deadly nightshade | fever in, fever out

chapter 12: steam engenius

"i was born in the factory,
far away from the milk and tea,
what's the use?
oh, what's the use?
you chitters are split in half:
a mechanical sacrificial calf for you.
oh, all for you."
-"steam engenius", modest mouse

Okay, but what should I do with these drawings, though?" Sam asked Frank in a hushed voice. The two of them had huddled back into the closet to remain out of earshot from Charlie and Marla, given the two of them were completely oblivious to everything else that wasn't Stormtroopers of Death. Billy had finally woken up, and he climbed off of the floor, and he staggered into the kitchen for a cup of coffee courtesy of Charlie himself. Their voices floated in through the wall and the slight crack between the closet door and the door frame, but the two of them needed their time alone for the time being.
Frank huddled closer to the far corner of the room even though the apartment had warmed up a fair amount from the time in which they came back from upstate. He bowed his head as if saying a prayer and yet his eyes were open.
"What'cha looking at?" she asked him as she inched closer to him.
"I dunno, Sam," he confessed with a swallow and a shake of his head.
"Don't know what?"
"How it's all gonna play out with us."
"What do you mean?" She knitted her eyebrows together and pressed her hands to her hips. Frank sighed through his nose and shifted his weight. Indeed, she knew that if she was to get into art school, she would have to show some of her journal to Charlie, and that included sharing those five cartoons in the first five pages. Frank never answered, and thus she moved in closer to him.
"Frankie, listen," she began, and she set her hand on his shoulder. She had no idea as to where she was going with all of this, but she also knew that she needed to speak at that very moment.
"Let's just keep it between you and me," Sam insisted. "Charlie doesn't ever have to see anything from my journal. We bothed vowed to keep it between the two of us. I can promise you that as much as the day is long."
"Yeah... but—" Frank ran his fingers through his lush dark hair.
"What?"
"These things have a weird way of slipping out into the open, though."
"I won't let that happen," she vowed, to which she never wavered for a second and yet she knew it was something she couldn't completely promise given the possibility of her attending school. He kept his fingers in place in those lush locks, right down by his collar bone, and he glimpsed up at her with a big, wide eyed look on his boyish face.
"But what about school, though?" he whispered.
"I'll figure it out," she quipped, even though she didn't have a plan.
"Charlie bought you that journal."
"Right. But I'll figure it out, though. I promise, Frankie." She extended her pinky finger. He swallowed and then he nodded his head, and then, albeit with a bit of reluctance, he extended his right pinky finger and hooked it around her own. He held it there for a full minute: that strong little finger coiled around hers tight like a pair of snakes entwined around each other. He then let go and sighed through his nose again.
Charlie said something in the next room and Marla burst out laughing. Sam moved in closer to Frank and they both gazed down at the journal on the carpet before them.
"Would you like me to draw you something?" she offered him in a low voice.
"Please. If you don't mind."
"Not at all," she said, and she couldn't hardly resist the smile from crossing her face. "New best friend." He then sank down onto the carpet down by her feet, and she followed suit right next to him. She reached for the journal and the pens and the pencil, and she crossed her legs. He did the same as she plunked the journal open to a fresh new page. She caressed her fingertips over the smooth surface of the paper.
"What do you think I should draw?" she asked him as he inched closer to her there on the carpet, so close that the side of his knee brushed up against hers. He glimpsed at her with those eyes still large and deep.
"You want me to draw you again, don't you," she teased him, to which he shrugged at her.
"If you want," he replied in a small voice.
"I could use more practice with hair, especially yours." She eyed the especially long parts of his hair, the strands down over his collar bones and his shoulders, and the part down his back. Thick and dark and very healthy looking; his bangs brushed against his brow such that his dark eyes stood out to her.
"I want to look further down inside of your hair," she admitted. "It's so textured and just looks so soft."
Frank lifted himself into a more upright position.
"You wanna check it out?" he asked her with a small smile on his face. She turned her head for a look over at the door, which hung ajar enough still for them to hear their soft voices out in the living room. She returned to him right as he moved his head in closer to her: she could pick up the faint aroma of the cologne on the side of his neck. She set the journal down on the carpet, right before her knee, and she reached for the sides of his head.
