The Porn Identity

Chapter 15

       Saturday was usually my off day, but I didn't have a thing to do. Manny and I had planned to spend the day together, but he'd called and cancelled last minute due to not feeling well.

       "Are you sick?" I asked around eight in the morning.

       "No, I'm just tired."

       He didn't sound tired, he sounded sad. "Okay. Feel better."

       I didn't push because sometimes people need a break. I would know. But hopefully whether he was actually physically sick or just taking a mental health break, he'd open up to me when he was feeling a little better.

       With nothing else to do I decided that I might as well go into work. I know, I know, I should use my time off for R&R but what can I say? I like my job. I'm lame like that.

       Anyway, it was still summer term so the nearby dorms were mostly empty and the foot traffic this drizzly Saturday morning was mild at best. Jackson was in because he'd been picking up extra shifts since he'd resigned from his second job to prep for his CDL license. We didn't need a chef this late in the day so he alternated between helping pasha behind the counter, bussing tables, and writing down his recipes for whoever the next baker would be in a big blue binder.

       Otherwise, the day was mundane.

       Since school was out most of the clubs weren't renting the upstairs rooms so Johnny had his run of the place. At about two I walked a tray of refreshments up for him because it's important to stay hydrated in this heat...and I was bored and wanted to be nosy.

       He was upstairs in the first room off the stairs. The door was closed—he did that when he painted during open hours to try to block the smell of his paint from drifting downstairs and disrupting paying customers. It worked I think, no one's complained yet but honestly that fancy acrylic paint he used barely even had a smell.

       I walked up the old silver tray loaded up with a glass of strawberry lemonade and some of the leftover pastries and sandwiches that were marked for the trash if no one ate them by the end of the day. I could hear the radio going from the other side of the door. Lou Gramm was waxing poetic 'bout 'A Girl Like You'. He must be listening to the Eagle, the only classic rock station left on the Burenville airwaves.

       "Hey!" I pushed through the door and bounded over to Johnny and his easel with a big smile. "Brought you some snacks."

       He turned to me, wiped his hands on a cloth, and looked at the lemonade with interest. "...Being nosy?"

       "What? No!" I sat the tray on the edge of the table.

       "Evie, I know you." He tossed his rag onto his hard plastic art storage box. It was propped open; most of his supplies were spread out on the table. "You don't do anything without ulterior motives. You especially don't give stuff away for free."

       "That's not true. I give you my time and presence free of charge. That's quite the privilege."

       He crossed his arms over his chest. "Privileges come with fine print all the time."

       "Okay, fine! I want to see the dog." He smiled then stood to the side. The canvas wasn't too big—just 11x14. His under sketch still peeked from behind the fresh layer of paint. Conan was 'smiling', his eyes bright and happy, and his chestnut coat full and shiny. Propped up on the table was a piece of printer paper with Conan's likeness printed in colored ink. The painting was almost an exact copy. I turned back to him, excited. "Conan the Pomeranian looks good."