Eileen Slovak

Chapter Thirty-two: Scott the Artful Dodger

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and locales are products of the author’s imagination. They are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is coincidental. Copyright © 2024 by Eileen Slovak.

Scarlet

     “It’s about time!” Corky scolds when I see her. She changes her tone after seeing my face. “Oh, crap! What’s wrong?”

     “I was assaulted in the ladies’ room.”

     “What? By who?”

     “Trish.”

     “What the hell is she doing here?”

      “That’s what I’m wondering.”

      “I’ll find out. Go get a drink. You look like you need one. Wait. Here comes Maggie with Joe.”

     “Hey! I want you both to meet Joe Baccari.”

      “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” I say, shaking his hand. He has good eye contact, a firm grip, soft hands. Joe’s wearing a stylish camel sport coat, taupe sweater and slacks. Despite thinning hair, he’s handsome, with almond eyes and olive skin.

      “Hi, I’m Corky.”

      “It’s my pleasure to meet you both. I’ve heard so much about you. Corky, come show me your amazing artwork,” he says walking over to her exhibit. “I’m looking for a few new pieces for my condo.”

     Maggie grabs my arm. “What’s going on? Your face looks funny. It’s Joe, isn’t it. You don’t like him.”

      “Not at all. He seems great. You two are so cute together. Trish is here. She completely went off on me in the restroom. Even worse, the hot guy from the Un Pub is here. There’s no way I’m staying.”

      “Don’t you dare leave. Come on, let’s go get some drinks. Let me tell Joe. I’ll be right back. You have a right to be here. She doesn’t. Screw her!”

      “I can’t believe Sean used to.”

      “Where is she? I’ll kick her butt.”

      “Now that, we could sell tickets to. It might not make the best impression on Joe though.”

      “Don’t give that psycho slut the satisfaction of making you upset. We’re going to have an awesome time tonight. Oh, there’s Gary and Cat!” Maggie waves them over.

      “Do not say a word to my sister,” I warn. Maggie draws a cross on her chest with her index finger.

      In honor of Corky’s big night, Ben throws an after party at the Un Pub. Corky’s friends, some of the regulars, and some of her fellow artists stop in. Corky, Maggie, Joe, Catherine, Gary, Jake, and I are at an eight top table when the ‘Reality Stud’ walks in. Corky introduces him to everyone as Scott. He sits between Corky and me. We all order drinks. At least this explains why he was at the event. ‘Hot Scott’ is one of Corky’s new strays. Maybe he’s her type after all.

      Joe entertains us with some funny hospital stories. He’s a good story teller. The men pivot to sports talk while the rest of us chat about the art show. Other attendees come by to congratulate Corky and Jake.

      “How was the show for you? Were you happy with the turnout?” Maggie asks Corky.

      “I sold seven out of twelve of my sculptures, including one to Joe and one to Scott. Thanks guys,” she says, lifting her glass, toasting them. “Plus, I met a gallery owner who said whatever didn’t sell, he wants to show in his gallery. It was amazing! I’m off the floor,” Corky says. “Jake sold a bunch of photos and lined up some freelance jobs.”

      “Cheers, to Corky and Jake! We knew them when…” Maggie says toasting.

      “Cheers!” We all shout in unison.

      “Which one did you buy?” I ask Scott, surprised. He doesn’t look like he would have an interest in contemporary art. I feel a pang of something in my gut that I brush off as hunger.

      “It’s called Culinary Cactus,” he says. “It has all of these stainless-steel kitchen utensils soldered together into a flower pot.”

      “I’m always interested in what draws people to a particular piece of artwork, why that one?” Joe asks. 

      “I like to cook. It relaxes me. I thought it would add some culture to my kitchen,” Scott answers frankly.

      “Humph,” Jake, says sipping his beer. He’s been scowling ever since Scott sat down. Corky shoots him an angry look.

      “Is that what you do for work?” Maggie asks.

      “No.” Scott answers without elaborating.

      “Do you think Corky will still remember us when she’s a big shot artist in New York City?” I ask Jake, trying to draw him out.

      Corky rolls her eyes.

      “I still can’t believe the school trusts you with a blow torch,” I laugh. “How about you Joe, which piece did you buy?”

      “It’s a wall hanging called paradise. It has waves made from twisted metal. It spoke to me. How about you Jake? Your photos are incredible. I’d love to take some cards to the hospital to hand them out.”

      “Thanks man. I sold twelve, booked a few new clients. I do a lot of portrait work. It beats doing weddings. One guy wants a black and white of his wife for Valentine’s Day. He went crazy over the picture of Corky,” Jake says.

      “That picture was is fantastic! It must have sold.” Catherine adds.

      “No,” Jake says, drinking his beer.

