The Muse (7 page)

            “Sounds perfect to me,” Faith said.   

            They didn't say much else on the way up to Gibson's floor.  The building had no elevator, and they were forced to take the stairs.  Gibson led the way.  He looked over his shoulder a couple of times to make sure Faith was doing ok.  She smiled at him each time.  Gibson wasn't used to anyone looking at him that way and tried not to focus on how good it felt.  Yet, even as he basked in the glow of her appreciation, he felt guilty because of it.  Faith was in a vulnerable position.  He was trying to help her, not take advantage of her situation.  He did his best to keep that in mind.  It wasn't right to help her out in the hope of making himself feel better.  He wasn't supposed to be making Brownie Points by actually giving a damn.  Maybe he was just killing two birds with one stone.     

            It was only as they reached his floor that Gibson grew nervous.  His place was a mess.  He wasn't used to having company.  He suddenly felt ashamed of how he lived and was scared of what Faith might think of him after seeing his inner sanctum.

            “I haven't cleaned up or anything,” he protested. 

            Faith touched his arm.  “Don't worry about that kind of stuff.  You were kind enough to want to help me.  That's all I see right now.”

            Gibson nodded and opened his door.  “Welcome to my home,” he said.  “Disregard the dead bodies in bathroom, the underwear hanging from the ceiling fan, and the bomb-making materials in the study.  I'm just your average, ordinary, everyday guy.”

            “You're also a dork,” Faith said, punching him playfully in the arm.        

            The place was a testament to the merits of poverty, and Gibson immediately felt embarrassed.  He led her over to the green couch that was covered with magazines, unfolded laundry, and a stack of mail he hadn't bothered to read.  With a swipe of his arm, he cleared the sofa, sweeping everything else into the floor. 

            “Sit down,” he said as he rushed into the kitchen.  “I'll grab some ice and see if I've got anything in the medicine cabinet to help with the pain.”

            “I'm fine,” Faith protested.  “Don't go to a lot of trouble.”

            But Gibson was gone, racing through the apartment on a mission.  Faith couldn't help thinking it was an endearing quality that he was so intent on taking care of her.  He was so completely unlike himself.  What had happened to him to make him act this way? 

            She could hear him tinkering around in the bathroom, rifling through the various bottles in the medicine cabinet.  She decided to take that opportunity to look around.  She wasn't trying to be nosy per se, but rather, wanted to learn more about him.  Studying the place he lived would surely provide a clue or two.  She only had to take a few steps before discovering something that made her heart beat a little faster than it normally did. 

            There, propped up at the foot of Gibson's bed, was a painting of her. 

            Gibson came out of the bathroom just in time to realize that she had seen it.  The look on his face was one of abject horror.

            For a moment, neither of them knew what to say.  Finally, it was Faith who broke the silence.  “It's very good,” she said.  “You are extremely talented.  I never imagined you were so skilled.” 

            Gibson stood there, holding an ice pack in one hand and a bottle of aspirin in the other, unsure of how to respond.  “It's not what it looks like,” he said.

            “And what do you think it looks like to me?” she asked, amused.

            “I don't know,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.  “I just don't want you to think I'm weird.  Like I said, it's not what it looks like.”

            “It looks like me,” Faith said with a wry grin. 

            “Ok, it's exactly what it looks like,” Gibson conceded.  “But I'm not a creepy stalker or a peeping tom or anything like that.  Last night after we talked I couldn't get you out of my head, and I had to paint you.”

            “You did all this last night?” she asked, impressed.

            Gibson nodded.  “I guess I was inspired.  I painted the whole thing in a single sitting.  I came down to your floor to show it to you, but I saw a guy outside your door holding flowers.  I felt stupid for even daring to do such a thing and came back home.”

            “I'm so sorry,” Faith said.  “That was something that had been arranged a couple of weeks ago.  It was something I tried to get out of but couldn't.”

            “Was that the guy who hit you?”

            Faith picked up the painting and sat down on the edge of the bed.  “His name is Calvin.  And yes, he's the one.  Apparently, the truth hurts...both on his end and especially on mine.  He wanted an introduction to my father.  He was hoping to land a job with Dad's company.  I didn't feel like being used again, and I told him what I thought of him.  The rest you can see with your own eyes.”

            “We need to file a police report,” Gibson said.  “You can't let him get away with this.”

            “I don't want to bring any negative publicity to my father or his business.  I'd rather just let it go and avoid him like the plague from now on.”

            “You can't be serious,” Gibson said.  “That man is guilty of assaulting you.  He needs to spend some time in jail.”  

            “Can we talk about all of that later?” Faith asked.  “I'd rather focus on the painting instead of what happened.”

            “Do you like it?” Gibson asked, casting his eyes downward to avoid any scrutiny or disapproval from Faith.

            “Are you kidding?  I love it! This is probably the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me.”

            “Really?” Gibson said, grinning.  “You can't mean that.”

            “But I do.  You really outdid yourself, Rembrandt....I mean, Gibson.”

            “You know my name?  I wasn't sure if you did.”

            “Of course, I know your name,” Faith said.  “I just call you something else as a joke.”

            Gibson gently took the painting out of Faith's hands and sat it down.  Then, he motioned for her to sit back on the bed.  “We need to get you doctored up.”

