“You’re just jealous,” Wren accused.
“I’d love to,” Christy said. “We can start figure drawing.”
“Awesome. It’s a date!”
Christy closed her sketchbook in disgust. “This is getting ridiculous.”
The muted chords of Marvin Gaye twanged up the stairs. It was Trip’s make-out tape, for the third time.
“You wanna get out of here? Go do something?” I was more sanguine about it, but even I was growing annoyed.
“Like what?”
“I dunno. Anything.”
“Sure, I guess.”
I closed my own sketchbook. “Should I lock this up?”
“Ha ha. It’s not like it’s private, like a diary.”
I suddenly recalled her private sketchbook, the one full of penises. I chuckled.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You aren’t really gonna lock it up, are you?” she said. “I promise I won’t do it again.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s… hard to explain. It’s private, but…”
“But…?”
“This is gonna sound crazy, but you’re an exception.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, you’re another artist. And…” I finally shrugged and shook my head. “I guess I don’t mind if you know what I’m thinking.”
Her eyes widened. They looked even brighter blue than usual.
I started to say something, but a thump from below beat me to it.
“Okay,” I said, “time to go.”
“Yes, please.”
We turned out the lights and headed downstairs. We didn’t stop until we reached the main level and the front door.
“Whoa,” I said. “Better grab a jacket.”
It was the time of year when we needed the air conditioning during the day but the heat at night. Christy had changed clothes after aerobics, to shorts and a light cotton sweater.
“Be right back.” She ran upstairs.
I watched her go and found myself admiring her firm legs and tight little ass. I had to remind myself that I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend. And even if I were, I didn’t want one with religious hang-ups. Been there, done that, didn’t enjoy it.
I distracted myself by donning my own jacket, which was hanging on the rack by the door.
Christy returned wearing a light windbreaker.
I glanced at her bare legs and had to force myself to look up. That was worse. Her nipples showed through her bra and thin sweater. I kept going until I reached her eyes.
“Pretty chilly out,” I said. “You wanna put on jeans or something?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I’m hot-natured. Always have been.”
“Suit yourself.” I opened the front door and followed her out. “So…
where you wanna go?”
She shrugged.
“How about a tour of the neighborhood? I can show you some of my favorite houses.”
“I’d like that.”
We set out at a stroll along the route I took on my morning runs. Two blocks over I showed her a big Victorian house that someone had lovingly restored to its original glory. (It was the nicest house in the neighborhood.) We stopped on the sidewalk under the streetlight, and I pointed out the things that made it such a beautiful example of the Queen Anne style.
“That’s what ours is,” Christy said. “Queen Anne, right?”
“Mmm hmm. Not quite as ornate as this one, but probably the same architect. They have the same feel.”
“Oh, cool. Are they all like this?”
“No. Further away from downtown, you get what’s called ‘Folk Victorian.’ They’re middle-class versions of these beauties. They have a lot of the same trim and decorative elements, but they’re simpler houses.”
“Simpler how?”
“Basic floor plans. No turrets. No octagonal rooms. No servants’ quarters.
Stuff like that.”
“Servants’ quarters? Are you serious?”
“What do you think our little studios used to be? The housekeeper and children’s nanny probably lived in our rooms.”
“Oh my gosh!”
“Exactly.” I nodded toward downtown. “There’s another upper-class Victorian five blocks that way. It’s a different style, though. Italianate.”
“How’s it different?”
“It’s an earlier style and not very common around here. I think someone from the north must’ve moved to Knoxville. Maybe a banker or railroad executive. They probably wanted a house like they were used to in New England.”
We headed that way and reached it about ten minutes later.
“It’s a boxier style than Queen Anne,” I explained. “The windows are usually narrower and the roof pitch is flatter, with those extra wide eaves. Oh, and do you see the brackets under the cornice?”
“Neat!”
“No front-facing gables either.”
“What’re gables?”
I leaned down to match my eyeline to hers and pointed at a nearby house.
“See those triangles where the roof pitch meets? Now look at this house. No triangles on the front. Remember the Queen Anne?”
She closed her eyes and imagined it. Then she opened them and beamed with interest. “That’s amazing! How do you know all this?”
I shrugged and started walking again. “I just do. I mean, how do you know how to draw people?”
It was her turn to shrug. “I just do. Always have.”
“Same here,” I said. “My mom says I looked at buildings differently, even when I was little. I started drawing them when I was six or seven, I guess. Just doodles, though.”
“I started drawing when I was little too.”
“You still are little,” I teased.
“Funny.”
“Well, you are.”
“I can’t help it. Besides, good things come in small packages.”
“So they say.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her rub her arms. I took off my jacket. “Here.”
“I’m okay.”
“Don’t be silly. Take it. I’m fine,” I lied. I draped the jacket over her windbreaker. Mine was two sizes too large, at least.
She held it closed and smiled up gratefully.
“Around the block,” I continued, “there’s a Foursquare house. It doesn’t match its neighbors at all. I figure someone built it when they tore down an older house. It needs a lot of work, but…”
It was well after eleven o’clock when we eventually returned to our own street. We stopped on the walkway in front of the house.
“You think they’re… you know… done?”
“God, let’s hope so.”
We tiptoed up the steps and cautiously opened the front door. Silence greeted us, and we both breathed a sigh of relief. We stepped into the warm house, and I closed the front door behind us. We stood looking at each other.
“I had fun tonight,” Christy said after a moment.
“Me too.”
She fidgeted. “Almost like a date.”
“Almost,” I agreed uneasily. Wren and her damn matchmaking!
Christy heard the hesitation in my voice. Her expression fell.
My internal jerk-alarm went off, but I kept talking anyway. “We’ll have to do it again sometime.”
She shrugged.
“How ’bout tomorrow? We can draw after I get home from judo.”
“Yeah, of course,” she said lightly.
The silence went from strained to awkward.
“Well, it’s late,” I said at last. “And I have to get up early.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“We’d better go to bed. Separately, of course. Don’t wanna give you the wrong impression.” I meant it as a joke but knew it was a mistake as soon as I said it.
Christy’s eyes flared with something altogether different: temper. Her lips compressed in a thin line. After a frosty, excruciating moment, she turned and climbed the stairs in mute fury.
I stared after her and wanted to kick myself. I didn’t want to sleep with her, but that wasn’t an excuse to be rude. I silently cursed Wren and her matchmaking again, but I couldn’t really blame her. Christy and I had had a perfectly enjoyable evening until I screwed it up. Yours truly. All by myself.