An Artist in Her Basement

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

The house was located on a high, mountainous ridge. Adrian seemed pleased with the view. He walked to the edge of the drive and stood with his legs spread apart. His hands rested on a narrow waist that harmonized well with his broad shoulders. His jeans were appropriately loose and sagged at the bottom, ending atop of square-toed scruffy boots. They may have been cowboy boots, Sarah wasn't sure. She wasn't sure of anything right now.

She watched him inhale the crisp afternoon air that seemed to mean something to him. She didn't want to interrupt him, but she couldn't just stand there and let her overactive mind take her to places she had no business going. Besides, she still couldn't decide if she should be afraid of Adrian. He was a man. He was not the woman she thought might become her friend. The woman she'd share stories with in the afternoons. He was not the female artist she had imagined. There would be no vicarious sharing of her artist-tenant's life. She wouldn't be transported around the world over tea. She wouldn't even make it to New York. Sarah had only lived in two places, Michigan and now Kentucky. A place to where she wasn't even sure she should have returned.

Adrian finally turned around. Sarah caught a clear view of him in the sunlight. It was worse than she thought. He was the kind of man that made Twitter accounts blow up and drove women to birth blogs. He smiled that smile that after all of ten minutes she'd already become familiar with. It was gentle, beautiful, and almost womanly. He'd probably gotten that from his mother, she thought. The way Sarah looked at it, ten long masculine strides was all the time she had left to tell Adrian he had to leave without explanation. Finding another renter would be easy. The location was beautiful, especially for artists, which is how she had advertised the dwelling. Next time, she'd be very specific to ask for a female tenant and a picture.

Adrian walked to her slower than she'd expected, giving Sarah time to weigh in on her decision. Deliberate or not, each step closer revealed their stark differences, but also their sameness in the area that was most important to her. He was a big man. She was big woman. It didn't matter that Adrian probably wasn't attracted to her. It was just nice being in the presence of a man whose size made her feel petite and feminine.

Their differences were obvious. He was white—maybe. It was a little hard to tell what his ethnicity was. But one thing was for sure, Adrian was a man for all the races. English, French, Spanish, Italian, and Portuguese would all sound beautiful spoken from his tongue. His light skin was nicked with a stroke of something Sarah couldn't quite put a finger on. She'd never come across anything like him in Kentucky, Michigan, or the two states in between.

Sarah was half black and half white. Despite the equitable mix, her African American ancestry paid her a great deal more attention than her Caucasian roots. Choosing "other" on an application caused too many problems when she showed up. So technically she was black. This was something her Caucasian mother wouldn't let her easily forget.

Sarah resented thinking about her mother's scorn when such an important decision was walking her way. Courtesy of her mother, she mindlessly stroked long, chestnut hair that grew naturally straight out of her roots. Courtesy of her father, she mindlessly licked full lips and compared them to the thinner lips of the approaching artist. Time was running out. She used the few seconds she had left to note more of their differences besides the color of their skin.

Her cheekbones were high. His were barely there, but prominent enough to keep him fine. Her eyes were big, revealing all. His eyes were deep-set, telling nothing unless you were willing to invest your soul to find out. That was what scared her the most. And that was why he had to go.

Her calculation had been off. Thirteen steps, not ten, was the number of strides it took for Adrian to reach her. He stood before her appearing happy that he had found his temporary home. His unreadable eyes looked intently into her large doe giveaways. "Having second thoughts?" he asked.

She didn't answer.

He leaned his back against the side of the house where the door was hinged. His hands were clasped behind his back. One foot jetted out slightly farther than the other. "I'm sorry I'm not a girl," he spoke quietly, apologetically. "Sarah, I'm tired and I just need a place to rest for the night. In the morning, if you still feel uncomfortable, I will leave."

I will leave, sounded so final. Side by side, they looked out over the mountain together. When the sun shifted just a little to the west to close out her day, the temperature dropped. And the shadows on the trees stretched out before them as far as the eyes could see increased their shade. The declining sun on his face made it easier for Sarah to look at him if she wanted, which she did. His glory had been dimmed. Without the sun, she could see his squared chin that contrasted her more delicate one.

Sarah was prettier than she knew. Adrian had already memorized every aspect of her face, including the mole just above her top lip. A round-tip brush would work well to capture every beautiful detail of her face. Namely, the mole. It fascinated him.

Sarah peeped at Adrian from a side glance. She could have turned her head to look at him outright, but that would've made things too complicated up close. She shook her head from side to side fully intending to say, no, you cannot stay here. But Sarah couldn't fight the shift that had just occurred in her heart regarding him. He stared at her wearily. He was tired and so was she, but for different reasons. She spoke, "I need to see some identification."

The muscles in his face relaxed. He reached into his pocket and handed her his driver's license.

Sarah said his name out loud. "Adrian Alejandro." How could she have ever thought he had a woman's name? Had depression ruined her good senses? He was younger than she had thought. The creases around his eyes looked premature. She'd find out why later—or not. The person attached to the identification she held in her hand made her stomach do unexpected flip flops. She turned to him. "Spanish?"

"Cuban."

"Cuban," she repeated. Things just kept getting worse. They had crossed the exotic. Not only did she have an artist in her basement who would unknowingly torture her unrequited attention with his presence. She had a Cuban artist in her basement and his bomber jacket was padded with more than mixed martial arts-like muscles. It was full of stories. It had to be. No one just flies from Communist Cuba to America. Or do they? Maybe he was an American born Cuban. He could be from Miami or New York City. Her imagination raced farther with one what if after the other. What if he wasn't born in America? What if he actually was from Cuba? What if he had escaped from Cuba by floating across the Atlantic? What if...?

She handed Adrian back his ID and they stepped back inside to his new-to-him apartment. She pointed out the amenities knowing full well that she wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know. She had posted pictures in the ad, which included detailed information about the nearest grocery store, post office and other things he might require. So there was no need to show him around. As far as she was concerned, Adrian had seen enough. His unexpected arrival had allowed him to see her cleavage, her belly fat poking out from beneath a too tight mill around the house t-shirt and unflattering, worn-out jeans meant for house cleaning only. "I'm pretty quiet," she said. "You have my number if you need me. Otherwise, I'd prefer you to knock on the front door if you want to talk face to face about anything. I'll never come into your space without your permission," she finally added, and then turned to leave.

Adrian followed her to the steps that led back up to her space. He felt a little sorry for her. Sarah had been expecting a female tenant about an hour later than he had arrived. Her body language told him that her clothing made her feel exposed, which she was. But she was sultry and it was obvious that was information she didn't know about herself. By the time she reached the top step, he was standing at the bottom and called up after her. "You can still change your mind in the morning, Sarah."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she tossed back satirically, though that was not her intent. Inwardly she said, blah, blah, blah. There'd be no changing her mind tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after. Outside standing next to him she'd shifted with the Kentucky sun, forgiving that he was a man. Her decision to let him stay was as final as the setting sun and the printed ad she had placed on Craigslist two months ago. Some things couldn't be taken back. It was done and now here he was, Adrian Alejandro, the man, at her doorstep—on a late February afternoon.