Geek Porn Girl

(This is the third in a four-part series)

If you click here, you can read all three installments of this story on one page.

The knock startled me and I turned suddenly, banging my knee into the edge of the wood-burning stove.

“Oh man.”

I curled over my knee for a moment before limping off to answer the door.

It was my landlord.

“Official notice, Cas. There will be a building inspection Thursday afternoon. You know you can’t be living here.” He looked at me meaningfully and winked dramatically.

“It’s okay, Roger. I’ve kept the place clean. Look.” I threw open the door.

He glanced around and nodded, satisfied.

“It looks really good.”

“Hey, I like it here,” I said.

“I know, but can you take your toothbrush and stuff out of the bathroom?”

“I will.”

Roger turned and started up the hall, on to the next door.

As I was closing my door, the phone rang. I still use one of those old black plastic phones with a rotary dial — the kind that rings like a demon. And, I don’t have an answering machine. If someone wants me, they’ll have to find me.

“Hello?”

There was a momentary silence on the line and I almost hung up, thinking it must be a telemarketer.

Then, a soft voice said, “This is Iris.”

“Iris?” I asked.

“From Mac’s”

“Mac’s?” I asked.

“The diner with the pie.”

“Oh,” I said. Then again, higher pitched, when I made the connection. “Oh.”

“I was wondering if I could come by tomorrow afternoon, after my lunch shift, around three?”

“Sure. That would be great.”

I stopped, at a loss for words.

“I’ll see you then,” she said, and hung up.

I stood there for a while, rubbing my knee.

The next morning, I was in a flurry of activity.

I was up before sunrise, startled awake by my inner clock. I folded up my futon and unrolled my yoga mat after stirring the fire.

“Backbends,” I thought, after taking myself through a series of standing poses. But I kept losing my focus, unable to breathe deeply and relax into the poses the way I needed. I felt like I’d had two cups of coffee. In camel pose, I thought my heart would blast out of my chest. Finally I rolled down into savasana and tried to relax my body and mind. After a very brief nothingness, I was on my feet again. I threw on some sweats and headed out the door.

I shower at the YMCA on the corner. Sometimes I buy a membership, but after I get to know any new desk clerks, they’ll usually let me come in for free. After all, I’m only there for a few minutes.

After my shower, I stopped at the coffeehouse and sat down with the paper and a big chai latte. I was hungry and I had a sudden craving for pie. I settled for an apple-bran muffin and headed back to the studio, carrying it in a bag.

As I bit into the muffin, I began to read the story I had started the night before – the story about the waitress in the diner, and how she came to my studio to be painted.

“This isn’t bad,” I thought. “And, it’s kind of fun.”

Later I cleaned the studio, replacing the white paper that covers the worktables, and sweeping all the corners of the room. I pulled my only upholstered chair over near my easel. I call it my “ancestor” chair. It’s been in the family for years and I’ve hauled it everywhere I’ve been, even my dorm room in college. It has a carved wooden frame and rolled arms. The fabric that covers it is a dusty, greying shade of mustard. I think the fabric is called damask, but I’m not sure. It has a design woven into it, but in the same color. It’s silky and worn soft with age. I like to read in this chair.

Finally, at two o’clock, I ran out the door. I felt like I should offer something to be hospitable, but what? I cruised the local market and finally settled on some cheese and crackers and a bottle of white wine. I also bought a bottle of apple juice. I mean, she just looked so wholesome… On the way out, I grabbed a bunch of flowers.

“Sheesh,” I thought to myself ten minutes later, on the way home. “This isn’t a date, it’s a modeling session.” Still, I hoped the flowers would dress the place up a little.

I stuck the flowers in a milk bottle. I love the organic milk that comes in glass bottles, and I always manage to keep an empty bottle around, without returning it. I changed into my painting clothes and stoked up the fire so the room would be warm. There I was at the woodstove, when I heard a knock. I moved back carefully, as not to bump my knee, then stood and answered the door.

“Hey,” I said. “There you are.”

“Look at you,” she said admiringly, taking in the baggy, paint-smeared pants that clung to my hips, the smudged white t-shirt, and my bare feet.

I pushed up my glasses at the bridge and ran my hand back over my hair.

“And look at that pedicure,” she said.

I looked down at my feet. Shit. I had forgotten to take off the dramatic dark brown polish that remained from a date I’d had the previous week… then again, maybe “encounter” would be a better description. I mean, I’m not exactly the type to wear polish on my toes…

“It’s cute,” she said.

I shrugged and stood back to let her in.

“Wow. It’s warm in here. That’s nice.” She looked around the room.

“May I take your coat?” I asked.

Like Audrey Hepburn, she turned, looking back at me coyly, so I could slip the coat off her shoulders. I carefully hung it on a hook by the door.

Underneath she was wearing her white nylon waitressing uniform.

“Would you like anything before we get started?” I asked, “I have wine, juice, tea…”

“Do you live here?” she asked.

“I do.”

“I think I’d like a glass of wine,” she said. “Is it white?”

“It is.”

She nodded.

I went to my little refrigerator and pulled out the bottle.

“Is this where I change?” she asked.

I saw she was standing near a small screen I had placed at one side of the room.

“It is,” I said, and felt my mouth get dry.

“I hung a robe in there you can use.”

I pulled the cork and poured two glasses of wine.

“I’m not really the robe type.” I heard her voice right behind me.

I turned with the glasses in my hand to face her, standing entirely nude, not two feet away from me. She had taken down her ponytail, and her hair tumbled down over her shoulders. I fought to keep eye contact.

“I see.”

My knees trembled as I reached out to hand her the wine, and I splashed some on her foot.

“Sorry,” I said, feeling the heat rise in my face. “Shall we get started?”

“Where do you want me?” she asked.

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