Learning-to-Feel (24 page)

I took the shaving cream and lathered it in my hand. His eyes widened. "I was only joking about shaving my head," he said with a laugh.

I rubbed the cream along his jaw. "I know, baby." When I had the cream lathered on his skin, I ran some hot water and picked up his razor.

Slowly, carefully, I shaved him. With medical precision, I placed the blades against his skin and gently drew the razor downwards. He didn't speak. He just lifted his chin for me when I needed, turned his head left, then right, and straightened out his dimple and bottom lip so the razor glided smoothly along his skin. His eyes never left mine. He watched the concentration on my face, in my eyes, as I took my time, savored the moment, ensured his skin was flawless.

When I was done, I dabbed his skin with the towel. He looked up at me, and his eyes were clear and humbled. "Thank you," he said softly.

"Anytime." I took his hand and lead him to the bedroom, where his clothes awaited.

He got dressed while I sorted out dinner for Bentley, and when he walked down the stairs, he literally stole my breath.

He was so fucking beautiful.

Charcoal grey pants, crisp white shirt, black vest and tie and Italian leather shoes.
My
Italian leather shoes. I looked from the shoes to his face, and he shrugged.

"They go with the pants," he said with a smile.

I smiled. "You look... beautiful."

"Not too shabby yourself, Doctor."

I smiled at him. "Are you ready?"

He took a deep breath and exhaled through puffed out cheeks, then he nodded.

When we got to the Gallery, we found Mom and Dad talking to a tall, striking woman who was introduced to me to as the Director, Carmen. She smiled magnificently at me then whisked Trent away.

Mom and Dad were excited and nervous, more-so I think, than they were at my graduation, or Brendan's. Mom was just about beside herself.

Brendan, Kat and Alana arrived shortly after, and the Gallery foyer started to fill with people. East Gallery was known to show artists who went on to become the next big thing, so the people who were here came armed with checkbooks and high expectations.

Some of my Bostonian friends were here tonight to support Trent, the ones who were fine with my being gay. A few other friends said they were fine, but over time had faded away. And that’s okay.

When Dani, Adam, Lucas and Carla arrived, Trent was so humbled. I thanked them for making the trip, and they all agreed they wouldn't have missed it for the world. I think it shocked Trent to see how many people turned out in support of him.

When Carmen called for everyone's attention, silence and anticipation filled the room. Trent stood beside her as she ran through her spiel about her Gallery and the new and exciting works of one Mr. Trent Jamieson. She opened the rope barricade, and when the lights came on in the main viewing room, people wasted no time in walking through.

I’d seen these paintings before a thousand times, I’d lived with them. But to see them displayed with expert lighting and name plaques, artfully spaced and perfect, was something else entirely.

Vices and Virtues.

The seven vices, Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy and Pride.

The seven virtues, Chastity, Temperance, Charity, Diligence, Patience, Kindness and Humility.

To say people were amazed was an understatement. People nodded, smiled, gasped and stared.

The room was large, rectangular in shape. Seven Vices lined one wall, Seven Virtues the other. They faced off against their opposite. They aligned perfectly, the lighting complimented the art like it too was a part of the artists work.

The effect was striking.

There was an open door to another room, which I could see some people going into, and I presumed it led to the rest of the Gallery. As I got to the door to see what all the fuss was about, my mom grabbed me. "They’re talking big things of him, Nathan. I’m so proud of him," she gushed.

"Me too," I told her. "He’s come so far."

I looked toward the door where people continued to walk through. "What's in there?" I asked. "I didn't think the rest of the Gallery would be open."

"Oh," she said distractedly. She looked around the room, grabbed Trent's eye, and he excused himself from the conversation he was in and walked over to us.

He was smiling brilliantly, and he exhaled loudly, relieved, when he got over to us. "It all seems positive," he said.

"Oh, Trent," I grinned at him. "They love it."

He nodded and looked around at the guests who were admiring his work.

I looked pointedly at the other room. "What's in there?" I asked him.

His eyes widened, just a fraction, and his smile faded. "Um, Nathan... I was going to tell you, but I wanted it to be a surprise... " he trailed off. Well, now my curiosity was more than piqued. I stepped toward the mystery room, but he grabbed my hand. "Wait. I want to show it to you."

