#Hotel Painting in San Diego

[jbrownpainting1]

Benefits of Hiring a Professional Painting Company for Hotel Wall Painting

In today's competitive hospitality industry, creating a welcoming and aesthetically pleasing environment for guests is paramount. One aspect that significantly contributes to the overall ambiance of a hotel is its interior and exterior aesthetics. When it comes to hotel wall painting, many hoteliers may contemplate the idea of hiring a professional painting company. In this article, we will explore the numerous benefits that come with hiring a professional painting company for hotel wall painting, particularly in the context of San Diego.

Introduction

The appearance of a hotel plays a vital role in attracting and retaining guests. Hotel painting is not just about adding a fresh coat of paint; it's about creating an ambiance that complements the overall theme of the property. Let's delve into the benefits of entrusting this task to a professional painting company.

Quality Craftsmanship

Professional painting companies have experienced painters who are skilled in their craft. They possess the knowledge and expertise to deliver flawless and high-quality results. Their attention to detail ensures that every nook and cranny of your hotel's interior and exterior walls is painted to perfection.

Time Efficiency

Time is of the essence in the hotel industry. Professional painters work efficiently to complete the project within the stipulated timeframe. This means minimal disruptions to your hotel's daily operations and a quicker turnaround for your wall painting project.

Cost-Effective Solutions

While it may seem like a cost-saving measure to handle painting in-house, professional painting companies often provide cost-effective solutions. They have access to bulk paint discounts and can advise on the most durable and cost-efficient options for your hotel.

Color Consultation and Expertise

Choosing the right color palette can be a daunting task. Professional painters can provide valuable insights and even offer color consultation services. They know how to select colors that enhance the ambiance and appeal of your hotel.

Enhanced Durability

Professional painters use high-quality paints and techniques that ensure the longevity of the paint job. This means fewer touch-ups and maintenance costs in the long run.

Compliance with Regulations

In San Diego, and many other places, there are regulations and codes that must be adhered to when it comes to painting. Professional painting companies are well-versed in these regulations and will ensure your hotel's painting project complies with all local requirements.

Aesthetically Pleasing Results

Professional painters are artists in their own right. They can transform your hotel's walls into stunning works of art, creating an ambiance that leaves a lasting impression on your guests.

Increased Property Value

One of the significant advantages of hiring a professional Painter in San Diego for your hotel is the potential increase in property value. San Diego's real estate market values well-maintained and aesthetically pleasing properties. By investing in the services of a reputable painting company, you not only enhance your hotel's appearance but also its market value, making it more attractive to potential buyers or investors.

Client Satisfaction

Happy guests are repeat guests. A freshly painted and aesthetically pleasing hotel environment enhances the overall guest experience, leading to higher client satisfaction rates.

Minimal Disruptions

Professional painters are experts in minimizing disruptions during the painting process. They can work during off-peak hours, ensuring that your guests are not inconvenienced.

Professional Equipment and Materials

Professional painting companies come equipped with the latest tools and materials necessary for a flawless paint job. This guarantees a superior finish that stands the test of time.

Environmental Considerations

Many professional painting companies now offer environmentally friendly paint options. This not only reduces the environmental impact but also aligns with the growing demand for eco-conscious accommodations.

Maintenance and Warranty

Most professional painting companies offer warranties for their work. This provides peace of mind, knowing that any issues that arise will be promptly addressed.

Conclusion

In conclusion, hiring a professional painting company for hotel wall painting is a wise investment. It ensures quality craftsmanship, saves time, and enhances the overall aesthetics of your property. Moreover, it contributes to guest satisfaction and can increase your hotel's value. So, if you're considering Hotel Painting in San Diego, entrust the task to professionals who can transform your hotel into a work of art.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Bottom!Phil (7) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six

a new breed of love (ao3) - dizzy

Summary: Dan and Phil make the most of a hotel room while on tour.

after midnight (ao3) - danandphil1910

Summary: was thinking about post-show nighttime routines. another long concept, not really a fic in the traditional sense.

Ashamed, Guilty, and Massively Turned On (ao3) - mermaidstailonmyface (louislittletomlintum)

Summary: Objectively, Dan decided, he was an awful person. First, he watched Phil get off like some sort of sexual deviant, and now he was lying to him about being sick and making him feel concerned. He felt embarrassed, in some ways, and he didn’t like how that stirred low in his gut and conflicted with how turned-on he’d felt last night. Or more over, how the shame and embarrassment seemed to cause some sort of byproduct of arousal.

He decided the subject was best left untouched for now as he couldn’t come up with a resolution, so instead cleared his throat and gathered up his bowl. Maybe he could google why he’s suddenly getting semis when he’s feeling embarrassed. Surely there would be a Quora post about it.

or the one where dan finds out he likes to watch and maybe phil does too

bet on love and let it ride (ao3) - jonsaremembers

Summary: For once in his life, Dan decides not to overthink it.

catch me (ao3) - ShiwiSins (IetjeSiobhan)

Summary: They negotiated this heavily ahead of time, the first couple of times they did this. Today, Dan gets up from the sofa, carelessly pushing his laptop to the side, to wordlessly prowl towards Phil: tugged in by the expression on his face.

City Lights (ao3) - Scuddleduck

Summary: Steamy hotel sex that turns into something sincere and emotional, because of course it does.

Deal me in (ao3) - CapriciousCrab

Summary: "We don't tolerate cheaters around these here parts, mister,” he said with an exaggerated drawl.

He closed and locked the door behind him as he entered the room, laughing at Phil's sheepish expression.

"I wasn't cheating!" Phil laughed. He played along, batting his eyes at Dan innocently. "You must be mistaken, sir."

"Is that so? Well then, why don't you prove it?"

decaf coffee (ao3) - ShiwiSins (IetjeSiobhan)

Summary: Dan doesn’t know this is a thing they’ll be doing today until Phil is already naked on the bed, looking up at him with wide eyes, and he thinks, almost frantically, I want to put a baby in him.

Delicate (ao3) - easybubbyy

Summary: Phil reveals a hidden desire to be treated more femininely by Dan, particularly drawn to Dan's masculinity and how he looks in sleeveless shirts. Dan indulges Phil's desires, leading to a passionate evening of trust, affection, and deep connection.

everything so sublime (ao3) - cutekai

Summary: based on the picture of dan on the blue couch with the glass on his head revealed during his birthday livestream <3

Heat (ao3) - blossomsphan

Summary: Phil has eyes for a cute waiter. But Dan only has eyes for Phil.

Help Taking it Off (ao3) - cats_with_no_tails

Summary: Set the day of Phil’s blonde hair announcement - Dan comes home to him in that cunty little midriff and wants to devour him.

Impressions (ao3) - ottertrashpalace

Summary: Art museum guard who knows obsessive amounts about art history x nepo baby curator who has never read a book but keeps knocking it out of the park on vibes alone

in your high heel boots and your painted-on jeans (ao3) - jonsaremembers

Summary: After a fight, Dan drowns his sorrows in bourbon.

Ineffable (ao3) - philsbignaturals

Summary: In which Phil gets real horny for Dan in the Howley outfit

ironic. (ao3) - razussy

Summary: dan and phil now have a luxurious three days to relax and enjoy themselves before their show in san diego. one out of the many activities, phil showcased his newest purchase to dan.

it’s never just coffee (ao3) - softpine

Summary: Phil will move on first, because he deserves to, and Dan will move on only when he’s freed of the guilt that weighs so heavily on him — so never, maybe. Or whenever he starts feeling that all-consuming numbness again that had created this whole mess. It had its pros and cons.

He feels everything in sharp clarity now. It has its pros and cons.

Knulla, gifta sig, döda (The one where they fuck in IKEA) (ao3) - Merrydith

Summary: The American leg of the Terrible Influence Tour was just beginning and what better time to let the builders put the finishing touches on the phouse while they’re away.

For Dan, everything is perfect. Phil is perfect, their life is perfect and it feels like nothing could possibly go wrong.

That is, until they decide to go get dinner at a local IKEA. Dan finds out something that threatens to break his heart and things start to go wrong. Then they go very very right…

Like Fine Print (ao3) - totalincandescense

Summary: Every few weeks, Dan was given an unfriendly reminder of at least one of the many reasons why he never went outside.

The most frequently recurring thing on the list being the general existence of people.

But more specifically, the existence of people who flirted with Phil.

Like You Used To (ao3) - easybubbyy

Summary: The boys go out for drinks with their crew. Dan is a horny and clumsy drunk, and Phil is a goofy and flirty drunk. Smut ensues. Enjoy!

Inspired by a few discussions in the 'Phanniversary Newlyweds' video :)

Phil Fucked a Bear (ao3) - Scuddleduck

Summary: Based on the oft told anecdote where Phil romanced Halsin (the bear) in Baldur's Gate 3. Dan pretends to be a bear for Phil.

Precious Baby Angel (ao3) - toadsappho

Summary: Phil shows Dan his new t-shirt, but that's not the only surprise he has for him.

sappy (ao3) - imstillemO

Summary: they fuck on the tour bus. that is all it is, with hints of sentimentality.

the night is thinking of love (ao3) - ShiwiSins (IetjeSiobhan)

Summary: Dan wants to be indulged so badly he doesn’t even know what he wants Phil to indulge him with; wants to enjoy the process of ordering something nice, because Phil is paying and he said anything, so much he doesn’t want to order anything at all and drag Phil home instead, only that he also really, really wants every single second of this: of ordering, of Phil paying, of being indulged.

Or: Dan and Phil tour and, simultaneously, slowly explore Dan's kink further.

too long (ao3) - Mildredo

Summary: they're horny on tour. that's it that's the fic.

true rat and relaxation time (ao3) - trashcanfromgallifrey

Summary: Two gays on holiday, inspired by their recent video.

Won't settle for less (ao3) - ottertrashpalace

Summary: Two boys finally get some time to themselves, alone in an apartment, and it goes about how you'd expect. New ground is broken.

you will be (the death of me) (ao3) - blossomsphan

Summary: “I wanna play the game, I want the friction

You will be the death of me”

- Muse (Time is Running Out)

[bullet-prooflove]

Spray Paint: Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Tagging: @wakeama @anime-weeb-4-life @expir3dl0v3 @danzer8705 @drabbles-mc @purrrrfect @alwaysachorusgirl @witches-unruly-heart @mysoulisasunflower @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @the-wandering-lunatic @multifandomloversworld @est1887 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @stressed-chas @spookyboogyuniverse @nessamc @thanossexual @lexondeck @weiwei0210 @trublu2u @justreblogginfics @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx @irishavengersassemble @oklahomapeach @keyweegirlie @dakotapaigelove

Nobody knows that Nestor paints, no one except you, of course. There’s a reason he’s kept it a secret for all of these years and you’re not about to ruin that.

When people come into your home and compliment the artwork on the walls, you always say it’s by a local artist, someone up and coming, you don’t remember the name.

In the Cartel he was known as The Mercenary.

