two

Liam woke up a little after ten o'clock the next morning to a dull headache and the smell of coffee and bacon. Getting up from the couch he saw Natalie standing over the stove in her black dress and damp hair.

"What's all this?" he asked, walking over to her.

"Just a little breakfast," she answered with a smile. "Good morning. Coffee's ready if you want some."

"You call this a little breakfast?" Liam asked as he poured himself a cup of coffee. In addition to the bacon he smelled, she was making pancakes and appeared to be waiting for him to make eggs and toast.

"Hey, it beats oatmeal," Natalie replied. "How do you like your eggs?"

"Anyway you make them will be fine with me. Wait, did I have all the stuff to make this?"

Natalie laughed...a little too long. "Are you kidding me? Have you looked in your refrigerator lately? Beer, water, a couple Cokes, one egg, a brown jar I didn't want to get anywhere near, and a bottle of every condiment known to man. Your freezer is full of frozen pizzas, ice, and what appears to be a snowball. After my shower I saw your keys on the table and I felt like pancakes so I went to the grocery store on the corner."

"You know when I feel like pancakes I go to the diner on the corner. I've got big plans for that snowball, but I have no idea what jar you're talking about." Liam opened the refrigerator to take a look. "Hey, I've got orange juice, that wasn't on your little list."

"I bought that." Natalie shot back with a grin.

"Oh. Well, thanks. What the hell is in this jar?"

"I have no earthly idea and there was no way I was going to open the damn thing." Natalie answered. "I'm not even convinced the jar is supposed to be brown."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure this was apricot jam one of my neighbors gave me a couple years ago."

"A couple years ago?"

"I hate apricots, but she's a nice old woman and I felt bad telling her I didn't want it after she went to all the trouble of making it. I also felt bad throwing it away, so I just shoved it to the back of the fridge and forgot about it. I wouldn't have thought it could turn this color. Interesting," Liam mumbled as he examined the contents of the jar.

Natalie shuddered, "How can you be that fascinated by spoiled food?"

"Do you think if left alone long enough, it would revert back to its original color?"

"No, Liam, I think it'll just start moving."

"Really? That would actually be kind of cool."

"Boys," Natalie sighed. "Food's up, so throw that stuff out, scrub your hands with lye, and dig in."



"You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble," Liam said as they ate, "but I'm glad you did. You certainly know your way around the kitchen."

"It was the least I could do after you let me stay here and everything..." Natalie's voice trailed off.

"You know, Natty," Liam said, "you never told me what it is you do."

"Yes, I did; I told you last night. You've just forgotten."

"No," Liam insisted, "I asked and all you said was that you were in advertising. Then you asked me if I had heard anything about that British kid from the fourth grade who called everyone 'Yank' and talked about his mum all the time."

"Oh yeah, he was a little annoying, but I loved the accent." Natalie paused. "I work for an advertising firm that's pretty big for Seattle, but small potatoes compared to firms in New York or L.A. I started there as an intern while I was going to the art institute. When I graduated they offered me a job and the pay was good. I never planned on staying there as long as I have, that's why I dodged the question a bit last night. I sold out."

"What would you rather be doing?" Liam asked.

"Real art," she answered. "Advertising is all about image. The art we come up with isn't art, it's a product. I'd love to be able to support myself with my own sketches and paintings. I love working with oils. Failing that, photography, but I don't want to work at a studio in a strip mall snapping family photos and senior pictures."

"Too bad, I know a guy at Yuen Lui." She laughed that laugh he couldn't get enough of. "So, why not do it?"

"Do what?" she asked while taking a bite of her toast.

"Paint."

"Why don't I paint?" she asked as though he'd just suggested she try out for the Cleveland Browns. He nodded as he poured more orange juice. "Because I can't," she answered as though it made sense.

"What can't you do? If you're afraid of not having steady income, you could start by painting in your spare time. Spend your nights and weekends painting until you have enough to get them shown or put them on eBay, or whatever artists do now days."