He pulled me toward the door and told me to close my eyes. Carefully leading me inside, I could tell even with my eyes closed the lighting was darker. "Here," he said, when we'd reached some magic marker. "Now, open your eyes."

So I did.

And on the wall before me was the painting he made for me. The one of falling leaves, in all the colors of me, was there in a room all by itself. The room was dark, except for a spotlight emphasizing the canvas on the wall. It looked... it looked... fucking spectacular.

"It’s here for you," he said quietly beside me.

I looked from the painting, to him. "Trent... "

He was quick to explain. "I told Carmen she could show it. But not for long, and it’s not for sale. I know I said I didn't want to show any of my work that involved you. But I wanted to do this
for
you. I wanted to show you... "

"Trent," I said in a whisper, and he stopped talking. I looked at him. "You're amazing."

He smiled hugely. "You like it?"

I nodded. "I love it."

My mom and Carmen came up beside us and were all knowing smiles. I asked my mom, "You knew this would be here?"

She nodded. Then I looked at Trent, "How did I
not
know about this?"

He answered sheepishly. "I knew you were working a double shift for the two days it'd be gone, and I hoped like Hell you wouldn't notice it wasn't there."

Then Carmen looked from me to the painting and then back to me when she said, "Yes, I can see the resemblance."

I felt myself blush, and I hoped the dimmed lighting hid it, but I seriously doubted it. Trent chuckled beside me and slipped his hand in mine.

"Oh, don’t be shy," Carmen said flamboyantly. "If someone as talented as Trent were to paint a piece dedicated to me, I'd be shouting it from the rooftops. Especially one that shows such pure emotion, the falling leaves, the changing of seasons, the promise of new growth," she sighed dramatically. "Learning to Feel, indeed."

My heart pounded and was so full of love, it should have hurt. I swallowed and Trent squeezed my hand. But I couldn’t talk, so I nodded.

Then my mom fanned her hands in front of her face, trrying to dry her eyes. "You're going to make me cry," she said, and I knew exactly how she felt.

But then my dad walked up to us with two flutes of champagne and handed one to me and the other to Mom. It distracted me long enough to inhale deeply and collect myself. Carmen dragged Trent away to mingle with some VIP's. After that the night seemed to fly.

When our friends from Belfast bid us farewell, they hugged Trent then me, wasting no time in telling us how blown away they were with his work. They were proud of him, and their words meant so much to him. When they said goodbye, Trent squeezed my hand tighter. I guessed honest friendships were something he’d come to value, something he’d never really known.

By the time the last of the other guests left, I’d had four or five champagnes and was cheerfully trying to convince Kat and Brendan to come out with us. "The night's not over," I told them. "You have to come out with us. There’s much celebration to be had."

"Where are you going?" Brendan asked, dubiously.

"Um, a bar on Fifth Street," I explained vaguely. "I can’t remember what it’s called." I was lying, but I didn’t think he could tell. "Kat can come with us. We're walking there, it’s
only two blocks away. Y
ou can drop Mom, Dad and Alana at home and meet us there."

"I’m not leaving my wife alone in some bar, Nathan," he huffed at me.

I grinned. "She'll be perfectly safe, I promise."

He looked at me for too long. "It’s a gay bar, isn't it?"

I grinned and nodded, and Kat laughed. "Yay!" she cheered.

The look on my brother's face was so funny, I laughed so hard my sides hurt.

* * * *

Walking into the bar was comical. It was late on a Saturday night, so the place was packed, full of thumping music, and moving men. We made a bee-line for the bar, and instantly got noticed. In our formal wear, we were very over-dressed, and Trent did look particularly fucking hot. And some of the other men openly stared at us.

Well, I thought to myself, we did bring a
woman.

I snorted with laughter, Trent shook his head at me and went to the bar. Kat looked around at all the men like a kid in a candy store. I laughed again, "Excellent, right?"

She smiled and nodded as Trent brought us our drinks.

Oooooh, green drinks.

My favorite.

"How many drinks have you had?" he asked teasingly.

