Mansplainer

  MANSPLAINER

  Urban Dictionary Dudes – Book 1

  By

  Colleen Charles

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Foreword

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  Chapter 1

  Meadow

  The Rooster Crowed at Midnight.

  I stare at the named and signed print, scrunching my forehead into creases of wrinkles due to the bizarre subject matter of the watercolor. Sometimes, even I can’t believe people buy this shit. But they snap it up like alligators at a raccoon buffet. At this rate, I’m going to need Botox before I turn thirty next year. My stomach flips over as nerves flood my system, sending waves of anxiety flowing through me.

  Even though I’ve done this dozens of times, I always get butterflies on the opening night of a new art exhibition. My gallery, Pathways, means everything to me. Everything. But it took much longer than I thought it would to realize my dream. Making the right connections in the world of high-end art and finding a space I could afford in the East Village took years of busting my ass.

  Drinking cheap vodka. Eating ramen. Forgoing cabs when that meant painful blisters on every toe. Scouring consignment stores to find half decent clothes to cover my ass.

  Speaking of ass… my assistant and best friend, Shannon, a tall man with perfectly groomed eyebrows and blond highlights that rival Zac Efron’s, grins at me. “I never thought a watercolor of a feather-legged chicken would go for five figures.”

  I run my eyes up and down the cacophony of reds, oranges and yellows again. The damn bird looks like a tinier version of Foghorn Leghorn. I half expect him to jump out of the piece, peck my shins, and start speaking in southern drawl.

  “It’s not my cup of tea, but it’s all about the commission, my friend. The artist is the new it man on social media.”

  “In that case, cock-a-fucking-doodle-doo. Heavy on the cock.” He grabs my hand and spins me around. “By the way, your butt looks spectacular in that dress, girlfriend. If Sparx Birdmann’s avian inspired art doesn’t sell tonight, I’m sure your tush will make people open their wallets.”

  I can’t help but smile back at his wide grin. Whenever Shannon’s around, my future looks brighter. Some of my anxiety floats away. “I am not a high-class call girl.”

  “Of course not.” He releases my fingers and then stands there with his hands on his hips. “You would never sell your goodies. But don’t look down on giving them away for free. To the right man, of course.”

  I lean back and put a hand on my hip, jutting it forward. “That goes without saying.”

  He scrunches up his nose as if a dead fish has floated to shore. “It’s been so long since you’ve had a man that I’m starting to smell mold spores coming from the juncture where your juicy thighs meet.”

  I bark out a laugh, but my fingers itch to sock him in the upper arm. His joke hits too close to home. I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever come out of my coma of forced celibacy. “Shannon!”

  “Girl, please. In a city with millions of singles, your love drought should be a punishable offense. Even an ugly chick can get some just by swiping right. What the actual fuck?”

  I shake my head, glad there aren’t any deep pocketed buyers within fifty feet of the man’s smart mouth. “What am I going to do with you?”

  He snaps his fingers in the space above my head. “Give me a raise, of course. You love me. You adore me. You couldn’t even live without me.”

  I ignore his egotistical tirade and walk away, calling over my shoulder, “Come on. I’ll set up the wine, and you get the cheese and fruit.”

  “Let’s reverse that, honeybunch. You know wine is my forte.”

  I flash him my best chastising look. “Just don’t drink it all.”

  “It wouldn’t be right to serve the guests without having a little sample.” He winks as he walks over to the table, picks up a bottle of Riesling, and blows a kiss into the air. For a second, I think he’s going to drink straight from the bottle. “Ooh la la!”

  “At least wait until everybody gets here.” I walk over to one of Birdmann’s abstract prints featuring beaks and claws of all different shapes and colors. “What do you think inspired this one?”

  His facial expression resembles a loss for words. But in true Shannon style, he finds some within seconds. “Kind of looks like the ‘Farmer in the Dell’s’ barnyard on a bad acid trip.”

  I laugh because when it comes to Shannon, I can’t help it. His sarcastic sense of humor keeps me from wandering too far away from the light. “Hopefully somebody with a huge pecker is inspired and thinks it’s worth eight grand.”

  Shannon pours himself a glass of wine. “To chickens. May their tiny brains be forever immortalized with watercolors.”

  I frown and cluck my tongue. “You promised you would wait.”

  He gulps the wine. “I didn’t promise. You talked over me and agreed with your own lecture. You asked me to wait, and I was very vague with my answer… just like I am with Josh.”

  I place the cheese artfully on the serving tray. “How are things going between the two of you? Things seem to have calmed down in ‘I have a boyfriend and you don’t’ land.”

  Shannon lifts a massive shoulder and lets it drop. “He wants me to move in. He’s talking marriage, adopting kids, and a dog. Same shit, different day. They always fall in love with me. I like to come fashionably late to the same party.”

  Despite his attempts at evasion, I know better. “That’s big.”

  “I know.”

  “So?”

  “So?” He pushes the cheese around on the tray, arranging it to perfection while pretending to be completely disinterested in the conversation of a lifetime. Shannon’s never moved in with any of his love interests. Ever.

  “Are you going to take the plunge?”

  He sighs and crosses his arms over a chest chiseled to ideal perfection by hours at the gym. “I’m entirely too fabulous to settle down.”

  “But you love him, right?”

  He spears me with a soulful brown-eyed glance that comes closer to resembling whiskey glittering inside a rocks glass than the pinot we’re serving. “In the words of the equally fabulous Tina, what’s the L word got to do with it?”

  “You need to give it some serious thought.” I arrange grapes on the tray but watch him out of the corner of my eye, searching for any clue as to his true feelings on shacking up. “Being single can be a mountain that’s just too tall to climb.”

