Portraits of Summer

I led the way through the French doors to the deck. I was rather proud of my intimate dinner arrangements. The table was laid with fresh linen napkins and silver plate under liners. The centerpiece was a large crystal bowl filled with ice water and floating wheels of orange and lemon slices, interspersed with floating candles and small daisy crowns. The bulk of Summer's bouquet of wildflowers were loosely contained in a small crystal vase.

The tiki-lamps were lit all around the deck and soft music poured through the speakers. It was a relaxing and romantic atmosphere. I seated Summer and filled two fluted glasses with chilled white wine. I selected a Pinot Blanc Alsace, the perfect accompaniment for a casual fare. I watched as she examined my culinary handiwork. I could tell she was impressed.

For appetizers, broiled jalapeno peppers stuffed with a blend of cheeses and wrapped in bacon strips. A small mescaline leaf-lettuce dinner salad with cherry tomatoes followed, topped with crumbled blue cheese, and croutons. The main course was savory chicken and pecan salad made from sautéed breast of chicken, fresh bacon bits, a trinity of raw sweet onions, bell pepper, and chives, seasoned with a hint of garlic and lemon zest and served cold as a sandwich on fresh buttered croissants. It was garnished with slices of fresh avocado bathed in lemon juice.

"It looks delicious," Summer said warily. "What's the occasion?"

I shrugged. "It's nothing; just my way of saying 'thanks' for the new suit. Is the wine okay?"

She nodded silently and sampled the peppers.

"Fuck, Sonny...where did you learn to cook like this?" she asked with awe.

"I watch a lot of cooking shows. All those Friday nights home alone were bound to pay off sooner or later," I said wryly.

"I doubt very seriously you spent too many nights home alone," she said rolling her eyes at me.

"Mom sure as hell never cooked like this," she added as she pointed her fork to her plate. "I hate cooking. It's such a bore."

"That's because you go about it the wrong way," I argued. She gave me a quizzical look.

"Cooking and sex are a lot alike. Cooking is nothing more than foreplay. Eating is the climax. The more time you put into foreplay, the more satisfying the orgasm."

She tilted her head curiously at me. "I never thought of it that way before. If you fuck like you cook, you must be hell in bed," she giggled.

"Let's just say no one I ever dated suffered from malnutrition," I chuckled in response.

Summer suddenly burst into laughter.

"If what you're saying is true, can you imagine how bad Mom and Dad's sex life must have been? No wonder Dad always looked like he was starving!"

I joined her in poking fun at our parents. "I think Dad ate a lot of fast food when Mom wasn't looking," I snorted.

"No way!" she gasped in disbelief. "Do you really think so?" she asked. I nodded and flashed her a grin.

"Do you think Mom knew?" she asked as her laughter subsided.

"I think the more important question is did Mom care?" I retorted. "Do you remember that couple who moved in down the street when we were living in Pensacola?"

"The redhead with tits?" she asked almost automatically.

"That's the one!" I nodded with a wink.

Her hands flew to her cheeks as she hissed loudly, "Dad was doing Mrs. Bennett?" She burst into a fit of giggles. "Mom hated her! She called her 'Peg' because Mrs. Bennett reminded her of Peg Bundy."

I shrugged and grinned in response. "Well, she didn't hateMr. Bennett," I said giving her a knowing glance.

She sucked in her breath sharply with surprise. "Mom and Mr. Bennett? How do you know?" she demanded.

"I walked in on them one day," I explained without looking up. "They were in the kitchen together and I came home from school early. He had her bent over the kitchen table."

Summer shielded her eyes with one hand and held up her palm in front of her with the other.

"No! Please, stop! I can't listen to any more of this," she insisted with a groan of feigned disgust. "We atebreakfast on that table!"

"Apparently, Mr. Bennett ate lunch there, too," I snorted. Summer wadded her napkin and threw it across the table at me. She was laughing hysterically and tears streamed down her cheeks.

"No! Seriously, Sonny! Stop!" she demanded as she fanned her face with both hands.

"I'm scarred for life now! I'll need ten years of therapy and I'll still never be the same," she said choking back laughter. Summer's laughter was like music to my ears.

I gave her a devilish grin and asked, "Well, would you be okay if I told you I was just making it all up?" I returned the napkin with a toss across the table and laughed at her stunned expression.