In the M.C it’s The Prospect.

In the art world he’s Neoce, his work selling for between five to six figures in some circles. It’s what keeps the two of you lucrative now that you’re out of the assassin game and he’s doing community work in the M.C.

It’s only in the past few years his artwork has taken off, his work is bright, colourful, renditions of the things he feels, the things he sees. It used to be so dark after David died, cryptic layers of greys, blacks and browns all blurring into each other and then there was the red, so fucking vivid, it looked like splashes of blood across the canvas.

When he worked in the Cartel, he used to do it in the spare room of his apartment, locking it away like it was a secret. He couldn’t stand the idea of Miguel’s judgement. In his world men ran empires, they didn’t paint.

The irony is that Miguel once paid 25k for one of his paintings. It hung in his office for a couple of years before the FBI raided the place. The other man had never realised that the artist who’d created the piece was the man he’s grown up with. Sometimes Nestor questions if Miguel had ever really known him at all, or if he’d always viewed him as an employee.

He has his own studio now, in the house that the two of you own. A large space with white walls, high ceilings and windows that let in natural light. He doesn’t feel the need to hide his shit from you, if it weren’t for the fumes and the music, he’d keep an open-door policy because he likes having you amongst his things, immersed in his world.

He’s hard at work when you enter the studio, hip hop on full blast, mask over his face as he shakes the can of spray paint. His unruly hair is tied back away from his face in a bun. He’s wearing grey sweatpants and a white wifebeater that shows off his tattoos, it makes you want to run your fingers over them. You linger in the doorway, watching him for a second as he moves with the fluidity of an apex predator, painting layer after layer in order to bring out the starkness of the colour.

He has a gift, you’ve always thought that, ever since you’d first laid eyes on his artwork. You recall the night he unlocked the door to the spare room in his apartment, the way his gaze lowered as you surveyed the work. Submissive, unsure, traits that you would never connect with the man you loved. You’d recognised the gesture for what it was, him revealing another part of himself to you, sharing a side of him that no one else knew.

“It’s beautiful,” You had told him, your fingertips tracing over the colours. “I can see you in it.”

It’s you who’d encouraged him to submit his work to the ANON ARTshow, the prize was 50k and representation. He didn’t expect to win, not really but when he got that letter, he couldn’t describe the way it made him feel. The two of you had celebrated with champagne in a hotel suite in San Diego because you’d been on a job and Miguel needed him the next day for some work just over the border. It was a stolen moment amidst the chaos of your lives, another secret just for the two of you.

His reputation had gained traction from there, his anonymity only heightening the appetite for his work. He’d run several solo exhibitions since then, donating the majority of the proceeds to causes that need it, he’s been funding Carmen’s underground border network for years, ever since he learned about Mari and how she was trafficked.

“Mi Corizon,” Nestor tuts when he catches you in the doorway, he sets down the can of spray paint before pulling off his mask. “You’re spoiling the surprise.”

It’s your birthday in a couple of weeks and he knows exactly the memory he wants to recreate. That night in the desert when the two of you buried a body together, the moment he fell in love working alongside of you as you sang that song, that silly little one that featured in both your childhoods. He’s generated the outline and began to spray paint the base, but it still has a long way to go before it becomes the image he has in his head.

He's gentle as he guides you from the room, his hand on your lower back. He closes the door quietly behind him.

“You’re banned for the next few weeks.” He tells you as he escorts you back to the living space.

He thought he had a few more days before you returned home but it appears you’ve finished up your trip sooner than expected. His gaze strays to your go-bag stowed away alongside the front door, the same place you always leave it upon returning.

You’ve been away for a couple of days helping to relocate one of the families who came over the wall, making sure they’re settled, that they have resources. You’ve been doing this work for a while now and Nestor sees the difference it makes, for both you and for them. You sleep better at night, smile a lot more, there’s a light in you that outshines the darkness and Nestor can’t help but fall in love all over again.

“Let me welcome you home properly.” He suggests, his lips brushing over yours. You make that noise, that sweet little sound that you always make when the both of you have been apart for far too long. He senses your need, it’s in the way you lean into him, your entire body pressing against his because it isn’t enough right now, you need more, you need skin to skin contact, those dark eyes on yours as he drives you to the pinnacle of release. You need…

Nestor knows exactly what you need.

“Let me show you just how much I’ve missed you.”

Love Nestor? Get added to his tag list!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[jamieroxxartist]

a #Painting that I painted a few years ago. This was the Signature Painting for my first Solo Show at the #WHotel in San Diego. I’m not sure, but I think (99% sure) I was the first Painter to have an Art Show at this Hotel.

’Monroe, over the shoulder (Purple, it was one of several)’

2007 acrylic and oil blend on canvas 36"x48" by www.JamieRoxx.us This Sold Painting is Not Available.

#PopArt! #Portrait #ClassicHollywood #Icon

[altura0]

Altura in San Diego, CA

For months, we’ve heard that the Altura apartment has notable modern 3 bedroom apartments near Del Mar area. Many small families will benefit from this. Since the apartment complex has irresistible amenities and upscale features, you can plan an amazing lifestyle there. In addition, it has proximity to Qualcomm, Carmel Country Plaza, and Penasquitos Creek Waterfall that are only some of the things you’ll love about Altura. Additionally, their community amenities include pet-friendly community, on-site storage spaces, surrounded by 1,300 acres of preserved natural habitat with trails for hiking and biking, including easy access to SR 56 and Interstates 5 & 805. What’s not to like?

San Diego, CA

In preparing to travel for vacation, it is exciting to select pre-scheduled events. If you’re looking for activities in San Diego, CA, it is necessary to check out online posts. First, there will be Learn to Paint: Getting Started with Art Workshop this coming Sunday, July 21, 2024, at around 1:00 PM at Art on 30th. Second, the QueerGxrl San Diego Pride Party @ The House of Blues was scheduled on Friday, at around 8:00 PM at House of Blues Restaurant & Bar. Lastly, you can also opt to attend the COMP Entry to BABES BOOTCAMP 7/20 Fitness Class @Hard Rock Hotel Rooftop on Saturday, July 20, 2024, at around 11:00 AM at Hard Rock Hotel San Diego.

Belmont Park in San Diego, CA

The beauty of Belmont Park in San Diego, CA is one of the reasons that many people continuously visit the place. If you like exploration, it is also one of the best places you can visit these days. It is also interesting to note that it is an oceanfront historic amusement park located in the Mission Beach area of San Diego, California. Moreover, the park was developed by sugar magnate John D. Spreckels. In addition, it was opened on July 4, 1925 as the Mission Beach Amusement Center. In addition to providing recreation and amusement, it was also intended as a way to help Spreckels sell land in Mission Beach.

Missing Chula Vista hiker found dead in Riverside County

Nowadays, there are numerous shocking news reports in San Diego, CA area. Recently, there was a topic about a hiker who was found dead. Reportedly, a Chula Vista man who went missing during a hike in Riverside County was found dead on Wednesday. Recently, the authorities shared the report. In addition, Hantae Kim, 61, was reported missing around 11:00 in the morning on Sunday, Lt. Deirdre Vickers with Riverside County Sheriff’s Department told FOX 5/KUSI Tuesday. Then, he was last seen in the area of Fuller Ridge Trailhead, which is part of the Pacific Crest Trail, off Black Mountain Road in Whitewater. Lastly, there is no evidence of foul play at this time, Vickers confirmed.

Link to map

Belmont Park 3146 Mission Blvd, San Diego, CA 92109, United States Get on I-5 N from W Mission Bay Dr and Sea World Dr. 9 min (3.9 mi) Continue on I-5 N to Carmel Creek Rd. Take the Carmel Creek Rd exit from CA-56 E 11 min (12.6 mi) Follow Carmel Creek Rd to your destination 1 min (0.3 mi) Altura 11921 Carmel Creek Rd, San Diego, CA 92130, United States

[sandiegobizgroup]

Most Romantic Places In San Diego

Bringing your loved one to places where they can feel love is a must. Of course, romance should happen every day, anywhere you are, whatever it is you do, but needless to say considering going to places where love is flaming is recommended regularly. Nothing too fancy, a simple dinner date on a restaurant with a romantic ambiance or watching a play in a theater is more than enough to say that you had a romantic date. There are many romantic places in San Diego you can consider, and to give you two of these places, check on the list provided below:

Mister A’s: This restaurant should not skip lovers place to visit when in San Diego. This American restaurant is serving their great food over breathtaking skyline and bay. It is located at 2550 Fifth Ave, San Diego, CA 92103, United States.

Pearl Hotel: This romantic hotel is located at 1410 Rosecrans St, San Diego, CA 92106, United States. This boutique hotel is a perfect hotel to have lovers celebrate their anniversary or other special events. To add to the romance is there pool where lovers can spend quality time.

Sunset Cliffs: Embrace the magic of nature's artistry at Sunset Cliffs. As the sun descends into the Pacific Ocean, hues of pink, orange, and purple paint the sky, creating an awe-inspiring backdrop. Wander along the rugged coastline, hand in hand, and find a secluded spot to watch the horizon melt into a breathtaking vista.

In conclusion, San Diego provides a plethora of romantic spots, each offering its unique charm and ambiance. Whether it's the breathtaking vistas of La Jolla Cove, the ethereal sunsets at Sunset Cliffs, the serenity of Balboa Park, or the classic allure of Coronado Beach, this city caters to every romantic inclination, making it an idyllic destination for couples seeking to ignite or rekindle their passion.

Contact us

San Diego Smile Center

10737 Camino Ruiz Suite 120, San Diego, CA 92126

Phone: (858) 566-0842 Email: info@sandiegosmilecenter.com

Company Hours: Mon-Thurs 8:30am-6:00pm

Website: https://sandiegosmilecenter.com

Map Driving Directions

https://maps.app.goo.gl/BQuXvGdUC5ncBc6v8

[tigerstrikesasteroidnetwork]

LA / Life Affirming Moments: En Route

Cynthia Luján & Jorge Mujica Life Affirming Moments: En Route September 16 - October 8, 2023 Opening Reception: Saturday, September 16 7-10pm

SUR:biennial in association with Tiger Strikes Asteroid Los Angeles is pleased to present Life Affirming Moments: En Route, a two-person art exhibition featuring individual and collaborative work by Cynthia Luján and Jorge Mujica. Having successfully worked together on past endeavors, the artists made the decision to embark on a 3-month creative process in what the two describe as a “contemplative exploration of life's pathways.” For the current exhibition, the artists draw inspiration from materials and imagery associated with transportation (recurrent motifs in Lujan’s oeuvre) to construct and activate a metaphorical journey of introspection. Through a fusion of each artists' aesthetics and thoughtfully coordinated 2 and 3 dimensional interventions, the gallery space unfolds like a meandering path, inviting viewers to pause and reflect. Guided by familiar visual cues found in everyday human movement, these pauses offer a serene interplay between individual and collaborative artworks.

