"William Lynch" by Michael Dell CHAPTER EIGHT It was Thursday night. An interesting thing happened. William had yet to turn on the TV since he finished his painting Wednesday afternoon. He had spent all his waking hours either studying the newest creation or wandering aimlessly under the night skies. That all changed with a knock at the door. "It hasn't been a week," reminded William upon seeing Meghan. "I know. Can I come in?" "Yeah, sure." He stepped aside and welcomed her, completely forgetting that the painting was still on display. "How've you been?" "Okay." Just then she turned and saw the picture. "Did you paint this?" "Yeah." "Recently?" "Yeah, I did it yesterday." She gave him a rather ecstatic, although quick, hug. "That's great! I'm glad you're painting again." "Here, let me get it out of the way." "No, leave it there. I want to look at it." "I just feel awkward showing my stuff to people." "Don't be silly. Besides, I've already seen your stuff." "That is true." "Now I just want to see your painting." She stepped back to drink in the scene. "I like it." "You don't have to say that." "No, I really like it. It's powerful. It has such a strong presence about it." "Really?" "Yeah, I think it's great." She squinted and stepped closer. "So you're not just saying that?" "Of course not." Something seemed to grab her attention. "I think it's great." She moved a little closer. William didn't really know how he felt about all this. He liked the piece. He was proud of it. But the fact that she liked it somehow meant even more to him. He just quietly stood in the background and watched as she continued to appreciate the work. He stayed motionless as she raised her left hand and placed it on the painting. It was gratifying to see her connect this way to his art. Almost as horrifying as it was to see her scratch off the minuscule gold dot of paint with her left thumb. Her back immediately straightened. She snapped her head around in a panic and told William a fact he already knew. "That was supposed to be there." She spun back around and began to frantically search for the remains of the vanquished paint. "Oh god, I'm sorry. I'll fix it!" William couldn't help but smile. She was so cute when she was insane. It was all so Laura Petrie. "It's okay, it's okay. Don't worry about it." "I feel so stupid." Her hands were still busy searching for a solution to her mistake. "What's wrong with me? I had no right to even touch it. I'm so sorry!" William was now laughing quite freely. He calmly removed a brush she had grabbed and wrapped his arms around her before she could do further accidental damage. "I don't know what I was thinking. But I guess that's the whole thing, I wasn't thinking. I'm so sorry!" "Honest. It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong." "Yes I did! I ruined your painting!" "You didn't ruin anything. It's fine." She turned to face him. "Do you think you can fix it?" William looked at the canvas. "There's no need to. I like it like this." "You're just trying to make me feel better." "No, it's better this way. It's more true to life." She hugged him. "I feel just awful." "Don't. You did nothing wrong. You could never do anything wrong." "I really do like it. Now and before, either way." "That's all I care about." He moved her over to the couch. "Here, have a seat. You want something to drink?" "What do you have?" William opened up the refrigerator door and peered inside. "Let's see, I've got water and water." "I think I'll try the water." "Good choice. You know, it's nature's beverage." He poured two glasses of ice water and joined her on the couch. She politely accepted her drink with a "thank you" and continued the previous discussion. "But it meant something." "What?" "The dot. What did it mean?" "Well, I guess it could mean different things to different people." "Don't give me that artist talk. What did it mean to you?" "To me it meant, and notice I'm using the past tense..." "I said I was sorry." "It stood for hope." "In what? Life?" "Yeah." "And that's all the hope you have?" "Pretty much." "Now I feel even worse, I just took away all your hope." "No, that was done a long time ago." "Are you being serious? I can never tell when you're joking." "Which is always the sign of a good comedian, when he has to point out the jokes. But, yeah, I'm being serious." "That's kind of a depressing outlook on things." "I'm kind of a depressing guy." "Since when?" "Since always. You just don't know me well enough yet. Deep down I'm an antisocial punk that likes to wallow in self-pity. The rest is just an act. And a damn fine one, I might add." A sip of water interrupted his smile. "So you're really depressed?" "Yeah, but who isn't?" "I wasn't until just now." "Sorry." "You want to talk about it?" "About what?" "About why you're depressed?" "I appreciate the offer, but no, that's all right." "Why not?" "Because if I talk to you about it then maybe I'd have nothing to be depressed about." He delivered the line with a disarming smile that alleviated some of her concern. He had the ability to do that to people. He had a good smile. It enabled him to change subjects with ease during such discussions of depth without anyone being the wiser. Of course, he didn't get much practice since he so rarely had any discussions of