Painting by The Numbers

I pulled him a little closer.

"The stars, what were they?"

"Vega and Altair. The lovers."

"So, once a year they get together and act on their love. I guess they take advantage of the opportunity they have."

Calvin leaned closer, whispering in my air. "Together. Taking what they want."

Turning my head, my lips met his.

I didn't need a mirror to tell me that I was flushing. The heat was rising through my chest and neck. The kiss reached all the way down to my toes and grabbed my chest on its way. As Calvin stepped closer and wrapped his hands around my back, I marveled at how strong he was and yet how soft his lips were. We stayed there, gently exploring each other, until the door opened.

A guy carrying a pile of books walked in.

"Oh, sorry. I just... Yeah, I need to get some work done on the new program? The sounds not matching up and, yeah, look, I can come back."

I started giggling, and Calvin smiled.

Shaking my head, I replied. "No, it's fine. I've got to get going anyway."

Calvin walked me out to the car.

"Do you need a ride anywhere? You going to your aunt and uncle's?"

"No. I will be doing some lifting later, but that's it."

I gently bit my lower lip. "I had a great time. I'm really happy we did this. Who would've guessed you were an astronomy buff?"

Calvin smiled. "Me wrestler. Me use small words. Me not smart."

"No," I smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "Not because you're not capable of it, but because you never mentioned it. I like learning new things about you. I'll be busy tomorrow. Have to finally get some work done, and then I'm heading over to Nicky's for a while, so he can help me with an interview. Maybe we could meet up the next day? I'm doing an interview with a radio station in the morning, but I've got the rest of the day free."

He shrugged. "I do not wish to wait, but if I have to, I have to. I'd like to see where you work sometime."

"Alright, well, today was on you, so the next one will be on me. I'll figure something out and text you."

Calvin looked at me awkwardly, leaning in slightly. It was sort of adorable. He was taking far too long, so I stepped in, put my hand behind his neck and pulled him down to kiss me. I was halfway home, still feeling the kiss, when I had an irrational urge to pull over and text him.

Once I got to my place, I took a very long, very hot, very satisfying shower and relieved some of that pressure that was building. I wanted to work on some sketches for an hour, but when I checked the clock, three hours had slipped by. After watching some mindless television while eating a salad, I went to bed and was soon asleep.

I woke up in the middle of the night and sat up, breathing hard, my heart beating fiercely. The details were fleeting and slipping from my mind like a fog on a bright sunny day. There had been a wrestling match. The stadium was full, and I had a canvas and a brush off to the side. I was painting as Calvin was grappling. Suddenly, my vision shifted and I was looking up at him. My back was on the mat. Calvin was pinning me, and he was naked. The fans were silent as Calvin mounted me. A man fell to the ground next to me and began tapping his hand on the mat like a referee. I looked over and saw that it was John, his eyes furrowed and a frown on his face.

I tried to squirm away, but Calvin held me in place. Suddenly realizing that I was also naked, I looked at the crowd and they were all staring at me. That's when I woke up. Taking three deep breaths, I sat there on the side of my bed, feet on the ground. I was covered in sweat. Getting up, I put on a pair of sweats and an oversized T-shirt and went out to the small studio I had next to the living room and turned on the fan. Plopping down on the couch, I sat there in the dark for five minutes. Clearly, my fingers in the shower hadn't been enough.

Finally getting up, I turned on the lights, grabbed the iPad and started working. My constant yawning and the sun rising told me I should try to get a few more hours of sleep. After getting a large glass of water, I went back to bed. This time I slept soundlessly and got back up at ten.

I called Cat. When she picked up, I could hear customers in the background.

"Bad time?"

"Well, it's not the best. You want to come down here and lend a hand?"

"I sort of walked into that one, didn't I? If I do, are you buying dinner?"

"I'll do you one better, I'll also buy lunch."

"So, I guess you're saying that Nicky is making dinner?"

She laughed. "You got me. You get your brother's cooking for dinner, and I'll buy us lunch at the store. What do you say?"

I looked over at the studio, the easel, and the canvas. Sighing, I shook my head.

"Okay. Another day down the tubes. Let me take a quick shower, and I'll be right over."

"You're the best. Love you."