For Luján, objects found in public spaces (traffic cones, chain-link fences, painted street lanes, chevrons, signage, cement, asphalt, brick, grass, etc.) serve as surrogates of power as she repurposes and subverts these symbols in an effort to reveal the constrictive fabric of American social architecture. 

Mujica’s contributions for this exhibition represent an evolution of his rigorous and longstanding engagement with physical materials. By manipulating flat industrial surfaces, Mujica creates freestanding structures whose carved pathways and varied trenches result in positive and negative spaces that are designed to interfere with viewers’ perceptions. In so doing, Mujica beckons visitors to contemplate the interplay between real space and the painted surface, and the physiological and psychological effects the objects provoke as they navigate through the exhibition space. 

By collectively orchestrating these moments, Luján and Mujica have realized an experience and showcase that will hopefully serve as a validation and celebration of each person's unique journey while encouraging introspection and a deeper connection with the artists’ poetic gestures. 

Life Affirming Moments: En Route is part of SUR:biennial 2023 programming. For more info about SUR:biennial please check @surbiennial on Instagram.  

ARTIST BIOGRAPHIES

Cynthia Luján is an artist who works regionally in Southern CA and lives in Unincorporated Los Angeles with a BFA in painting and a minor in Russian language from California State University, Long Beach. Her public murals and other collaborative projects, which can be seen across Southern California, focuses on the mission of creating more access while addressing barriers created through social conditioning. Her most recent public project, “Outside In” (2022), consists of a 24 x 22 foot mixed media mural created for Saddleback College, Mission Viejo, CA. Her goal is to foster dialogue to create interdependent spaces that prioritize safety, accessibility, and inclusion. Through her work she seeks to create a generative social architecture that fosters fulfillment, empathy & belonging.

Jorge Mujica is the Director of Creative Arts Coalition to Transform Urban Space (CACtTUS) and has shown at M+B 22', Ace Hotel 22', Bozo Mag 21', (Los Angeles). Centro Cultural de La Raza 21' (San Diego). Hi-Bye 20', Casa Del Ahuizote 20' (Mexico City). Horse and Pony 18', Copyright 19' (Berlin). And commissioned by the Museum of Latin American Art to create "Long Beach High Five" a public sculpture at Robert E. Gumbiner Park in Long Beach, CA in 2019. He earned an MFA in Painting and Printmaking from Yale University 12', MA in Visual and Critical Studies from The School of the Art Institute of Chicago 10', and a dual BA in Political Science and Art History from Cal State University Bakersfield 08'.  

Mujica’s designs are realized through a process of rehearsed drawing exercises that combine automatic movements and a choreographed mapping of space resulting in the transformation of flat materials into his singular free-standing painting surfaces. While acknowledging certain conventions of painting as an illusionistic portal on a flat surface, he also embraces the autonomy of the sculptural object that occupies an actual physical space; a duality in Mujica’s work that manifests panoramic ruptures.

photos by Gemma Lopez

[painters-in-san-diego]

If you’re looking to paint a luxury hotel, you can even check out some painting tips from luxury hotel painting companies in San Diego to get inspired and give your hotel property the transformation it deserves with help from a professional painting company.

[bradshawsbaby]

Little Black Dress

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Natasha “Phoenix” Trace

Author’s Note: I’ve been brainstorming this one for what feels like forever, and I’m so glad that I finally had the time to sit down and write it today!

Warnings: This one is NSFW (18+) for explicit sexual content and language. But there’s some fluff sprinkled in for good measure!

“Minx, are you almost ready? We’re going to be late,” Hangman called out, adjusting his bow tie in front of the hall mirror.

“Five more minutes!” Phoenix called back, the familiar little huff of annoyance in her voice making him smile.

Shaking his head with an amused smirk, he slowly sauntered over to the spacious vanity his fiancee was currently occupying, her back to him as she finished painting her puckered lips a shade of dark red that he instantly wanted to kiss right off.

Phoenix, perched atop the vanity bench in her fuzzy white bathrobe, glanced up at him in the mirror and rolled her eyes teasingly at the expression she caught on his face.

“Don’t even think about it, Bagman,” she smirked, snapping the cap back onto her lipstick tube. “Like you said, we’re going to be late.”

“Do we have to go to the ceremony?” Hangman questioned with a raised eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning one shoulder against the doorframe.

“Hmm, let’s see,” Phoenix began, putting the rest of her make-up away as she glanced at her reflection in the mirror, wiping at a small smudge of mascara near the corner of her eye. “Do we have to attend my cousin’s wedding ceremony, the one that my whole family is going to be at and that we flew all the way out to Napa Valley for?” She tapped her chin as if in deep contemplation. “Yes, I think we do,” she laughed, slipping the pearl studs her parents had bought her years ago into her earlobes.

“You’re not even dressed yet,” Hangman countered, waggling his eyebrows suggestively as he pushed off the wall and made his way up behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders and gazing at her in the mirror. “I can make it quick,” he promised with a wink.

“Stop it,” Phoenix laughed, swatting at his arm playfully. “We are not having a quickie a half hour before my cousin’s wedding. Go call an Uber while I finish getting ready,” she told him, rising from her stool and pushing him towards the sitting room of their hotel suite.

It had been Hangman’s idea to book one of the fanciest rooms in the hotel.

“What do we need a suite for?” Phoenix had demanded when she’d seen the room he’d booked for them. “We’re going to be spending most of our time there at the wedding. The hotel is just a place to get dressed and sleep.”

“Maybe I like to get dressed and sleep in style,” Hangman had teased her, wiping her frown lines away with a finger. “And maybe I just want to spoil you a little bit,” he’d added in a whisper, his lips pressed close to her ear.

She’d swatted at him then, too, but he’d caught the little smile gracing those gorgeous lips of hers, and she hadn’t argued about it further.

“You’re killing me, Minx,” Hangman sighed, pretending to roll his eyes heavenward as he pulled out his phone to arrange for a car to take them the short distance to the vineyard where Phoenix’s cousin, Mariana and her soon-to-be-husband Gabe would be tying the knot.

While Hangman dealt with the Uber, Phoenix hurried over to the bedroom and slid into the black evening dress her mother had insisted she wear.

“It’s black tie, Natasha. You have to get real dolled up. I bought you something,” her mom had told her, a satisfied smirk on her face.

Her mom had flown out to San Diego a few days before the wedding so that she could spend time with Phoenix and Hangman before they all flew to Napa Valley. Or, as Phoenix pointed out repeatedly, so that she could try to horn in on the planning for their wedding. She and Hangman had only been engaged for a few months, but already her mother wanted everything planned, down to the last place setting.

Hoping to appease her mom, who she loved more than anything, at least a little bit, she’d accepted the black gown without complaint. It was strapless, with a sweetheart neckline and tight enough to accentuate every curve. It also featured a rather scandalous slit that rose all the way up her thigh.

“Jake will love it,” her mom had teased her with a knowing wink.

If his reaction to her sitting with her hair and make-up done in a hotel bathrobe was any indication, he certainly would. Laughing to herself, she reached for the black Louboutin heels one of her sisters-in-law had purchased for her years ago as a Christmas gift. She could probably count on one hand the amount of times she’d actually worn them, but she figured a wedding at a vineyard in Napa Valley was as good a time as any.

She was ready. She’d just need Jake to help her with the zipper at the back of her dress.

“Car should be here in five—” Hangman announced, both his words and his feet coming to a halt as he stopped just inside the bedroom door. His green eyes widened as he gazed at her, drinking in every inch of her body wrapped in the black dress her mother had evidently picked out just to please him. He let out a low whistle of appreciation. “Minx, you look—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Phoenix cut him off with a grin, secretly a little flustered by his naked amazement. She hated having so much attention on her, so she hoped everyone else at the wedding wouldn’t react in the same way. “Help me with my zipper, would you?” she asked, turning around and indicating the gap at her back.

Even with her back turned to him, Phoenix could feel the force of her fiance’s desire pouring off him in waves. His fingers were warm as they brushed against the bare skin of her spine, eliciting a small shiver she could do nothing to control.

“You look gorgeous, Minx,” he breathed out, his lips brushing against her shoulder as he slowly pulled the zipper up her back. “Fucking gorgeous,” he rasped, one hand resting on her waist as his other hand brushed her dark hair aside, giving his lips easier access to her throat.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Bagman,” Phoenix whispered, her voice catching slightly as she leaned back into his hold. That sleek black tuxedo was doing wonders for his already handsome form. She suddenly had to concentrate very hard on not giving in to his earlier suggestion of skipping the wedding ceremony. “We should go,” she breathed out, clearing her throat softly.

Hangman bit back a groan, torn between wanting to admire his stunning fiancee in her black tie get-up and wanting to tear that gown off her and spend the rest of the night showing her just how much he appreciated it. “You’re right,” he sighed, brushing his fingers down her arm. “But before we go, I have a little gift for you,” he said, almost having forgotten. “Close your eyes.”

“This isn’t going to be something perverted, is it?” Phoenix asked, quirking an eyebrow as she turned to look up at him.

“Just close your eyes,” Hangman chuckled, waiting patiently until she had done so. 

He waved his hand in front of her face a couple times, just to make sure her eyes were really closed, then reached into his pocket and pulled out the small black velvet case he’d been carrying. Opening it up, he slid out the sleek pearl necklace he’d purchased with her mom’s assistance, the one that paired perfectly with the pearl earrings her parents had bought her all those years ago. Dropping the case on the bed, he gently lowered the string of pearls against her slender throat, brushing her hair aside so that he could clasp it behind her neck.

Gasping softly, Phoenix’s eyes flew open as her fingers brushed against the gift. Glancing up into the bedroom mirror, she couldn’t help but stare in amazement. “Jake,” she breathed out, turning to look up at him. “It’s too much.”

“Nothing’s too much for you, Natasha,” he murmured, reaching up to caress her cheek softly. “It looks perfect on you.”

“You didn’t have to—”

He silenced her with a kiss, his lips brushing tenderly against hers so as to avoid mussing the lipstick he knew she’d kill him for ruining.

At that moment, his phone buzzed with a notification that their car was downstairs and waiting for them.

“Time to go,” he sighed, taking her hand in his and leading her towards the door of their hotel suite. “God, babe, your ass looks amazing in that dress,” he commented as she ran ahead of him to grab her purse. He hadn’t even had a chance to fully admire her entire figure in the dress her mom had gotten her.

“Thanks. That’s what no underwear will do for you,” Phoenix replied with a wicked wink, opening the door. “Time to go.”

Hangman’s jaw dropped open and he let out a groan as he followed behind her. “You’re evil, Minx.”

“And we’re late,” she laughed, leading him down to the hotel lobby and outside to their waiting Uber.

The wedding ceremony was beautiful. Phoenix had even shed a couple surreptitious tears, moved by how happy Mariana and Gabe looked. She and Mariana were only a year apart, and they had been inseparable as children. She knew a rustic wedding on a beautiful vineyard with a stunning sunset as a backdrop had been Mariana’s dream since they were little girls. Phoenix was just thrilled that she was able to witness it.

Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine that she’d be witnessing it with her own handsome fiance by her side, but Hangman’s presence, his strong hand resting on her lower back and his thumb unconsciously brushing away the tears that trickled down her cheeks, made it all the better.

Cocktail hour had been a rush of her loud and boisterous family members surrounding them and asking a million and one questions about their own wedding plans, but she’d finally managed to fend them off and now she and Hangman were safely seated at their table inside the main banquet room.

Despite their divorce, her parents had both been invited to the wedding, and they were seated at a table with her four older brothers and their wives. Since there wasn’t enough room at that table, she and Hangman had been seated nearby with some of her cousins and their dates.

Dinner had just been served and everyone was happily chattering away when Phoenix suddenly felt a warm hand descend upon her bare knee, which was currently exposed due to the strategic slit in her gown. She didn’t think anything of it at first, especially since Hangman seemed to be engaged in conversation with her cousin’s boyfriend, who was seated on the other side of him.

As she started cutting into her steak, however, she noticed that his hand had moved from the top of her knee to the inside of her thigh, where he was now tracing slow circles with his calloused fingertips.

Cheeks flushing slightly, which she could easily argue was from all the wine she had imbibed, Phoenix glanced sharply at her fiance, who didn’t seem to register her reaction at all. He was still talking to her cousin’s date, his food remaining untouched on the plate in front of him.

Determined to ignore his childish antics, Phoenix cut into her steak once more, choking back a yelp when Hangman suddenly pinched the inside of her thigh—hard. Shooting him a surreptitious glare, she attempted to kick him under the table, but he deftly managed to avoid her foot.

Damn him.

From the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, she could tell that he wasn’t oblivious at all to her reactions. She attempted to squeeze her thighs tighter together, but that only seemed to embolden him more. His hand slid further up her thigh, caressing her skin with the lightest of touches that made goosebumps rise on her arms and her stomach clench painfully in desire.

Clearing her throat, Phoenix reached for her glass of water and had just raised it to her lips when her bastard of a fiance suddenly slid his hand all the way up the slit of her dress and shoved it underneath the black fabric, palming her underneath the table.

Gasping just as she started to take a sip, Phoenix started sputtering, her water spilling slightly near her plate.

“Oh my gosh! Tasha, are you okay?” one of her cousins asked, starting to rise from her seat in concern.

“I’m fine! I’m fine!” Phoenix insisted instantly, waving her hands in a rush to keep her cousin in her chair. “Water just went down the wrong way, that’s all,” she added sheepishly, her cheeks flaming.

Reaching underneath the table, she pinched Hangman’s leg as hard as she could, but that only made him chuckle under his breath.

It had been a mistake letting him know that she wasn’t wearing anything under her dress. She wondered just how long he had been preparing this little surprise attack. Knowing him, he’d been plotting it since they left the hotel.

He was relentless. Even as he smiled and chatted with everyone at their table, his fingers were running up and down her exposed slit, his touch sending immediate signals of want and desire straight to her brain. She tried to eat her dinner, tried to focus on the conversations buzzing around her, anything to distract from the desire to squirm in her seat against his hand.

She was grateful that her younger cousin was doing most of the talking when Hangman, his head still turned away from her, suddenly slid two fingers inside her, causing her to bite down roughly on her tongue to keep from crying out and humiliating herself in the midst of her cousin’s wedding reception.

Fists clenched tightly on either side of her plate, Phoenix lowered her head for a moment and took a deep breath, biting down on her lower lip.

Apparently Hangman was paying more attention to her reactions than she thought because he suddenly leaned over and pressed his lips against her ear. “Keep biting your lip like that, Minx, and I might not be able to control myself much longer,” he whispered hoarsely, his fingers curling inside her beneath the linen tablecloth.

Pulling her head back, Phoenix wrapped an arm around his shoulders and smiled, leaning in close as if she was going to whisper something tender and private into her fiance’s ear. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to fucking kill you,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

“I love it when you talk dirty,” Hangman murmured back with a wink, still not removing his hand from between her thighs.

“Jake,” Phoenix muttered through clenched teeth, resting her hand on his thigh and digging her nails into his leg roughly. Her breath caught in her throat as he suddenly hit a particularly tender spot, sending shockwaves coursing through her body.

Just as she thought she might really climax then and there, right at the dinner table, Hangman suddenly pulled his hand away, leaving her feeling both relieved and bereft all at once. She had told him to stop, but now she was throbbing with need for him. Sometimes she hated how much she loved this asshole of hers.

“Babe,” Hangman suddenly said, loud enough for everyone else at the table to hear. “Should we take a walk in the vineyard? I heard there’s a path out back,” he added innocently.

“Oh, you should, Tasha! It’s gorgeous!” Phoenix’s cousin, Sofia chimed in. “Very romantic,” she added with a little wink.

If only Sofia knew that Phoenix was more in the mood to wring her fiance’s neck than to take a romantic evening stroll with him.

“That sounds great,” Phoenix nodded, dropping her napkin onto the table beside her plate. She’d managed to get a few bites of her steak in.

Hangman’s food was still sitting completely untouched.

Quickly adjusting her dress under the table, she let him pull her chair out, his hand resting on her lower back, rather close to the ass he’d complimented earlier in the evening, as he led her out the door and towards the vineyard path he’d mentioned.

Once they were far enough out of earshot and Phoenix was sure there was no one wandering through the vineyard, she spun around and smacked his chest, as hard as she could.

“Are you fucking crazy?!” she exclaimed, her dark eyes wide in both shock and exasperation.

“What?” Hangman chuckled, feigning ignorance.

“Jake!” Phoenix hissed, hitting his chest once more, though with much less force this time. “I swear, I could really fucking kill you sometimes!”

“But you won’t,” Hangman grinned, capturing her hands with his own and pulling her in for a kiss.

“Don’t be so sure,” Phoenix retorted, glaring up at him.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Hangman murmured, looking surprisingly sincere in his contrition. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have done it,” he sighed, tucking a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. “You’ve just been driving me crazy all night and I couldn’t help myself. But it was fucked up.”

Phoenix just stood staring up at him, the silence stretching between them as the evening stars began twinkling overhead, their presence hidden from the rest of the world as they stood in a row of grapevines. “It was,” she finally said, her dark eyes still resting on his infuriatingly handsome face. “But you know what’s even more fucked up?”

“What?” Hangman asked, his fingertips trailing along her jawline.

“Just leaving me like that,” she told him, wrapping her arms around him and letting her lips hover just a centimeter away from his.

Letting out a low groan, Hangman immediately covered her mouth with his, wrapping his arms around her tightly and squeezing her close to his chest. “God, babe, I need you so badly,” he rasped against her ear, his hands reaching down to cup her ass and pull her flush against him.

“Show me how badly,” Phoenix whispered, already reaching down to unzip his pants as his lips moved down her throat in a feverish rush.

Just a few feet behind them sat a wooden workbench, tucked securely in between some of the trellises. Lifting her up into his arms, Hangman carried Phoenix over and plopped her down on top of it, her expensive heels falling unheeded to the grass below as she tugged up her fancy black evening gown while Hangman fumbled with the button on his tuxedo pants.

“You’re killing me, Bagman,” Phoenix laughed breathily, letting out a soft moan of relief once her fiance finally managed to free himself from the confines of his pants and boxer briefs.

“Come here,” Hangman whispered, his voice low and hoarse as he tugged her towards the edge of the workbench, one hand reaching down to spread her legs wider. His lips connected with hers once more as he slid his hands under her thighs and wrapped them around his waist, while she reached out and guided him expertly towards her entrance.

“Jake,” Phoenix mewled softly, resting her hands on his shoulders once he was securely inside her. “Jake!” she moaned again, her head tipping backwards as he rutted inside her, his fingers digging into her back while he nipped at her neck.

“Fuck, babe,” Hangman panted, his breath coming in short, quick spurts as he thrust inside her over and over again, hard and fast and rough. He held her close in his arms, his lips pressed against her forehead as she writhed in his hold, clinging to him desperately.

“Right there, right there. Yes!” Phoenix cried out, clapping a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming out further. She locked her ankles around his waist, trying to pull him even deeper inside her as he stroked her clenched walls over and over again.

“Nat–Nat–Natasha!” Hangman moaned, burying himself deep inside her and pressing his face against her neck as he suddenly came hard and fast, filling her up as he clung to her.

“Oh, babe!” Phoenix gasped, following closely behind as she spasmed around him and reached a climax of her own, her heart hammering wildly in her chest as she rested her damp forehead against his.

“Damn,” Hangman laughed breathlessly, pulling back just enough to cup her face in his hands and gaze at how beautiful she was. “Damn,” he said again, at a loss for words.

“I cannot believe I just had sex at my cousin’s wedding,” Phoenix laughed incredulously, burying her face in his neck and shaking her head slowly.

Hangman grinned, pressing a kiss to her dark hair. “We’ll get you cleaned up before we go back into the reception, Minx. No one will know,” he assured her with a wink.

“Here’s hoping anyway,” she smirked, sighing softly as he slowly slipped out of her and quickly zipped his pants back up, bending down to pick up her shoes and place them back on her feet.

“I love you, Natasha Trace,” he told her, green eyes twinkling as he gazed down at her and tenderly adjusted her dress.

“That’ll be Natasha Seresin to you soon enough,” she smiled in return, wrapping her arms around his neck as he lifted her up off the workbench and slowly lowered her down to the ground.

“Mmm, I like the sound of that, Minx,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her. “I really, really do.”

“Should we get back before they miss us?” she asked softly, slipping her hand into his.

“Mhm, I guess we should,” he nodded, letting her lead him back along the path towards the reception space. “Better enjoy the party while we can. It’s going to be a long night.”

“The reception’s only a few more hours,” Phoenix told him, glancing up at him over her shoulder.

“I know,” Hangman replied, smirking at her wickedly. “But just wait until I get you back to our hotel room.”

