“Here, eat.” Jax cut a slab of warm lasagna from the casserole dish. She checked that the portion had straight edges before sliding it onto the plate in front of Lou.
“Mm. It smells really good.” Was this the aroma of lasagna, or the breath of miracle?
“Yesterday I was in a cooking mood. But I made too much.” She used her spatula to measure out a perfect square for herself. Then she scraped the sides of the casserole to get the remaining bits. “You’re doing me a big favor by eating some.”
“Hey, glad to help.” Lou watched Jax serve herself and settle into the chair across the table.
“Because Anne’s at Philip’s, and Willow went home for a couple of weeks. Do you know Willow?”
“Uh-uh.” He took a bite, a good excuse to not speak.
“My other roommate. Anyway, I made all this lasagna, and then got worried I’d have to eat it all myself.” She rolled her eyes at such a horror.
“Huh.” Another bite.
“Silly, right? So I’m kind of relieved you showed up.”
“Anytime. Especially if eating is involved.”
“Do you like it?”
Lou nodded and swallowed. “Yeah. It’s great.” Great to not have a meltdown. Great to sit this close to Jax, behave himself, appear quite sane. Great to see the curve of her cheek, the outline of her lips, the flutter of each eyelash.
“So, tell me about yourself, Louie.”
Lou shared a few bits of his life and skipped others. No need to bring up the garbage truck or psych experiments. He asked Jax what kept her busy, then sat back to treasure each second.
Jax was an art major, she said, taking intensive workshops in drawing over the summer. She went on, since Lou showed such interest, to explain the twenty grades of drawing pencil and how the degree of graphite affects their hardness. She talked about the techniques of Albrecht Dürer, how she was using them to draw contemporary objects. She started in on various types of erasers, then stopped short. Jax put her elbows on the table and leaned in.
“Do you want to see some of my drawings? If you’re done eating, that is.”
The automatic, easy response came first. “Yeah, sure.” Lou began to rise. “Let me get the dishes.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll put them in the dishwasher later.”
The confused, internal talk came second. I’m not stoned. This is real. Be cool, Lou. It’s not a dream, right? She’s just being sociable. I think. But to see her “sketches?” She didn’t say it like that. You’re getting way ahead of things.
“Let’s go upstairs. They’re in my sketchbooks...”
I told you!
“…in my bedroom.”
Oh, fuck.
Lou followed Jax up a narrow staircase and down a short hallway. A stretch of white butcher paper covered her door from top to bottom. Lou stopped to enjoy the slapdash array of stickers, tiny portraits, hand prints, polaroid snapshots, designs in acrylic, crayon, and watercolor. Red, blue, and yellow pencils dangled on strings for use by any visitor. A ceramic sign, hung on the doorknob, proclaimed “Danger. Art Inside.”
“Welcome to my den. Sorry, it’s a little cluttered.”
Lou stepped into a space a world away from his own spare and functional bedroom. His eyes darted about, unable to settle on any one thing. A shroud of orange netting softened the rigid angles of the sloped ceiling. Movie posters of James Dean and Marlon Brando broke up the shifting shades of blue walls. He approached an easel and gazed at the unfinished painting, a darkly overcast sky pierced by narrow beams of sunlight over a roiling sea.
Nearby, a jumble of supplies littered the surface of a small drafting table. Brushes, water jars, tubes of paint, solvents, rags, charcoal. Lou picked up a palette knife and felt its balance. He held it to his nose, the smear of yellow and white paints offering an earthy, sweet smell.
Lou scanned the homemade shelves against one wall. The jam of books included titles for art techniques and history, classical renaissance works, the Dutch masters, impressionism, cubism, surrealism. Piles of books dotted the floor and grew on the window sill.
“So this is where I spend a lot of time, when I’m not at the studio.” She smoothed a colorful quilt on her bed and sat there.
The sight of her room dazzled Lou. He tried to take it all in, but failed under the assortment of unfamiliar items. He felt, what was it, awe? Ignorance? Maybe a trace of intimidation? A moment passed before he found his voice. “This is amazing. There’s just…so much.”
“I know, right? I can’t help it. It’s like, the more I learn, the more I want to do.”
Lou sat down next to Jax, his eyes wide with wonder.
Jax reached down under her bed and came up with a handful of sketchbooks. “Here’s what I wanted to show you.”
If one could mainline joy, it must feel like this.
She opened the top sketchbook and flipped through pages of small drawings of commonplace objects. She stopped at a picture of a motorcycle in full side view. Lou lacked expertise, but liked how the drawing showed the bike’s contours and proportions. Few details were included in the sketch.
Jax turned to subsequent pages. The motorcycle theme continued, but with different perspectives and more detailed components. More pages featured other bike models. The level of detail and precision grew to include gleaming chrome parts and the thick texture of the tires. The later drawings used intricate cross-hatching to give them depth and dimension.
Jax pointed out the shadows and curves of the motorcycle. “Here’s where I’m trying to draw like Albrecht Dürer. Not that he ever did bikes.”
“This is done just with pencil? Wow.”
Jax flipped to another page for a different bike, then to one last page. Lou recognized that bike. Red pigment had been added with a color pencil. It was a full view of a 1952 Indian Chief. Astride the bike, in his leather vest, aviator shades, and Fu Manchu moustache, was Kai.
Lou pulled back from the sketchbook. What’s this all about? Why did Jax show him this biker? His gut clenched. The evening had been going so well.
He looked up at Jax and saw that she was watching him closely, biting on her lower lip.
“What’s going on? Why’d you show me this…this biker guy?”