She hung up, and as I made my way to the bathroom, I lamented the loss of another productive day. When I got to the store, customers were lined up to the door. The boutique had always done well. Not gangbusters, but well. Cat always had enough to pay her bills and then some, but she wasn't going to get rich off the store.

That may have been changing. It seemed like every time I stopped by, she was busier than the last time. Cat had one girl that worked part-time. It wasn't enough. As usual, I parked in the back and went in through the rear entrance. Grabbing an apron, I walked through the swinging doors to the front of this boutique.

"Hi. Welcome to Cat's Chocolates. What can I get for you?"

As my aunt walked past me with a box full of some treat or another, she kissed my cheek. "Thanks, Ronnie."

She even ordered Mexican food from the first place Nicky had gotten us food from. He wasn't comfortable visiting Mom and Dad's place, and I wasn't shy about co-opting Cat's home if I wanted to see my brother. I had lied and told him that Cat loved that restaurant and that she knew he was coming over.

It all turned out okay in the end. They got married, and I got Mexican food. As we closed up the store, I looked over at the mess left in the back kitchen.

"You really, seriously need to hire somebody else."

"I know. Are you looking for a job? Is that art thing working out for you?"

"Funny. But seriously, you've got to do something."

"Yeah. I have ads in the paper and I'm interviewing two people tomorrow."

I stood where I was as the heavy door closed behind us, and the alarm was set. She turned to look at me with an eyebrow raised.

"Um, John's not going to be there, right?"

Cat shook her head with a thin, sad smile. "No, honey. He's not. It's just gonna be us."

Nick had made some stew with the high-end meat from the people who wanted his endorsement. He's not usually the best of cooks, but it was really good. Even the girls ate it without complaint, although Liz put a quarter of a bottle of ketchup in hers. After we watched a million hours of cartoons, I put the girls to bed. Lori grabbed onto my wrist.

"Tell us a Princess Penelope."

"C'mon, you're too old for half sentences. What do you want to hear?"

Liz spoke up from her bed. "Tell us a Princess Penelope story."

She emphasized story, drawing out the word. "I can't. I need to talk to your dad for a while. Next time, I promise."

The girls grumbled, but not too much. I planted kisses on each of their foreheads and went back to the kitchen. Nicky was having coffee and Cat had a cup of tea waiting for me. Nicky used his foot to push out my chair for me. Always the gentlemen. He waited patiently while I sat down and squirted some honey into the tea.

"So, this isn't a big deal to somebody like you, but I'm being interviewed tomorrow by a radio station in Cleveland. I'm beyond nervous. I know what you'll say. That you were a teenager when you were on The Tonight Show. You've done interviews all over the country, you dated a journalist, you've got a regular spot on ESPN. Don't worry, Ronnie. It'll be fine, Ronnie. You're worrying about nothing, Ronnie. Well, that's not really helpful."

Eyes wide, he smiled, looked at Cat, and then back at me. "You do realize you just had a full conversation, and I didn't participate at all, right? I wasn't going to say anything like that. What I was going to say is I'm proud of you and that it's about time you started getting the recognition you deserve. Of course, you're going to be nervous. But what will probably happen is you'll start talking to them and within five minutes you'll realize they're just people and you'll calm down.

"I told you about the limo that took me to The Tonight Show. I told you about the green room. I told you about the other guests. What I never told you was about me throwing up in the bathroom a few minutes before I had to go on. About people thinking my chewing gum during the interview was because I was a smartass. I wasn't at all. I was trying to get the taste and smell of puke out of my mouth. I was so nervous that I thought I was gonna have a heart attack. Nervous is normal. Nervous is fine. You'll get over that quick, and I'm sure the hosts are pros. Let your notes carry you through the start of the interview. Have you done any research? Did you read up on the hosts, get your facts down and read their bios?"

I nodded. "I did. They sent over an info packet, and I read through it a couple of times. Then I Googled the two hosts and the comedian they usually have on."

Nicky raised another eyebrow. "Comedian? Please tell me these guys aren't some idiot shock jocks. That format hasn't been funny or popular for decades."

"I don't know. Maybe I should've seen if they had any of their shows online. It's a sports show, so I don't think they can be too over-the-top."

We spent another hour talking about interviews and what I should talk about if given the opportunity. By the time I got back to my place. I was feeling much more comfortable.

