The Muse

Part One

Rain hit the windows at my office as I gazed out at the cityscape, which still hummed and danced with light and movement despite the grayness of the afternoon. I sighed, as the day drew to a close, knowing that all that was waiting for me at my apartment was an empty living room, an empty kitchen and an empty bedroom. Still, it wasn't so depressing. I generally enjoyed my work, was my own boss and I had my hobbies, unexciting as they might appear to other people.

I had recently turned forty-three, and with this inclement weather weighing down on me, and the business of the week being particularly mundane, I did reflect that perhaps the exciting, optimistic times of my life were behind me. The event I was actually looking forward to the most was a retrospective of Italian cinema at the Gala, which didn't exactly make me feel all that vital as a human being.

I once considered myself an artist. I had the artist's touch, having the skill to convey something beautiful, like a flower, an animal or a figure, with only a few graceful lines on the page. I had once dazzled friends and fellow artists with this ability, but now it wasn't much more than a mere party trick. For a time I had been a keen painter but actually found sketching to be more rewarding; having seen the simple but highly effective work of Picasso and Modigliani, I knew that even this basic, unpretentious medium could yield something more profound.

I had put on a few local shows and tried to pursue avenues of fine art, but got pulled into the commercial world when reality came knocking and I needed to pay bills. It was then that my college roomie Frank Kovar saved my skin by getting me a gig as a graphic artist and designer in the firm where he was working, although it was only looking back that I realized this had been the end of my ambitions as far as true creativity was concerned.

Soon enough, we splintered off and formed our own company, Kovar-Jones, with me being the Jones part of the equation, and the design/illustration/creative side of the team. I'd set aside my dream of having my own studio, in an idyllic space overlooking a river, and adjusted to my new life in a 9-5 job with a steady income and benefits. In addition, I started wearing a suit and tie, although I never found them to be too comfortable.

At some point along the way, with time constraints and a lack of creative fire in my belly, I ceased any pretensions towards being a serious "Artist", and would just doodle for fun and relaxation. And without me really noticing, the suit and tie started to fit me better as I settled into a "normal" life.

I was continually over at Frank's place, whose back room essentially doubled as an office for us, with the day often ending with a drink, a meal, a game on television or just a cigarette and a conversation. And because it was so convenient for meetings early the following day, I would regularly stay over in their spare room, even keeping a few changes of clothes and toiletries at their place. After my wife Rebecca and I separated a year or so ago, I ignored any real social life and busied myself with work, becoming something of a loner. We'd never had any kids, which added to my general malaise.

Frank's wife Emma kept to herself most of the time, and was often out, but I did see their daughter Josephine, an only child, once in a while, when she would come home from school and hang out. She had always been a delightful, bright girl and I'd been a constant enough part of the family for her to refer to me as "Uncle Mike", though lately she'd taken to spending most of her time either out with friends or in her room with the door closed. And despite our apparent lack of similar interests, Frank was very obviously my best friend.

Another weekend with not much to do lay ahead. In recent years, having entirely ceased painting canvases, I'd concentrated on the work of others; far greater artists than myself, particularly within the sphere of world cinema. I had thought about logging my collection online, while reviewing every film in my vast library as a project, starting this Saturday. It would hopefully occupy my mind and stop me from falling into the trappings of lethargic depression and overly critical self-analysis.

I was feeling flat tonight, as I packed up my briefcase and left the office building. I stepped out onto the street as the light raindrops hit my face, and contemplated going to a bar or a gallery downtown, but ended up just driving over to see the Kovars, as it was customary for me to join Frank and Emma for dinner on Friday nights. I wasn't particularly looking forward to it, but it sounded better than any other option.

I drove to our usual place in a suburban part of town near where they lived and walked in. They were already there, and drinks were in. I was surprised to see Josephine there with her parents, which was an uncommon occurrence since she'd become what I assumed was a sullen, introverted teen, and buckled myself in for a potentially stilted meal interjected by a few nods and grumbles from the girl.