Phoenix grinned as they headed back inside. Maybe this little black dress hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

[arthursknight]

small hotchreid blurb

hey hey! this is a blurb for @hotchedyke, who was kind enough to commission me for some fluff! it’s not technically ‘complete’-- there’s more story to be told, here, but this could very easily stand alone. i might add to it if there’s interest. <3 note: you can commission me for a blurb! they’re $5, they’re for any pairing (including x reader), they’re really helpful to me if you have the ability to do so. but fear not! i will be posting fic no matter what! without further ado, here we go -- “Can’t sleep?” Spencer rubs his eyes. The bags underneath them are more pronounced at the moment, darker watercolor bruises staining high on his cheeks. The case had been rough. Every case was rough, but this case? Rough. The jet’s engine is thrumming low out of the window. He can hear Dave snoring gently from across the aisle. And Spencer sits down across from him, hugs his cardigan closer, and mutters, “No.” “Me neither.” Obviously. Aaron’s still sitting here, flipping over the case file and thinking about the paperwork he’s going to have to fill out when they get back. Justify nearly 8 days in San Diego, explain 4 bodies. Spencer yawns, though, forgetting to cover his face with his hand, a little silent lion roar. Aaron flips the manila folder closed. “So what do we do?” “You can read to me,” Spencer teases. And Aaron says, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Aaron shrugs, motioning at Spencer’s messenger bag. “I know you picked up some books from the hotel gift shop.” “They’re fluff.” “They’re good enough,” and Aaron waits for Spencer to pull out a rounded hardback, some new best seller with a painted cover and a constellation of glowing reviews covering the empty space. He takes it from him, flips open the cover to the first page. “It’ll give me something to do,” he explains. Like that’s explanation enough. “Right.” Right. “Chapter one,” he starts as Spencer adjusts a neck pillow. He catches the small smile that dances across his face, and hides his own. -- When Aaron gets home, he slips a book in his go bag. It’s one he’s been meaning to read-- there’s a whole shelf of them-- but this one is the most recently coveted. One he says to himself, I’ll read a page before bed. One he tells himself he’ll read on the weekends. It sits in the bottom of his go bag for three cases. Then there’s Tucson, and the red eye that follows after they get done, where Spencer slips into the seat across from him mid-flight. “Again?” Aaron’s eyes are puffy from exhaustion. He nods, trying to readjust to where he’s turned his body to curl into the space between the seat and the window. “And so it goes.” “I have-- Well, it’s in Russian, but I have--” “I have one,” Aaron says. “In my go bag. Front pocket.” Spencer’s up on his feet, reaching into the top cubbies, and Aaron hears the skittering pull of a zipper. “Got it.” Aaron reaches out his hand as Spencer settles down again, but Spencer waves him away. “My turn,” he says. He straightens his back, clears his throat. “Chapter one.” -- The third time, Emily sits in on it. She and Spencer trade off voices of the two main characters as Derek makes funny faces across the aisle. It doesn’t put him to sleep, but it does lower his anxiety. Then JJ is asking if they can continue on the next flight, because she’s invested in the plot, now. They work through several books as a team. It’s less of a ‘can’t sleep’ thing and more of a ‘pass the night’ thing by the time it evolves, but Aaron will never forget those first two times. When they had trailed off reading each other to sleep. He catches Spencer’s eyes across the way as Derek’s voice smooths its way over some poetry that Emily keeps cracking jokes at, and there’s a moment there where Aaron thinks Spencer can’t forget, either.--His phone rings about a month later. “I can’t sleep,” Spencer’s voice comes through on the other end of the line. There’s a level of appropriateness here that Aaron wonders about. But there’s the nature of coincidence, too-- that across a city of thousands of people, Spencer Reid can’t sleep at the same time as Aaron Hotchner. “Was it my turn or yours?” “Yours,” Spencer says definitively. “Choose anything.” Aaron grabs the book from his nightstand. “Will Austen do?” “You’re reading Austen?” Aaron laughs gently. He was, indeed. A weird choice. One he hadn’t utilized since undergrad. This particular copy was Haley’s. Touching the edges of the pages was like feeling the tips of her fingers. He begins to read, his voice a low rumble over the words. Spencer doesn’t correct him, this time, when he misses a word, which signals that he’s probably asleep. When Aaron squints to see the clock, it’s been two hours. He trails offl. Puts the bookmark in place. “Good night,” he murmurs across the line. “Night, Hotch,” Spencer’s voice comes. It’s small, and dreamy, and it haunts Aaron until sleep wraps its arms around him and tugs him under. --

[redheadgleek]

What is your favorite beach? What makes it your favorite?

The first time I can remember seeing the beach was when I was 17 years old, on a long road trip with my family to see the Redwoods. We broke through the massive trees to see the water crashing against the rocks. I looked over the waves and felt so incredibly small. (Picture taken in 2016 of a nearby area).

I interviewed in Portland for a fellowship position back in 2010. I had never visited Portland and I managed to get a week of vacation, so I drove from the hospital out to the coast just south of Astoria. The coastal mountains were dusted with snow and the wind was bitter cold and it felt a little like home.

Moving alone to a new city always brings loneliness and moving to San Francisco was no different. I missed my friends from residency, who were off on their new adventures. My new roommate was a stranger. I had been thrown into the ICU right away and was expected to make medical decisions on these very sick, very complex patients. In short, I was terrified. The 4th of July was surprisingly clear without fog and I had the afternoon off, so I got on the bus and took it down to the wharf, where I watched the sun go down and the firecrackers light up the sky and reflect in the water below. I didn't get home until well after midnight and had to be back to the hospital by 7 am, but it was worth it and was my first glimmer of belonging.

Hawaii, for all of its breathtaking beauty, did not have walkable beaches. The sand was coarse and soft and the beach narrow and slanted. My feet sunk deep into the sand and I scrabbled to find my footing. I was spending my vacation with my best friend and her husband and was also scrabbling to reconnect with her. Seeing the filming locations of Lost was a dream come true, but our friendship never recovered.

(You can't ever go back, Jack.)

I had forgotten my swimsuit at the hotel and watched envious as my friend frolicked in the warm San Diego water. The water lapped at my ankles and I yearned to go in deeper.

"Just take off your pants. Nobody will know that you're just in your underwear." She encouraged.

Two weeks previously, I had purchased ordinary underwear and finally had dared to take off my religious garments that I had worn for the last decade. My bra felt rough against my skin and the cold winter winds whipped through the single layer. Since their removal I had felt constantly chilled.

But not here in the warm sunshine.

I slipped off my pants, folded them carefully on the towel, and submerged myself in the water.

(Coronado Central Beach, San Diego).

The quiet little beach near Oceanside has become a favorite escape. Whenever I can, I get in my car and drive straight west, curving through the coastal mountains until the road ends at the sea, where I park for the day. I get a chair and maybe a blanket and a book to read. I'll sit, listening to the rhythmic pattern of the waves crashing on the sand, before the yearn to chase them becomes too strong. I walk along the wet boarder of the sea, dancing away when the waves creep in close again and just walk, feeling the sand firm and steady beneath my feet. The ocean is loud, too loud for my inner thoughts, and I breathe in the salty air. I stay until the sun disappears beyond the horizon and the night sky is painted in deepening hues of red and blue.

All my life, I had dreamed about seeing Prince Edward Island, see the land where Maud Montgomery had created her red-headed heroine who had been my inspiration since I was six. When I planned my last trips to see all 50 states, I knew that I wouldn't be happy unless I added a trip to PEI when I visited Maine. It was short, only a day and change there, but as I clamored over the red rocks and the rolling plains, it felt like I could turn the corner and meet Anne there.

[jamieroxxartist]

Today, January 28th, 2025, is #PopArtDay!

( https://nationaltoday.com/pop-art-day )

A couple of #Portrait #Paintings I painted a few years ago of one of my Favorite People: Summer Webb

‘#SummerWebb (#Model)’ 2006, acrylic and oil on canvas, 24"x24" by www.JamieRoxx.us This Sold Painting is Not Available.

Summer with her Birthday Portrait at her Birthday Party at the W Hotel, San Diego

‘Summer Webb Pop’ 2008 acrylic and oil blend on canvas 18"x24" by www.JamieRoxx.us This Sold Painting is Not Available.

[goalieprotectionsquad]

so i’ve watched like three straight days of maine cabin masters and my idiot ass is thinking of the harringtons having a cute little cabin on a lake in maine where they went every summer as a family before his dad started making bank and didn’t have the time anymore.

it’s been seventeen years since steve’s been up there. he doesn’t live at home anymore. he has a job that doesn’t really make him happy, but doesn’t really make him miserable, either. he has plenty of savings from the government coverup but doesn’t have anywhere to go with it. nothing to spend it on. the kids get older. they leave for college. he’s in his mid-twenties and complacent and isn’t all that motivated to change anything.

he gets dinner with his parents when they’re in town in the spring. his mom is talking about a lodge they stayed in when they visited basque country over christmas and he suddenly remembers the cabin. he waits until his mom is done relaying unimportant details like the color of the drape tassels to ask his dad if they still have the cabin in maine, and it’s evident on his face that he’d forgotten about it, too. he looks sort of wistful for a moment but it passes quickly. yeah, they still own it. no, nobody’s been up there in a while. steve doesn’t really think before he’s saying, “can I take a trip up there?”

his parents stare at him for a second like they’re surprised he’s actually interested in doing something, which. not unfair. his dad can’t remember where he put the keys but gives steve the address and tells him to find a locksmith who can get him inside. (steve plans on elbowing through a window or something to save on time and the hassle).

he subleases his apartment and leaves. everyone he likes is either away at school or just. away. moving on with their lives. he doesn’t have anyone to say goodbye to beyond telling his boss he’s quitting.

it takes a while to get up there, but he does, eventually. the cabin is hard to find and it looks so bad on the outside that steve has to triple check the address on the adjacent cabins to make sure it’s the right place. he thinks it’s maybe not just him who hasn’t been here in almost twenty years.

he stays in a hotel and gets up early to meet the contractor. she looks like she’s holding in a laugh when she introduces herself as kali. “look,” she says. “I’m going to be straight with you. this place is literally falling apart.”

steve doesn’t know what to say so he says, “yeah.”

“we can do a walkthrough,” she continues, “but I guarantee that this is going to make your budget look like pocket change.”

steve doesn’t really want to say it’s his dad’s money, so he shrugs and says, “let’s do it,” and watches her pick the lock.

the foundation is rotted out. the floor is rotted out. the porch is rotted out. she points at things and says any variety of that has to go or we’d start by taking that out or when was the last time you were up here again? they need to hire a plumber and a landscaper and an electrician and probably an exterminator, too, and kali doesn’t say anything when she watches him write a check for half the amount she quotes. she gives him a calculating look with kohl-rimmed eyes and says, “all right. we’ll be here tomorrow morning.”

steve shows up at seven because he doesn’t have anything better to do and there’s already a truck parked outside. a tall guy with a beanie shoved low over his forehead is tearing the porch off the front of the house and steve goes over to him and tries not to get hit with any falling debris.

“hi,” he says and has to stand there a minute before the guy looks at him. “I’m steve. is kali around?”

she’s inside the cabin and is leaning over the sink when steve walks in. she yells no. no. no. out the open window to her right as the water continues to run and then yes that’s it we got it as it cuts off abruptly. she looks unsurprised when she turns around and sees him standing in the doorway.

“hi,” he says again. “I’m here to help.”

“you’re paying us to do this for you, you know,” she says, but something in her face makes steve feel like she gets it.

a guy with his hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape of his neck hoists himself through the front door from where the porch used to be. “hey,” he says, all silk, when he sees steve.

“billy, this is steve harrington. the homeowner.” she stresses the word enough that steve literally cannot not notice the emphasis. billy rolls his eyes and shakes steve’s hand. it’s rough with calluses and steve would be stupid not to think about what that would feel like on his skin.

