The morning after

   The moment I opened my eyes, I had to closet them shut again. The ray of light falling on the bed ignited an instant headache. Besides, the amount of alcohol I had consumed the night before was piercing through my brain. Both pains made me stay there for a while, until I realized I was not at home. It was strange to notice it by just smelling the covers in the bed, but that was the thing that really made me wake up. I was completely naked on that large bed, in a very beautiful room that seemed particularly spacious.

 I got out of bed and walked towards the window. I was in an apartment building, probably in the seventh floor or so. I could see a park right in front of me: some people were walking the dog and others their babies. The sun was up there, in the sky, shining brightly with only a few clouds covering its warmth. It was probably around midday. Then, I realized I hadn’t gotten home. Walter, my cat, would be begging for food. I had completely forgotten about him the night before, because of the alcohol.

 I turned around and looked for my things: I found my cellphone on the floor, near the bed. But I couldn’t really see my clothes. I entered the bathroom and it was very big, the size of my room in my apartment. My clothes were nicely folded on the counter, just besides the sink. I took that as a sign to wash my face. Cold water felt amazing on my skin, it really help woke me up for good. I realized I had some breakouts on my face, no idea how the hell I had gotten someone to take me to their place looking like that.

 Then I realized, rather slowly, than someone had actually been there with me. I checked the garbage bin in the bathroom and, sure enough, there were two condom wrappers. I felt kind of bad in that moment but also good because even in that state I had been careful enough to protect myself. That was something. Now, I had to put on my clothes and walk the famed walk of shame towards my home. I really wanted the man I had been with to be out at that moment, I had no intention of talking to him.

 As I put on my underwear and my socks, I tried to remember what I had done the night before. I had met a friend in a restaurant and from there we had gone to a party filled with people. So many people, that I had felt I needed some booze in order to properly socialize. I have never been the kind to be great at communicating, so I know I had drunk some vodka or something. The party must’ve worked like a charm for me because I had woken up in a very nice place the next morning. I had no idea what I had done after I started drinking. No idea at all, which wasn’t a good thing.

 When I was fully dressed, I checked my jacket to see if my wallet and my keys were there. And they were. I also found some mints, which I must’ve grabbed from the restaurant. I didn’t really want to get out of that room, but it was necessary in order to get home. I had to find the main entrance fast and just run out of there, whatever happened. Walking towards the bedroom door, I heard something that paralyzed right there on the spot: someone was whistling very nearby, probably in the same apartment.

 I doubted for a moment but then I just opened the door and walked fast, looking around me: there was a small corridor with paintings all around and then the living room. There was no one there and the entrance was probably very near. I was looking for a door as I passed the dining room but then I realized there wasn’t a main door but an elevator. I pressed the button, all the while thinking that the rent for such a place was probably something I would never be able to pay in this life or the next.

 Then, another noise: the elevator rang a bell as it arrived. Just when the doors opened, a man appeared from the other side of the dining room. His hair was all over the place and he was wearing an apron with cartoons drawn on it. I noticed right away that he wasn’t wearing any else beneath the apron. The elevator doors closed again, as I hadn’t gotten inside. I was paralyzed looking at him, as he walked closer and asked me if I was already leaving. I felt, once again, like a complete piece of shit. I wanted to sink on the ground.

 I have to say that he was a very nice looking guy. He wasn’t a top model or anything but his body looked pretty decent behind that silly apron, and his hair was very cute as it was. What got me, almost surprised me, were his eyes. He had beautiful honey colored eyes. They seemed like the kind that change colors depending on how the person feels. For a moment, I forgot at what he had told me because of those beautiful eyes. How could I not remember them from the night before? How could that even happen?

He smiled and asked again. I told him I had to leave because my cat was probably hungry and I really needed to get to him. He smiled again and asked me to have something to eat before I left. At first, I told him I couldn’t but he insisted and I just couldn’t say no to those beautiful eyes. So I followed him to the kitchen, were he told me he understood my hurry. He whistled again, but in a different way, and out of nowhere a cat, white as snow, jump out and started doing turns around his legs. The animal looked at me with a certain curiosity, but didn’t get near me immediately.

The guy asked me to sit down on a high stool on the bar the kitchen had. I did, trying to conceal the fact that I had no idea who he was, his name, profession or, really, anything about him. Remembering was not really something I could do and even if I tried, my headache would grow in size. He then put a glass of tomato juice in front of me, saying it was very good for hangovers. I smiled at him and drank some. I had been a little bit too innocent thinking he had no idea I was severely drunk the night before.

