Heat

Chapter 7: The Clay Artist

Chapter 7: The Clay Artist

Hurricane Road

Bungalow 16

9:45 P.M.

Casey snored, sounding like a lion growling. His chest rose and fell in the dim light that secreted from the bathroom and gently filled a portion of the bedroom where he and I slept together. The man’s n*****s were hard, and he had a boner between his legs, obviously dreaming an intense s*x-tale. Unable to doze off, I watched him sleep and realized that I was pretty lucky to have a beautiful man at my side. Luck was on my side to call him my boyfriend. Great and sweet fit the guy, as well as charming; a certain man who had treated me like a prince.

He mumbled a few words that I interpreted to the best of my ability: carpet, paintings, fireplace, and seashells. I imagined him decorating again, tucked inside his folded dreams, creating a magazine-perfect place for a couple of freshly married queers to reside in along the wavy Gulf. I didn’t think it uncommon for the man to dream of decorating, narrating his progress. Sometimes he would mumble things from his dreams about hang draperies, adjust ceramic tiles on a floor, or choose crystal-framed mirrors for one of his client’s bathrooms. Oftentimes, I had been awakened to a nudge or two and Casey asking me to unroll a carpet, push a French settee a little to the right, or fill a ceramic bowl with red apples.

Tonight felt different, though, strangely unfamiliar. Something peculiar and sinful exited his mouth as he slept. I climbed out of bed, unable to sleep, suffering from the worst case of insomnia ever when he said, “Bruno, Let’s take a break. You can blow me.”

Appalled, I wanted to stir him awake. My heart tumbled down to my stomach and twisted with pain. Every nerve that lined my body began to shudder and offered me a helping of rage. I didn’t question his dreaming. My lover ended up in a distant world of decorating and blowjobs with his intern, Bruno Grigade. The two were hanging draperies one minute and planning to have s*x during the next. Shocking? Hell, yes. I thought it extremely shocking to hear at first. But, the truth was simple. I couldn’t get mad at him since it evolved into a dream and nothing more.

How many nights had I dreamed of sharing heated s*x with Rebecca’s studly lovers? Numerous one-night stands were common after I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. Frankly, those dreams consisted of throat-clenching blowjobs and hip-ramming s****l acts with her gentleman callers: David Chandle, Luke Bennenova, and Patrick Worldinger, just to name a few. In fact, orgies in bathhouses with naked and gorgeous beach bums were always a treat among my many dreams. Not once had I been faithful to Casey or practiced safe s*x during those dirty scenes. Nor was I uncared for while in a state of REM by every Tom, d**k, and Harry.

I couldn’t wake Casey and alarm him with my anger because I didn’t want to be a hypocrite. Rather, I simply climbed out of bed and allowed him a good time with his naked intern, practicing the most pleasurable actions that can be performed by a team of horny males and maybe even in front of a digital camera.

After fetching myself a cocktail, which consisted of vodka and grape juice, I snagged my iPad and ended up in the living room. Once there, I snuggled in a reading chair with my legs pulled up and under me. I Googled a variety of tags about the clay figurines that I had stumbled upon. Some links included clay figurines in Turtle Bay, artists of Hurricane Bay, pottery connoisseurs, and a few titles about the pieces of art uncovered in Rudy Shower’s residence.

Three sites were listed with pictures of the M figurines. After clicking through the sites, I learned that the M series had been created by a man named Gregg Hofflander, Margo Pagino’s first husband. The marriage lasted no more than six months. Legal documents stated declared the divorce legal because of irreconcilable differences. Various articles were attached, all of which proclaimed Margo an insane and unfaithful wife to Gregg. Other articles hinted that Margo used to beat Gregg Hofflander, although the man was head over heels in love with her and had always treated her like a princess. I also learned that there were thirty-one figurines in the set. The most valuable was owned by Barbara Tucker-Lance, a real estate mogul in New York City. Barbara purchased M Yawning, the first in the series, for three hundred and twenty thousand dollars.

Gregg Hofflander could have passed as a handsome man, I perceived. He had salt-and-pepper speckled hair, a goatee, a bronze tan, and squinting, azure-colored eyes. At forty-seven years old, married a second time, an alcoholic, and the father of three children, Zachary, Zoe, and Zammy, Gregg currently lived in Naples where he happily stayed retired and created a new series of figurines, which he called a work in progress and untitled.

I made a mental note to have a brief but informative chat with the clay artist and learn how and why he was associated with Rudy Shower. Plus, I wanted to see his new clay pieces, since I thought his work appealing.