depth, but he was still good at it. "Let's talk about you. Have you been doing any writing?" "No, not really." "What gives?" "I don't know." She hesitated a moment and conducted an internal debate between her brain and heart regarding what she should say next. The side arguing pro-brain lost its note cards. "I haven't been able to write a thing since the last time we were together." "I was that bad?" She smiled. "No, it's not that." "Wow, then I was that good, huh?" She laughed. "I don't think that's it either." "Admit it. You've got it bad. I've got you turned all inside out, don't I?" "Whatever." "That's what I thought. But since we're on the subject, how's Pete?" "Who?" "Your boyfriend." "His name's Mark." "I should really write that down," said William as he feigned looking for a pen and paper. "He's fine." "I saw he stopped over the other night." "You saw that, huh?" "Yeah." "What were you doing spying on me?" "I wasn't spying. You live across the hall. That's not spying. It's more of a neighborhood watch program." "Did it bother you that he came over?" "Bother me?" "Yeah." "That he... visited you?" "Yeah." "Of course not. Don't be ridiculous." One. Two. Three. "Did you fuck him?" "What's it matter to you?" "It doesn't. Hey, it's your life. You can do whatever you want with it, no matter how deviant or revolting I might find it." "C'mon, now you admit it," began Meghan, leaning in with a mischievous smile. "You love me." "How could I love someone that would cheat on her boyfriend?" "But I'm cheating with you!" "Good point. At least you've got that goin' for ya. So where's he at tonight?" "He actually had to leave town this afternoon." "So that's why you're over here, ol' Johnny boy is out of town and you figured you'd get a little action. Well I don't think it's going to work, sister." "I just came over because I wanted to see you. Call me silly, but I sort of missed you the past few days." "Yeah, I bet. You girls are all the same. You just stay over there on your side of the couch." William braced himself against the far arm of the sofa. "So where'd he go?" "Buffalo. The company he works for was doing a project for this place up there and there was some sort of problem." "How long's he gonna be gone?" "He said it would probably be at least a week, maybe more." "How you feel about that?" "I'm here, aren't I?" "I'm not sure if I like the sound of that." Just then she noticed a piece of paper stuck behind the one cushion. It was the map for the Big Boy heist. "What's this?" "Aw, it's nothin'." William tried to reach over and grab it but she pulled it away. "It looks like a map of Hadleyville." She flipped the page over and saw the little sketch of the Big Boy. She looked up. "I'm afraid to ask." "Can you keep a secret?" "I have a feeling this is something I'm not going to want to tell anyone." "My friends and I are going to steal the Elby's Big Boy." "Why?" "Because we can." She seemed a bit stunned. "I know it's stupid, but see I have this friend named Norm. And it's always sort of been his dream to steal the Big Boy. We used to talk about it all the time in high school." "You're going to steal the Big Boy?" "Yes." "What are you going to do with it?" "We're not going to hurt him or anything. We're just going to swipe him and then drop him off at the Court House. It's gonna to be some funny stuff." "Won't you feel pretty stupid if you get caught?" "We won't get caught. Besides, I always feel pretty stupid. Especially when I try to watch those cultural shows on PBS. All the prancing around in tights, I'm sorry, but I just don't get it." "When's the big day?" "Next Sunday night." "I don't know..." "Aw, you love it. Just knowing that you're in the same room with such a wanton desperado is probably making you all hot." "I can hardly contain myself." "I could tell. Listen, I know it's weak, but what can I do? He's my friend. And I promised." "Well, good luck with it." "I get the feeling you're not impressed." "It's just you never cease to amaze me. Just when I think I have you pegged as the tortured artist you make a smart-ass remark or sing the virtues of some common TV show. Then a minute ago I thought you were a deeply depressed individual, but it turns out you're planning to steal the Big Boy. I hope you can see why I'm a little apprehensive." "I realize I'm messed up. If this was the 1600s I'd be an apprentice learning my craft from a master. But it isn't. Instead my life revolves around Nick-at-Nite and I'm planning to steal a plastic statue from a two-bit family restaurant. I'm not sure if that's the path to artistic greatness, but it's all I got." Meghan smiled and placed her hand on his. "You've got more than that." "You're right..." William looked into her eyes. He waited a full beat and then started to look around the room. "I do have a pretty nice apartment." She smiled and stood up. "Where's the rest of your art?" "Why? You wanna destroy some more?" "Yes." She took a final sip from her water and placed the glass on the kitchen counter before making her way down the hall. William got up to follow. "I should warn you that it's kind of dirty in there." She looked back at him as she started to turn the handle to the bedroom door. "I'll brave it." The bedroom made the living area seem like a palace. Clothes were thrown