I really hadn't paid any attention to Josephine, or anything much at all in recent memory, having been too distracted with the business and my divorce. I'd seen her not that long ago when she'd visited her father during work hours and had made a point of saying hello to me. I recall that I had barely looked up, being too in my own world to notice her.. Looking back, I realized that it hadn't been the first time she'd tried to get my attention since I'd split with my wife.

Frank was big, tall, amusingly rotund and a very funny, charmingly crass and extroverted guy, which offset my moodiness in the office and in our friendship. Tonight he was in fine fettle, so the conversation was actually rather lively, pulling me out from under my dark cloud, and revolved around his daughter and all she had been up to. As she was sitting opposite, I found myself engaging with her a little during the meal, and I was pleasantly surprised by her sunny manner, though naturally Frank hogged most of the limelight.

It transpired that Josephine was a keen and dedicated artist, something we once would have had in common, and we connected about some of our favorite painters. She had taken up sketching, and as she had seen a few of mine dotted around the office at her home, was quite effusive. I sensed that she admired my work, if you could call it that, which was rather cute, and I saw in her some of the same dreams I once had.

Frank and Emma got caught up in a debate between themselves, neglecting their daughter and I, and I smiled meekly over at Josephine, trying to be polite. I felt a little out of place, but her sweet manner helped warm the atmosphere and I actually enjoyed talking with her. It occurred to me that I might have been a giant asshole these last few years, dismissing her as simply another vapid teenager with no interest in anything but her phone.

Her eyes sparkled as she talked, and I noticed for the first time that she was objectively, an extremely attractive young woman, was intelligent and spoke very well.

"How old are you now, Josie?" I asked her, trying to not sound condescending, our voices lost in the hubbub of the restaurant.

"I'm nineteen, Uncle Mike," she said sweetly. "I graduated high school, remember?"

"Oh, right," I mumbled, and nodded supportively.

Josephine had taken a year off after high school, so she could spend a little time working, figuring out what her major was going to be and where exactly she wanted to go for college. I could tell she was a dreamer, a romantic, and as was quite common for me these days, I felt a slight shadow of melancholy creep over me as I recalled what having an unknown, bright road ahead once felt like.

She has straight jet black hair, had it cut shoulder length, but I seemed to recall that it used to be shorter. She had big brown eyes but otherwise her features were fine and pretty, having changed from a baby face to someone graceful and perceptive, but brimming with bubbly sensuality. Her skin was about as pale white as you could get, in contrast to her dark hair, which was a startling effect. She had eastern European heritage and that was obvious now.

"You're all grown up," I said stupidly, and realized I was a little drunk. I felt awkward, having noticed how lovely she was, but conversation flowed naturally from her and I was soon at ease again, as I always had been with this family. I suppose they were just a part of me. When Josephine, or Josie as she liked to be called, laughed at my rather dry jokes and looked over at me, I was taken aback; she really was adorable.

I paid the bill and we headed out, but all of us were having too nice a time to call it a night, and it was still early, so we all ended up back at their house, close by. Another round of beer was on offer, and even their daughter partook this time. We sat around in their spacious living room, laughing and talking as Frank perused the cable channels, and when Josie walked by me and sat down, I couldn't help but notice her figure. She was petite and slender, and carried herself with admirable confidence.

I didn't dwell on any of this, aside from being left with an impression that Josephine had become someone charming and substantial, and I made a point of saying goodbye to her as well as to her parents. I felt bad for having ignored her completely before. As I lay in bed on my own that night, I smiled to myself and realized I actually had a nice, carefree evening for the first time in a long time.

As I would often do during the week, I took a few associates to a lunch meeting downtown, and as there was a new place just opened up, I thought we'd give it a go. We sat down and our waitress came over, took everyone's drink order, but as was typical for me, my head was in the menu so didn't notice it was Josephine. I looked up and was too startled to say hello, even though I observed that her face had a look of wide-eyed expectation.

I had hung out with Frank and Emma last Friday, as per tradition, but she hadn't been there. I hadn't really noticed her absence at the time, but now that I saw her again, it was a pleasant surprise. I smiled in acknowledgement of the fact that I knew her, but thought I wouldn't embarrass her by making a scene.

