The next day I called him.  I wanted to know what he was thinking about in the car, whether it was about the gallery or about her.  I left a message posing the questions I pondered in the last post, regarding his work.  That was Friday. 

He finally called today, saying he’d been busy.  I know he enjoys talking to me (he never wants to hang up)  but he doesn’t call unless he has a reason.  We talked about his feelings after seeing the galleries and it was just as I suspected.  He was sparse with his feelings so I likened it to the experience of going back after my inopportune exile from the dance community.  In the middle of drawing parallels he cut me off, able then to voice his frustration and resentment.  But after he was done I finished my story so he would know I knew what it felt like. 

Walking to the restaurant he told me pointedly that this might be his last trip to Portland until next spring.  I didn’t believe him so I kind of ignored it.  But he brought it up again, saying he doesn’t make the trip in winter.  I told him on the phone I’d gotten an email last night from my realtor — he still has my earnest money so I guess he’s still my realtor– telling me about another house for sale in my price range.  I told him (the painter) I might be coming down next week to look at it.  He said to let him know when but then made noises about being locked in the studio.  I said, “Don’t worry I won’t bother you,” to which he backtracked about not being too busy.  I cut him off and changed the subject.  Before we got back to it he got a call and I left for Spanish. 

So Mia was right about him.  Part of that I think is his not having children, never loving someone more than himself.  And part of it is his lack of interest in people.  I noticed that at the restaurant the first night I met him.  It seemed a plus then, his inner world so much more interesting than what was going on around him.

I think OBL was right, too.  “Focused” was the word I think she used.  When I didn’t hear back from him I started wondering if the date had even had anything to do with me.  I have enough reservations about him, some of which I haven’t gone into here, that for now I am happy to watch it play out.  He’s certainly more interesting than anyone else I know.   

He arrived wearing an expensive corduroy jacket and gaberdine slacks with a wine-colored denim/cotton-type shirt.  Sadly, I was underdressed, not wanting to make a big deal or seem wanna-be artistic.  Who knew people dressed for 1st Thursday. 

Parking was an unexpected breeze.  He heads first thing to what turns out to be the gallery which represents him.  He plows through there with me trailing behind trying to get a glimpse of the art, having no idea he is looking for something of his.  When he doesn’t see it on two of the walls, we leave. 

“Wait,” I say, as he heads for the door.  “We didn’t see everything.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, remembering me.  “This is the gallery where I have my work but it’s not up.”

“Oh,” I say, seeing his disappointment.  “Well, okay.  Let’s go.”

“No, it’s all right.”  And with that we head back in to the left front of the building to see what we missed.. 

The way he talked I was going to learn all about art but really he just wanted to see what was selling, what people were asking, and move onto the next gallery.  We ran into a teacher of his at the second place and that made him happy.  And in the third one we ran into a group of gay men, two of them members of his church.  We discovered we all were going to the same restaurant afterwards.

We made it there first and were told it would be a 30-minute wait.  Out of nowhere comes a young woman who says she can seat us.  We order and I can tell he intends to pay, something I decide is okay.   

I suspect if he hadn’t had those boosts to his ego (the friends) it would have been a different kind of night.  Even on the way back to my house I could tell something was on his mind.  The next morning I wondered if it bothered him that so many of the paintings were outdoor scenes.  Not exactly what he used to do but similar.  He says he took a lot of heat back then for it was not en vogue.  People were either selling modern art or impressionistic stuff.  Definitely not these woodsy scenes that were everywhere we went. 

He probably saw lost opportunity.  He probably was envious of the people who sold paintings he could have done better.  But maybe he sees a chance to get back in the game, now that the kind of work he does is being shown. 

He’s spent the last year trying to get his wife back which was a complete waste of time as near as I can tell.  She’d called him the day before he drove up here and he, for the first time, didn’t respond.  He told me he’d wanted to talk to her all week and then she calls. 

He held me tight at the door and I felt the soft, freshly-cut hair on the back of his neck.  He smelled good. 

I wonder what we’re doing with each other.