Next Guy Through the Door

The feeling that I was now living in an entirely new dimension lasted for several days. Then I begin to really miss Dale.

It was absolutely crazy that I hadn’t even met him a week ago, and now he was the person I spoke with most. Sometimes we would text on and off all day if he wasn’t working on something messy. Most nights he called at eleven pm to tuck me into bed over the phone.

He was more romantic than I would have expected, always asking about my day, what I’d seen, and what I’d been reading. Dale was genuinely interested in the details of my life.

As much as we were communicating pretty well, and quite often, I missed the way he held me. I needed him to take hold of me. Kiss me with that strange blazing heat with those thick arms circling my entire body. I didn’t understand why it felt so powerful to be tiny and safe, tucked into his chest, but I loved it.

It was a giant relief when he sent me a text Thursday morning. “Hey, do you want to come meet me at the shop after your work tonight? We

could chat while I finish some detail painting, then we could grab dinner?”

I responded immediately, “Sure, just send the address.”

This was one of the many little things about having a boyfriend that I’d been looking forward to. Making plans, fitting into each other’s lives. Grabbing a meal together whenever possible.

The second that Mr. Donnelly left for the day, I rushed to the ladies’ room to fluff up my hair and add a bit more eyeliner. I noticed that a few of my coworkers gave me strange looks as I rushed to the elevator, but I didn’t care. I needed to see Dale as quickly as possible.

It was only about twenty-five minutes on the streetcar, then I found the huge garage that was their workshop. The second I knocked on the door, I heard, “Come on in, gorgeous.”

I entered carefully, looking out for paint, tools, and supplies, which were everywhere. As soon as my eyes adjusted to the indoor light, I saw Dale grinning at me. He was wearing his usual dark jeans but was shirtless except for a big painting apron. I realized I needed to see him naked again, immediately.

He jumped up and ran over to me, holding his hands up. “It’s killing me that I can’t hug you, but I’m covered in layers of finishes,” he laughed.

Leaning over carefully, he gave me a tiny kiss, then I examined his hands. “You really do like sparkle paint.”

He rolled his eyes, going back to his short step ladder that was in front of a huge backdrop. “That green glitter was two hours ago. Now I’m on to gloss and matte varnishes,” he chuckled. “But it’s been going really well, and I should be done in around twenty minutes.”

He pointed to a white plastic chair against the wall. “That one is clean.”

I dragged it over near him as he painted a complicated pattern across a huge board. We passed the time chatting about work, with him asking me increasingly detailed questions about my job.

“It sounds nice and structured,” he said. “Stable.”

“There are busy spells, and emergencies, like anywhere else,” I said. “But it’s reasonably predictable.”

He flashed me a grin. “I get the impression that you like stable things. You always like to know what’s going on.”

“As much as I can, yes.”

Looking around the huge space, it looked like there were at least five projects on the go. “It must be hard for you to juggle things when you don’t quite know what’s going on in advance,” I said.

“Absolutely. We just have to say yes to everything, and figure out how we’ll actually execute it later.”

“What if it’s impossible?” I asked teasingly.

He looked at me but wasn’t laughing. “We have to do it anyway. Once in a while we call in help, or we don’t sleep for three days. But every single job has to get done somehow.”

“Good grief,” I muttered.

Dale rolled his eyes. “Exactly. There have been many times when we’ve been wheeling pieces into place and begging the cast not to touch it because the paint was still wet.”

I heard a creak as the door opened, then I heard the distinct click of stilettos on the concrete floor. A tall blonde woman in a pink romper strutted into the room, reeking of intimidation and what must have been an entire bottle of perfume.

“Dale, thank goodness you’re here,” she said, not even glancing in my direction. “Donnie and Pam’s team completely dropped the ball, and we need you to fix three sets for a commercial shoot by noon Saturday.”

Dale looked instantly exasperated, and perhaps a bit angry. “Everyone knows they only finish half of the jobs they’re given. Why do people hire them anymore?”

She held up her hands, flashing inch long neon pink talons that looked even brighter against her deep orangey fake tan. “Don’t ask me. I’m just the messenger in this case. I told my clients not to use them, but they wanted the absolute cheapest option.”