"Liam, it's not that simple."

He shrugged. "Why not?"

"Because it's not." Natalie put a forkful of pancakes in her mouth to give her time to figure out what to say to him. "You can't just start painting and become an artist."

"Sounds like a better way of going about it than learning how to play the kazoo," Liam said with a bemused grin on his face. "Or trying to tame lions or run a marathon," he added as he used his toast to scoop up the last of his eggs.

"The kazoo?" Natalie shook her head and finished the last of her orange juice. "Liam, I can't paint."

For a few moments it was silent as they each finished their food and looked at each other. Then Liam pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. "Come here, I want to show you something," he said quietly, extending his hand.

"What?"

"Just come here."

She put her hand in his and let him pull her out of her chair and lead her across the room, toward the front door. "Are you showing me out?" she asked with a smile.

He didn't reply. Instead he opened the door to a small closet adjacent to the door of his apartment. She looked inside and turned to face him. He still said nothing. "Umm...nice coat?"

Liam pointed to the open closet door behind her. She turned and saw it. A watercolor painting of a young boy with dirty blond hair and green eyes. It was simple, made with a child's watercolor set and a thirteen-by-seventeen-inch sheet of butcher paper in a simple wooden frame. There were crease marks indicating it had once been folded in quarters. In the bottom right corner, in bright pink, were the initials "LP" surrounded by a heart. "You're not the only one who keeps things," he whispered in her ear.

"Oh, Liam," she said in the breathless voice women have that lets the men in their lives know they got the right thing this anniversary. "Wait," she said with her head tilted. She turned to face him. "Why is it hanging on the inside of the closet door?" That was said in the tone women use when they're trying to wait to get mad.

"Woah, now, give me a minute to explain," he said taking a few dramatic steps backwards and raising his hands with his palms facing her, "and I swear you'll think it's cute."

Natalie laughed, then quickly wiped the smile from her face, crossed her arms, and tried to look stern.

"You gave me that in sixth grade, on my last day at Highland," he started. "I was so angry at my parents for moving us to California in the middle of the school year and I was convinced I'd never see you again. My parents wanted to drive down the coast real slow, stopping at every point of interest, because they thought it would somehow make it fun for us. And because they wanted the movers to get there first and have everything unloaded and in the right rooms.

"That first night we all slept in sleeping bags on the floors of our new rooms. I'd never had my own room before and hated how quiet and hollow it was. I couldn't fall asleep. The room was empty except for my sleeping bag, pillow, and half a dozen boxes stacked in the corner. I dug through them until I found my copy of James and the Giant Peach. I'd lent it to you and you had given it back to me that last day at Highland. I climbed into my sleeping bag with it and started turning the pages in the dark when something fell out of it. I grabbed my flashlight since our electricity hadn't been turned on yet and saw a piece of paper. I unfolded it and found that." Liam pointed at the painting.

"I fell right asleep after that. In the morning the first thing I did was tape it to my wall. My parents, of course, thought it was cute, but my brother didn’t agree. Pat teased me mercilessly, as any good big brother would. Finally I folded it back up and tucked it inside James and the Giant Peach again, but I couldn't keep it there for long. I kept unfolding it and folding it so much I was afraid it would rip, plus I wanted it hanging somewhere, not hidden in a book. So I taped it to the inside of my closet door where Pat wouldn't see it, but where I could look at it anytime I wanted to. Every time we moved, the first thing I did was tape it to the inside of my bedroom closet door. When I first moved out on my own I put it on my bedroom wall, but it just didn't seem right after all those years. It's dumb, but I've always taped it to the inside of the closet door, and as you noticed the closet in my bedroom doesn't have doors. So," Liam pointed to the door, "there it hangs."

"Damn it," Natalie sighed, "you're right. That is cute." She gave his shoulder a little shove and smiled reluctantly.