She let the strands of his hair twirl around her fingers: it was extra soft down by the roots and near the back of his head. The hair near the base of his neck felt like a layer of silken tapestry, and given where it lay on his head, it was solid black. Meanwhile the hair at the crown of his head felt a little more coarse and rough while still holding that sweet softness. He closed his eyes as she ran her fingers through the hair over his shoulders. She caressed his collar bones and the sides of his neck with both hands.
She held her hands over the top of his chest for a little bit longer to feel his warmth and his heartbeat. Frank kept his eyes closed as she kept her hands there upon his chest. Sam wanted that warmth inside of him and she wanted to put it on that sheet of paper in front of her. She moved her hands back up to the sides of his head to feel those soft silken roots again.
She caressed the roots at the base of his head again, and she could feel the hair there was tightly curled, almost like the finest of ribbons. She twined a lock around her pinky finger, and it was a perfect fit, a perfect ring around her finger. Her fingertips ran over his scalp.
Every inch of his hair was soft and smooth, and even his head carried enough of that silky warmth for her to relish in it long enough. She then ran her fingers through the hair on the sides of his head and let it fan out. She held out her hands to let the hair drift back down onto his shoulders and the sides of his neck.
He then opened his eyes and she noticed slight dark circles underneath them: they did fall asleep on the hard floor of a closet. She then reached for her journal again, to the new blank page in question. Without hesitation, Frank lay down on his stomach and propped his chin up in the palm of his hand as if he was a young boy watching cartoons in his parents' living room. He kept his eyes within the line of sight of her pencil: even though he was upside down, he watched her draw out his head first, that time from a full view from the side. She made sure the tip of his nose was upturned and slim, and she kept the thickest and tightest of curls intact near the base of his head, right underneath the smoothest and straightest hair at the back of his head.
"I'm like that Egyptian queen," he remarked at one point.
Sam hesitated for a second.
"Egyptian queen," she echoed in a near whisper.
"You know, the one with the bust made—uh, she had like a column of hair atop her head? Almost like the Bride of Frankenstein, kinda?"
"Nefertiti?" she threw out there.
"Nefertiti, yeah! This is almost like the bust of Frank Bello."
"Bello of Frankenstein!" she quipped, which brought a laugh out of him. Once she began sketching out the crown of his head, out of the corner of her eye, she could make out the sight of him gazing up at her with those big dark eyes. She looked up from the page in the sketchbook for a view into his eyes. It was like drawing for a young boy, especially since he kept his chin propped up with both hands and he lifted his feet up.
"Shall I use the smaller millimeter pens or the larger ones?" she asked him.
"Larger. I wanna see the larger of the pens all around my head." He had a little twinkle in his eye and a warm little smile on his handsome face. She then set the pencil down on the carpet next to her knee, and she reached for the middle size pen for the outline of his head, his neck, and his shoulders. She never lifted the tip of the pen from the paper, even as she ran it back over the original line of ink for a thicker, more cartoonish rendition. She ran the pen all around his eyes and then the outline of his nose.
The column of hair atop of Queen Nefertiti's head, except she was drawing Frank's soft lush dark hair, especially the tight curls all around the base of his head. Sam wondered if she could change the pens for the shading all around his neck and his head, and yet he still had that look in his eyes. She started at the crown of his head, complete with short pen strokes to make it look as though he had a little bit of shine about the top there. She could still feel the softness of his hair on her fingertips as she brought the pen down towards his shoulders, which she didn't realize were bare at first. Bare naked and shirtless.
She gave the skin around his eyes and the side of his face just a handful of hatch lines to give it some depth, and yet it was as if she was feeling him for real once again. She drew a few little spirals upon his right shoulder, and then she followed it up with a bit more smooth silken hair on the top layer for some depth. Sam moved her hand to the back of his head for some windswept tendrils. The pen tip snaked along into a wave shape at the back of his head, to which she added a few little spirals at the end, as well as a pair of large ones near the top of his bangs.
A few touches here and there, especially a few near the very tip top of his head to emphasize the sheen on his lush hair, and within time, she signed her initials at the bottom of the page and dated the drawing.
"All for me?" he whispered to her.