 The juice was delicious and then he served pancakes with lots of syrup and strawberries. I hadn’t eaten pancakes in a long time, as I never really had time in the morning to do such a simple thing. And the days I did have the time, I would just spent that time sleeping, trying to feel rested. As I ate, he spoke about cooking and I just stared, ate and nodded. I couldn’t really do anything else because I still had no idea who he was, what kind of person he was and what kind of person he thought I was.

 Had I been a very honest drunkard, telling him every single thing there was to know about me? Or had I been the type of drunken idiot that comes up with an alternate lifestyle out of nowhere in order to seem more interesting? He had stopped talking and apparently I was doing some funny face because he smiled again and told me it was a shame that I probably didn’t remember him. Right then, I laughed loudly. I just couldn’t help but feel relieved and the way to let it all out was laughing like a crazy person.

 I confessed I had no recollection of the night before and that I felt really bad about it. I was about to say a bunch of meaningless things, in order to make him feel a little better, but he interrupted me and said that he was very happy to have met me anyway, as he hadn’t met anyone so good looking and great in bed as me in a long time. I laughed loudly again, but he just looked at me, no smile or anything in his face. He had meant every word. I stopped and blushed like a high school girl. I felt so stupid.

 I finished my pancakes and told him I really had to leave. He asked if he could take me home but I decided against it because I needed to buy some things before getting home. After all, I had run out of cat food and I had just realized that. He smiled and asked if he could hug me goodbye. I said yes.

 You know what’s weird? I felt that hug in my soul. It made me warmer. I felt better after it and realized he was a really nice person. I pressed the elevator button again. I got in and right before the doors closed, I asked him his name. He smiled and winked at me, waving his phone at me. Right then, I got a message on my phone and the doors closed.

The model and the artist

   Cecil had always been his favorite model. Because of some strange characteristic in him, Cecil was able to stand or sit or lay down for hours, looking at a certain part of the room, with his eyes closed or slightly moving if that was needed. He could be naked or dressed; he could be pretending to do something or just be there, being himself. He was one of the best models an artist could ever wish for and Claude had been fortunate enough to meet him in one of the artistic gatherings.

 If he remembered correctly, it had been his friend Anya who had introduced the young man to him. They had all been drinking that night and the house that they were in was filled with the scent of smoke and marihuana. And those two smells were there because of the softest members of the community. Others enjoyed other pleasures that left no scent or at least not in a very notorious way. So it was strange to see Cecil, a boy of around nineteen years old, to be walking around there holding a glass of whisky.

  The first thing Claude asked him was about the whisky itself. He wanted to know if that was Cecil’s favorite drink. However, the young man took a while to answer. He seemed to be kind of gone, maybe distracted or bored by everyone and everything in that house, that night. But he eventually said that the drink wasn’t his and that he didn’t like to drink any alcohol because that way the only thing that happened was that he would get disconnected from reality around him.

 His answer was so strange and particular that Claude instantly liked him. That and because Claude adored the sight of younger men. He was not that old himself. He wouldn’t be considered somewhat of a father figure to anyone or anything like that. But he was older than Cecil, for sure and he loved younger men because they made him feel alive and in touch with everything around him. That’s why Cecil’s phrase hit so close to home for Claude, who decided he had to make Cecil a part of his life.

 They would see each other a couple of other times, in other houses, in order for them to actually talk about their interests. It was clear that Cecil had no skill as an artist but he did wanted to work with them, to be able to understand their process and they ways they did their work. So when Claude decided to ask him to be his model, Cecil agreed, even adding a smile to his approval of the agreement. That smile, with soft pink lips and beautiful teeth, was the seal of approval Claude needed. After all, he hadn’t had a proper model for a while and he was certainly interesting in getting to know Cecil better.

 The first time they met in Claude’s studio, Cecil was as silent as he had ever been. He wanted to be professional and Claude was very appreciative of that. It wasn’t often for a young man to respect the work of others and wanted to be part of the whole artistic experience. Claude decided to be bold and asked him to remove all of his clothes at once. He said it almost as if it was an order, something Cecil had to do in order to remain in that world. And he did, in silence, removing every garment with care.

 The moment he was entirely naked, Claude asked him to pose in the simplest way possible: sitting on a high stool, imitating one of the most famous sculptures in the world. Cecil did not say a word and exhibit his body exactly in the way the artist wanted. The painter started his work, first outlining the whole picture and then putting colors. It was something of a rough sketch, a different take on the way he used to do portraits. They were in that studio for several hours, without speaking or eating.

