Reciprocal NeedsChapter 7
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The telephone jangled, a hateful, raucous sound. Darrin opened one eye and glared at the offensive instrument disturbing his sleep.
"Answer the damn phone, Darrin."
Who? Carrie. Suddenly, he remembered. Carrie was in the bed across the room. He reached and picked up the phone. "Yeah."
"It's six o'clock, sir."
"Yeah, thanks." When he tried to replace the phone on the receiver, he missed and it fell to the floor. "Fuck!" Then he remembered Carrie. "Sorry."
"Sokay. I'll get it." She pushed the covers off her and rolled her feet to the floor. After hanging up the phone, she stretched, pulling her hands high, and arching her back.
Now that's a sight I'd like to wake up to every morning, he thought, and his morning erection throbbed. He watched as she rubbed her eyes with her fists.
"I'll brush my teeth first. Okay?"
"Yeah." His eyes never left her as she rummaged in her luggage and pulled out a bag containing her makeup and toiletries. When the bathroom door closed, he grabbed his hard-on and stroked it. One stroke turned into two, and then three. He heard the toilet flush, and he picked up the pace. Did he have time? Could he come before she returned? No, she didn't take any clothes in the bathroom with her, just her toiletries. He groaned with disappointment, and pulled his hand from his throbbing shaft.
In the bathroom, Carrie reminisced about the previous evening and felt a twinge of arousal. After brushing her teeth, she noticed her nipples were hard, creating noticeable points in the t-shirt. She shrugged. He had seen the same points in the cotton stretched over her breasts last night. Smiling wickedly, she reached and pinched each nipple, making the points even more noticeable. She opened the door and returned to the bedroom. "Do you want the bathroom before I dress?" she asked.
"No, go ahead."
Bending to pull clothes from her suitcase, she glanced over her shoulder. His eyes were fixed on her behind. Cool. She smiled. "I'm wearing old clothes today, okay?"
"Definitely appropriate. You have a great butt, sis."
She looked back at him and smiled. "Thanks. I hope I'm not grossing you out."
"Not at all. I'm enjoying the scenery."
"Perv." As soon as she said the word, she wanted to take it back. With the clothes in her hands, she turned to him. "I didn't mean that, bro. It was just a joke."
"I know. Get dressed. I'm going to need the bathroom soon."
The door closed again, and he rolled his feet to the floor. Looking down, he slapped his hard-on. "Perv," he said and laughed out loud. He shook his head. She's going to live with you, perv, he told himself, so get a grip. She's your sister, not a potential lover. You're supposed to protect her from perverts like you.
He stood and pulled the drapery open. Bright sunlight filled the room. His mouth tasted like wool, and he wanted a cup of coffee badly. He'd left his trousers on the back of a chair, so he pulled them on. Gathering the garbage from their meal, he opened the door and found a trash receptacle to dump the bag. The door was locked when he returned, and his key was atop the dresser inside. Great! Are you going to fuck up all day, perv? He knocked on the door. He could see the bathroom through the window. He knocked again. The bathroom door opened, and Carrie stood wearing nothing but an old pair of shorts. Her naked, pert breasts were perfectly shaped, high and proud on her chest. He captured the sight in his photographic mind. Simply magnificent!
"What?" she hollered, and then she saw him through the window. With a squeal, she hopped back into the bathroom.
"I locked myself out," he shouted.
"Just a minute. Let me put something on and I'll let you in." Jeez, first I call him a pervert, and then I expose myself like an exhibitionist. No, she decided with a grin. Last night I was an exhibitionist. This morning was an accident - a good accident. She'd noticed her brother had enjoyed the accidental view. Perhaps she could engineer some similar accidents. She threw on a t-shirt and let him in.
"Nice tits, sis."
"I like your chest, too. Sorry about being an exhibitionist. I'll try to be more ladylike for the rest of the day."
Too, bad, he thought.
To hell with ladylike, she decided. She'd reserve ladylike for another time, like when in public with him. He was responding to her as a woman, not as his sister - her preferred response. Glancing furtively at his bare chest, she had an urge to rain kisses across its expanse. Were his nipples as sensitive as hers?