"All for you, baby," she whispered back to him; right as the words left her lips, a knock on the door caught their attention. She closed the journal with a bit of haste and then they turned their attention to Scott poking his head into the closet.
"Oh, there you guys are," he declared in a broken voice; even from clear across the room, they could smell the coffee and the spearmint on his breath: he had brushed his teeth at some point.
"You were looking for us?" she asked him, and she clutched the spine of her journal with her left hand.
"Yeah, I was wondering if you guys went back to your place," he said with a nod and a slight grin flashed to her. "Charlie told me to lock up the place just in case." Sam and Frank glanced at one another, and then they returned to him.
"No way," she promptly said.
"Nah, no way," he echoed her. Sam realized the rest of the apartment outside of the closet was silent.
"Where'd Charlie and Marla go?" she asked Scott.
"They and Billy left just a minute ago to hand in the demo tape and also take Billy home. I guess he's real hungover at the moment."
"The dude could hardly get up so, yeah," Frank replied with a shrug.
"And if we were still here, what else did Charlie want you to do?" Sam asked Scott.
"Dunno, he just said to lock up the place if you guys weren't here."
"Wanna head on back to my place, though?" Frank offered her.
"Yeah, sit on something comfy," she replied as she stretched her arms over her head. He climbed to his feet first and he extended his hand to her. She locked eyes with him once again, but that time it was to grip onto his hand, and she stood up before him. He picked up her journal, the pencil, and the pens for her.
"Sit on something comfy and also maybe take a nap, too," he suggested. "Leaning back on a hard wall isn't the best sleeping position."
"I never would've guessed," she chided, which coaxed a laugh out of Scott.
"C'mon, you two, I'll walk you outside," he offered them with an outstretch of his arm.
The three of them strode on over to the front door, where they put on their coats and, once Scott had pressed the button in the doorknob to lock it, they headed on out of Charlie's apartment to the cold, snow covered street outside. Sam adjusted the lapels of her coat before she stepped out to the frigid, biting New York cold. Frank huddled closer to her once they reached the sidewalk and Scott walked right behind them all the way.
The clouds broke up enough to the point Sam could make out a small patch of the bright blue sky over the far edge of the Bronx; before they reached their apartment complex, a fluffy tuft of white covered up the patch and she shivered from the feeling of the snow around them. A pillar of steam billowed up from the manhole cover in the middle of the street, to which Sam shuddered and tucked her hands into her coat pockets. Everything felt so clean and crisp, despite it being the street on the northern side of the Bronx: perhaps it was from sitting in that tiny closet that allowed her to focus more on everything around her. Meanwhile, Frank still held onto her journal, the pens, and the pencil, and she wondered what was about to happen in that apartment once Scott had gone.
"So you guys gonna be okay?" he asked them as they reached the front step.
"Oh, yeah," she assured him, and she put her arms around him. Scott was a bit taken aback by the gesture, but he returned the favor with his hands firm upon her upper back. He shook hands with Frank before they were met with a blast of warm air from the vent in the front corridor. Emile stood in his doorway and it looked as though he was arguing with someone in his apartment.
"Yes, I keep telling you," he was saying, "it's just for the best." He turned his head and his face lit up at the sight of Frank and Sam walking towards him.
"Ah! There you are, Frank."
"Here I am. What's going on?"
"My wife was just telling me about your playing down the hall."
He gaped at him.
"Oh, no, I'm so sorry—I'll try to be more careful next time," he promised in a single breath.
"No, no, no, no, no," Emile said with a wave of his hand, "she was complimenting you on it."
"Oh." Frank brought his free hand to his brow and swept it across his bangs. "Phew!"
Emile and Sam both chuckled at him, and the woman in the apartment said something: she was tucked away in the next room in there and thus Sam couldn't hear exactly what she had said.
"Huh?" Emile called out, and she and Frank kept on going to his apartment at the end of the corridor. He handed her the journal, the pens, and the pencil, and he reached into his coat pocket for his key. She brought the journal up to her chest and she noticed the fatigue settling in over his head and shoulders.