 Claude finished his work when the sun began to set. Cecil moved and stretched a bit, obviously feeling a lot of pain all over his body. But he didn’t outright complain or say a word. He didn’t even ask to see the painting. He did not say anything besides a soft “Thank you” before heading towards the door and running down the stairs. Claude had some bills prepared for him but he had no opportunity to give them to him. He put them away and started smoking a cigarette, as he thought of that beautiful young man.

 They saw each other the following week and Claude was decided on making their second time a better moment for both of them. The moment Cecil entered the studio; he asked if he had to undress once again. He seemed ready to do it. However, Claude asked him to sit on the tall stool and tell him about his life. Cecil seemed surprised, for the first time since Claude had met him. His eyes looked larger and much more beautiful. His face was pale as he tried to find the proper words to begin his story.

 He was a student. His parents had always wanted a doctor in the family, so they sent him to the best university there was. They did not live in the city but in the countryside, where they had a very prosperous milk business. He didn’t say it, but it was clear that he came from a wealthy family. His parents obviously owned a very large company but he phrased it in a way none of that could be put against him. He also said he had a younger sister and a big dog named Larry, who he missed a lot. That last part, made him shake a bit and clean the corner of his eye.

 Claude only smiled at him when he finished telling his story. A moment later, he asked Cecil to wear a large sweater he had seen in a store recently. He would only wear that for some pictures Claude was going to take with an old camera he had borrowed from a friend. As he undressed and put on the sweater, Cecil confessed he had no idea about Claude being a photographer and also a painter. The artist smiled and asked his model of he had been asking about him to his friend in the business. Cecil did not answer back.

 They spent several hours taking pictures. A camera was much less restrictive, so they were able to move around the place and play with objects. Better for Cecil, he was able to avoid any uncomfortable poses and even got to propose some of his ideas for some pictures. Claude would normally never take advice or comment for anyone but himself, but something from Cecil’s story made him agree to at least take some of his ideas into account. It was a nice afternoon of creating art.

 When the time came for Cecil to leave, Claude stopped him at the door and gave him his pay, including the money he had prepared for him the last time they had met. Cecil told him he wanted to be part of their world but he did not want to take any money of them. He confessed he wasn’t there to hop from bed to bed or from one artist to the other. He wanted no mixing of feelings and work, he only wanted to be part of the experience of creating art and money would only make problems.

 Claude extended his arm, with the money on his hand, and explained to Cecil that what he did was a job. He was a beautiful man with a natural ability to pose and to look the way artists wanted, whether it was for paintings or pictures. Claude even confessed Cecil could be great in audiovisual media; the kind artists did sometimes in order to show something in artistic light but with all the new media available for them. He said money was just a reward for being that amazing person that he was.

 But Cecil did not accept the money. He did, however, kiss Claude on the cheek. He did not say a word after that, only running away once more, down the stairs. He left a very confused artist in that small studio where light entered in droves.

 Claude went on to have an amazing relationship with Cecil that was always on the verge of something else. They both knew there was some kind of tension in the air but they had both decided to ignore it or at least pretend it wasn’t there. Something prevented them from being fully honest.

Thanksgiving

   She gave herself one last look in the mirror before grabbing her purse and her jacket. Jackie caressed her cat Milo before heading out into the night, where she would have to get into a cab and then wait inside before arriving and the Thanksgiving dinner she had been invited to only some days earlier. Paul had been kind enough to invite her and she knew they didn’t knew each other that well yet, so his gesture was all the more difficult to understand but welcomed. After all, she was very far from her own family.

Jackie’s new job as an assistant editor had forced her to move out of her small city to a bigger one, where she would have many more opportunities to grow. At first, she had been very reluctant to leave her home but it was her own parents that almost forced her to take that big new step in her life. They had never had the opportunity to do something like that and they wanted her to have everything they hadn’t been able to have in their respective youths. They were going to miss her deeply but it was necessary for her to leave.

 Starting somewhere else she had never being to was difficult the first few months but the amount of work had numbed her response to anything happening around her. Thanksgiving was the first time she was leaving her small rented apartment in order to actually have fun. She would leave everyday really early for work and then head back at night to sleep there. She would cook something as soon as she arrived and pack it for the next day. That was her routine and she was grateful for it because it didn’t require thinking.

 That party, however, did require a lot of it. She had to buy a proper dress, something she didn’t have in her wardrobe, and accessorize it with nice things and, of course, a great hairdo. She bought some fashion magazines to give her a good idea of what girls from the city liked to wear but she felt none of those styles actually fitted her. She was more the kind of staying at home and enjoy a new TV show, rather than going out to a club dancing or something like that. She had to go to several stores before finding a dress she liked.