Carrie's heart sank when they arrived at the studio and loft. Dirty didn't describe it. Years and years of dirt and grime covered every surface.
"I rented the place for the studio, sis, and it came cheap," Darrin said.
"I wonder why," she quipped sardonically. Careful, she warned herself. He'll think you're ungrateful.
He pointed at some grimy windows near the ceiling on one wall. "The clerestory glass on the north wall provides perfect light for painting during daylight, and I have space to work on a dozen paintings all at once if I want to. The industrial sink and counter over there are perfect. With some long worktables scattered here and there, I couldn't ask for a better environment for a studio."
He sees only the potential of the studio of his dreams, she thought. He doesn't give a damn about the living space, only the studio. Lord knows what the loft looks like. "Show me the loft, Darrin."
They trudged up the rickety stairs. "I'll need to tighten up the railing," he said. "I hope you're not too disheartened, Carrie. The loft isn't much, but we can make it work."
At the landing, she gazed around. "Not much" had been a gross exaggeration. He had piled his furniture and belongings in the center of what was to become their living room and covered his meager possessions with a sheet of plastic to protect them from the dirt and grime until he returned. Turning to the kitchen, if what she saw could be termed a kitchen, she groaned with disappointment. A single, chipped and yellow-stained sink had a small counter to its left, maybe two feet long - the only counter space in the kitchen. A tiny refrigerator rested next to the counter to the left, and she could see a small freestanding range and oven to the right of the sink. That was all. The entire kitchen ran along one wall and couldn't be more than eight feet wide, if that. No cabinets, no pantry.
When she turned to Darrin, he looked ashamed, as he should, but she smiled and said, "We'll make it work." And she would, too. She'd noticed a metal cabinet down in the studio. It would make do for a pantry, but if Darrin needed it for art supplies, she'd find something like it at a garage sale. And a rolling butcher-block cabinet would give her more workspace. She could pick up a used one. She'd make it work. It would take a while and some expense was involved, but she'd make it work, damn it! "Show me the bathroom."
He shrugged. "It's a tub, sink and toilet," he said and pointed her in the right direction.
He didn't exaggerate this time. That's exactly what the bathroom was: a tub, sink and toilet. That's all. No linen closet, no counter, no shower, and the floor was... she couldn't decide what made up the floor. It was too dirty to make an informed judgment. "Do we have hot water?" she asked.
"Yes. When I asked, the real estate agent said there was a hot water heater. I checked, and it didn't work, so the lease called for a new water heater. They were supposed to put it in while I was gone."
She stepped to the sink and turned on the hot water faucet. Brown water gurgled out, but soon cleared. She waited, slipping her fingers under the water from time to time, but the water didn't get any warmer. She turned on the faucet marked cold to check the possibility the faucets were mixed. No hot water. "You'll need to call the landlord, Darrin."
"Shit! They promised. Come on, I'll show you the other two rooms. You pick one for your bedroom, and I'll take the other. There's a Seven Eleven at the corner with a pay phone. I'll call the landlord from there."
"Uh-uh. You pick. I'm the guest." Accordingly, she selected the smaller room, the one without a window.
While he was out making the call to the landlord, she pulled up the corner of the plastic covering his furniture and noted a ratty sofa, a small kitchen table and two chairs, a lamp, a mattress and bedsprings, and a few odds and ends. One bed, she noted. Interesting. Maybe he expects me to sleep on the sofa tonight. No way. Darrin was a big man, and the mattress appeared to be king sized. She'd sleep with him tonight. She smiled. Something good had surfaced amidst the disaster.
Where to start? His bedroom, she decided. He had pulled his car inside the studio, which boasted an overhead door. She found the cleaning stuff she'd packed in the car, filled a bucket with soap and cold water in the industrial sink in the studio and trudged back upstairs.
After he returned from making his call, they worked together and made progress, but it was slow. Two hours later, they set up his bed in his room. "We'll need to find a bed for you," he said, finally realizing she had no place to sleep.