“billy hargrove,” he says. “head carpenter.”

“steve’s here to help with demo,” kali says. 

“well,” billy says. he gives steve one of the most obvious once-overs he’s ever seen. “welcome aboard. you’re gonna help me knock down these interior walls, pretty boy. heads up, though. you might break a nail.”

billy shows him how to use a stud finder and how to cut into the walls to make sure there aren’t any loose wires running through it and then he fucking kicks the wall in and gives steve a wild grin as the drywall dust settles into his blond hair.

steve comes back every day to see billy. he doesn’t even bother lying to himself. billy is funny and sharp and always seems to have a comeback for anything anyone ever says. he shows steve how to build things. stands at his shoulder and watches him use the staple gun on the trim. brings him lunch when he goes out to get food for the rest of the crew.

he tells steve that his mom sent him to live with a friend who had moved from san diego to bangor a few years before. his parents split and she didn’t want him living with his dad. he says susan is a little ditzy but she means well, and she didn’t give up on him during his rougher years in high school even though he isn’t even her kid. he calls her daughter my sister and gets a pinched expression on his face when he talks about how she’s been going through her teenage angst since she was eight and how they’re still figuring out how to not always be at each other’s throats.

it takes a month for them to take out the rotted lumber and to fix the foundation and floor and porch and roof. billy shows steve the crumbly mess in the insulation that means he has an ant infestation. steve helps make the framing for the bathroom and bedroom walls and helps lay the stones for the walkway down to the lake. he spends all day at the work site, then he goes back to the hotel, has dinner, crashes. rinse and repeat. he spends the days the crew isn’t working exploring sort of idly and missing the smell of sawdust. 

when kali declares the place habitable, he buys a mattress and drops it onto the floor of the master bedroom, which is still missing its walls. he checks out of the hotel and buys some groceries and spends his evenings down at the lake, his own private little waterfront. he tries reading but the only salvageable book in the cabin is walden and he can’t make it past the first page.

he hears axel and mick talking about a meteor shower one night. once the crew is gone and the sky is turning purple-navy, he goes down to the lake and lays back to look at the stars. they’re brighter out here, brighter than hawkins, somehow, and the sky feels endless.

he turns to look over his shoulder when he hears footsteps crunching through the undergrowth in his direction. “just me,” billy calls through the dark. he drops down heavily next to steve and passes over a beer and a hamburger wrapped in greasy foil. casual, like they do this all the time. his hair is down and curly and he’s wearing a red shirt unbuttoned to his navel, where it’s tucked into his jeans. he’s wearing cologne, too, and billy smiles when he sees it get steve’s attention.

they talk and they sit in comfortable silence and then they talk again. billy seems to be getting closer and closer until their shoulders and thighs are pressed together and their elbows are knocking. when billy turns to look at him, their noses almost brush, and steve knows billy doesn’t miss the way his eyes drop to his mouth.

“have you swam in the lake yet?” he asks instead and gives steve a wicked smile when he shakes his head, and then he’s up and stripping down and is in the water, wet hair slicked back over his head, before steve’s brain has even puttered beyond looking at billy’s mouth. “come on it, pretty boy! water’s fine.”

he unabashedly watches steve undress and reaches for him immediately once he’s in the water. no preamble. just. puts a hand on his hip. when steve doesn’t move back, he slips an arm around steve’s waist, and then the other. their knees bump under the water and billy noses at steve’s cheek. kisses him on the chin and the corner of his mouth before he kisses his bottom lip. they kiss and kiss, the water not even up to their collarbones, and steve has never been so aware of the night noises around them. cicadas in the trees. a loon some ways away. something shrieks in the distance and it startles steve enough that he stumbles in billy’s grip, and billy tightens his hold and tilts his chin closer again and whispers, “it’s just a fisher cat,” into the crease of his lips.

they start heading back to the cabin before billy makes them double back for the food wrappers and beer bottles and steve grabs their clothes so he has something to do with his hands. he’s never run naked through the trees before but there’s something freeing about it. for some reason, the trees out here don’t look as threatening as the ones in hawkins. maybe they’re older, wiser. maybe they’ve seen more and know how to protect him and billy from whatever else is out there.

steve clears away the painting tarp over the bed and barely has it on the ground before billy is crowding against him, skin dry but hair dripping at the ends over his freckled shoulders. they lose track of time in a cabin they rebuilt together.

billy’s hand on his chest is what wakes him up. the sun is filtering in through the windows and billy is trying to press a mug of coffee into his hands. steve doesn’t own mugs or coffee or a coffee maker out here. steve sits up and leans against the wall, right where they’ve sketched out the custom headboard billy’s going to help him carve, and lets the blanket pool around him in a way that has billy’s gaze dropping, the apples of his cheeks going a little pink. he looks good in the morning sun, in the little bits of dust floating through the air. 

“where’d you find the coffee maker?” steve asks. “and the change of clothes?”

billy gives him a big shark smile but sounds a little sheepish when he says, “I was hedging my bets on needing morning provisions.”

steve makes them eggs and bacon and toast and they sit out on the new front porch to eat and wait for the rest of the team to show up. billy keeps leaning in to kiss his ear, the hinge of his jaw, the side of his neck. just pecks. they still set steve on fire.

billy stays that night, and the next, and the next, and the next. they go swimming for real, eventually, and play cards, and fall asleep outside in the grass with their fingers twisted together. out in the open as much as in their own little world.

kali knows something is going on between them, even if steve doesn’t know if billy told her or she figured it out herself. when it’s just the three of them in a room, billy likes to pitch his voice down, low enough to be husky, but loud enough to be overheard, and gives steve directions more gutturally than usual. pull out a little, he’ll say, all breathless, when they’re fitting the doorframes. now push it back in. harder. mm, yeah, steve. right there. steve doesn’t know if it’s meant to be embarrassing or not but he laughs himself red in the face anyway.

they finish the cabin over the next six weeks. if steve hadn’t been there every day for almost three months, he might have thought he’d gotten the address wrong. it looks like a house, first of all. the outside is a soft brown to blend into the trees. there’s a little living room with a couch and a little table with two artfully mismatched chairs in the kitchen. there’s a huge window in the master bedroom overlooking the lake. steve has never really felt drawn to the water as a non-great-lakes-midwestern kid, but every time he looks out over the lake, he wonders if he even wants to go back to hawkins.

it feels weird giving kali the second half of the payment, knowing he won’t see her again. he hugs her and she pats him awkwardly on the elbows until he lets go. one by one, the rest of the team leaves, and it’s not until steve’s standing alone in the fading sunlight that he realizes that billy’s gone, too.

it’s the first time billy’s just left without saying anything about where he was going and when he was coming back. that deep, dark part of steve says they were just fooling around during the job, but he drinks a beer and talks himself out of panicking. he makes himself a sandwich. lays in the bed. showers. doesn’t really know what to do with himself now that the job is done and billy is gone.

he’s laying on the couch and staring up at the ceiling when the sound of a key scraping in the lock has him on his feet on instinct to do -- something, he didn’t really think that far ahead -- but then the door wedges open and billy’s head appears around it.

“sorry,” he says when he sees steve still gaping. “didn’t mean to scare you. we just -- kali forgot to give you back your spare.”

steve watches him reach out and hang the key ring around the hook next to the door. it overlaps steve’s set.

“oh,” steve says. “thanks.”

billy gives him a little smile and looks like he’s going to leave, but then they’re both saying wait in the same moment and billy’s smile reappears around the door, wide but shy.

“stay,” steve says.

billy slides the rest of the way past the door. he has a small duffle thrown over the shoulder steve couldn’t see behind the door and he’s holding a bottle of cheap grocery store champagne.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” billy says. now that steve’s shown his hand, it’s  like billy’s found his footing again. he drops his bag and goes over to the cabinet to pull out two mugs, sets them on the counter. he wraps an arm around steve where’s he’s drifted over without really meaning to. billy kisses the corner of his mouth and presses the bottle into his hands. the foil is already peeled off the cork. “I heard you’re celebrating a housewarming. you wanna do the honors?”

[oldshowbiz]

[iamatt122]

A Biography Within a Eulogy

I have been kicking around ideas for a blog for a while now. I suddenly had the inspiration to write today from a muse that is no stranger to me but may seem a bit macabre to others.

This morning I heard about the passing of Richard Trumka. Trumka was the president of the AFL-CIO for the last 12 years. He was secretary-Treasurer for the 15 years before that. The 13 years before that he was president of the United Mine Workers. His father was a coal miner with a Union job that put him through college. He worked in the mines as a young man as well. These are the same Mine workers who are in the middle of a 5-month strike in Alabama as I write this.  

I had the honor of hearing him speak multiple times and I met him on one occasion. The day I met him changed my life. Here is where the introduction to me comes in.

My father was a Master-at Arms in the Navy, and my mother was a telephone operator for Pacific Bell. As a child in the 80′s I watched as our nation went through this extravagant decadent period of economic prosperity (for the wealthy). Meanwhile, I was the kid with the Payless buy one get one for a penny shoe, and the chip on my shoulder about being in what should have been a middle class working family that couldn’t quite make ends meet enough for my brother and I to participate in some of the extracurricular activities of our peers. My brother was teased about the pink banana seat bike we inherited from somewhere as the other kids rode new BMX racing bikes.  

I didn’t do well in school despite being tagged as a GATE (Gifted and Talented Education) student. My grades suffered and I was sent to live with my uncle who was a teacher in the L.A. area. It was here that I encountered more diversity than I had ever experienced before. My openly gay uncle and I stayed in Long Beach in an apartment about 2 blocks from Martin Luther King Blvd. (If you know you know). I went to school in a predominately Chicano neighborhood near where he taught in Whittier. 

It was during this time I also learned about racism and police brutality. Even before Rodney King was beaten by four officers over 50 times, I had run-ins with the Whittier Police and LAPD. The most memorable impression was an incident where my friends and I were out skateboarding after curfew. We were pulled over and placed spread eagle on a wall. I was the only white kid in the bunch. An officer walked over to me and said, “It’s late. Go on home.” He was taken aback when I told him I was staying with one of my Latino friends and I couldn’t go without him. They patted everyone down and released us. But I could feel the malice towards my friends.

It was also around this time that I got into alternative, punk, and hip hop. I was raised on Country and Western, R&B, Metal, Big Band, Surf Rock, Pop, and Hard Rock. Music is and was a gateway to all kinds of different worlds for me. I never learned to play an instrument. However, music played a huge role in my career path. More on that later.

The rebel DIY attitude and Gen X grunge nihilism did no favors to my grades or my future as a model citizen for that matter. I made dumb kid mistakes and did dumb kid things that I won’t go into detail about here. Suffice to say, “easy money” for a teenager in LA County in the 90′s came with a lot of strings attached. Despite being a white kid raised in suburban San Diego County, I molded myself to fit my environment. I wouldn’t give any of it back for all the money in the world. In the “hood” I learned about friendship, community, loyalty, and respect. I also unfortunately became a Raiders fan and a Dodgers fan, where I learned more about those values along with disappointment and defeat. 

