Chirp(71)

The motor on the hedge trimmer died, and Blaze stepped back to the porch. Odette came across the courtyard. Dressed in white slacks with a hot-pink silk blouse, a turquoise cuff bracelet adorned each wrist and a matching oversize dragonfly pin rested at her throat. Her shoes were orange with sequin owls on the toes. The woman was a palette of color and design. Blaze wished she could get away with that style, but she’d feel like a clown. Probably look like one, too.

Within a minute, Odette tapped on the door, opened it, and fluttered into the room like a butterfly searching for a flower. “I saw you photographing Ethan. Have you changed your mind? An orgasm would help your creativity. The furrows between your brows, chérie, well, they tell me you need a man.” She swept her hands through the air. “Look at my face. Do you see any lines? No. Because I am not sexually frustrated.” As she talked, she moved to the porch to stare at him. “Oh, if I was only ten years younger. I would take him for myself.”

Blaze did the math. Even with the reduction, Odette would still be forty, almost twice Ethan’s age. To have that much self-esteem would be wonderful. “No. I don’t want a date. I want to paint him.”

“Are you sure? Come here.” Odette slipped an arm around Blaze’s waist and nudged her forward. “Now, focus on his chest. How it glistens in the sun. Concentrate on that pale ring of skin where his jeans ride low. The muscles in his back. How they flex as he works that clipper thing.” She turned to face Blaze. “Anything? A tickle? An ache?”

Blaze shook her head. “Nothing.”

Odette threw her hands in the air. “You are hopeless! Bring those canvases.”

Blaze left, then returned and set them against the wall.

“Spread them out, so I may see your progress.”

As Blaze placed the art, Odette clicked her tongue and paced in front of the lineup. “This will not do. I demand you finish each of these. I am giving you two weeks.”

“I’ve tried. Really, I have. I just can’t.”

“Chérie, you are thinking of things the wrong way. You must not dwell on what you’ve lost, but what you’ve gained.” She grabbed Blaze by the shoulders and guided her to stand at the canvas with Rance’s naked torso. “Do not desire him. Instead, channel that into your creativity. Let your talent catch fire the same way your body did when his breath floated across your skin. Or when he was deep inside you. Allow that passion to come out in your work. I know it is difficult to lose a good lover, but find inspiration from the memories you have from the experience.”

That was the problem. Blaze couldn’t stop thinking about him and the way he’d made her feel. Odette was the one who didn’t understand, because she didn’t fall in love. She took pleasure when she wanted and left it at that. Two nights a week, Blaze saw a guy leave her home. A younger man in a business suit. “You don’t love the gentleman who visits you?”

Odette fluttered her lashes. “No. But I love our time together.”

“Is he married?”

“Yes. And with his wife, he must be proper and polite. With me he can be dirty and take my word. Men want that in the bedroom. They like for a woman to tell them what they desire, and when they deliver, they need praise for a job well done. It is our responsibility to make them better lovers. His wife does not know what she is missing.”

“You don’t feel guilty?”

“Why should I? She doesn’t want to be bothered with him. Besides, I’m not trying to take him from her.”

“He could be lying.”

Odette smiled. “I know it to be true, because I know her. Enough about me.” She pointed her finger. “Two weeks, chérie. That is all I’m giving you.”

She didn’t wait for Blaze to say anything else. She spun around and disappeared out the door. Blaze swallowed hard and glared at the paintings. Odette was right. She should finish them.





Rance


Rance stood on the front porch and knocked back another slug of whiskey. Didn’t know how many he’d had. He’d lost count.

Even in the dark, the garden mocked him. Tomatoes dried on the vines. Beans had shriveled in the hot sun. Bare okra stalks stood as tall as Rance. The only things he’d watered were the zinnias and hollyhocks, and that was because they’d meant so much to Gran. Didn’t have a damn thing to do with Chirp.

He studied the almost-empty bottle, turned it up, and swallowed the last bit. Damn her. Damn the vegetables. He staggered off the porch and stumbled to the shed. After two tries, he pulled himself into the driver’s seat of the tractor and fired it up. It still had the disc harrow attached, which was a good thing because he didn’t think he was sober enough to connect farm tools.

He backed out and wheeled around to face the patch, revved the engine, put it in gear, and lowered the blades. After one pass, he swung wide, realigned, and repeated. When he got to the end of the row, light beams swept over him. Seth and Nick stood nearby, in their underwear and bare feet, both holding flashlights.

He waved to them and made another round.

Yelling, they ran after him.

He killed the engine.

“What the hell are you doing?” Seth screamed.

Tongue thick, Rance pushed the words out. “Getting rid of the garden.”

“At four o’clock in the damn morning? Have you lost your mind?” Seth said.