I asked for a soda and she walked away, her face flushed. The guy opposite me watched her as she left, then let out a whistle. I was aware that this made me feel oddly protective of her, and frowned at him. The rest of the meal passed by without incident, as a different woman came by to get our food order. I was too caught up in this boring meeting with these boring people to think more about Josephine, or anything much at all.

I got the check and paid. When the waitress returned with my card, it was Josephine again. I smiled and she blushed. "Thank you, Mr. Jones," she said quietly, wished us all a nice day, and wandered off slightly timidly. I felt bad again, especially when I saw a couple of dudes at another table openly eyeing her. Didn't they know that she was only nineteen?

We got up to leave. I wanted to say goodbye, so not to appear rude, but couldn't see her. I sighed and got out of there, cursing myself at my constant inability to be a decent human being.

The sun was going down and Frank and I looked at each other. We'd done all we could do for the day, and I needed to unwind. I went to sit on their porch, loosened my tie, pulled out a cigarette and took in the evening air. A minute or so later, I felt movement behind me, as the front door opened, closed, and Josephine came to sit down next to me.

Without speaking she made a gesture for me to pass my cigarette to her, which I did, then she took a long drag. She closed her eyes, exhaled and passed it back.

"Want one?" I asked. I was a little surprised that someone of her generation would smoke.

"No thanks. It's a bad habit I don't want to pick up," she replied with a little laugh, then looked at me. The ice was broken and I felt relaxed for the first time that day. She was witty.

She was wearing a short black dress and tights. The tights were see-through, with a black pattern on them, going all the way up to her thigh. Then there was a little gap of skin, and the hem of her skirt. Without meaning to look, I saw that her backside, as it met the wood of the porch, was beautifully shapely. She sat back, her face warmed by the glow of the sunset, and arched her spine, accentuating her bust. Her waist was slim, artfully defined by the tight fitting dress.

I looked away and took another drag of my cigarette.

"You know, Josie, I'm sorry about the other day," I said.

"What for?" she replied, looking at me again. A strand of hair fell in front of her face.

"At the restaurant. I didn't want to get you in trouble, so I didn't say hello or anything," I replied. I could certainly stand to improve my social skills which had declined woefully in recent years.

"Oh, that?" she said, not seeming bothered. "I figured. And anyway, it was only my second day. I was being trained and shadowed."

"Right," I replied and turned to gaze at the sunset, flicking ash on my shoe. I felt better about being such a shitty person, and further resolved to try and be nicer.

We sat there for a few more minutes. I took one last drag, stamped out the cigarette, and stood up. All of a sudden I was acutely aware of how I might appear to this girl, and felt slightly self-conscious. I didn't want to be rude, I didn't want to engage too much, I didn't want to be uncool, so I just reached for the doorknob with a small smile.

"Staying for dinner, Uncle Mike?" she asked, and although I hadn't planned on it, I thought, yes, maybe I would. I found that I really enjoyed her company, as well as that of her parents of course, the only company I could really stand these days.

____________________

Later that night, I was sitting with Frank and Emma in their living room, shooting the breeze about politics, art and war, and having a few drinks. Josephine wasn't around, and frankly, I was too caught up with my friends to really mind, but I did think that it had been nice to see her a bit more. I told them I'd seen her down where she was working and Emma said that Josie had mentioned that, which I was slightly touched by.

I was too tired and a little drunk to drive home, and as Frank and I had an early conference call in our office at their house, I decided to stay in the spare room. They didn't care. I did it so often that it had become my room, a second home, and didn't need to ask to use it. I even kept a toothbrush in the bathroom by the room, and thought that maybe they felt sorry for me after Rebecca had left.

I wandered down the hallway to the bathroom. Josie's room was opposite, and the spare room was at the end of the hall. I went in, took off my tie, splashed some warm water on my face and picked up my toothbrush. It sat next to Josie's little pink one and all of her girlish things. I smiled, remembering how she used to be and how she had changed. I hoped she didn't mind that I was intruding on her space, something that had only just occurred to me, in all my monumental self-centeredness.