 The woman that helped her was the one who advised her on which earrings and shoes she should wear with it. Thankfully, some of her own stuff was perfect for it, saving her a big amount of money she wouldn’t have being able to spend, unless she went in debt or something and that was something her parents had warned her against. She also borrowed a neighbor’s jacket, a girl named Olivia who had become her best friend in the city. That was something to say because they didn’t really know each other that well but Olivia had seen Jackie with her dress bag and sad expression and just knew she needed help.

 When she arrived at the venue, a very impressive restaurant on the twentieth floor of a very old and majestic building, Jackie felt she was entering some sort of book. The people tending to the guests were dressed like those butlers that you see on period dramas or something like that. She even smiled when one of them offered her a glass of champagne, which she accepted trying to fit in. She suddenly felt a little bit out of her element and tried to look for her friend all around. But the place was fairly big.

 The venue was like a palace inserted into a building. There were long and luxurious stairs that separated two floors, both of which had different rooms were people could stand up or sit down, have a drink or dance around if they wanted. No loud music thought. There was a live band playing some modern songs but in such a way it seemed the whole place had been transported magically back to the 1950’s. It was a very nice atmosphere but also a bit uncomfortable for Jackie, who wasn’t used to something like that.

 Her friend Leslie appeared from behind. He was a tall, very white and lanky man, who worked in the technical area of the magazine. He was the one who made it possible for the editor to make a digital edition to be on display for all of those women, and some men, who paid for the magazine online. He was one of the first people that invited Jackie to have lunch with him when she arrived, stating that he had always been the lonely kid in school and would have never wanted to have someone feel like that if he could do something about it.

 They laughed for a while before talking about the food and drinks and how fantastic the place was. Leslie explained that the place was owned by a very old club, which had been created by his grandmother many years ago. He didn’t say a word, but it was obvious his family was very wealthy. He tried to make it all seem like if it was something everyone could experience but Jackie soon realized that wasn’t the case at all. Elitist was maybe a very strong word but it would be appropriate for the situation.

 Leslie took her by the arm and carried hair up the stairs, to a room all decorated in gold and some red elements. There, she was presented to his family. Leslie’s mother Corinne was a very nice lady that was obviously not used to such luxury either. The young woman soon deduced it was her husband who had been born into wealth and not her. It was not only the way she spoke and moved but also the things that she didn’t do. Jackie liked her from the first moment and so did Corinne, who had never really liked any of her son’s friends because of their way of behaving in public.

 Helen, Leslie’s grandmother, was someone very different. She sat on a big chair and didn’t move too much. It wasn’t like she couldn’t walk or something like that. It was obvious that she wanted everyone to be around her and to be, to an extent, the center of everyone’s attention during her time in the event, which was actually short for being such a matriarch. The moment dinner was served in a very large table, she disappeared. Jackie asked about her whereabouts but no one answered. It was her thing.

 It wasn’t until much later in the evening when Jackie met Leslie’s father. He had just arrived from a very long flight, claiming he had taken a limousine straight from the airport to be able to share some time with his family. His wife was happy to see him but Leslie had a very different response. Jackie could tell he just stopped himself from joking around as he usually did and he became this stiff man that couldn’t almost speak a word. It was a very unsettling thing to see.

 And George, his father, was not at all an intimidating man. He was actually very charming; enchanting everyone present with some stories about his trip to Asia and the people he met there. He also told some jokes but many of them did not find an audience with Jackie. Maybe she was too oblivious or the content just went over her head. But the most likely reason was she was trying to make Leslie speak, with little to no success. He really seemed to have become a human icicle.

 Then, out of nowhere, a member of the staff came in rushing into the dining room, straight for Leslie’s father. He spoke in a very low register and fast enough no one could really understand what he was saying, not even Jackie who was fairly close. Whatever he was talking about, it was very serious because George’s expression went from utter joy to a very grim expression that drained all color from his face. The staff member left and George’s father stood up, trying to make people calm down.

 He announced, in a very deep voice, that his mother had just passed away in her apartment “upstairs”. He apologized for ending the evening, but the circumstances were very unique. Everyone stood up and headed to the lobby, to pick up their belongings.

 Leslie was still like a stone but he seemed to move his eyes, which was an improvement. Jackie wanted to stay with him but Corrine personally put Jackie’s neighbor’s jacket on her back and joined her outside where a cab was already waiting. She didn’t even have a moment to talk or think.