"Nowhere near enough," I declared. Holding out my drink, I clinked glasses with them. "To the most spectacular artist in Boston."

Kat lifted her glass high. "Here! Here!"

Trent rolled his eyes.

When Kat tasted her drink, she crinkled her nose. I laughed and told her the first couple were a bit sweet, but by the third or fourth one, they tasted just like water.

"And how do they taste after five champagnes?" Trent asked me, grinning.

I took a long sip, nearly emptying my glass. "Like water."

They laughed at me. I looked at them expectantly and said, "Come on, slow pokes. I wanna dance."

Kat thought I was funny. Trent cocked his head to the side. "You've never complained about my slow pokes before," he said, and Kat choked on her drink. I think she may have tried to swallow her straw.

When she had recovered, I picked the straw out of her glass and threw it away. "Drink it down, Miss Katrina. I won't tell Brendan you swallow."

Trent's mouth fell open, and Kat roared with laughter. "Oh my God, Nathan," she said through her giggles. "You should totally drink more often."

"No. He shouldn't," Trent said with a smile.

I pouted, and he chuckled.

I waited until they finished their drinks and led the way onto the dance floor. I don’t know how many songs we danced for, but before I knew it, I noticed Brendan arrive.

He tried to look really cool and calm amidst a sea of grinding men, but he really just looked petrified.

He scouted the bar for us, and when he saw his wife dancing, with her arms up above her head, swaying and laughing, his eyes popped.

It was the funniest thing I’d seen all night.

He glared at me for laughing, and grabbing both Trent and Kat's hands, I led us over to him.

"Drink?" I asked him.

He nodded, and I made my way to the bar, leaving him with Kat and Trent. I ordered specific drinks and told the barman to watch my brother's face.

I carried the tray back to our table, chuckling to myself. "Jesus! How many people did you order for?" Brendan cried.

"Here," I said, handing him a shot glass. "This is for you, courtesy of the barman. I think he likes you."

Brendan spun around, and the barman who was looking played along, and gave him a small wave. Brendan's eyes widened, but he smiled, kind of, and he looked back to us. He held the shot glass to his lips and asked, "What type of drink did he get me?"

"A blow job," I deadpanned, and Brendan nearly swallowed the shot glass.

I burst out laughing, as did the guy behind the bar. Trent chuckled beside me, and Kat was doubled over laughing. Oh fuck, I amazed myself sometimes how funny I was.

"That. Was. So. Fuh. Nee," I spat out, between bursts of laughter.

Ignoring Brendan's death stare, I composed myself and handed out the other shot glasses. "My personal favourite," I declared.

"Do we even want to know?" Kat asked.

"Probably not," I admitted, but then told them anyway. "These are Cock Sucking Cowboys."

Trent laughed this time, but I was pretty sure he was laughing at Brendan's expression.

I explained to Kat, "Well, there’s no such drink called a 'Sexy-as-fuck-Texan-artist' so these had to do." I held my glass up to hers, and we knocked them back together.

"Oh, good Lord," Brendan said, mortified. He asked Trent, "Is he always like this when he drinks?"

Trent grinned and nodded. "Wait until he gets all handsy and tells everyone he loves them."

I rolled my eyes at them and reminded Trent, "You've never complained about me being all handsy before."

Brendan finished his beer and put his hands up. "Whoa. No. Stop. There’s certain shit a brother does not need to hear."

Trent laughed and downed his shot.

He was so Goddamn sexy in his tie and vest. He was so good tonight. As nervous as he was, he fucking put himself out there. I was so proud of him. "I’m so proud of you," I told him. "You were amazing tonight."

He smiled at me. The kind of genuine smile that made my heart thump. I kissed him, right on the lips, slid one hand down to his ass and handed him another drink with my other hand.

"Where's your drink?" he asked.

"Oh, I might have had enough for now," I told him. Actually, I’d probably had enough about three drinks ago. "I want to dance."

Trent leaned in close to my ear. "You'll have to take your hand off my ass if you want to dance."

No fucking way.

I took the drink out of his hand and keeping my other hand firmly wedged inside of his back pocket, I pushed us out to the dance floor. "Mm mm," I shook my head at him. "Your ass is mine."