Her face turned serious again and she murmured under her breath, "I'm not speaking you to anymore."

"Well, if you aren't speaking to me, you shouldn't eat my cooking either," I declared as I reached across the table for her plate. She gave my hand a hard smack and continued eating in silence while I smiled smugly to myself. I refilled her glass with wine and she touched her glass to mine.

"This is so good," she breathed as she sat back in her chair and rolled her eyes towards the darkening night sky.

"Thank you. I'm glad you like it. How about when we finish, we clean up the kitchen and take a walk on the beach?" I suggested.

"You? Walk on the beach?" she asked with doubt. "I thought you wanted to sketch me tonight."

"Well, you look so nice all dressed up. It would be a shame to keep you locked up at home. I'd rather go for a walk, I think," I said quietly.

*****

"This is nice." Summer breathed deeply and sighed as she hugged my arm for balance in the uneven sand.

In the waning moonlight, she was stunning. I noted her slender neck, exposed beneath the simple coiffeur of her ponytail. The tilt of her head gave her the graceful arch of a swan where wisps of pale gold silk began. A small diamond pendant glistened and drew attention to the swell of her breasts where the sundress fell short of concealing them completely from view.

"It is nice," I agreed as I patted her hand on my arm. I laced my fingers between hers and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

We meandered along the water's edge for a while before she spoke again.

"Sonny, I have a confession to make." She glanced sideways at me with trepidation. "I want you to draw me."

"You do? Why?" I asked somewhat puzzled by her admission.

"Because I think you are an amazing artist. And, because...well, I've always felt a little guilty about you," she shrugged.

"Guilty about me...why would you feel guilty about me?"

"Do you remember when we were in college?" she asked.

"Sure. You were the most popular girl in school and I was...well, a bit of a renegade. What about it?"

"I always thought Dad was too hard on you. If he had shownyou the same support and attention he showed me, there's no telling who or where you would be now," she explained.

"That's just Dad, Summer. It's different between fathers and sons. It's a competition and God knows, I could never compete with Dad," I said with a frown.

"You're an awful lot like him, Sonny."

"Me? Nah...Dad probably never made a bad decision in his life. Istayed in trouble back then," I chortled.

She abruptly stopped in her tracks. "Youare like him, Sonny. You look like him, just as handsome and strong. You're more like him than you think," she said as she laid a hand against my chest.

"You think Dad's handsome?" I asked cocking my head at her in the semi-darkness.

"Dad's a lot of things. Handsome is just one of them," she said with an edge of irritation in her voice.

Summer's change of tone sent a prickle up my spine. I'd never heard her utter a single word of criticism about Dad. Now, she seemed to be trying to tell me something about our father that I wasn't understanding.

"Sonny, Iknow what happened to that picture you drew of me when we were young. Dad has it," she said flatly.

"What do you mean,Dad has it?" I snarled in disbelief.

"He kept it, Sonny. All these years, he kept that drawing."

"Why would he do that?" I asked.

"He saw how talented you were and he wanted you to follow in his footsteps. He didn't want you to become an artist. He didn't want anyone to see how much talent you had."

"You knew this? You've known all along that he kept that picture and you never told me, Summer?"

My mind was reeling. Simply knowing the drawing still existed was a shock, but knowing Dad had deliberately tried to discourage me from the one thing I was good at was quite another.

"I couldn't tell you, Sonny. I just couldn't..." she said shaking her head. There were tears in her eyes as her voice faltered.

I kicked at the sand in frustration.

"Summer, I need time to think about this. I mean, this is just too fucking much to absorb," I said shaking my head.

The good news was, Summer wanted me to draw her. The bad news was, I wasn't sure I wanted to now. My confidence was shaken. What if I wasn't good enough to capture what I saw in her? If Dad kept that drawing, he must've seen something in my talent. But, if I tried and failed, it would just be another in a long list of failures.

Summer and I walked back to the beach house in total silence.

"What are you going to do, Sonny?" she asked when we reached the deck.

"I'm going to go to bed. I'm going to hole up in my room and sulk and pout for the rest of the night, like I always do. Then tomorrow, I'm going to draw you," I said with conviction.

