Wood: A True Lover's Story

El had wanted to get some of his art uploaded to the website immediately to promote the new team of artists he’d hired, including Wood, for the start of the huge tourist season. El had called Wood his best investment ever knowing Wood’s name, his experience, and his designs would bring in a whole new clientele. And business had already picked up.

“You bet. I’ll talk to him about doing it personally. Speak to you soon,” El said and hung up the shop’s phone.

Wood had his hand on the door, ready to go home for the night. He’d tried to wrap up earlier, he missed Trent. But he’d explained to his partner about the long hours of dedication it would take to rebuild his business to what it once was.

“Another one asking for the man himself.” El came from around the counter.

Wood buttoned his suede coat over his thick sweater, glad to have most of his clothes and personal belongings back. Adam’s family had done an amazing job protecting his things. Jake said after he’d upgraded the storage to climate-controlled units, it’d been fairly easy. Now, after some expensive laundry and dry-cleaning bills later, he had a pretty decent wardrobe. Albeit a bit snugger on his body in some places, but Trent seemed to enjoy it. Trent.

Wood pushed out the front door to wait for his Lyft at the curb, knowing El would follow. “I’ll start soon, okay. I’ve only been observing three weeks. I haven’t tattooed on a body in a very long time—I need for you to stop pressuring me. Are you happy with the designs I’ve been giving you to use on your own clients?”

“Hell yeah! And we’ve all been paying you good for your help. But that’s not what I hired you for. You’re too damn good to act as a consultant. I need you working too, Wood. Tattooing. It’s your name and designs I’ve been plastering all over Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and—”

Still pressuring! Wood ground his molars as he glanced at his Lyft app on his new iPhone, his ride home appearing stuck in traffic somewhere between Fortieth and Atlantic Avenue. “El, I said I understand. I will draw, just give me some time, all right.”

“You know I took out that loan for the upgrades, and ads, not to mention the cost of the brand-new equipment for your station.”

Wood stared El down until he shrank away, at least having the decency to look guilty.

“Sorry,” he said softly, his gaze on his black tennis shoes.

Wood squeezed El’s shoulder. “I said stop worrying about it. I know what I’m doing, you just have to trust me. You made a bunch of noise about me being here a bit prematurely, but nonetheless, I’m gonna deliver. I just…” Wood glanced up at the clear night sky and deeply inhaled the salty ocean air surrounding him. He was finally back home. “I’m just waiting to feel it.”

“Feel what?” El frowned at him.

“It.”

“What is it and how damn long will it take?” El sighed.

Wood stepped away from the young owner when he heard a car horn. He shrugged slightly. “I’ll know when I feel it.”

Wood got home a little after ten, hoping Trent was still awake. Even though it was Friday, Wood still had to be at the shop early tomorrow. He’d been working on something new, adapting some of the more modern techniques he’d picked up from the young guys and incorporating it into his older designs. Hard lines and deep shadowing mixed with the classic beauty of his landscapes and flowers. He didn’t know what the image was missing, but he knew it was something. And he hoped he figured it out soon.

The trailer was quiet inside when he got home. The dining area and kitchen light were on, but the living room was dark with only the glow from the muted television illuminating the walls. Wood set his portfolio bag on the table and went to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. On the stove was a plate of grilled chicken and wild rice covered with plastic wrap waiting for him. He exhaled slowly, feeling bad that Trent had been forced to eat alone for weeks, each time ensuring there was something set to the side for him.

“Trent,” Wood called out as he removed the cover from his food and popped the dish in the microwave. “I’m home.”

Wood walked down the hall listening for any sound of movement. He couldn’t be asleep already. Maybe he’d had a hard day at work and hurt his back. Wood tapped on Trent’s door and tried to walk in only to find it locked. “Hey.” He knocked harder.

“I’ll be out in a second,” Trent said, sounding out of breath.

Wood’s curiosity was piqued. “Why’s the door locked?”

“Go eat your dinner. I said I’m coming out.”