everywhere and paintings were stacked four and five deep along the walls. What could be seen of the carpet didn't look too promising. The drawers of the room's lone dresser were overflowing with painting supplies and the mattress remained covered with debris. Meghan stopped dead in her tracks. She was a bit startled by the sight, or the smell, or both. William stood behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders and offered encouragement. "Don't worry, it's a perfectly natural reaction." "No, it's nice. Really. So did you decorate it yourself or did you have an angry mob come in and do it?" She gingerly made her way across the floor, trying hard not to turn an ankle in the process. "Maybe it would help if we opened the window a bit." "Feel free." She pulled the chord of the blinds and unleashed a torrent of dust. "How do you sleep back here?" "I don't. I usually sleep out on the couch." She ran her finger along the windowsill and came away with a thick grey coating for her trouble. "Don't you ever clean this place?" "Not really. Why do you think I sleep on the couch?" "Are you sure it's safe for me to even be in here?" "Sure. What's a case of typhoid between friends?" Her thoughts switched to the paintings. She seemed to marvel at their sheer number. "I didn't think there would be this many." "There's some more stacked in the closet." William continued to watch from the doorframe as she knelt down and began to flip through his work. It was kind of an awkward feeling. He really didn't want to be there, yet at the same time he couldn't look away. He was actually kind of nervous. The majority of the paintings lying out in the room were abstract collages ranging the full gamut of color. There were a few still lifes present, but they were all rather abstract in approach. "These are beautiful." William kept quiet. "You've never shown these to anyone?" "You're the first." "Why? These should really be shown. I bet if you called the museum they'd help you out. How many young artists are there in Hadleyville? You could become a local sensation." "Just what I always wanted." "Seriously, you should call them." "That's okay." "Why not?" "I guess it goes back to that whole not-feeling-the-need-to-be-appreciated-in-my-own-time thing." "Just because Van Gogh died penniless doesn't mean you have to." "No, but it is something to shoot for." She gradually made her way around the room, inspecting each canvas carefully. She truly seemed to be enjoying herself. It somehow made William proud of the past two years. "What if I called for you?" "I really wouldn't like that at all." "But people should see these. Don't you want your art to affect people?" "It will. In its own time." "What's wrong with now?" "I'm not ready yet." "When will you be ready?" "When I'm dead." "How can you wait that long?" "I can't wait a week?" She shot him an angry look. "I was just kidding," was his attempt to sooth the situation. "Well don't even joke about that sort of thing." She made her way to the closet. "I don't want you to die." "I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." The closet door opened to reveal a row of clothes and about twelve more paintings stacked on the floor. She carefully pulled them out and began to lean them up against the others lining the walls in order to view them properly. It was pretty obvious from seeing the collective work that the person responsible was not a real happy individual. While not every painting hung heavy with despair, it was the overriding theme. Yet at the same time there was a handful of seemingly irreverent pieces, such as the one of a man in a raincoat. "Who's this?" she asked at the sight of the rumpled, cigar-smoking subject. "That's Columbo." She just looked at him. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "What can I say? I like Columbo." She stood in the middle of the room and once again looked over the impromptu exhibit. After studying the assortment with some care, she voiced a concern. "Where's your signature?" She turned her head to look at William. "Don't you sign your paintings?" "No, not really." "Why not?" "Isn't it bad enough that I know who did 'em?" "Well, I think they're great. You should really call someone." "Enough already." She took a step closer to one of the paintings along the far wall and knelt down before it. "I think this one's my favorite." It was a painting of a lone individual standing on a mound of green earth. The background was pitch black around the outside edge but lightened ever so slightly as it made its way to the central figure, giving the impression of a promising aura around his body. Like most of William's work, the scene wasn't painted in great detail, but it did convey emotion and, to some extent, dread. "That's probably the closest I've ever come to a self portrait. I'm planning to do another one, but so far that's it." "So that's you?" "I like to think so." She studied it some more. "Is the darkness overwhelming you or are you slowly starting to overwhelm the darkness?" "I'll let you know when I do." "I think it's the latter." "I'm glad somebody does." She turned to look at him. "Would you stop it?" "What?" "Quit talking like that." "I'm sorry. I'll try to be more cheerful." "Thank you." She went back to looking at the painting. "You want