"You did that when you were eleven years old, Natalie, and it's one of my most cherished belongings." Liam moved close to her, put his hands on her shoulders, and looked her dead in the eyes. "You can paint, and people will want what you create."

one

His words cut through the darkness and the silent space between them. With her back turned to him, he asked her just what exactly she wanted from him. She half turned her head toward him before she realized it was a useless gesture. Exhaling, she said softly, "For you to listen."

"Why me?" he asked, wishing he could see her. Her face, the outline of her body, anything. "I'm sure plenty of people who know you better would love to be in my position."

"You don't want to?" She sounded hurt. Or worse - validated, like it was the exact response she had expected.

"No, of course I do. It's not that. I thought you'd want to talk to someone you have history with is all."

"I have history with you." He could barely hear the words.

"I meant recent history," he replied. "Someone who really knows you."

"That's exactly who I don't want to talk to." She was quiet for a few moments. "The problem with people who know me is that they know me. They expect certain things of and from me. They feel for me, and that colors everything I tell them. They feel they have to do something, but I don't want them to do anything. I don't expect anyone to understand; I'm only tired of being alone with it. But if you don't want to, forget it."

The last few words sounded so final. "No, I'd like to listen." He took a few steps closer to where he thought she was. "Though, honestly, I'd rather make love to you."

The sound of her laughter relieved him; the whole thing was too heavy. Before tonight they hadn't seen each other in years. He had noticed her as soon as she walked into the bar, though he didn't recognize her. Hell, they were in grade school when they saw each other last. Was he supposed to know her over a decade later?

****

When she walked into his bar all he could see were her legs, anyway. He watched her walk up to the bar, give Charlie her order, and slowly look around the smoke-filled room. It was a dive, really, and that was most apparent on slow nights like tonight. At this place, most nights were slow nights. Except for her, it was simply the regulars; blue collar types, hardened men and a few weary women having a couple or three drinks after a long day.

She looked around as if taking it all in, but not realizing how out of place she was here. Yet he didn't mind her presence. Not with legs like that. They made eye contact. Her lips moved slightly in the direction of a smile. There was a challenge in her eyes. Charlie put a glass half-filled with a clear liquid in front of her. They talked a bit, she laughed, took some money from her purse, and placed it on the bar. He wished he'd watched Charlie pour the drink.

Whatever it was, she drank it quickly and seemed to want more. Charlie was talking to Joe McGinty who was so regular you could set your watch by him. In at 5:30 every evening and stumbling out at last call, talking to anyone who'd listen in the meantime. The woman was eyeing McGinty and Charlie at the other end of the bar, idly turning her empty glass in a slow circle in front of her.

He looked her up and down, then guzzled the last of his beer. Time for another. He walked to the bar and stood next to her, leaning up against the empty stool to her left. "If you insist on waiting for a break in the conversation, you'll go thirsty," he offered as she turned toward him with a faint smile. "Can't get a drink around here by being polite, not when that old man is jawing. Trust me, Charlie will be thankful for the interruption." He set the empty bottle on the bar and raised his voice. "Say, Joe, take a breather so Charlie can get me another beer and something for the lady."

The old man stopped mid-sentence and smirked. "I s'pose you want it in that order, eh? Always been a real gentleman that way, you have."

Charlie laughed and turned to his back to Joe, mouthing his thanks. He placed a cold one on the bar and turned to her. "Another?"

She looked up at him and smiled a big, full, beautiful smile. "Please."

He watched Charlie take a bottle from the shelf behind him and pour her another glass. He sipped his beer and was silently impressed.

"No, no," Charlie was saying and pushing away the bills she offered. "This one's on me. Nice to see a fresh face ordering a stiff drink and taking it straight every now and then. Especially one as pretty as yours. The regulars all want beer. Gets boring."

She sat still a moment, regarding him. Then she thanked him and put away her money. A few guys who worked at the paper mill down the street came in and Charlie moved to greet them and get their beers.

"You a regular?" she asked him after taking a sip that somehow drained half the liquor. No reaction; it was like water.

"Not as regular as Joe." He replied, nodding toward the old man, "but I do have a habit of coming in sometimes after work."

