Coming Undone
Page 12
“This is really delicious.” Brody dug in, enjoying every bite.
“Thanks. It’s a standby recipe. Easy and fast. Lots of food groups represented.” She shrugged. “So what is it you do?”
“I run Written on the Body, a tattoo shop about two miles from here. We know what Adrian does, when he’s not clearing my pantry of all food items. What about you?” He looked around and saw the partial answer to how physically fit she was. “I see from the pictures that you dance. Do you do it professionally?”
“I used to. For ten years. I’m just teaching now. I started a studio just north of downtown. I do group classes and some individualized teaching.”
“Who did you dance with?”
“The Ballet Theatre. Started in school with them when I was pretty young and landed in the company later on.”
Her voice was soft, smooth, without the snags and burrs in his own. He realized he could listen to her for hours without getting bored. The sound of her was as soothing as the sight of her. Just beautiful, elegant lines and tones.
He wanted to ask her more but wondered if there was tragedy there. Had she been injured? Just gotten too old to do it? The life of someone who danced like that on a regular basis would have to be incredibly hard on the body. What if she just wasn’t good anymore? That would suck. He didn’t know her well enough to push, so he’d let her take the lead in how much she revealed.
“I don’t have any tattoos. I’ve wanted one for some years now, but never got around to doing it. Are you any good?” She leaned forward, amusement showing in the cant of her mouth.
He laughed. “I’ve been told, yes.”
Adrian interrupted, “What he’s too humble to say is that he’s one of the best tattoo artists in the country. People come from all across the States to get his ink.”
Her face lit up. “That’s wonderful. What a talented bunch you Browns are. So much artistic expression in one family.”
“I’m going to be a painter one day.”
Adrian and Brody looked to Rennie. Adrian grinned and asked, “That so? Tell me about it.”
“My momma says I have the genes to be a great artist. I like it. But I might be a soccer player too. To have something to fall back on like Pops says. It’s good to have something to fall back on.”
“Her father was a painter. She comes by it honestly. Or as honestly as it gets for her. I’m totally biased, of course, but I think she’s got an amazing eye for color.” Elise pointed to a series of small framed paintings. “Those are hers.”
Brody stood and examined them. Elise hadn’t been bragging. The lines were bold, but the explosion of colors worked well together. He’d never have guessed a child did the work. “How old are you, Rennie?”
“Six years and three months.”
He kept his face turned toward the frames so she couldn’t see his smile. “Very nice. Your mom was right.”
“She did those when she was four. My father had them framed.”
“And what do your parents do then, to have spawned such artistic talent?” Adrian asked.
“Please, have more. I made plenty.” Elise pushed the platter toward Adrian and Brody snorted. The man had to have a tapeworm to eat as much as he did and be so damned thin. Elise caught Rennie’s eye and nodded. “Yes, you can have an ice-cream sandwich and watch television. Go on.”
Rennie cheered and took her plate into the kitchen before grabbing her treat and scampering into the adjoining family room.
“My mom is a classically trained pianist. She played with the New York Philharmonic. She’s a piano teacher now. She likes to scare children and boss people around. It’s a gift.” Elise shrugged. “My father is a professor emeritus at CUNY Albany. Poetry and literature. He just likes to be worshipped by young people.” She spoke with affection rather than sharpness or bitterness.
“Any siblings?”
“I had a younger brother who died five years ago.”
“I’m sorry.” Adrian shoved half a piece of garlic bread in his mouth, and suddenly Brody felt like the father of a wayward teenage boy.
Manners must have held back any look of horror and disgust at the way Adrian ate. Brody realized, not for the first time, that it was a good thing Adrian was so handsome and talented. Rock stars could eat like they hadn’t seen food or utensils ever before.
Instead, Elise simply said, “I’m glad you like the bread. There’s more if you like.” She said nothing else about her brother, and Brody noticed she’d mentioned Rennie’s father in the past tense, so she must be a widow.
“Enough about me. What about you two? You have a tattoo shop and your brother and sister have music careers. What else?”
“Parents died when I was eleven,” Adrian answered. “Brody was just ready to finish high school and start art school. Instead he got a full-time job, finished high school around that and raised me and Erin. My parents instilled a love of art and music in us early on. Erin picked up a guitar when she was Rennie’s age. I wanted to be like her, so I did too. You couldn’t keep Erin off a stage, for a long time anyway.” Adrian’s voice went very soft, and Elise reached out to touch his hand.
“I remember the news reports about the kidnapping and the death of her daughter. I can’t imagine what she went through.” She looked through the open archway, toward her daughter, and Brody’s insides tightened. He didn’t want to examine his reactions to her very closely. Something about the beautiful widow Sorenson left him off balance.