it?" "What?" "You can have it if you want?" She turned again. "You mean I can have this?" "Yeah." She stood up to offer protest. "No, I couldn't take it." "Why not? You like it, right?" "Well, yeah. But are you sure?" He walked over and handed the painting to her. "I want you to have it." "Really?" "It would mean a lot to me if you'd accept it. From one friend to another." "From one friend to another, huh?" "Yeah." "Okay." She gave him a very appreciative hug. "Thank you very much." She stepped back and held the painting in front of her. "I've never owned a piece of art before." "I'm still not sure you have." "Are you kidding? When you're famous this is going to be worth lots of money. The whole world will want to see it." "I hope you're right." "And you know the best part?" "What's that?" "You'll be around to enjoy it all." He just smiled. "Let's go hang it in my place." She grabbed his hand and led them on their way. It seemed like she had been doing that ever since they met. "Where do you think it would look best?" she asked as they entered her apartment. "I don't know. How 'bout the bedroom?" "You might have something there." They waltzed into the room, both knowing full well what would happen. "What do you think?" She stepped up onto the mattress. "Over the bed?" She stepped back down and carried it to the opposite wall, holding it up for approval. "Or what about here? This way I'd see it every morning when I wake up." William was leaning back against the dresser. "It's your call." "I think this is the perfect place for it." She paused a moment and then looked over her shoulder while still holding the picture in place. "I just thought of something. I don't have a hammer or nails." "Neither do I, that's why I stack 'em all in the closet." "Well this isn't going in the closet." She gently lowered it to the floor and leaned it against the wall. "I'll just stand it here until I get some nails." She took a seat at the foot of the bed and continued to admire the gift. "I really do like it." "I'm glad." It was silent for a moment. "Why don't you paint more portraits?" "It's not really my thing. I just don't see the point. Anyone with a camera can make a portrait." She turned her attention to the artist. "Would you paint me?" He smiled. "I already have." "When?" "Who do you think that gold dot was?" She nearly melted. William watched as she got to her feet and began to slowly make her way towards him. Their eyes never wavered from one another's. She kissed him. "It still hasn't been a week," reminded William for a second time. She kissed him again. William spent the entire night by her side, and this time she didn't even fall asleep on his arm. The rapid-fire sound of computer keys woke him up at a little before one in the afternoon. After stopping off in the bathroom to splash some water on his face, he drowsily stumbled into the living room. "Hey, look who's typing." She emphatically struck one final key and spun around in her chair to greet him. "Hey! How'd you sleep?" "Like a log. In fact, oh never mind, I did that joke already." "I didn't know whether to wake you or not. What time did you get to sleep?" "About 5:00 or 5:30, something like that." William made his way to the couch. "Thanks for not leaving in the middle of the night. I really appreciate you staying, what with your crazy schedule and all." "It's the least I can do. And when I say that I mean it, because just when you think I do nothing I always find a way to do less." "Well, I appreciate it just the same. Why do you keep the hours that you do? Is it because you feel more creative at night?" "Yeah, partly. Plus daytime TV sucks. And for some reason when I wake up early I always seem to get tired in the middle of the day and I never feel like doing anything at all." "You could always take a nap." "No, I could never do that. Waking up once a day to realize who I am is bad enough. Twice would be unbearable." Meghan shook her head in disappointment at his continued self-deprecation, but thought it would be best to simply move on. "You want any breakfast or anything?" "No thanks. I rarely eat breakfast, or lunch, or even dinner for that matter. So I see you're writing again." "Yeah. I don't know what it is but you seem to bring out the writer in me. Maybe you're my muse." "That doesn't mean I have to paint my face white does it?" "I think that's a mime." "Hey, I was thinkin'..." "Yeah?" "Maybe we should try and define our relationship a little bit more, you know, just so there won't be any confusion." "Okay, we could do that," agreed Meghan. "So how do you see it?" "Well, that depends. How do you see it?" "I asked you first." "Yeah, but it was your idea." "Aw, why do I have to be so darn smart? Okay, well, here's how I see it. We both like each other, right?" "Right." "You probably like me a little bit more than I like you, but hey, that's natural." It got the intended laugh. "The important thing is that we both like each other. We both care for each other. Yet at the same time you're involved with someone else and this does complicate matters." "Correct." "So I propose that we just stay really good friends. We still talk, we still hang out, we still have fun, but we keep it on a friendly level." "So we wouldn't sleep together anymore?" "No, of course we would. Why