            “I look hideous,” Faith said.  Tears streamed from both of her eyes, and her lower lip trembled.  She was doing her best to hold it all in, but eventually she wasn't strong enough.  She sobbed uncontrollably for a few moments.  Gibson put his arms around her and pulled her close to him.  “It's going to be ok,” he kept telling her.  “It's going to be ok.”

            When she finally got herself under control again, she pulled away and stared at him with red eyes.  “I'm so sorry,” she said.  “I didn't mean to go to pieces on you like that.  I got makeup all of your shirt.”

            “Nothing that a washing machine can't make right,” Gibson said.  “Don't think another thing about it.  I'm here for you right now.  You're going to be fine.”

            “I'm sure I look like something out of a horror movie,” she said, gesturing to that spot on her cheek that was darkening like a thunderhead.  “Between this little beauty mark and eyes that look like they belong to an alcoholic, I'm sure I'm just a vision of loveliness right now.”

            “Hold on a second,” Gibson said, getting up and grabbing a bag of ice he had prepared for her. 

            Faith nodded and let him apply the ice pack.  “Can you hold it in place for a minute?” he asked.  “I'll be right back.”

            She grabbed the baggie of ice and winced at the chill.  “My face is going to look horrible.  Scratch that, my face already looks horrible.”

            “Not possible,” Gibson told her. 

            “It already looks bad,” she said.  “I can tell by how it feels.”

            Gibson thought about that for a moment and ran out of the room.  She could hear him rattling around in his studio for a few minutes.  When he returned, he was covering one side of his face with his hand.

            “What are you doing?” she asked. 

            Gibson laughed.  “Don't think I'm stupid or anything,” he said.  “I just didn't want you to feel bad about your face.  I thought maybe it would help if you had a little company.”

            When he took his hand away, a large streak of purple paint marred one cheek.  “We're twins now,” he laughed.  “You have a purple face, and now, so do I.”

            Faith laughed right along with him.  “You're too much,” she said.  “I still think the Body Snatchers got to you.  You aren't anything like the guy I thought I knew.”

            Gibson held out his arms in a Frankenstein pose.  “I'm coming to get you, Barbara!” he said, badly misquoting another old horror movie. 

            Faith squealed and rolled away from him.  Gibson laughed heartily.  It had been a long time since he had felt so good.  Then, he quickly remembered why Faith was in his apartment, and his smile faltered.  He wasn't supposed to be having a good time.  He was supposed to be taking care of her, not acting silly with her on his couch.

            “I'm sorry,” he said, going solemn again.  “I forgot why we came up here in the first place.  I shouldn't be having fun right now.”

            “Why not?” Faith asked.  “I am.  It feels good.”

            “I just don't want you to think that I'm glad about what happened to you.”

            Faith chewed on this for a moment.  “In a way, I'm glad about it.”

            Gibson looked confused.  “You can't mean that.”

            Faith smiled warmly.  “I do mean it.  If this hadn't happened, you and I might not be here right now.  I might have never seen the painting that you created for me.  I might have never seen the warm, caring side of you that exists.  I might not have gotten up the courage to do this.”

            Before Gibson could say anything or react, Faith had kissed him softly on the lips.  Gibson let his lips linger against hers for a while before pulling away and staring into her eyes.  All he saw there was acceptance and a smoldering desire, and that was enough to draw him back in.  He pressed his lips tightly against hers and wrapped his arms around her.  Faith dropped the ice pack and ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him tighter to her as if to breathe in his essence.  Gibson sighed and let his fingers rake across Faith's back.  He moved to kiss her neck and then slid up to press his lips softly against her wounded cheek.  Faith sighed, then moaned breathlessly as he moved back to her neck.

            Gibson allowed himself a few precious seconds not to think, sinking deep into moment, never once considering what he was doing.  Then, he opened his eyes and noticed Faith's tears. 

            He pushed away from her, holding her at arm's length.  “I'm sorry,” he said.  “It's all my fault.  You were vulnerable.  I didn't mean to take advantage of that.”

            Faith shook her head.  “No, don't be silly.  I kissed you.  I wanted that.  It's just that when you kissed the bruise on my cheek it made me think about Calvin punching me earlier.  Then, I couldn't stop.”

            Gibson nodded.  “I'm so sorry.  I didn't mean to open that particular wound.  Leave it to me to ruin the moment.  Maybe we should focus on something else.  Are you hungry?”

            “Starved,” Faith said.          

            Gibson smiled.  “I know just the place.”

            The place that Gibson had in mind was an all-night retro diner called Marty’s on the other side of town made to look like something out of the 1950's.  It was a mixture of polished chrome, blazing neon, and smells that made even the most refined mouths water.  It even had an antique jukebox that was playing something by Buddy Holly when they walked in.  It felt like they had gotten in a DeLorean and taken a trip back through time.  Faith smiled the moment they walked in.  This was something ripped right out of a simpler time, and the atmosphere itself was medicine for the soul. 

            “This is great,” Faith said.  “How did you find this place?”

            “I painted the owner once upon a time,” Gibson said.  “He offered me a free meal, and I took him up on it.  It's been one of my favorites ever since.  The food here is amazing.  It’s probably not the healthiest place in the world, but you will be stuffed when we leave.  I promise.”