High School brought me back to North San Diego County. My grandparents didn’t want me attending the school in the neighborhood my parents and I lived because there was “gang problems” there(translation: Hispanic and Pacific Islander students). So, I went to Carlsbad High School, where not only was I not a minority, but I am pretty sure the minority population percentage was in the low 30s. This is where I got to lean into being a weird punk rock, goth kid and enroll in Drama. My grades never recovered, and I dropped out in my Senior Year. 

I had been doing technical production for Drama and found a passion for the arts that didn’t involve me being front and center and allowed me to play a supporting role in a small community of nerds on campus (foreshadowing). This new passion led me to an internship at a theatre and eventually my first real Union job (I don’t count the 3 months I worked at a grocery store).

I became a pre-apprentice with IATSE Local 122. I was a professional stagehand. I experienced live music, theatre, comedy, drama, board meetings, tv shoots, conventions, arena tours, stadium tours, and so much more as I honed my craft. I was literally shining a light on some of the music I grew up listening to. 

I was an apprentice when I met Richard Trumka. We had set up audio at the Convention Center for him to speak at a rally for one of the many labor battles we were fighting in San Diego at the time on behalf of hotel workers, grocery workers, teachers, or other workers in what had been a very conservative bastion of California. 

Now, I have ADHD, so I don’t remember specifics. I do great with ideas though. President Trumka’s words inspired me to become more involved with my union than the transactional experiences I had to that point. I was already beginning to learn the value of the Camaraderie in a union thanks to a few wonderful mentors who frankly took on father figure roles in my life that had been absent or temporary until then. Richard Trumka and the AFL-CIO represented something new in the labor movement for me personally despite the long history behind it. I finally realized how much community matters and how the labor movement is centered on that community. 

Since that day, I became a trustee of IATSE Local 122, and I returned to school at 36 years old to receive two AAs in Political Science, and in Social Science. I am now finishing up my B.A. in Political Science, minoring in Art and Media Technology. During the 2020 election cycle I was Assistant Campaign Manager for the first Asian American La Mesa City Council Member Jack Shu, as well as acting as volunteer coordinator for the first openly bisexual Black and Latino National City Council Member Marcus Bush. I am still a card-carrying Journeyman of IATSE Local 122, and I hope to be attending Law School next Fall. Everything that I have done has been in an effort to create the community that President Trumka painted for me that day. 

Those who walk uprightly enter into peace.

RIP President Trumka.

[takethehighwaytoheaven]

