Page 40 of Wish I Were Here
I sit back on my stool. It’s no secret that I’m a rule follower, but Iamsurprised that Luca has put all these pieces together, only having known me for such a short time. Especially because I still can’t quite figure him out.
“So what about you?” I fold my cocktail napkin into a rectangle. “Did you always want to do what you’re doing? Did you go to college?”
“Nah.” He shrugs. “I thought about it. I was into drawing in high school and looked into art schools for college. Even got into a couple. But I realized that once I had deadlines and assignments, it wasn’t going to be any fun anymore. It would turn into work, and that’s not really for me.” He lifts a colorful arm. “I still draw, but just for me and my friends.”
My eyes widen and slide from his tattoos to his face. “These areyourdesigns?”
“Yep.”
“They’re beautiful.” Again, I’m tempted to trace my finger along the lines of a winding vine, and I even go as far as reaching my hand out. At the last moment, I drop it back into my lap. “I bet you could show your work in a gallery.”
I’m surprised to see his eyes darken for just a moment. “I actually had a gallery show booked last year, but…” Luca spins his shot glass in his hand, and I wait for him to say more. Finally, he shrugs. “But it didn’t work out.”
“I’m sorry.” I remember my splurge on those botanical prints on my apartment wall. “I hope you can schedule another one someday. I would buy a drawing of one of these designs. If I ever have any money again, I mean.”
The shadows clear from his eyes, and Luca leans in, his lips quirking. “Listen, when you’re ready to get your first tattoo, I’ll draw it for you. On the house.” He looks at me sideways. “If you don’t already have a tattoo, that is. A graduation present from Ginger Ale, maybe?”
I laugh. “No tattoos.”
“Perfect. I love a blank canvas.” He reaches out, and his fingers brush my arm. My head spins in ways that have nothing to do with that third shot of whiskey.
I take a shaky breath, and a completely wild thought comes to me.I should take Luca to ArtSpace.They have a gallery, and I bet Ginger Ale would love to show Luca’s work there.
I haven’t been to ArtSpace in years, but I practically grew up there. Though my living situation was never very stablewhen I was a kid, ArtSpace was a constant. I did most of my homework and school projects at a paint-spattered table in the corner while Dad practiced tricks with his circus friends. It’s where I got to know all the women from the burlesque dance troupe, where I drank shots with Ginger Ale, where a woman named Frenchy Kiss told me everything I needed to know about the birds and the bees.
Dad still spends most of his free time at ArtSpace, but it’s not a place that I ever expected to go back to. I’m glad Dad found his people there, but it could never make up for the home I longed for. And Ginger Ale and Frenchy Kiss weren’t quite the mom I always dreamed about. To be honest, I have a lot of mixed feelings about ArtSpace. So the fact that my tattooed doorman, whom I found completely maddening just days ago, has me thinking about heading over there might be a bigger mystery than my identity crisis.
Onstage, the trumpet player announces that the band is going to take a short break, and Luca glances at his phone. “Oh, shit. Is it ten already? I should go.” He pulls out his wallet. “And you should probably get home to bed.”
It doesn’t surprise me that Luca has someplace else to be or that he’s just getting started for the evening. But he’s right, ten is already past my bedtime. The fact that I was just about to take him to a warehouse with strobe lights, loud music, and scantily clad women is completely beside the point. I’m not myself lately. And I’m glad he reminded me of that.
I’ll get eight hours of sleep and wake up in the morning, well rested and ready to work on my research paper. While he’ll probably stumble home and sleep on the floor of the lobby again.
Luca insists on paying our bar bill, and I let him because I have two hundred dollars to my name and no idea when I’ll be able to earn more, and that fact is going to keep me up tonight. We step out on the sidewalk, and Luca turns to head toward the DeGreco.
“You don’t have to walk me if you have somewhere to be.” Bloomfield is a safe neighborhood and I only live a few blocks from here. Most of the bars that would interest Luca are in Lawrenceville, in the opposite direction. “You’re already late, so you probably want to get going.”
But Luca keeps walking. “I’m going the same direction you’re going.”
Inside the lobby of the DeGreco, Luca presses the button for the elevator. “You’re going upstairs?” I ask. “What floor do you live on?”
“Two.” But once we’re inside the elevator, he presses eight for my floor, and then eleven.
“You’re not going home?”
“Nah, I’ve got a friend on the eleventh floor. I told her I’d stop by around ten.”
Oh.“Anyone I know?”
“I don’t think so.”
There are a few younger couples in the building, and a family with twin boys, but otherwise, it seems to be mostly older people. I’ve never seen any single women my age. That doesn’t mean there aren’t any, though. It wouldn’t surprise me that they’d want to hang out with Luca. Heisoutgoing, and fun, and really attractive to look at. I mean, I could see why other women would think so. As long as they don’t care that he was supposed to arrive at ten and it’s already ten fifteen.
The elevator stops on my floor, and I step off, turning to face him. Luca puts a hand on the door to keep it open. “I’ll text you when I hear from Uncle Vito. Could be a day or two.”
“Thank you again for your help tonight, Luca. I really appreciate it.” And I mean it. Where would I be right now if it weren’t for his help?
Completely on my own.
