“You didn’t. We didn’t. Kiss me.”
Andy probably would have sent the email to Reggie anyway, but maybe
not right then. He’d pulled the image that first day, after Reggie said that thing about a painting. He was sitting on the couch in the room, laptop open, Molly snoozing beside him, watching Victor sleep. Thinking of the time when Victor had surprised him with a framed 20x16 photograph of the two of them, a photo that a friend had taken during their first trip together. It hung in their bedroom now, and it always would. But there were other walls, and he didn’t really think either of them would ever get tired of being reminded of the tour.
He opened the image again. It was a still from their performance of
‘Mein Herr,’ in Berlin. One of the showiest poses, when Andy had his upstage leg on Victor’s shoulder. His upstage arm was extended up and back; Victor’s upstage hand was braced on Andy’s ribs. Victor’s weight had been split, with his downstage leg back, standing far enough away that Andy’s downstage leg was at the same angle. Their downstage arms were linked to stabilize the position. The overall shape was of the letter ‘X.’ You had me, Andy thought, remembering how many times they worked that through to fix the balance points. He wrote:
Hi Reggie I’ve been thinking about the whole ‘paint me’ thing and have a counteroffer. Specifically, ‘paint us.’ I want to give V a present.
If you can work from a photo I’m attaching one. Name your price.
Cheers – Andy
He attached the photo and sent it off. It was already afternoon in London.
He set the laptop on the side table and stretched out (to the extent he could) on the couch, rearranging Molly along his side. The next thing he heard was
“You’re going to regret sleeping there.”
Andy pried himself out of the pretzelated position he’d settled into, laboriously sat up, twisted his back and rolled his neck. “You are so right.
Fortunately we don’t have to travel today. Maybe they can find us another massage person.”
“Why were you on the couch?” Victor poured them both coffee.
Apparently room service had delivered while Andy slept.
“Woke up, had some thoughts, wanted to deal with them. Didn’t want to wake you up by crawling back in bed.”
“I wouldn’t have minded.” He never did. “In fact, for the record, I like it when you wake me up. Because that means I get to go to sleep with you
again.” He brought the coffee over to the couch, sat beside Andy, and kissed him. “Good morning.”
“Good morning. God, thanks for this.”
“You’re welcome. Happy first day of vacation.” They smiled at each other. “What do you want to do today? Aside from a massage.”
“Lie by the pool. Eat breakfast. Fool around with you. Not necessarily in that order.”
“That’s kind of a full agenda for the first day of vacation.” Victor was grinning. “Should we start with breakfast?”
“Probably, yeah. You’re going to need your strength.” The day’s program ended up being: breakfast, fool around, shower, pool, massage, an early dinner with Loretta, fool around again. Andy crashed first, and crashed hard. Victor quietly got himself packed and ready for their departure, then took care of most of Andy’s stuff. He was curious about the early-morning thoughts, but they had plenty of time to talk about that.
So much time, he thought while he was walking Molly. So many days to look forward to that could be almost exactly like this. Maybe they really should buy the neglected property on the other side of their duplex, tear it down, put in an aesthetically-pleasing guest house and a pool. Be obnoxious Hollywood millionaires. It was only a single-family home, and their other two properties already served five households. No one could reasonably object. That was something else to talk about. Eventually he lay down beside his sleeping husband, and simply gazed at that beloved face until he fell asleep too.
Victor, as usual, managed to nap on the flight home, reclining in the semi-private first-class seat with Molly in his arms. Andy’d had almost ten hours of sleep and couldn’t have napped if someone had offered him money for it. He’d checked his email before packing up his laptop. Not too surprisingly, there was a message from Reggie:
My dear sir,
Your proposition is most welcome. Nearly any proposition from you would be. Leaving that aside, price is a function of size (size does matter). And that said, yes I can work from a photo, yes I’d bloody kill to paint that picture, and when do you want it.
I don’t suppose you’ve much need to economize but the price is also very much negotiable if a limited-edition print run could be made available through the site. Your husband is not the only person who might like that image on his wall.
Will look forward to your thoughts on these variables.
R. Galant, still hyperventilating
Andy replied by text, after consulting his records regarding the surface area of various bedroom walls and after Victor and Molly were in nap mode: Hi Reggie size would be 30x40, when would be Christmas, and print run depends on what V says. I want this to be a surprise so can’t answer that yet.
Quote me as if no prints, and then if he says prints are OK we could work out a royalty
A reply came back fast with a quote Andy thought was more than fair. It even included shipping to Los Angeles. By the time Victor woke up, the deal was made. Andy was reading some Shakespeare. He’d chosen one of the funnier plays, just in case Victor caught him giggling.
The ‘Countdown 3’ production had run over, but not by a full week.
Victor, Andy, and Molly were home and officially beginning their very extended vacation only six days later than expected. Their first night back, Andy and Victor settled Loretta into the guest room, went upstairs with Molly, pulled the door closed, and cracked up. “I feel like