"Yeah, but later. I'll camp out with you tonight. That's a big bed, bro, and I don't take up much space."
His eyes widened. "I can sleep on the couch."
"Hah! You're too tall. You won't fit. Besides, I trust you." I don't trust myself, but I trust you, bro.
"We'll see," he said, obviously uncomfortable with her suggestion.
"I'll do the bathroom next. There's not room for both of us in there. Why don't you work on your studio?"
He smiled, and she knew she had guessed where his heart was.
At lunchtime, he went out for burgers, and they sat around the kitchen table and talked while they ate. "I told you it wasn't much, Carrie. I hope you're not too disappointed."
She smiled. "If the landlord puts in a water heater like he promised, we'll make do."
He blushed. "The water heater is scheduled for tomorrow. Maybe we should get another room for the night."
"No, we'll wash in cold water. We'll need every spare penny to make this place livable, Darrin. We'll stay here tonight."
A determined look entered his face. "I had not planned to go back to work until next week, but you're right. We're going to need some extra money. I'll call my boss and work tonight, if he'll let me. I paint during the day, Carrie, and work as a dealer for one of the casinos at night three or four days a week. My boss likes me and within reason lets me choose my hours. Will you feel comfortable alone here tonight?"
No, I'll only feel comfortable if you're lying next to me in your big bed. She smiled. "I'll be fine, but you don't need to go back to work early just for me."
He left for work at two o'clock that afternoon. His shift started at three, and he planned to shower and dress at the casino. "I'll be back by one in the morning, sis. If you need me for anything, call this number." He gave her a slip of paper with a phone number scribbled on it. "Don't call unless there's an emergency. Whoever answers that number will need to track me down. I'll make enough on tips to buy you a bed tomorrow."
Ah, shucks, she thought, as she watched him go out the door. She worked in the kitchen until about six o'clock when she heard a knock. Had Darrin forgotten his key? She rushed downstairs and yelled through the door, "Who is it?"
"Pizza delivery, ma'am. I'm supposed to tell you it's from Darrin."
She opened the door, and took the box after paying for the pizza. How thoughtful of Darrin, she thought. She had wondered what she'd do for dinner and had decided her only option was a hotdog from the Seven Eleven.
As she moved through the studio to go back up to the loft, she noticed a large painting on an easel. It faced away from her, but she wanted to see it. Seconds later, she nearly dropped the pizza. She was stunned! She had never seen such a powerful painting before. Obviously a Las Vegas scene, the faces on the subjects in the painting exposed their souls. A fat woman pulled the handle on a one-armed bandit, and she looked like she'd been on the same stool for her entire life. Well past her prime, the change lady in a short skirt looked harried and bored. Her legs were too skinny and an industrial-strength bra held her augmented breasts aloft. A couple, obviously from out of town, was arguing. She could almost hear their angry words. Carrie gathered from the scene that her husband had lost too much at the tables, and his wife was ragging him unmercifully. The husband looked shamefaced and pissed at the same time. The painting as a whole reflected the decadence of a casino with its tawdry daily occupants.
After glancing around the studio, she set the pizza box on the table next to the painting and strolled to a pile of paintings leaning against one wall. She found nearly thirty finished paintings, and most of them were as powerful as the one on the easel. The tone and emotions depicted varied. Some were happy scenes of revelers. One showed a fat old man with a gorgeous woman on his arm, probably a hooker, stepping over a homeless drunk. Powerful!
Her goals changed at that moment. She made a vow to support her brother in his life work. Oh, she'd attend the university, and she'd work at her writing skills, but Darrin was the genius in the family, not her.
The pizza was cold when she finally set it on the kitchen table. She didn't care, and she no longer felt badly about her surroundings. She'd make a home for her genius brother, make it as pleasant as she could with their meager income. She knew how. She'd observed her mother get by with half of nothing all the days of her life.