"Phew, Jesus," he muttered as the door swung open. He stepped inside first and she ducked over to the kitchen table. Before Sam could ask him was wrong, she watched his steps shorten up. He staggered to the couch and he fell head first onto the cushion on the far end. She swore he hit his head on the arm, but he collapsed onto the couch and relaxed once he landed. He buried his face right into the cushion and his right arm dangled over the edge: his fingers caressed over the carpet.
"Frankie?" she called out to him. He never replied or even so much as moved. She knew she would have to head on upstairs at some point, but she recalled their talking about buying a new journal for herself. They lived a ways away from that art shop where Charlie had bought the journal for her, but she knew she would have to find a new one for herself. She would have to find an exact copy of that one just to make sure he would never see those secret drawings meant for Frank's eyes.
Sam peered up at the clock on the wall. The day was still very much young, even though the whole subway trip down to Manhattan took up a whole day. She was still very much the new girl, despite having fit in with ease. But Frank had fallen asleep and she wondered if Charlie knew where they had gone to. She would have to quickly move along no matter what happened.
"You want me to go back out again," she declared in a low voice, and with the thought of what Charlie had said earlier firmly in mind. Frank never stirred, and thus Sam fetched up a sigh. She picked up the pencil and the pens and tucked them into her purse, right next to that photograph: however, she could tell her purse was far too large for it. She turned to Frank laying there face down on the couch.
She would have to keep in mind where she was about to stash her journal, right underneath Frank's head and upper body. He never stirred as she lifted up the cushion and slid the journal into its new hiding place. She fetched up another sigh and doubled back out to the corridor: Emile had disappeared which was good news for her. She need not waste any time on her way to the subway station up the street.
A chill ran down her spine as she walked at a brisk pace to the wrought iron fence around the terminal. She kept a hand on the strap of her purse, even though the station was deserted. She paid the fare for the ride down to Manhattan and waited for a few minutes at those low metal grated benches.
She gave her hair a flip back with a flick of her head and she peered around at the vacant tracks before her. A cold day in New York City and yet she knew there had to be more people roaming around.
Within time, that smooth silvery subway train slithered out of the darkness to the right and slowed to a stop before her. The doors squeaked open and she scurried onboard, and she stood near that silver bar near the double doors, and she held onto the rung overhead with her free hand. Within time, the subway train shot forward into the darkness; she was the only one on that part of the train. The ceiling lights bathed the crown of her dark hair in that pale yellow light: she took a glimpse at her own reflection in the window. She gazed on at the young girl in the reflection and she knew she would have to take the subway solo even more times.
Time to go from girl to woman, she thought to herself as she adjusted her grip on the strap of her purse.
The ride down to Manhattan went by quicker than the first time with Frank and Charlie, and yet she couldn't hardly recall where the art shop was from the second she stepped off the subway train and surfaced to the bustling streets. The gray sky hung over her head and the towering buildings around her, to the point it all appeared monotonous and similar to one another. She held there for a few seconds, and she glanced around the street for any sign of some sort.
She walked forward, away from the terminal; the sun hidden behind the wispy gray clouds didn't help matters given she lost track of time somewhere around Time Square.
But then the memory of where she had gone to before returned to her once she reached the street corner. Indeed, she spotted the art shop up the block. She clutched onto her purse and strode up the sidewalk with the cold wind blowing through the roots of her hair. She spotted a boy wrapped in a long black overcoat over by the coffee house next door: he carried a black guitar case on his back and a serious, almost grave look on his face. He paid no attention to her and the sunglasses hiding his eyes didn't help matters, and yet she wondered about him, given she recognized him from the music shop not too far from there. Even from a ways away and standing there at the front door, she could tell he was tall and lanky for a young boy. And before she stepped inside of the art shop, she noticed a little blue and white knit yarmulke upon his head.
But Sam pressed onward to the art shop and she wasted no time in finding a new sketchbook for herself. An exact copy of the first journal. She thanked the clerk in there and she returned outside to the cold.
The boy had crossed the street and he strolled up to that familiar building with the rehearsal space. She watched him hoist the guitar case on his back and then he stepped inside there. Sam made a mental note to ask about him, given all the other bands that went through there. Add to this, he looked young, as if he was still in high school.