I look at him with surprise.

“I mean, I had plenty of offers on it. One up to $500. But it’s not for sale,” he says.

      “What?” Corky looks at him incredulously. “Jake, you should sell it. That’s rent!”

      Jake shoots her an annoyed look ignoring the comment. “All the artists did well, it was a huge success. I think we were all surprised.”

      “I’d love to have some kind of talent,” Catherine sighs.

      “You’re a great cook,” Gary chimes in. Catherine frowns. Gary remains nonplussed.

      Joe jumps in to change the subject, “Scarlet, Maggie tells me you get up every day at 5 a.m. to run outside in the freezing cold. That’s dedication.”

      “Almost every day, four miles, five days a week plus a long run, on Saturdays. But Jake’s the real runner here,” I say, attempting to shift the focus.

      “Isn’t four miles enough to make you a real runner?” Maggie asks.

      “It’s a good warm-up,” Jake laughs. “Scarlet, you should come out with my running group on Saturdays. They’re a fun bunch of guys.”

      Scott raises an eyebrow.

      “Jake, I couldn’t keep up with you guys in my car, forget about on foot!”

      “You might surprise yourself,” he says.

      “All this exercise talk is making me hungry.” Gary adds. “I’d give my left arm for a cheeseburger. What’s good here?”

      “No offense guys.” Catherine says. “I thought the food at the exhibit hall was very elegant.”

      “What food?” Gary says. “A cucumber, with a dab of cream cheese smeared on a crust of bread? Were they serious? That wouldn’t feed an anorexic rabbit.”

      “I’m with you, Gary,” Scott agrees. “I’ll get us some menus. But I can tell you everything is good. I eat here almost every day. Would anyone like another drink?”

      “Scott, I can recite the whole darn menu,” Corky says.

      “Not on your night off. We’ll read,” he says, excusing himself.

      “Corky, he’s gorgeous. Where did you find him?” Catherine asks, watching Scott walk to the bar.

      “He’s a new regular. Just showed up one day. I’m trying to set him up with Scarlet, but she’s being a pain in the butt. As usual.”

      Jake smiles, leaping up: “I’ll see if he needs help with the drinks.”

      “Corky doesn’t know when to stay out of other people’s personal lives,” I say.

      “Seems like a nice enough guy,” Gary says. “What does he do? Is he from around here? I thought I heard a southern accent.”

      “You know it’s funny, as a bartender, I usually get people who want to talk, talk, talk. But he’s pretty quiet. Somehow, I end up doing most of the talking,” Corky says.

      When Scott and Jake return to the table, Gary asks, “So Scott, are you from here? I can’t place your accent?”

      “No, I’m not as a matter of fact,” he answers, passing out drinks from a tray while Jake distributes menus. “The burger of the night is the Californian. The soup is Black Bean Chipotle.”

      “Are you here for work then?” Gary prods.

      “Shoot, I’m thinking about hiring him,” Corky says.

      “Yeah, I sure am. If you’ll all excuse me,” Scott apologizes, “I’ve got to go see a man about a horse.”

     “Great Gary, why not interrogate the guy,” Catherine chastises. “I’m sure that will get him talking.”

      “What did I do? I’m just making small talk. What’s a Californian?” he asks.

      “It’s a veggie patty, with sprouts, avocado and vegan cheese on a gluten free bun.” Corky says.

      Gary makes a sour face.

      “That’s what I’m having,” Joe says.

      “Make that two,” Maggie adds.

      “I hope they have something with real meat in it,” Gary says.

      “Try the Cowabunga Burger,” Corky suggests. “It’s a double cheeseburger, with bacon, a fried egg, topped with an onion ring on thick, grilled sourdough bread. You’ll love it.”

Ben comes by with a large platter of mixed appetizers and a stack of small plates: “Complements of the house!” We all thank him for his generosity. He takes the additional orders, then hops back behind the bar.

      When Scott returns to the table, he has his cell phone pressed to his ear. Hanging up he says, “Sorry gang, something came up. I’ve got to take off. It was great meeting you all. Corky, congratulations and thank you for inviting me. Have a great night everyone.”

      As a group, we say a chorus of goodbyes, followed by a “humph” from Gary.

      “What is wrong with you?” Catherine asks, smacking his arm.

      “What?!? We’ll talk about it later.”

      I cover my disappointment at Scott leaving. With his seat empty, I’m back to feeling like the odd person in a group of couples again. After the food and drinks are finished, the group dwindles bit by bit. Maggie and Joe both have the early morning shift. Jake and Corky follow, exhausted from the show. Catherine and Gary have to get back to relieve the babysitter. It was a good time in the end despite the awkward way the evening began. I’m even hoping to see Scott again soon.