wouldn't we?" "I'm not sure that's something good friends do." "That's why I said we'd be really good friends." "Oh, okay." "It just doesn't make a whole lot of sense for us to be alone at night when we're no more than like twenty feet apart, does it?" "When you put it like that..." "It's only natural that friends would want to be together. And that's what we are. We're friends. I enjoy being with you. You enjoy being with me. And we're just in it for fun." "I could see that. And there's no real commitment between us, right?" "No, not at all. No commitment. Just fun." "I think I can handle that. But what about when Mark comes home?" "Who?" "I don't know if I can keep seeing you behind his back. It doesn't seem right." "Yeah, but you won't be cheating on him. You'll just be hanging out with a friend. Doesn't he have female friends?" "Yeah, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't sleep with them." "Well, hey, I didn't say it was fair for everybody. And he's out of town for the next week anyway, so who cares? We can worry about that later. But for now we're agreed on this, right? We're just friends." "Really good friends." "That sleep together." "And have fun together." "Without any attachments." "Sounds good to me, friend." She extended her hand. "Me too, pal." He accepted it and they shook on the agreement. They sat there a moment and seemed quite pleased with their new arrangement, like it was a modern day Yalta Conference or something. "Speaking of having fun..." started Meghan. "Yes?" "You know what friends do?" "What's that?" "Friends often go to parties together." "You don't say?" "Yes, they do. And it just so happens that a friend of mine is having a little get-together tomorrow night at her place. And I would be honored if you'd accompany me, ol' chum." "What kind of party?" "Just a small get-together. Like maybe us and five or six other people." "I don't know, I'm not a big fan of parties." "Why not?" "I think it has something to do with me hating people." "You hate people?" "Yes. Yes, I do." "But you like me." "You don't count." "Well, I know you have friends, I saw them over at your place. And you're even stealing the Big Boy for one of them, for crying out loud." "They don't count either. I've known them forever. If I had to just go about meeting them now I wouldn't." "I think it would do you good to get out of the apartment and meet some new people." "You do, do ya?" "C'mon, it'll be fun." "Who else is going to be there?" "Well, the party's at my friend Karen's. She went to school with me. And her husband will be there..." "She's married?" "Yeah." "How old is she?" "She's our age." "And she's married?" "Yeah." "So she's like an adult and stuff?" "People our age do get married." "I guess. So who else?" "Just a couple other friends from school and their significant others." "If they're all friends of yours then they have to know Tim, right?" "Who?" "Your boyfriend." "Yeah, they know him. But he's not close with any of them or anything like that." "Still, don't you think it might be awkward if you show up with someone else?" "They won't care." "Are you kiddin' me, we'll be the talk of the town." "So what? Who cares?" "Who cares? I think you've been hanging around with me too much." "C'mon, what do you say?" "You really want to go to this thing?" "Yes." "Where is it?" "Plum." "Plum? What is that, like a three-day trip?" "You don't get out much do you? It's thirty minutes." "That's almost a half hour." "Almost." "It's not gonna be formal or anything, is it? I like don't have to wear a tie or anything do I?" "No, nothing like that. It's just a bunch of friends getting together to hang out, have some fun." "You won't all be sleeping together afterwards?" "No, we're just friends. Not really good friends." "Just checking. Well, I guess I'll go. For you. But I just want to go on record as saying that this isn't the sort of thing I like to do." "Your sacrifice is commendable." "The things I won't do for a really good friend. So when is this debacle?" "Tomorrow night around seven." "What's on tap tonight?" "Not too much I'm afraid. I have to go into work at four and then I have to open tomorrow morning, so I have to turn in early." "You have to close Friday night and then open Saturday morning? What happened? You lose a bet?" "I'm covering for somebody. But I'll be home in plenty of time for the party." "If you have to work late I'll understand." "Not a chance." William stood up. "Well, I guess I should go practice my witty banter." They began walking to the door together. "Not too witty. I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself, or anyone else." "Don't worry, I'll be the perfect gentlemen. But even if I'm not, who cares? Everyone will just blame you for bringing me. What the hell? I didn't want to go to this thing in the first place." "That's the spirit." William opened his door and offered a parting salutation. "Happy writing." "Thanks." His door closed but Meghan called after him, "And be ready by a quarter till!" A muffled "Yeah, yeah, yeah" was his only response. She smiled and closed her door, feeling quite proud of herself that she persuaded him to go to the party. She was sure it would prove to be an interesting evening, probably more than a bit peculiar, but interesting nevertheless.