"This is myone chance to do whatI want to do. I'm not going to pass up that opportunity. As a writer, I'm nothing more than a two-bit hack. I have to at leasttry this, Summer. If it doesn't work out, they can't say I didn't have the most beautiful model available. It'll be on me. It'll be my success or my failure. Not Dad's, not anyone's but mine."

I took her by the shoulders and gave her a kiss on the forehead. "Night, Sis. See you in the morning."

*****

It was Saturday evening as I applied the finishing touches to my appearance. I paused to glance at the stack of photos and sketches from the past few days. In each one, Summer was undeniably beautiful as always, but as I studied them, there remained something lacking in them. There was an expression, a look,something undefinable that wasn't there.

I'd seen it on occasion in other photos taken of Summer; a vague, subtle hint of what I sought.

I left the stacks of portraits laying where they were and went in search of my sister. It was time to leave for the charity event I so dreaded attending. But, I had promised, and Summer was looking forward to it.

"Are you ready?" I asked as Summer looked up when I made my entrance to the living room.

"Fuck, Sonny...you're going to be worth a small fortune tonight," she said with admiration as she looked me over. Her compliment bolstered my ego and I offered her an arm as I escorted her to the car and driver that waited on the street.

The charity for the homeless was a mere ten-minute ride away, and before I could count the minutes, we were there. With Summer on my arm, we mixed and mingled among society's elite, downing champagne and cocktails to calm the flutter of nerves in my stomach. The names and faces were a blur to me as she introduced me to many of those in attendance.

"Sonny, this is my publisher, Mel. Melanie, this is Sonny, my brother," Summer was suddenly saying.

I turned to acknowledge the introduction from Summer and I found myself staring, speechless, at the most alluring woman I'd met lately. She was tall and leggy with hair the deep color of copper, neatly bobbed, and a sweep of feathers over her hazel eyes. Her lips had a full, natural pout and were the rich color of blush rose wine.

Her voice was like violin music; it flowed from note to note without falter or pause.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," she hummed over the rim of a champagne glass. I had the impression I was being considered as something more than simply Summer's brother. The notion wasn't completely an unpleasant idea. I felt my designer pants pull tight under her gaze.

"How did your sister manage to corral you intothis, Sonny?" she asked.

"It was outright blackmail. Summer can be ruthless," I said smoothly.

"It usually is," Mel laughed, obviously delighted by my honesty. "I doubt there's a man here tonight who wasn't under some form of duress when they agreed."

"I'm almost sure you're right. It's the price we men pay for surrounding ourselves with beautiful, ruthless women," I nodded.

"It's for a good cause," she shrugged and tossed the hair from her eyes. "Summer tells me you're working on some portraits of her now. I'd love to see them. Your work on her books was impressive. I'd like to see more... of your work."

The master of ceremonies' announcement called the participants to backstage over the PA system.

"If you'll excuse me, Mel. I think I'm about to be sold into slavery. Duty calls."

I saluted her and downed the last of my drink. I leaned and kissed Summer's cheek as I handed her my empty glass.

The group of men being offered for auction were herded behind the scenes backstage and given instructions before the bidding began. We were handed cards with our contact information on them which we were to exchange with the winning bidder. We were also given a long stemmed red rose for our benefactors as well. I waited nervously in the wings for my turn on stage.

I was one of the last half dozen to be auctioned off. The wait was long and the effects of the alcohol wore off early. The bidding became more frantic as each man took his turn centerstage ahead of the footlights. By the time my name was announced, I was overly anxious. I almost hated Summer for conning me into this scheme.

The bidding started low, in the hundreds of dollars range, but it rose quickly as it skipped to the thousands within a few bids. I heard Summer's familiar voice call out, "Five thousand!" and my stomach flipped upside down. It was followed in quick secession by seven, ten and then twelve thousand-dollar bids.

"Fifteen!" came my sister's voice of determination.

"Thirty!" a lyrical voice countered. The entire audience inhaled as one and went silent.

Distantly, I heard the call for any last bids as I searched the crowd for the face of the one who'd bid so much on me. The gavel came down to a thunderous applause as Mel slinked forward and gave me a smile of satisfaction. My attention turned to Summer as she masked the look of shock on her face. She gathered the hem of her gown and disappeared into the crowd.

I made a quick exit down the stairs at stage left and shouldered my way through the remaining bidders. I searched the audience for Summer, but Mel appeared in my path instead.

"Where's Summer?" I asked.