I was up by five in the morning. It wasn't by choice. I tried to compromise with my brain and let it give me another half hour of sleep. No luck. Giving into the inevitable, I took a shower and made some breakfast. I kept checking my watch.

It was a Disney collectible that Cat gave me for my eleventh birthday. I never wore it while painting and had it repaired twice. That watch was going to go in my grave with me. Snow White was my favorite character, and I had no idea how Cat had gotten the watch, but she did. I loved it then and I love it now. Still, I didn't love how slow it was moving.

Five minutes before they were supposed to call. I suddenly ran to the bathroom, thinking I had better pee. Sitting there, I finally calmed down. I was in my mid-20s, not mid-80s. It was gonna be a twenty-minute conversation, tops. My bladder wasn't going to fail me. I went back to my couch and began reading on the iPad.

These Little Piggies

When the call came through, I went through a quick soundcheck with the producer. I expected all this technical jargon and for him to ask me to get up and move a little bit this way or that way to see if my cell would have better reception in another room. None of that happened. It was actually pretty informal, and he wanted to know if I had any questions. I had expected them to be asking questions of me, so we just wound up bullshitting until it was time to go live with the hosts.

It wasn't as nerve-racking as I had anticipated. The producer counted me down from five, I heard a deep click and one of the hosts came on.

"Good morning, everyone out there in traffic-land on this beautiful morning. We have a guest who wasn't able to make it into the studio, so she's calling in. If any of you in the Cleveland area have enjoyed new artwork for the Browns or the Guardians, there's an excellent chance that our guest is the reason why. She is the hottest thing in sporting art, and aside from our local teams she's also working for the Olympic Committee. Ronnie Tremaine, thanks for joining us. Is it Ronnie or Veronica?"

"Thanks for having me. It's Ronnie. Only my dad calls me Veronica. Can't really tell your dad no."

He chuckled. "I'm with you there. Moms and dads get carte blanche to do what they want. So, your last name is familiar to anyone who would be listening to a sports show. You're related to Nicky Tremaine, right?"

"Yup. Nicky is my big brother."

"Was he your entry into the business? By the way, if anyone wants to see some of Bonnie's art, you can hop over to our website. We have some images posted there, and we have a link to her gallery."

Did he just call me Bonnie?

"Just to be clear, it's not an actual gallery. It's an online gallery from my website. But yeah, Nicky got me into the business. He insisted on the folks doing his video games using some of my work for the promotion. From there, I got some additional work, some for video games, some for athletes, then I got lucky. One of my pieces blew up when the athlete broke some records, and that opened a lot of doors for me."

"That's great. You're referring to the new home run king and your painting of his hitting that legendary shot. They're saying that you're the new Leroy Neiman. Is that how you see yourself?"

"No, definitely not. I'm not sure if you meant in style or success, but I don't see myself at his level in any way. His work is phenomenal and if anyone out there is crazy enough to compare us, I'm just gonna keep my mouth closed and be grateful."

He laughed. "Fair enough. So, you met Nicky late in life, is that true? Was there some sort of medical emergency going on?"

That was an awkward segue. He obviously knew what our situation was, and it could've been a hell of a lot more graceful, but I wasn't ashamed or embarrassed, so I answered.

"Yeah, there was. I don't ever use the phrase half-brother in my personal life, but technically, Nicky is exactly that. My half-brother. We didn't know each other for most of our lives, but when my kidney was failing, my father found him, and Nicky donated one of his."

"Wow. We are always reminded that athletes aren't heroes, but maybe some are. Are you up to taking a few calls?"

"Sure."

"Fantastic. Again, we're talking to Ronnie Tremaine. She's an artist who likens herself to Leroy Neiman. Frank is on line two. Go ahead, Frank."

I absolutely did not liken myself to Leroy.

"Ms. Tremaine?" The caller had a weird squeaky voice and exaggerated southern accent. "Can you hear me?"

"I can hear you fine. It's Frank, right? How are you, Frank?"

"Good. Good enough. All good. Question is, how are you? I have three of your originals, and I'm sort of wondering how you're feeling?"

I thought I heard some laughter in the background. "I'm feeling fine, Frank. Thanks for asking, I guess."