Back in the hallway, I heard music coming from Josie's room, and noticed the door was slightly ajar, with about an inch or two of light beaming through. Normally her door would be firmly shut. She was playing an old Rolling Stones song, which I thought was really cool. Wow. Really? The Stones! What young person liked good music, I thought to myself and wandered down the hall, impressed.

I heard Josie call my name, and I replied, "Good night, Jo. Thanks for everything," and went into my room. I kicked off my shoes and lay down. I laughed to myself, wondering what I had thanked her for, then stripped off and went to bed. I'd left a volume on Italian cinema in my room, and read the chapter on Pasolini, one of my favorite writers and directors, before falling asleep, feeling slightly better about the world than I had last week.

In the morning, I got up and had a shower. I looked at all of Josie's shampoo and soap and things and chuckled to myself. Then I frowned at myself, as it felt like a violation of her privacy, so I stopped screwing around and got out of there. I really ought to have asked her if she minded me using her bathroom, a step towards thinking about someone other than myself for a change.

The conference call was entirely by numbers, and I went home for the day. Reading about Pasolini had made me feel a little edgy, so I picked up my sketchbook from off the floor and sketched his extraordinary face from memory. It was a good, if perfunctory portrait, and I smiled to myself at my minor talent.

____________________

Friday night rolled around, and even though it had been about a month since that last time we all went out, Emma was tired, so Frank and I ordered pizza and sat and watched TV. Games Of Thrones was on.

"Yo, Jo!" Frank called out to his daughter. "Come get some za!" and turned his attention back to the television. "Fuck, look at those tits," he said and laughed. I laughed a little too, but didn't go for the full toxic masculine behavior as I saw that Josie had come in. She grabbed a slice and sat down.

I picked up the remote control. "Let's see what else is on," I said under my breath and flicked through the channels. I wasn't going to watch all that flith with her in the room, and I was surprised that Frank would have let that go. Josie didn't seem to care and sat back, quite relaxed.

"What the fuck, dick lick?" Frank said, his mouth full of pizza. This was just how he talked. I looked over at Josie who returned my gaze with a suppressed laugh on her face. I took a swig of beer, then settled on a rerun of some generic police drama instead. That should be passive enough. I tossed the remote over to Josie in case she wanted to change the channel, but she just shrugged and gave me a tiny smile.

I noticed a sketchbook and pen out on the ottoman. I picked it up and quickly drew an impression of Frank sitting there looking slightly fat and grumpy. I tore out the page, crumbled it up and threw it at him. Josie giggled, and I could tell she was looking at me, but I was focused on Frank's reaction.

He unfolded the paper and looked at his own, slightly unflattering but funny caricature. "Nice one, Picasso" he said and grabbed another slice of pizza.

"Let me see!" Josie exclaimed and he passed the picture to her. She laughed out loud again, with her hand over her mouth, then looked at me. "It's so simple, but so brilliant," she said. I mean, come on, it wasn't all that. "I'm keeping it," she said and wandered off to her room.

As she did, I noticed that she was wearing tight blue jeans and heels. She had a loose fitting top on, and swayed as she walked. Her legs and backside looked absolutely magnificent in that outfit, and I felt a pang of unwanted desire for her. I quickly put that thought away, finished my beer and went home for the night.

On the drive home, I was hit by the thought that I should have shown an interest in her sketchbook, and perhaps asked to use it, and to see what she had drawn, encouraged her. I shook my head at my own egotism. I had made a conscious effort to be nicer, but then had just been the same old selfish dick as always. I climbed the stairs to my apartment, in a much cooler part of town than Frank's place, and she crossed my mind again.

The vision of her in those jeans haunted me a little, and the fact that not only was this girl a total sweetheart and objectively pretty, she was also attractive. And that I had felt an attraction towards her. No. Absolutely not, I said to myself, pushing that thought aside. I pulled up google and put in a search for the polar complete opposite of Josie: busty milf sluts, and jerked off, rather pathetically.