She headed on back to the subway terminal for the long ride back home. Indeed, that time around, the train was loaded full with passengers: she held onto the rung with her free hand once again and she kept her elbow pressed onto her purse. Even though she only lived there for a couple of weeks, she began to feel like a true New Yorker right then and there.
When she returned to Frank's apartment, she found he was still sound asleep and yet Charlie had showed up there with a cup of coffee in hand.
"Hey," she greeted him as she stepped inside.
"Hey," he echoed, surprised and stunned at the sight of her.
"I—wasn't expecting to see you here," she told him.
"Frankie left his car in front of my place and so I came here to tell him that and I found the door was unlocked," he explained in a single breath. "What's up with you?"
"I—just had to go and run a little errand," she said. It was the truth: she had to make an errand, and yet she chose her words with care, especially since she held the bag with the new sketchbook close to her body. Lucky for her, the bag was comprised of that heavy white parchment paper so he couldn't see it for himself.
"Is that your sketchbook?" he asked her with a little nod of his head. Or perhaps he did.
"The—one you got for me?" she answered.
"Yeah."
"Yes!"
At some point, she would have to make a switch between the new sketchbook in her arms and the one under Frank's head.
"Earlier, Frankie and I were talking, and—I finally came to the conclusion I want to do a demo for you. Just for you, too."
Even behind his bangs, Sam could see him raise his eyebrows at her.
"Where's Marla, by the way?" she asked him.
"Oh, she went home—Bill and I handed in the tape and she was like 'I gotta go!' and I was like, 'okay, babe...'" His voice trailed off, and Sam watched him turn his head towards the couch. Frank was still asleep there on the couch, which meant Sam and Charlie were alone together.
"So, would you like me to—?" Even as the words left her lips, Charlie lunged for the chair closest to him. He set down his cup of coffee in front of him and folded his hands together in one fell swoop.
"Do I need to ask?" she chuckled as he patted the top of the table to his right. She set down her purse on the table, followed by that black journal wrapped in that white parchment. She unraveled it so he could see for himself.
He bowed his head over the cover for a whiff.
"Still has that fresh outta the shop smell," he remarked. She fished the pens and the pencil out of her purse, as well as the photograph. Frank never moved once on the couch behind them, and yet it was only between her and Charlie at that point. He sipped on his coffee and gave his rich dark hair a toss back from his face. The memory of Frank's hair was still fresh on her hands and fingers, even after her dealing with the subways and the art shop. She wondered if Charlie would ever find out she had done that given the soft aroma left over from Frank's hair stayed firm on her skin, or perhaps it was just her imagination.
Regardless, she picked up her pencil and gazed on at the photograph of the two young boys, the younger versions of the two men in that room with her. Again, it felt as if she was feeling them, as if she ran her fingers through their soft hair and she held their little faces in her hands. Charlie sipped on his coffee every so often and yet he never took his eyes off of her.
That time around, she used the side of the graphite instead of switching over to the ink pens to her right. The graphite left behind a soft haziness in its wake, and she made use of it: within time, the faint sketchy outlines disappeared into the blanket of graphite, much like how the sun often disappeared behind those cold gray clouds outside, or how the steam from the manhole cover out in the street vanished into thin air.
"Genius at work right now," Charlie breathed out at one point. He propped up his chin in the palm of his hand and he watched her every move.
She added the final gentle touches on their hair when Frank's yawning caught their attention.
"Hey, he's awake!" Charlie declared with one last sip of coffee.
"And just in time, too—" said Sam as she added a bit more shading on the side of Charlie's head.
"Yeah, come here and look at this, Frankie!" Charlie stood to his feet and lunged for the sink to rinse out his cup. Frank lingered behind her and gasped, and he froze.
"Holy shit," he muttered.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Charlie said over the trickle of water.
"That's just stunning," Frank noted, and he set a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Yeah, you're getting into art school, for sure." Charlie padded out of there and headed back to the bedroom.
"Where you going?" Frank called after him.
"Where's your camera?"
"It's on top of my dresser." Frank returned to Sam and the drawing, and his expression turned serious. "Wait a minute, is this a new sketchbook?" He lowered his voice so Charlie wouldn't hear him, and she nodded her head.
"The other one's under the couch cushion," she told him with a wink.
"Oh, you're good," he told her. "Like that's genius."