“Thanks. It’s a standby recipe. Easy and fast. Lots of food groups represented.” She shrugged. “So what is it you do?”
“I run Written on the Body, a tattoo shop about two miles from here. We know what Adrian does, when he’s not clearing my pantry of all food items. What about you?” He looked around and saw the partial answer to how physically fit she was. “I see from the pictures that you dance. Do you do it professionally?”
“I used to. For ten years. I’m just teaching now. I started a studio just north of downtown. I do group classes and some individualized teaching.”
“Who did you dance with?”
“The Ballet Theatre. Started in school with them when I was pretty young and landed in the company later on.”
Her voice was soft, smooth, without the snags and burrs in his own. He realized he could listen to her for hours without getting bored. The sound of her was as soothing as the sight of her. Just beautiful, elegant lines and tones.
He wanted to ask her more but wondered if there was tragedy there. Had she been injured? Just gotten too old to do it? The life of someone who danced like that on a regular basis would have to be incredibly hard on the body. What if she just wasn’t good anymore? That would suck. He didn’t know her well enough to push, so he’d let her take the lead in how much she revealed.
“I don’t have any tattoos. I’ve wanted one for some years now, but never got around to doing it. Are you any good?” She leaned forward, amusement showing in the cant of her mouth.
He laughed. “I’ve been told, yes.”
Adrian interrupted, “What he’s too humble to say is that he’s one of the best tattoo artists in the country. People come from all across the States to get his ink.”
Her face lit up. “That’s wonderful. What a talented bunch you Browns are. So much artistic expression in one family.”
“I’m going to be a painter one day.”
Adrian and Brody looked to Rennie. Adrian grinned and asked, “That so? Tell me about it.”
“My momma says I have the genes to be a great artist. I like it. But I might be a soccer player too. To have something to fall back on like Pops says. It’s good to have something to fall back on.”
“Her father was a painter. She comes by it honestly. Or as honestly as it gets for her. I’m totally biased, of course, but I think she’s got an amazing eye for color.” Elise pointed to a series of small framed paintings. “Those are hers.”
Brody stood and examined them. Elise hadn’t been bragging. The lines were bold, but the explosion of colors worked well together. He’d never have guessed a child did the work. “How old are you, Rennie?”
“Six years and three months.”
He kept his face turned toward the frames so she couldn’t see his smile. “Very nice. Your mom was right.”
“She did those when she was four. My father had them framed.”
“And what do your parents do then, to have spawned such artistic talent?” Adrian asked.
“Please, have more. I made plenty.” Elise pushed the platter toward Adrian and Brody snorted. The man had to have a tapeworm to eat as much as he did and be so damned thin. Elise caught Rennie’s eye and nodded. “Yes, you can have an ice-cream sandwich and watch television. Go on.”
Rennie cheered and took her plate into the kitchen before grabbing her treat and scampering into the adjoining family room.
“My mom is a classically trained pianist. She played with the New York Philharmonic. She’s a piano teacher now. She likes to scare children and boss people around. It’s a gift.” Elise shrugged. “My father is a professor emeritus at CUNY Albany. Poetry and literature. He just likes to be worshipped by young people.” She spoke with affection rather than sharpness or bitterness.
“Any siblings?”
“I had a younger brother who died five years ago.”
“I’m sorry.” Adrian shoved half a piece of garlic bread in his mouth, and suddenly Brody felt like the father of a wayward teenage boy.
Manners must have held back any look of horror and disgust at the way Adrian ate. Brody realized, not for the first time, that it was a good thing Adrian was so handsome and talented. Rock stars could eat like they hadn’t seen food or utensils ever before.
Instead, Elise simply said, “I’m glad you like the bread. There’s more if you like.” She said nothing else about her brother, and Brody noticed she’d mentioned Rennie’s father in the past tense, so she must be a widow.
“Enough about me. What about you two? You have a tattoo shop and your brother and sister have music careers. What else?”
“Parents died when I was eleven,” Adrian answered. “Brody was just ready to finish high school and start art school. Instead he got a full-time job, finished high school around that and raised me and Erin. My parents instilled a love of art and music in us early on. Erin picked up a guitar when she was Rennie’s age. I wanted to be like her, so I did too. You couldn’t keep Erin off a stage, for a long time anyway.” Adrian’s voice went very soft, and Elise reached out to touch his hand.
“I remember the news reports about the kidnapping and the death of her daughter. I can’t imagine what she went through.” She looked through the open archway, toward her daughter, and Brody’s insides tightened. He didn’t want to examine his reactions to her very closely. Something about the beautiful widow Sorenson left him off balance.