Still awake when Darrin returned shortly before one in the morning, she pretended to be sound asleep. She could feel his eyes on her, which pleased and aroused her. It was warm in the loft, and she had kicked the sheets off her body. Peeking through slits in her eyes, she watched him shrug. He removed his clothing, except for his boxers, and climbed as carefully as possible onto the bed with her. She wanted desperately to take him into her arms and tell him what a genius he was, wanted to hug him and give him a goodnight kiss, but she continued her subterfuge, purposefully breathing deeply and slowly as if she were asleep. She could feel him gazing at her for a while, and finally he rolled to his side away from her. Fifteen minutes later, she knew he was asleep, and she carefully slid over next to him, cuddling next to him spoon-fashioned. She loved her body next to his. Laying her cheek on his strong back, she relaxed, and soon sleep took her away.
"What do you think of Darrin's paintings, Daddy?" Carrie asked. Before their parents arrived, Carrie and Darrin had hung his finished paintings around the loft and studio. They brightened up the place more than her meager efforts. The siblings had worked like dervishes for over a week to make the loft as livable as possible. She took time out only to attend interviews for a job. Finally, Darrin had introduced her to a friend of a friend who owned an upscale restaurant, and the man had hired her to be a hostess. The restaurant was close to the casino where Darrin worked part time, and with almost the same working hours, he could drop her off and pick her up after her shift. On those nights when she worked and he didn't, he told her she could use his car. She planned to start work the day after the parents left to return to Milltown.
"I'd be happier if he'd concentrate on a career that paid better," Evan Cannon said, ignoring her question.
"Ah, Dad, that would be such a waste. He's a true artistic genius. Someday, his paintings will sell for a lot of money."
"When? After he's dead like that dumbbell that cut off his ear, Van Gogg, I think his name was. I saw the movie about him."
"Evan, you're incorrigible," Harriet said with a chuckle from the kitchen.
Carrie appreciated her mother's good sense and the skill with which she handled her father. The old-fashioned man wasn't completely happy about her staying with Darrin, but with her mother's help, he had grudgingly caved in, at least for the summer. He wasn't as gracious about her staying with Darrin while she went to school.
"You'll have enough saved for a room in a dormitory, won't you?" he had asked.
"Maybe," she had replied. She had no intention of moving out of the loft, not as long as Darrin would let her stay, but she didn't want that conversation with her father, not yet.
"I happen to agree with Carrie. Our son is a genius, Evan," Harriet added as she entered the room. "Honey, there's a plastic bag in the trunk of the car. Would you please bring it up here?" She turned to Carrie with a grin. "Curtains. Mrs. Edgar had a yard sale. I bought them for half of nothing. I think they'll be perfect at the window over the kitchen sink."
"Yes, just what the little kitchen needs!" Carrie exclaimed. "Now the loft is cleaned up and painted, I had planned to visit some yard sales here in Vegas. We need quite a few things."
"Good way to go," her mother quipped.
"Don't spend too much," her father grumbled. "You'll need your money for college. Make Darrin chip in."
Carrie was happy Darrin was working at the casino so he didn't have to listen to his father put him down.
Darrin and Carrie settled into their new home, and a routine of sorts developed. Carrie worked Tuesday through Saturday from four in the afternoon until midnight, so Darrin arranged his work schedule to match hers, except he didn't go to the casino on Tuesdays, and if his painting efforts were progressing, he often didn't work at the casino on Wednesdays.
Carrie pushed herself out of bed early on Friday and Saturday mornings and hit the garage sales, making careful purchases for needed personal and household items, including clothing she could even wear to work. She was amazed at the quality of the "junk" in yard sales in Vegas compared to Milltown.
She also noticed the owner of the restaurant where she worked threw out perfectly fine food, like produce that had lost its freshness below the quality he liked to serve but still remaining very edible. She asked if he'd mind if she took some of it home. He nodded but appeared reticent, so she was careful to ask before she took anything. It didn't take him long to trust her implicitly. The food from her workplace reduced their weekly grocery bill considerably.
As hostess, she shared in tips, and the amount she earned each night pleasantly surprised her. She was making at least twice what she would have made as a lifeguard. Financially, she was much better off than if she'd stayed in Milltown. If she were careful, by the end of the summer, she could purchase her own used car for the commute to the university.
Gert
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