A Man on an Island Ch. 01

He nodded, "I figured that. Today was pretty hard for me, since I'm new to this modelling jazz. I'd just like to hang out with you for awhile. I'll be good."

She nodded at last, and he got on the phone to place the order. As he waited, he wandered around, looking every so often over her shoulder from across the room at the pictures that she was trying to do a first cull on, dumping the outright undesirable ones into a 'Dump" subfolder folder within the main folder. He saw a few that made him grimace to himself, but then he thought about it. These were art to her and others, and he was looking at them from a dumbass guy's point of view. If he tried to get into her viewpoint, they made perfect sense.

He spotted a guitar leaning against the wall near the corner. As he got closer to it, he saw that it had a fine layer of dust on it. He sighed, guitars are like other people's old lovers sometimes, he thought. They wait silently, always hoping to be taken up again. He shrugged; the world was full of them.

He looked to Emma, thinking to ask if she'd mind if he played it, but she looked so severe as she stared into her monitor that he just decided to take it out to noodle around on it. It was a nice old thing, he decided, not a great brand name, but certainly not one that turned out junk. He slipped into the kitchen and looked under the sink, and was rewarded with some wood polish. A few wipes and swipes, and it looked respectable again. He went out front to sit and try to tune it up as he waited for the pizza.

Emma heard the tones from her old guitar. She hadn't looked at it in maybe a decade. He sure made it sound good, though. She kept working, but knew that if she didn't rest soon, she'd get one of her headaches.

And then she heard him quietly begin to sing, and it made her smile. He sang old country-ish tunes that she'd never heard of. She wasn't nuts about the genre, but he sure made it sound alright. She even burst out laughing as he sang one about liking trashy women. He stopped playing when the pizza arrived.

They sat eating, and Emma looked at him, "You play pretty well."

"I was going to ask you if I could play, but you looked so mean at the screen there that I figured that it could have all of your attention for a while. And I don't play pretty well. I just play some."

"Well I loved it, and I usually hate country," she said.

Cale shook his head, "No. You hate what passes for country now. I usually look for the out of the way stuff that I find entertains me when I sing it. You ought to rest your eyes for a while, Emma. If I stared that hard at anything, my head would ache." He was about to make an exception about staring at her, but decided to leave it alone.

"You're right, Cale. I'll stop soon. I'm almost done with the first cull, and then I'll stop." She looked at him curiously, "Would you sing some more for me, after?"

Cale laughed, "What is it inside you that seeks pain? Sure. I haven't played in a bit, so it might get a bit rough."

He sang her every song that he could recall, and she loved it. She especially liked 'Dixie Chicken' for some reason that neither of them could figure out. She asked him to sing it whenever he was stuck for another song and eventually, he managed to coax her into singing along. Finally, he looked at his watch.

"Hey Emma, it's going on one o'clock. I'd better be going." He stood up and leaned the guitar where he'd found it. He stood at the door, "you've got lots of time to go through those shots, darlin'. You just take your sweet time -- you'll use less Tylenol that way." She smiled at him and nodded.

"Cale?" she asked, "Can I ask you something, as long as you're that far away?"

He nodded, "Sure, Emma."

"Did you really mean what you said about my boobs?"

His reply was instant, though he was a bit embarrassed by the question, "Yes. I meant every word. You'll find that I'm pretty honest. If I say it, I mean it."

He turned and walked back to her, bending down on one knee to kiss her just once, "I had a great time with you today, Em. I really like spending time with you. And I've committed your boobs to memory," he smiled warmly.

"You're going to be busy with these for a while. Give me a call if you want to see a friendly face again."

"I will," she said as she grabbed a quick hug, "soon." She smiled at him as he left.

Emma sat for a long time after Cale was gone. She finally got up, and shut down her computer and got ready to go to bed. In the light of the bathroom, she pulled her top off and looked at herself for a minute before switching off the light to get into bed. She smiled to herself. In her whole life, nobody had ever said anything nice about her little, non-existent breasts, but Cale liked them, and she knew that he was telling the truth.

Cale found himself smiling as he drove home. He had no illusions about himself and Emma. He was pretty sure that nothing would ever happen between them. But he sensed that she had needed his honesty right there at the end, and he'd been happy to give it. He'd had a great day, all told, and was a bit sad that he didn't know when he'd see her again. But he knew one thing -- he'd been right to ask for her friendship. He went to bed happier than he'd been in a long time.