"Oh...I think she left," she said sounding unconcerned.

"Summer wouldn't just leave me here," I frowned.

"She was probably bored. Maybe she found a last-minute date," she suggested. "Don't worry, Sonny. If you'll give me a few minutes, I'll have my driver take you home," she purred.

As it turned out, Summer had abandoned me. After a wait that was more like an hour than the few minutes she promised, I accepted the ride Mel offered me instead. During the short journey, we came to an understanding regarding the arrangements for our date. Mel would have dinner at the beach house the following night. I planned to cook dinner for her as part of the agreement. I kissed the back of her hand and left her staring after me as I mounted the steps of 'home' a few minutes later.

The living room was empty when I let myself in with a key. I peeled off my jacket and went in search of Summer. Her bedroom door was closed. I gave it a light tap and called her name. There was no answer. I tested the door handle and found it locked.

I decided there was simply no understanding women, not even twin sisters, as I sighed deeply and wandered to my own room for the rest of the night.

*****

Summer had been strangely quiet at breakfast and chose to abandon the beach house for the night, leaving me on my own to entertain her friend and publisher. While I'd gone to great lengths to prepare an especially sumptuous dinner, I was doubtful whether I was providing Mel with thirty-thousand dollars-worth of food and entertainment.

That evening, Mel arrived precisely on time. On the other hand, I was running behind schedule. I had dinner prepared, but I hadn't yet managed to change clothes. When the bell rang, I opened the door still wearing tight faded jeans and a sleeveless 'T'. While I expected to find Mel in evening attire, I was never so grateful to see her wearing jeans and a woman's tank-top.

"Well, you look...busy," she laughed lightly.

I overcame my surprise at her appearance. "Thank God, you came casual," I breathed my relief as I swung the door wide and invited her inside.

"I like your look, bus-boy GQ," she winked as she indicated the kitchen hand towel slung over my shoulder.

"I'm a little behind in the kitchen," I shrugged as I sheepishly tried to hide the towel behind my back. I quickly ran a hand through my hair as she preceded me into the living room. I watched the way the cheeks of her ass shifted in her jeans when she walked.

"Can I do anything to help?" she asked as she tossed her shoulder bag down on the couch and turned to face me.

I tried to blink away the look of guilt, but my eyes made a swift transition from her ass to her breasts; amazing breasts, spilling over the top of a skimpy black bra underneath the stretchy tank. I stood staring with both hands grasping the towel behind my back.

"Sonny? Sonny, can I help with anything?" she repeated.

"Huh? Oh...no, it's under control," I answered, momentarily snapping back from my trance.

"Wine. Would you like a glass of wine?" I asked as my focus returned. She nodded and seated herself on the sofa.

"Be right back," I said as I headed to the kitchen. I returned a moment later with a bottle of wine and a tray. I poured two glasses of wine and indicated the tray of thinly sliced melba toast and small dish of a pate-type spread.

"Help yourself," I suggested as I handed her a glass of chilled white wine. I waited as she applied the paste to a piece of toast and tasted it.

"Sonny, this is delicious. What is it?" she asked as she made a face of approval.

"Tarama. Greek caviar, virgin olive oil, garlic, lemon and butter," I replied with satisfaction.

"Summer said you were a good cook. Really wonderful," she murmured between bites.

"When you're ready, we'll have dinner on the deck. It's not very formal, but it's a nice atmosphere."

"Oh, I'm ready whenever you are. I'm starved!" she laughed

"Then, let's eat," I said offering her an arm to lead her to the outdoor table.

Dinner was several courses. I followed the tarama hors d' oeuvres with an appetizer of crab and crayfish chowder, then a salad of summer fruits and melons. The main course was Chateaubriand, medium-rare, with a crapaudine sauce and roasted potatoes. Desert was a fresh strawberry shortcake with heavy whipped cream and almond slivers.

By the time we got around to coffee, Melanie was appropriately impressed. Our conversation was less stilted and more personal.

"Where on earth did you ever learn to cook like that? This southern pecan coffee is to die for."

"When I was living alone, I was bored. I taught myself how to cook just to kill time," I explained.

"I've been to a lot of restaurants that couldn't come close to what you cooked tonight. You're simply amazing, Sonny. Why aren't you married?"

It was a question I was asked often over time. I didn't have a ready answer.