The crysanthemums by John Steinbeck

Warning: This story is NOT mine(No hell) Hope you like it

The high grey-flannel fog of winter closed off the Salinas Valley from the sky and from all the rest of the world. On every side it sat like a lid on the mountains and made of the great valley a closed pot. On the broad, level land floor the gang plows bit deep and left the black earth shining like metal where the shares had cut. On the foothill ranches across the Salinas River, the yellow stubble fields seemed to be bathed in pale cold sunshine, but there was no sunshine in the valley now in December. The thick willow scrub along the river flamed with sharp and positive yellow leaves. It was a time of quiet and of waiting. The air was cold and tender. A light wind blew up from the southwest so that the farmers were mildly hopeful of a good rain before long; but fog and rain did not go together. Across the river, on Henry Allen's foothill ranch there was little work to be done, for the hay was cut and stored and the orchards were plowed up to receive the rain deeply when it should come. The cattle on the higher slopes were becoming shaggy and rough-coated. Elisa Allen, working in her flower garden, looked down across the yard and saw Henry, her husband, talking to two men in business suits. The three of them stood by the tractor shed, each man with one foot on the side of the little Fordson. They smoked cigarettes and studied the machine as they talked. Elisa watched them for a moment and then went back to her work. She was thirtyfive. Her face was lean and strong and her eyes were as clear as water. Her figure looked blocked and heavy in her gardening costume, a man's black hat pulled low down over her eyes, clod-hopper shoes, a figured print dress almost completely covered by a big corduroy apron with four big pockets to hold the snips, the trowel and scratcher, the seeds and the knife she worked with. She wore heavy leather gloves to protect her hands while she worked. She was cutting down the old year's chrysanthemum stalks with a pair of short and powerful scissors. She looked down toward the men by the tractor shed now and then. Her face was eager and mature and handsome; even her work with the scissors was over-eager, over-powerful. The chrysanthemum stems seemed too small and easy for her energy. She brushed a cloud of hair out of her eyes with the back of her glove, and left a smudge of earth on her cheek in doing it. Behind her stood the neat white farm house with red geraniums close-banked around it as high as the windows. It was a hard-swept looking little house, with hard-polished windows, and a clean mud-mat on the front steps. Elisa cast another glance toward the tractor shed. The strangers were getting into their Ford coupe. She took off a glove and put her strong fingers down into the forest of new green chrysanthemum sprouts that were growing around the old roots. She spread the leaves and looked down among the close-growing stems. No aphids were there, no sowbugs or snails or cutworms. Her terrier fingers destroyed such pests before they could get started. Elisa started at the sound of her husband's voice. He had come near quietly, and he leaned over the wire fence that protected her flower garden from cattle and dogs and chickens. "At it again," he said. "You've got a strong new crop coming." Elisa straightened her back and pulled on the gardening glove again. "Yes. They'll be strong this coming year." In her tone and on her face there was a little smugness. You've got a gift with things," Henry observed. "Some of those yellow chrysanthemums you had this year were ten inches across. I wish you'd work out in the orchard and raise some apples that big." Her eyes sharpened. "Maybe I could do it, too. I've a gift with things, all right. My mother had it. She could stick anything in the ground and make it grow. She said it was having planters' hands that knew how to do it." "Well, it sure works with flowers," he said. "Henry, who were those men you were talking to?" "Why, sure, that's what I came to tell you. They were from the Western Meat Company. I sold those thirty head of three-year-old steers. Got nearly my own price, too." "Good," she said. "Good for you. "And I thought," he continued, "I thought how it's Saturday afternoon, and we might go into Salinas for dinner at a restaurant, and then to a picture show—to celebrate, you see." "Good," she repeated. "Oh, yes. That will be good." Henry put on his joking tone. "There's fights tonight. How'd you like to go to the fights?" "Oh, no," she said breathlessly. "No, I wouldn't like fights." "Just fooling, Elisa. We'll go to a movie. Let's see. It's two now. I'm going to take Scotty and bring down those steers from the hill. It'll take us maybe two hours. We'll go in town about five and have dinner at the Cominos Hotel. Like that?" "Of course I'll like it. It's good to eat away from home." "All right, then. I'll go get up a couple of horses." She said, "I'll have plenty of time to transplant some of these sets, I guess." She heard her husband calling Scotty down by the barn. And a little later she saw the two men ride up the pale yellow hillside in search of the steers. There was a little square sandy bed kept for rooting the chrysanthemums. With her trowel she turned the soil over and over, and smoothed it and patted it firm. Then she dug ten parallel trenches to receive the sets. Back at the chrysanthemum bed she pulled out the little crisp shoots, trimmed off the leaves of each one with her scissors and laid it on a small orderly pile. A squeak of wheels and plod of hoofs came from the road. Elisa looked up. The country road ran along the dense bank of willows and cotton-woods that bordered the river, and up this road came a curious vehicle, curiously drawn. It was an old spring-wagon, with a round canvas top on it like the cover of a prairie schooner. It was drawn by an old bay horse and a little grey-and-white burro. A big stubblebearded man sat between the cover flaps and drove the crawling team. Underneath the wagon, between the hind wheels, a lean and rangy mongrel dog walked sedately. Words were painted on the canvas in clumsy, crooked letters. "Pots, pans, knives, sisors, lawn mores, Fixed." Two rows of articles, and the triumphantly definitive "Fixed" below. The black paint had run down in little sharp points beneath each letter. Elisa, squatting on the ground, watched to see the crazy, loose-jointed wagon pass by. But it didn't pass. It turned into the farm road in front of her house, crooked old wheels skirling and squeaking. The rangy dog darted from between the wheels and ran ahead. Instantly the two ranch shepherds flew out at him. Then all three stopped, and with stiff and quivering tails, with taut straight legs, with ambassadorial dignity, they slowly circled, sniffing daintily. The caravan pulled up to Elisa's wire fence and stopped. Now the newcomer dog, feeling outnumbered, lowered his tail and retired under the wagon with raised hackles and bared teeth. The man on the wagon seat called out, "That's a bad dog in a fight when he gets started." Elisa laughed. "I see he is. How soon does he generally get started?" The man caught up her laughter and echoed it heartily. "Sometimes not for weeks and weeks," he said. He climbed stiffly down, over the wheel. The horse and the donkey drooped like unwatered flowers. Elisa saw that he was a very big man. Although his hair and beard were graying, he did not look old. His worn black suit was wrinkled and spotted with grease. The laughter had disappeared from his face and eyes the moment his laughing voice ceased. His eyes were dark, and they were full of the brooding that gets in the eyes of teamsters and of sailors. The calloused hands he rested on the wire fence were cracked, and every crack was a black line. He took off his battered hat. "I'm off my general road, ma'am," he said. "Does this dirt road cut over across the river to the Los Angeles highway?" Elisa stood up and shoved the thick scissors in her apron pocket. "Well, yes, it does, but it winds around and then fords the river. I don't think your team could pull through the sand." He replied with some asperity, "It might surprise you what them beasts can pull through." "When they get started?" she asked. He smiled for a second. "Yes. When they get started." "Well," said Elisa, "I think you'll save time if you go back to the Salinas road and pick up the highway there." He drew a big finger down the chicken wire and made it sing. "I ain't in any hurry, ma am. I go from Seattle to San Diego and back every year. Takes all my time. About six months each way. I aim to follow nice weather." Elisa took off her gloves and stuffed them in the apron pocket with the scissors. She touched the under edge of her man's hat, searching for fugitive hairs. "That sounds like a nice kind of a way to live," she said. He leaned confidentially over the fence. "Maybe you noticed the writing on my wagon. I mend pots and sharpen knives and scissors. You got any of them things to do?" "Oh, no," she said quickly. "Nothing like that." Her eyes hardened with resistance. "Scissors is the worst thing," he explained. "Most people just ruin scissors trying to sharpen 'em, but I know how. I got a special tool. It's a little bobbit kind of thing, and patented. But it sure does the trick." "No. My scissors are all sharp." "All right, then. Take a pot," he continued earnestly, "a bent pot, or a pot with a hole. I can make it like new so you don't have to buy no new ones. That's a saving for you. "No," she said shortly. "I tell you I have nothing like that for you to do." His face fell to an exaggerated sadness. His voice took on a whining undertone. "I ain't had a thing to do today. Maybe I won't have no supper tonight. You see I'm off my regular road. I know folks on the highway clear from Seattle to San Diego. They save their things for me to sharpen up because they know I do it so good and save them money. "I'm sorry," Elisa said irritably. "I haven't anything for you to do." His eyes left her face and fell to searching the ground. They roamed about until they came to the chrysanthemum bed where she had been working. "What's them plants, ma'am?" The irritation and resistance melted from Elisa's face. "Oh, those are chrysanthemums, giant whites and yellows. I raise them every year, bigger than anybody around here." "Kind of a long-stemmed flower? Looks like a quick puff of colored smoke?" he asked. "That's it. What a nice way to describe them." "They smell kind of nasty till you get used to them," he said. "It's a good bitter smell," she retorted, "not nasty at all." He changed his tone quickly. "I like the smell myself." "I had ten-inch blooms this year," she said. The man leaned farther over the fence. "Look. I know a lady down the road a piece, has got the nicest garden you ever seen. Got nearly every kind of flower but no chrysanthemums. Last time I was mending a copper-bottom washtub for her (that's a hard job but I do it good), she said to me, 'If you ever run acrost some nice chrysanthemums I wish you'd try to get me a few seeds.' That's what she told me." Elisa's eyes grew alert and eager. "She couldn't have known much about chrysanthemums. You can raise them from seed, but it's much easier to root the little sprouts you see there." "Oh," he said. "I s'pose I can't take none to her, then." "Why yes you can," Elisa cried. "I can put some in damp sand, and you can carry them right along with you. They'll take root in the pot if you keep them damp. And then she can transplant them." "She'd sure like to have some, ma'am. You say they're nice ones?" "Beautiful," she said. "Oh, beautiful." Her eyes shone. She tore off the battered hat and shook out her dark pretty hair. "I'll put them in a flower pot, and you can take them right with you. Come into the yard." While the man came through the picket fence Elisa ran excitedly along the geranium-bordered path to the back of the house. And she returned carrying a big red flower pot. The gloves were forgotten now. She kneeled on the ground by the starting bed and dug up the sandy soil with her fingers and scooped it into the bright new flower pot. Then she picked up the little pile of shoots she had prepared. With her strong fingers she pressed them into the sand and tamped around them with her knuckles. The man stood over her. "I'll tell you what to do," she said. "You remember so you can tell the lady." "Yes, I'll try to remember." "Well, look. These will take root in about a month. Then she must set them out, about a foot apart in good rich earth like this, see?" She lifted a handful of dark soil for him to look at. "They'll grow fast and tall. Now remember this. In July tell her to cut them down, about eight inches from the ground." "Before they bloom?" he asked. "Yes, before they bloom." Her face was tight with eagerness. "They'll grow right up again. About the last of September the buds will start." She stopped and seemed perplexed. "It's the budding that takes the most care," she said hesitantlv. "I don't know how to tell you." She looked deep into his eyes, searchingly. Her mouth opened a little, and she seemed to be listening. "I'll try to tell you," she said. "Did you ever hear of planting hands?" "Can't say I have, ma'am." "Well, I can only tell you what it feels like. It's when you're picking off the buds you don't want. Everything goes right down into your fingertips. You watch your fingers work. They do it themselves. You can feel how it is. They pick and pick the buds. They never make a mistake. They're with the plant. Do you see? Your fingers and the plant. You can feel that, right up your arm. They know. They never make a mistake. You can feel it. When you're like that you can't do anything wrong. Do you see that? Can you understand that?" She was kneeling on the ground looking up at him. Her breast swelled passionately. The man's eyes narrowed. He looked away self-consciously. "Maybe I know," he said. "Sometimes in the night in the wagon there—" Elisa's voice grew husky. She broke in on him. "I've never lived as you do, but I know what you mean. When the night is dark—why, the stars are sharp-pointed, and there's quiet. Why, you rise up and up! Every pointed star gets driven into your body. It's like that. Hot and sharp and—lovely." Kneeling there, her hand went out toward his legs in the greasy black trousers. Her hesitant fingers almost touched the cloth. Then her hand dropped to the ground. She crouched low like a fawning dog. He said, "It's nice, just like you say. Only when you don't have no dinner, it ain't." She stood up then, very straight, and her face was ashamed. She held the flower pot out to him and placed it gently in his arms. "Here. Put it in your wagon, on the seat, where you can watch it. Maybe I can find something for you to do." At the back of the house she dug in the can pile and found two old and battered aluminum saucepans. She carried them back and gave them to him. "Here, maybe you can fix these." His manner changed. He became professional. "Good as new I can fix them." At the back of his wagon he set a little anvil, and out of an oily tool box dug a small machine hammer. Elisa came through the gate to watch him while he pounded out the dents in the kettles. His mouth grew sure and knowing. At a difficult part of the work he sucked his under-lip. "You sleep right in the wagon?" Elisa asked. "Right in the wagon, ma'am. Rain or shine I'm dry as a cow in there." It must be nice," she said. "It must be very nice. I wish women could do such things." "It ain't the right kind of a life for a woman. Her upper lip raised a little, showing her teeth. "How do you know? How can you tell?" she said. "I don't know, ma'am," he protested. "Of course I don't know. Now here's your kettles, done. You don't have to buy no new ones." "How much?" "Oh, fifty cents'll do. I keep my prices down and my work good. That's why I have all them satisfied customers up and down the highway." Elisa brought him a fifty-cent piece from the house and dropped it in his hand. "You might be surprised to have a rival some time. I can sharpen scissors, too. And I can beat the dents out of little pots. I could show you what a woman might do." He put his hammer back in the oily box and shoved the little anvil out of sight. "It would be a lonely life for a woman, ma'am, and a scarey life, too, with animals creeping under the wagon all night." He climbed over the singletree, steadying himself with a hand on the burro's white rump. He settled himself in the seat, picked up the lines. "Thank you kindly, ma'am," he said. "I'll do like you told me; I'll go back and catch the Salinas road." "Mind," she called, "if you're long in getting there, keep the sand damp." "Sand, ma'am?. .. Sand? Oh, sure. You mean around the chrysanthemums. Sure I will." He clucked his tongue. The beasts leaned luxuriously into their collars. The mongrel dog took his place between the back wheels. The wagon turned and crawled out the entrance road and back the way it had come, along the river. Elisa stood in front of her wire fence watching the slow progress of the caravan. Her shoulders were straight, her head thrown back, her eyes half-closed, so that the scene came vaguely into them. Her lips moved silently, forming the words "Goodbye—good-bye." Then she whispered, "That's a bright direction. There's a glowing there." The sound of her whisper startled her. She shook herself free and looked about to see whether anyone had been listening. Only the dogs had heard. They lifted their heads toward her from their sleeping in the dust, and then stretched out their chins and settled asleep again. Elisa turned and ran hurriedly into the house. In the kitchen she reached behind the stove and felt the water tank. It was full of hot water from the noonday cooking. In the bathroom she tore off her soiled clothes and flung them into the corner. And then she scrubbed herself with a little block of pumice, legs and thighs, loins and chest and arms, until her skin was scratched and red. When she had dried herself she stood in front of a mirror in her bedroom and looked at her body. She tightened her stomach and threw out her chest. She turned and looked over her shoulder at her back. After a while she began to dress, slowly. She put on her newest underclothing and her nicest stockings and the dress which was the symbol of her prettiness. She worked carefully on her hair, pencilled her eyebrows and rouged her lips. Before she was finished she heard the little thunder of hoofs and the shouts of Henry and his helper as they drove the red steers into the corral. She heard the gate bang shut and set herself for Henry's arrival. His step sounded on the porch. He entered the house calling, "Elisa, where are you?" "In my room, dressing. I'm not ready. There's hot water for your bath. Hurry up. It's getting late." When she heard him splashing in the tub, Elisa laid his dark suit on the bed, and shirt and socks and tie beside it. She stood his polished shoes on the floor beside the bed. Then she went to the porch and sat primly and stiffly down. She looked toward the river road where the willow-line was still yellow with frosted leaves so that under the high grey fog they seemed a thin band of sunshine. This was the only color in the grey afternoon. She sat unmoving for a long time. Her eyes blinked rarely. Henry came banging out of the door, shoving his tie inside his vest as he came. Elisa stiffened and her face grew tight. Henry stopped short and looked at her. "Why—why, Elisa. You look so nice!" "Nice? You think I look nice? What do you mean by 'nice'?" Henry blundered on. "I don't know. I mean you look different, strong and happy." "I am strong? Yes, strong. What do you mean 'strong'?" He looked bewildered. "You're playing some kind of a game," he said helplessly. "It's a kind of a play. You look strong enough to break a calf over your knee, happy enough to eat it like a watermelon." For a second she lost her rigidity. "Henry! Don't talk like that. You didn't know what you said." She grew complete again. "I'm strong," she boasted. "I never knew before how strong." Henry looked down toward the tractor shed, and when he brought his eyes back to her, they were his own again. "I'll get out the car. You can put on your coat while I'm starting." Elisa went into the house. She heard him drive to the gate and idle down his motor, and then she took a long time to put on her hat. She pulled it here and pressed it there. When Henry turned the motor off she slipped into her coat and went out. The little roadster bounced along on the dirt road by the river, raising the birds and driving the rabbits into the brush. Two cranes flapped heavily over the willow- line and dropped into the river-bed. Far ahead on the road Elisa saw a dark speck. She knew. She tried not to look as they passed it, but her eyes would not obey. She whispered to herself sadly, "He might have thrown them off the road. That wouldn't have been much trouble, not very much. But he kept the pot," she explained. "He had to keep the pot. That's why he couldn't get them off the road." The roadster turned a bend and she saw the caravan ahead. She swung full around toward her husband so she could not see the little covered wagon and the mismatched team as the car passed them. In a moment it was over. The thing was done. She did not look back. She said loudly, to be heard above the motor, "It will be good, tonight, a good dinner." "Now you're changed again," Henry complained. He took one hand from the wheel and patted her knee. "I ought to take you in to dinner oftener. It would be good for both of us. We get so heavy out on the ranch." "Henry," she asked, "could we have wine at dinner?" "Sure we could. Say! That will be fine." She was silent for a while; then she said, "Henry, at those prize fights, do the men hurt each other very much?" "Sometimes a little, not often. Why?" "Well, I've read how they break noses, and blood runs down their chests. I've read how the fighting gloves get heavy and soggy with blood." He looked around at her. "What's the matter, Elisa? I didn't know you read things like that." He brought the car to a stop, then turned to the right over the Salinas River bridge. "Do any women ever go to the fights?" she asked. "Oh, sure, some. What's the matter, Elisa? Do you want to go? I don't think you'd like it, but I'll take you if you really want to go." She relaxed limply in the seat. "Oh, no. No. I don't want to go. I'm sure I don't." Her face was turned away from him. "It will be enough if we can have wine. It will be plenty." She turned up her coat collar so he could not see that she was crying weakly—like an old woman.