"What work?"

"Construction. Notice the new parking garage going in on Second?"

"I noticed the activity. Didn't know what it was. Looks huge." She finished the drink.

"Yeah, it's a good-sized project." He paused, then ventured, "never seen you here before."

She smiled. "Never been here before." She paused. She was turning her empty glass in circles again. "Looked like a decent place."

"Don't they all? From the outside anyway." He sat down. "Name's Liam, and if you want another, I'm buying."

At the mention of his name, she stopped spinning her glass and leaned toward him. She was looking right into his eyes, like she was searching for something. "Liam...," she muttered. "Liam Caffrey? It is you, isn't it?"

He almost choked on his beer. She knew him? "Uh, yeah," he managed as he gave her an appraising look. "Have we met? I'm sure I would remember you."

She smiled and shook her head. She seemed more relaxed. "I wouldn't expect you to remember. It's been a lifetime. Natalie Phelps. From Highland Elementary?"

"Natty Phelps?" He gazed in wonder. "No way."

"In the flesh. No one's called me that in years."

"Sorry," he said quickly, feeling foolish. He couldn't stop shaking his head.

"Don't be," she replied just as quickly before softly adding, "It's nice to hear again."

"You recognized me? I sure hope I've changed more than that."

She laughed again. He loved the sound of it. "You have. I didn't."

"Then how did you know it was me?"

"You're the only Liam I've ever known," she replied simply. "Plus, you've got those same green eyes. Damn, you look good...real good."

"You look amazing. What the hell kind of vegetables did you get fed?" He finished his beer and nodded to Charlie who replaced the empty bottle and turned to Natalie. She nodded and he filled her glass once more. "Put it on my tab, Charlie."

"You got it."

****

Back at his apartment three hours later, he couldn't quite put together how it had come to this. They had moved to a table in the corner of the bar and talked about the years that had passed. They relived old times, then pieced together the lives of the few people they'd heard of or from.

He lost count of how many drinks she had. He thought he'd had half a dozen beers, but couldn't say for sure. After a while she seemed to have noticed how much time had passed and wobbled a bit as she stood to go to the bathroom. When she returned she had said she shouldn't have let herself get so carried away. It would take a while to sober up enough to drive home and she didn't want to take a cab and have to come back for her car in the morning. She lived across town.

He hadn't wanted the encounter to end, but only Charlie, Joe, and two factory workers remained. He casually told her that he lived a block away and said she could sober up there or crash for the night. They left together after making sure her car wouldn't be towed before she could get back to it in the morning. As they walked the short distance in the cool night air, she took his arm. He wondered if there was anything to the gesture, or if she thought she needed the help walking.

They talked idly and pleasantly the whole way, walking slowly and laughing frequently. By the time they got to his building and he fumbled for his keys, she seemed to have sobered up quite a bit. If it weren't for the smell on her breath, he would have thought she'd only had a beer or two. He opened the door and led her to the elevator where they talked for five floors. She took his hand as they walked down the hallway and into his small apartment.

He closed the door and locked it, then started to reach for the lights when she put her hand on his. Stepping toward him, she kissed him softly, quickly, and pulled away. The second time her lips lingered a second longer. The third kiss was more insistent. His hands found her hips as she leaned in again.

She chuckled. "Liam Caffrey."

"Yeah?" He liked hearing her say his name, but he didn't relish the interruption. She was a good kisser and he'd rather be doing that.

"Just hard to believe, I guess. I had the biggest crush on you back in the third grade. Here we are after all these years, strangers really, and all I can think is, 'I'm kissing Liam Caffrey.' The thought is, of course, followed by a giggle."

He laughed and looked into her eyes, straining to see in the dark. "I always liked you."

"Really?"

"Sure. Remember how I gave you my favorite trading card? That's practically offering to make love to you. In kid terms, that is."

"I remember." She touched his cheek. "Junior Seau, linebacker for the San Diego Chargers. Early '90s Topps. I still have it."

He shook his head in disbelief. "You do not."

