In late April I got this postcard in the mail, an advertisement for the artist's "Annual Studio Sale." I didn't think much of it; it was taking place in Houston and I knew I wasn't gonna go to it.But I liked the painting, a lot.
I was in and out of Houston most of last fall and into the winter when I got an email from J., an old lover, long since past -- from the summer right before I left Houston for New York City in October 1988. It was a wild, savage, desperate affair like a Scorpio and a Leo have (I say that because I've had other affairs and relationships and one-night stands with men and women born on August 31st, and they were all wild, savage, and desperate, sexually fulfilling but fraught with problems otherwise).
J. saw me in Houston while I was there once, quite by accident. I was helping a friend who was going through a Bone Marrow Transplant and other treatments for his brain leukemia. He's also blind (but not from the leukemia). I signed on to get him to his many appointments around the huge mega-medical complex that is the M.D. Anderson Cancer Center. As it turned out, J. was also taking his mother to M.D. Anderson a lot for her cancer treatments. He saw me when we passed in a hallway but didn't say anything at the time. Later he told me he knew it was me because I look exactly the same. It's true, I haven't changed a lot in the past twenty years, except that I shaved my head about nineteen years ago, and J. saw pictures of me after that... So I guess it's more fair to say I haven't changed much in nineteen years.
But this isn't about fairness.
J. emailed Steven (in California) by way of the old Y'all website -- which is gone now -- looking for me, and Steven forwarded the email to me here in Texas. So I emailed back. We were in touch. I guess it was toward the end of winter or maybe early spring; my friend wasn't living at in the M.D. Anderson complex anymore, just going back for occasional checkups, so I was in Houston less and less. I found out that J. travels a lot with his job, that he travels to Austin a lot with his job, and he really wanted to see me. But every time he was here I was out of town, and by the same token, when I found myself in Houston, J. was gone.
We talked on the phone once or twice. It was a nice connection. I hadn't actually laid eyes on J. in twenty years, but his voice sure did sound the same. He told me the things I'd said to him, reminded me that I'd given him a key to my last Houston apartment; he described in great detail the various elaborate greeting cards I'd made for him (I did that for a living the last year or so I was in Texas) and other drawings I'd done and the words I'd written. He remembered it all much more vividly than I did. I remembered leaving him for another man because that man was offering me life in New York City. But as J. tells it, he was already planning on moving to San Francisco and therefore was breaking my heart. He made a vague reference to still having a crush...or something. I have to admit it stirred up some of the old feelings of passion. I'm a lonely man; I haven't had that kind of attention in a while, and it felt good.
We decided to get together the next time I was in Houston. It was the last time I was at the hospital with my friend. His wife arrived one late morning and I was free to head back to Austin. I called J. and he invited me to stop by his condo on my way out of town. His boyfriend was returning from out of town later that afternoon and he would have to pick him up at the airport, but otherwise he was completely free.
It seemed innocent enough.
I hadn't looked at this postcard in awhile, don't even think it was on display with the others at the time, but it was the first thing I saw when I walked into the condo, J. and his long-term lover's condo. Not the postcard, the painting the postcard was made from ("Split Decision," 2006, oil on cnavas [sic], 24" X 30"). I felt confused. "I know this painting," I said. There were more in the same style on almost all of the walls of the condo, wonderful, bright colors, mysterious, familiar eyes crying and smiling at the same time. "I have a postcard from this artist," I said, finally realizing it. J. smiled, "Yeah, I sent it to you." It was a weird feeling, like I had been spying on them, or like I was being spied on by the eyes on the postcard in my apartment. I don't know exactly how to explain the feeling, only that it was very odd.
J. showed me all of the paintings in the house, all of his lover's paintings. He confessed that the round head, the eyes, the other features, were inspired by him. His lover's work really took off when he started putting J. in them. I inquired about maybe buying a painting. I don't know if I was thinking the lover would give me a good deal because I was an old friend of J.'s -- or maybe even slip me one unnoticed from the bottom of the pile -- but I really wasn't hoping for that; I sometimes seriously think I would like to invest in art if I found something I liked and could afford it. J. directed me to his lover's website.
We sat on a couch and a chair, next to each other, facing each other. His cologne was strong and bothersome. His hair was thin, his face wide and round like always, and now his body matched it. I wouldn't have been attracted to him had we just been introduced, but the memories were washing over me as J. took out a cigar box and showed me the cards I'd made for him, the drawings, the key to my apartment glued artfully to a fancy greeting card.
When it was time to go, we hugged a little too long at the door. We kissed politely, and then not so politely, and then we were making out heavily in the foyer, in the office, pulling off our clothes, on the floor, knees rubbing hard against carpet, stopping ourselves, forging onward, stopping ourselves, being pulled uncontrollably back into the distant past. We almost went too far. May we did go too far. We didn't come, didn't fully engage; eventually stopping ourselves won out. I felt like I had to be the one to put my foot down, before another kiss, before another body part was revealed, touched, pulled into the mess.
I left with the sting of cologne in my mouth, the strong smell of it on my hands, onto the steering wheel. I drove with the window open. J. called twice, once right away, then again while he was at the airport waiting for his lover to arrive back home. Not apologies, like I expected; he was standing at the edge of something ready to dive into it. I wasn't ready. I listened to the messages on my voice mail, erased them, didn't return them.
J. called again a couple of weeks later. He was on his way to Austin for business, wanted to take me out to dinner, wanted to see me. "I don't even know if you're in town," he said, and that was my out. That he didn't know. I didn't return the call, decided to let him think I wasn't around. He hasn't been in touch since.
I guess maybe he's cooled on the idea.
I still love this guy's paintings, but not enough to actually call him up and transact business with him. I'm not so sure I would want J.'s eyes always looking at me, spying on me, smiling at me and crying at the same time.
No comments:
Post a Comment