“Kai.” She closed the sketchbook and put it aside. “I’m surprised you remember him.”
“Yeah, I do. I’m not really thrilled to see your…you know.” Lou wasn’t certain what Kai was to Jax. Her macho boyfriend? Lou preferred to bury that idea under layers of denial.
“I’m sorry, Louie. I didn’t mean to upset you. I forgot about that drawing until just now. Anyway, he was just some guy I drew. He said I could draw his bike, but I’d have to draw him, too.”
“Just some guy. Really?” He rubbed on the knots in his belly.
“Really. I mean it. I just liked his bike. I haven’t even seen him since then.”
Lou’s stomach muscles eased up. These visceral reactions happened whenever he was with Jax. There was no sense to it. Why should he care about some biker? Lou took a breath. He had no call to get so worked up. He had no claim on Jax.
“Nah, I’m sorry. My fault. I was out of line.”
“Let’s forget it. We don’t have to look at my drawings.” She took his hand in hers and squeezed a couple of fingers.
Jax’s touch captured his senses. His distress over Kai vanished. The wonder of being so close to Jax pushed out the shame and confusion of seconds ago. Lou couldn’t deny the thrill. If one could mainline joy, it must feel like this.
“We can just talk, if you want.” Jax released his hand and leaned back upon her pillows.
“Yeah.” Lou’s thoughts were still jangled. Better for him to go slow.
“Anne told me you’re from back east. Did you come out here for school?”
“Not really. Not to go to school.” She asked Anne about me?
“No. Then what?”
“I liked the idea of it. Of a university town.” What else did Anne say?
“How come, if you weren’t a student?”
“I liked being in college. I just didn’t like the education. If that makes sense.” Then is she interested in me?
“I don’t know. Maybe. I suppose it makes sense if you don’t know what you want to study.”
“It was more how classes were taught. All the rules and schedules and crap. Cramming two hundred students into a lecture hall. I hated it.” Lou shifted around on the bed. He fidgeted with his fingers while he worked up more nerve. “Hey, Jax, can I ask you something?”
Jax pulled her knees in and wrapped her arms around them. “Sure, Louie.”
“Before, when we were outside, I hardly said anything. I mean, we keep running into each other, sort of, but you don’t really know me.”
“Yeah?”
“So, how come you invited me in?”
Jax laughed, a disarming sound that helped them both relax. “What, I can’t be friendly?”
“You know what I mean. I’m basically a stranger. Are you that open with every guy you meet?”
“I could ask you the same thing. How come you came inside? What if I was an axe murderer?”
Lou shook his head. “No, that’s just crazy. It’s different for guys.”
Jax looked away and brought her knees in closer. She spoke in a lower, somber tone. “Don’t say that. Don’t.”
Lou missed the shift in her mood, caught up in his own question. “I’m not complaining about it. You’ve been great. I’m just wondering, you know, since you don’t know me.”
Jax’s voice brightened. “I do know you. Anne told me. She said you were a really nice guy. That you were kind and clever. That you made her laugh. She said you didn’t have any weird trips and you were a good friend to her. She told me that you were safe.”
Lou let all that sink in. No one had said these words to him before. He lowered his eyes as a warm flush covered his face. He regretted pressing Jax for an answer. Of course she talked to Anne. How obvious. So, maybe not such a nice guy.
“Also, you’re practically the only guy I know outside of school.”
“I’m sorry. I really am.”
“Now you get to tell me. How come you came inside?”
Lou remembered the first time, when he was stoned, and she appeared in the doorway like an angel. The jolt that electrified him from that slight touch. How he fixated on her, and paced, and sought understanding and consolation from Malcolm. The way she laughed and moved. Lou could share none of these truths. Not yet.
“I suppose because I didn’t know you at all. And I wanted to find out.” It wasn’t a lie, as much as he said.
Jax smiled at him. It was a good thing to say. Safe. Not idiotic at all.
“Now you know all about me. I go to school. I’m surrounded by art. I hole up in my room. And I hardly have any friends.” She nudged his shoulder with one finger.
Lou tilted away and back to press his wrist against her knee. “And you make a mean lasagna.”
“Yeah. That, too.”
“What else? Where are you from?” This was good. Easy banter. No confusion. No distress.
“Brooklyn.”
“Brooklyn, really?” Lou hadn’t picked up the accent. Probably wasn’t paying attention. “My mother grew up in Brooklyn. I have cousins there.” A buzz went through him. A hope that they had something in common.
“You do?” Jax spoke in a whisper. Lou thought he heard a slight hesitancy.
“Whereabouts? What neighborhood?”
Jax brought her feet down to the floor and looked away from Lou.
“What?” She was barely audible. Any trace of a smile was gone.
“Where’d you grow up? Sheepshead Bay? Flatbush?”
She didn’t reply.
“Jax?” Lou could see that something was off. He had no idea what.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“About where you grew up? How come?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She stood up and went to her easel, eyes on her unfinished painting.
“Sorry.” He had no idea why the mood completely flipped. “I didn’t mean anything.”
“I think you should go now.”
Lou went speechless. What just happened? He was finally getting comfortable. Feeling confident. Weren’t they getting closer?
The good-bye was brief and unremarkable. Lou headed downstairs and out the door, glum and bewildered. They were having a good time, weren’t they? Wasn’t he? Lou could not figure this out. Those moments of excitement, joy, and hope? Each one was shattered seconds later by something else. His heart was strung out like a yo-yo.
Lou shut the door behind him and stepped down the two brick steps. He had spent the evening doing hardly anything at all, yet came away completely exhausted.
It's sounding more and more like a mystery... The plot thickens.