"Huh. Alrighty. Not even like a cold or something? I done heard that when an artist dies the value of their paintings goes through the roof. Zoom. Right through the damned roof. And with your kidney and all, well, you sure you doing okay?"

His southern accent kept getting thicker the longer he spoke. I wasn't sure if the audience could hear the echoes of laughter in the background or if it was just me because I was on the call.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Frank. I'm feeling fine. Bad news, I know. Keep your fingers crossed. Maybe I'll get hit by a bus soon."

The host came back on the line and spoke with a mocking severity. "That's outrageous. How dare you, Frank? You're banned from the show for two weeks. What the heck is wrong with you? Sam, hang up on this guy. Lonnie, I need to apologize for Frank. Kenny, you have a question for Lonnie?"

A smooth baritone broke in. "Hey, Ronnie. This is Kenny with a Y. Your work is fascinating. It's like the action's going to burst off the canvas. There are other times when there's so much dignity in the image you've presented of the athlete that it transcends athleticism. A side note. There's a photo by your bio on your website. Is that actually you?"

"Yeah, that's me."

Kenny with a Y continued. "Is it wrong for me to say that you are smoking hot? Seriously, listeners, go check her out. Incredible artist who is also a dime piece. Do you just do depictions of athletes in their uniforms or are there other genres that you work in?"

Were these idiots completely fucking with me?

"I guess you could say that my bread-and-butter is in depicting athletes, and most of them have a uniform of one type or another. I do, however, accept other commissions."

"Do you do nudes?" I could hear more laughter in the background as Kenny with a Y spoke. "If so, do you need models? More importantly, are you nude when you paint nudes?"

The original host came back on. "All right, that's enough. What's the matter with you people? That is totally inappropriate. Connie's a guest on our show. Connie, again, I have to apologize. I don't know what's wrong with my co host."

I had no idea what to do or what to say, so I kept quiet.

"Lonnie, are you still there?"

"Is this what you guys do?"

"Absolutely not. This is one-hundred percent a one-off mistake and will be handled. This isn't normal for our show. I can't apologize enough. We'll give you as much time as you want to address this unacceptable behavior. If you'd like to take some time to also talk about how you paint in the nude, take all the time you need."

"Does this crap get you ratings? Are you so firmly stuck in your own little bubble that you don't realize how sad and pathetic you are? Kenny with a Y? How else would you spell it, idiot? Was that some cute little thing that you came up with back in nineteen eighty-five?

"The sad thing is that if anyone else pointed out to you two jackasses that there were some guys out there who are forty years too old for college but were still acting like frat boys, you would think they were pathetic and you'd laugh at them. But that's you. Pathetic and well past your prime. You're the sad posers. Kenny with a Y, you're fifty-seven years old. You could have grandkids if you could find a woman to sleep with you.

"Terry Blanco? Another ridiculous made-up name. You're sixty-two years old. I read up on you guys on Google. And do you think that there is anyone who has ever seen you who didn't realize that you are wearing a toupee? The funniest thing about your show is that jet black piece of animal fur you put on your head with your straggly gray hair underneath. The two of you are sad and a relic of times gone by. In spite of that, I hope you have a great day. I truly do. Because at your age, you won't get many more of them. See ya."

I hung up. My phone started ringing immediately, and it was the studio. I didn't answer. Closing my eyes, I rested my head on the back of the couch and just sat there. My phone finally stopped ringing.

The last time John had texted me was when we had finished packing up my car and I left New York to come back to Ohio. He checked up on me to make sure that I had arrived okay. Now he was texting again.

Holy crap. You ripped their balls off. I was so pissed, but then I couldn't stop laughing. Congrats.

That was nice of him. Kind and sweet. It was also a lie. My first major interview and they turned me into a joke. I picked up my phone and called Nick.

"Did you hear the interview? I just killed my career."

"No, you didn't. People are going to love it. Those losers are going to come after you for a while, but every time they do, they're going to look like bullies. And if things get really bad, Cat is looking to hire somebody to work at the boutique. Do you know anything about selling chocolate?"

I couldn't help smiling. "You're an idiot."

"You want to stop by for dinner? The girls would love to see you. You can keep them up-to-date on Princess Patty."

"Princess Patty? Nicholas, your knowledge of literature is abysmal. It's Princess Penelope Purplepants."