quebec, too, and then we would have to deal with her logistics and the politics of who sits in the front and back seats, and I would have been stressed and not relaxed at all driving for 7 hours. It would have been a nightmare.”

All this time, Ted’s hand was moving slowly and purposefully inside of Jane and she was breathing heavily and rubbing against him, and she could feel him firm against her behind while his hand was inside her. His other hand still played with her hair.

“It could have been worth it. And who knows, I might have broken down and gotten into it.”

“It would have been a nightmare. At least for me. I like a lot of women around me and enjoy a good three-way, but I don’t like to be accountable and would not want to deal with it the next day.”

Jane could feel herself get closer, and Ted could feel her too. He moved his hand faster and moved up against her, and continued this in silence until she gasped a few times, exhaled and relaxed. Ted slowly removed his hand, wiped it on the outside of the flannel sheet, and placed his arm around her body again.

“Thank you,” said Jane, as she closed her eyes and smiled. Ted had good hands.

“Thanks for staying over and keeping me company. I could have picked you up in the morning.”

Then Jane rolled over and leaned on top of Ted’s chest.

“You may not believe this, Fyodor, but I like being with you. You are a good friend.”

She gently played with his graying chest hair and she kissed him lightly on the mouth. Ted was a good guy, she thought to herself, if a bit sad. A few years earlier, he was a bit of a mess, but he was working on it, and he had a good heart, and Jane knew she loved him very much. They would never marry, and they would never have children, but they would always be friends, if not always lovers.

And who knows, Jane thought to herself as she lay against him, her head on his chest and her arm around his waist, maybe she too would want to live in Spain, when they were older.

For the moment, however, she focused on Albany, on being in the bed with her friend, and did not worry about logistics for the drive the next day, like he did. Jane could tell that Ted was still awake and a bit restless, so she grabbed the wine bottle that was on her night stand, poured herself a glass, took a sip and passed it to him. And they talked late into the night. About redheads, three-ways, bourbon, Quebec, the Black Vulcan wait staff, and Spain.

As Dr. Weird says, "It begins!"

Good luck and godspeed to

President Barack H. Obama.

Cold and Snowy, Nowhere to Go...It's Pajama Day

Snow has again fallen in the city. Not much traffic thus far on Summit Avenue, so it is wirgin snow.

Lil is in her room doing whatever it is a precocious 6-year old does; I am exploring the internet, writing e-mails etc.

Both of us are going to stay in our pajamas...all day.

Why the hell not?

Andrew Wyeth

American painter Andrew Wyeth died recently, at the age of 91. I cannot say I know much or anything about him, but one of the neat things about obituaries of public figures, is it is fun to learn. The link is to his website and includes a collection of his works.

More on Painting

I am definitely confident about the lying low for a bit, as far as attempts at physical public showings (mostly UAG). It is funny: this past December, I picked up the list of shows and deadlines for 2009 and started to circle those which might have interested me, the first being the show starting Feb 6, and I realized that I started a few but had no time to complete them. And I also realized, that is no way to do art. Glad I don't paint on commission. I would likely hate that.

Oils kind of put me in a place where I am not in a rush to finish. I will sketch out the piece, recopy the sketch on canvas (mostly wood with acrylic gesso base), and then paint. And then I will get to a point where I am either tired, or have done enough and the paint needs to dry before I can work on it again, or I want to sit back and let the piece sink in , and then I will start something else. This is not to say I don't finish any. I do, especially if I have a self-imposed deadline (e.g., it's a birthday gift). But I have about five or six unfinished paintings lying around. One of them has been sitting around since September (the redhead in bed piece.

Today, I started a new piece...don't have a title of it, but it's a gender role reversal. The artist is a woman, and the guy is hanging around...nekkid, reading, smoking, relaxing. Got the background done and some flesh color for the subjects, but it will require some work. One thing I noticed, I am not very dexterous...not good painting small objects, figures.

Another piece is going to be called "Darkness Visible," and it will be a part of the redhead series. It too had been sitting around for a bit...a few weeks. The photo function on the computer is not working, so I can't share it, but it's a blue bed, a dark green nightstand, greenish yellow walls, and a figure sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed, her back and red hair to us. Most of it done with brushes, except the hair, which I used a thin pallette knife. I want to capture the isolation of depression.

Painting and Showing

Some of the most fun I had this past year - in fact, one of the highlights of the year - was showing my art and having it hung, particularly at the Upstate Artists Guild gallery. But, I think perhaps I revealed myself too soon. I am not sure.

I sold one painting this year, and it was mostly a barter deal (painting for its value in beer, whiskey and cigars over time).

But it is not for reasons of commerce...or failure of commerce...that I think I should lay low, at least for 6 months. It is because I think I need to grow and expand more as a painter:

I need to experiment more.

I need to learn more (by reading, looking at art, making love, talking to people...not through formal schooing).

I need to go deeper within myself.

This is a talent that I originally found on the advent of turning 30, from which I turned away when I fell in love, got engaged, got married, and to which I did not return until fall of 2007. And I have thoroughly enjoyed it. The artistic process...whatever that is...the creative process. The organizing of materials, the notepads, the many bar napkins from which fully realized concepts emerged. But I want to nurture it. And savor it. And enjoy it. For myself.

I'm not a total recluse...I will keep my artist site. But I think for a bit, I will not submit anything for a physical showing...for a little while. And of course, I will post things here, both in progress and completed.

INT: Blue Movie Motel, SF, CA

The painter lay back
on the bed
and watched Sadie undress.

Usually he liked to help.
He would stand behind and
unfasten buttons,
pull sweaters and tops over heads,
gently pull down skirts and blue jeans,
all the while
kissing or biting necks,
wrapping arms around waists and shoulders...
all this in front of the mirror, so they could watch.

But this afternoon, in this motel,
with Sadie,
whom he had yet to see naked,
the painter felt like watching,
as she slowly undressed for him,
unfastening her own buttons,
pulling off her top over her head,
gently sliding her skirt down and stepping out of it.

And the painter lay back and stoically sipped his bourbon,
and when she was almost totally naked,
he firmly said:

"leave the pearls on."

(c) fprm, 2009.