"Yup, in a shoebox in my closet."

"Damn, I can't believe you kept it all this time. Too bad it's not worth anything. I should have given you a better card. I got rid of most of them."

"No, you shouldn't have. Then I might be divided over what to do with it. Plays for the Dolphins now, doesn't he?"

"Yeah."

They stood in silence, looking at each other in the dark. With their faces only an inch apart, he felt he could see her pretty well. Her eyes didn't look glassy at all. She kissed him again.

Things heated up a bit from there, he remembered. She had dropped her purse and he his keys. He remembered her pushing his coat off and the sound it made as it hit the floor. She angled her head toward a door to her right and asked, "Bedroom?" He had nodded and she'd pushed him toward it, fingering the buttons on his shirt.

He couldn't help thinking of her back then and wondering how much she had changed and how much the liquor had affected her. He had stopped backing toward his room and once she stood still, he pulled away a bit and asked her if she really wanted this.

The last thing he wanted was for her to regret it all in the morning. Natalie wasn't any girl. She had seemed insulted and the mood had shifted. Somehow they got to this. He wasn't absolutely sure where she was and now she wanted him to listen, not kiss her. He tried to remind himself he was doing the right thing and that she was worth it.

Little Natty Phelps.

"So which cards do you have left?" Natalie was asking him.

"Huh?"

"Oh, that's right. We're not kids anymore." She touched his arm in the dark. She was close enough now that he could feel the heat from her body, smell the alcohol on her breath.

"It's late." He said finally. "Maybe we should talk in the morning."

"Okay."

He led her into the bedroom and picked up some clothes, books, and magazines that were strewn on his floor and his bed. Light from the moon and streetlamps filtered in through his open curtains. Liam wasn't sure why he hadn't turned on the light, but he could see a lot better in here after being in the complete darkness of his living room.

"Sorry for the mess." He pointed to the dresser, "If you want something to sleep in, there are sweats, shorts, and t-shirts in there. Help yourself. There are some sweatshirts in my closet, whatever you want. The bathroom is the next room and there's an extra toothbrush in the medicine cabinet." He took both her hands in his and without thinking kissed the top of her head. "I'll take the couch."

"Liam." He stopped in the doorway and turned at the sound of her voice.

"It's ok. Really, Natalie, it is. We'll talk in the morning."

"Alright, thanks Liam." She walked toward him and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight."

"See you in the morning."

Natalie heard him go into the bathroom. She looked around at his room. It was minimally furnished: bed, dresser, night table, and a bookcase. She walked over to the dresser and exchanged her black sheath for a pair of flannel boxers and an old 49ers t-shirt. The bookcase only held two shelves worth of books. On one shelf were a stereo, speakers, and several dozen CDs. The final shelf was a mix of more music and movies. None of it seemed to be in any order at all.

"Anything you like?" Liam asked from behind her.

"Plenty. Wouldn't have guessed you were a Billie Holiday fan. Or Sex Pistols, for that matter."

"Hmm, it definitely has been a while, then."

"Yeah." She smiled and slipped by him, heading for the bathroom. He couldn't help thinking that he liked her better in his boxers than that little black dress she'd been wearing.

He quickly changed into a pair of gym shorts and a Duke basketball t-shirt. He grabbed an extra pillow from his bed and a blanket from his closet and threw them on the couch in the living room. What a night. He picked up his jacket, keys, and her purse and put them on the kitchen table. Liam stared at the inside of his refrigerator, tempted to have another beer, but opted for a bottle of water.

"Got another one of those?" Natalie asked, emerging from the bathroom.

"Sure," he replied, handing her a bottle. "You probably saw it by the toothbrush, but I've got plenty of aspirin if you want it."

She laughed. "Yeah, you've got the medicine cabinet of a bachelor: extra toothbrush, big bottle of aspirin, Pepto, Tums, and shaving gel."

"I think that tells you I'm a lousy cook more than that I'm a bachelor."

"You mean they're not one and the same?" She opened the bottle of water and took a gulp.

"In my case, yes," he laughed. "You need to be up any particular time tomorrow?"

"No. You?"

"Nope, I've got a Friday off for the first time in about five months."

"Lucky you." She paused, fiddling with the label on her bottle. "Well, 'night."

"Yeah. Wake me if you need anything, Natty."

She nodded. He watched her walk into his bedroom and shut the door behind her. He settled in on the couch and remained awake staring at the ceiling for almost an hour, replaying the events of the night and wondering about Natalie.

In his room, Natalie was sound asleep minutes after crawling into his bed. She had pulled the covers up to her ears and felt completely safe. Safe enough that she pushed the covers down in her sleep.

foreword

Perhaps this would be better described as a disclaimer, but as long as I'm play-authoring... I've been writing stories since I was a little kid. I have a crazy imagination and often put some of its output onto paper. Mostly, I write short stories, but I started a couple novels long ago. Both the novels and many of the short stories were abandoned unfinished. I write and write as long as material is forthcoming and stop as soon as I have trouble, leaving it be unless I am so inspired to resume.

Last night something came to mind and I opened up Word and started writing something new. After writing several pages, I posted about half a page of it on my blog, the first part of it. Then I wrote some more. Around three in the morning, I closed the lid to my laptop and went upstairs and climbed into bed. The story kept going in my head; it was a while before I could sleep.

I've decided I want to try to keep this one going, to work at it if and when it comes to that, until I feel it's ended. I have no idea where it's headed, but I like that. Rarely do I let people read what I write. I know it doesn't seem that way since I have a blog, but I write a lot of stuff that no one sees except me. I wrote poetry for several years until my mom found a collection of poems I had turned in for an English assignment in the eighth grade. She instantly started criticizing it and asking me questions about how autobiographical one of them was. I stopped writing poetry.

My point is that this is a big step in a different direction for me: putting something online for anyone to read as it unfolds. There will undoubtedly be some revising and perhaps complete deletions and insertions (I'm not so sure that some of those words are actual words, but whatever). There will be a lot of me in this, of course, and a lot of many people in my life blended into characters and events, but it's a work of fiction. Those of you who know me, try not to read too much into anything.

Also, in the past when I started writing something that was going to be extensive, involved, or just had a lot of characters, I worked up fairly thorough character profiles for at least all the principals, neat little bibles for them. I don't plan on doing that here, I kind of want to let them develop with the story and see how it all comes out. I'm really planning on only having the two people. Perhaps some people in flashbacks, brief encounters, or brought up by the two characters in conversation. If it doesn't go well, I might revert to my old ways, but unless I do that there will likely be a lot of editing as the characters take form.

Comments are absolutely welcome and desired as long as they are more extensive than, "This sucks." If you're going to say that, at least tell me why, or what specifically sucks. I've never claimed to be a good writer, so hate it if you like. I know my comments are often slow and I apologize for that, but be patient with it. Input is always welcome via e-mail as well, so feel free, my address is at the top of the page. Oh, and I should add I'm not good with tenses. Also, it might not look too pretty slapped up on here. I assure you that my Word document looks better. The biggest potential flaw I see in all of this is that I want the literal part of the story to focus on the relationship between a man and a woman. I'll admit upfront, I don't understand men at all and I certainly don't pretend to know what they think. I'm sure that anyone who reads this knowing nothing about me will not doubt it was written by a woman. So, if you're a guy and you're reading this, I could use your help. Seriously. I should also mention for those of you who don't know me, in many ways, I don't fit into my gender that well all the time. I'm clueless about fashion, I generally hate shopping, it's an extremely rare day when I wear a dress or skirt, I can't do anything with hair or makeup, etc. So if I say something that makes no sense, I'm probably going beyond my realm of knowledge of "female behavior" and you should feel free to clue me in. Now, I believe you've been sufficiently warned.

I guess all that's left to say is that I hope you enjoy it. If not, don't waste your time, just go elsewhere.