  Right after I speak the words, I squeeze my eyes shut against the uncomfortable images of me in an old folks’ home, husbandless, childless, and listless. Loveless. I want to know what it would be like to be seen in this world with eyes that only want to find mine. To be adored.

  To be loved.

  I want to know that the very act of living can be wild and free and exciting and delicious. A veritable California ro
ll of emotions to be savored on the tongue.

  But I don’t know that. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Along with the dream of love comes the inevitable pain that accompanies it. And I’d do well to remember it before said pain knocks me on my heart-shaped ass.

  He scoffs at me, and I don’t dare reveal any of my turbulent thoughts to Shannon, bestie or not. “Not for me. I’ve never had any problem attracting Mr. Right. In fact, I’m a sucker for Mr. Right Now.”

  I sigh but keep it more casual than I want to. What I really want to do is let the melancholy sadness whoosh out of my body on a wave of regret and anguish, hoping he’ll envelop me in those huge arms and rock me until it goes away. “I wish some of your luck would rub off on me.”

  “Keep wearing that dress and who knows?”

  I chuckle because he’s right. I haven’t been doing my part to make the stars of love align. In fact, I’ve been almost willful about pushing it away. Reject it before it rejects me. But something about having to engage makes me feel uncivilized and petulant, so I thrust my lower lip out into a pout. “You really like this dress, don’t you?”

  He rears back as if he can’t believe his ears. “It’s the first thing you’ve worn in a long time that doesn’t scream ‘Screw this fancy shmancy gallery, I really want to be living in a nunnery.’”

  “What are you talking about?” But I already know.

  Shannon leans forward, and I feel his hot breath graze my jawline in a conspiratorial whisper. “The bottom line is we need to plan a shopping trip. Soon. Before you reach the point of no return. Like no sex until you die.”

  I brush his teasing aside. Pathways is far more important than any romantic entanglement. “I wish I had the time. I’ve got so much on my plate. And tonight… oh God, please let this not be a failure. I really need this one, Shan.”

  His massive paw rubs some support into the tense muscles of my back. “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

  I check my watch. “Sparx should’ve been here by now. It’s rare that we get an artist of his caliber attending their own show.”

  “You know artists… they operate on their own schedules. I’m not even sure that one who only paints depictions of chickens operates within the confines of this universe.” Shannon finishes his wine in one heaving gulp.

  I grab his glass before he can fill it again. “Slow down, you’ll be lit like the Paris skyline before we even open the doors.”

  He waggles his perfectly groomed eyebrows at me. “And the person voted most likely to turn into the fun police is…”

  I roll my eyes and smile. “Shut up and don’t touch another drop of that wine.”

  As if I conjured him with my bad attitude, the door opens, and Sparx walks inside. He’s a short man with a receding hairline, rolls of jowls, and pale, ivory skin. He’s dressed in stonewash jeans that look like the eighties called and asked for their denim back. He walks over to me. “Howdy, my little chickadee!”

  “Hey!” I put the fresh strawberries on the tray and try not to notice the lascivious way his hideous gaze finds all my curves and lingers.

  Sparx air kisses both of my cheeks while pumping my hand up and down until my teeth rattle. “You look very pretty, Meadow.”

  I snatch my palm back, wishing I could wipe it off on my designer dress. But when I think of what Sparx’s chickens could do for my reputation as well as my wallet, I refrain. “Thanks.”

  Shannon arranges empty wine glasses on the table. “What about me? Don’t I look scrumpdillyicious?”

  Sparx scans the length of Shannon’s body with his beady eyes. I doubt he meets many flamboyant gay men in his neck of the Midwest. “Of course.”

  “How do you feel?” I say, trying to gauge his frame of mind. I may be charged with selling the work, but the artist has to sell themselves. “Are you nervous?”

  Sparx shakes his head. “Not really. This ain’t my first county fair.”

  In that moment, I skip a breath because I realize he has no idea about the magnitude of this showing. “But it is your New York debut.”

  His eyes narrow until their mere slits in his large head. “Are you trying to make me nervous?”

  “She has a tendency to do that.” Shannon lifts up a bottle of wine as if he’s about to make a toast.

  I frown. “Please, don’t.”

  He ignores me and lifts it even higher. “I was just going to offer some wine to our artiste. Would you like some Riesling, Mr. Birdmann?”

  “Sure, why not?” Sparx takes a deep breath. “Unless you have beer instead?”

  Shannon hands him a glass of wine. “It’s vintage, from Germany.”

  Sparx takes a sip. “Very nice. Crisp. Reminds me of my college trip to Frankfurt and a pretty blonde girl I fell in love with. Johanna was her name.”

  “That sounds really sweet,” I say, wondering what Sparx looked like thirty years ago. Wondering if he was ever attractive enough for Johanna or any other woman to fall for.

  Sparx scowls, lost in his trip down memory lane. “But Johanna cheated on me. The first time you get betrayed like that, it changes a man. Inspired my art in huge ways.”

  I furrow my brow trying to connect the dots between love gone wrong and chicken parts. “Oh.”

  Sparx walks over to one of his paintings on the wall that looks like a cockfight. He guzzles down the rest of his wine. “But I got my revenge. I’m famous, and she’s… not.”

  “Awkward,” Shannon says under his breath as he leans in close to me. “Should we be worried about his penchant for fowl violence?”

  I swallow, thinking the scene is going to take a turn for the worse, ala Keith Morrison on a terrifying episode of Dateline. “Do you know where, um, Johanna is now?”

  Sparx takes a deep breath.

  Buried in my backyard.

  “Married to some banker in London.” He stands in front of the print and stares at it as if Johanna’s face might magically appear where a bird now stands. “I could’ve made her so happy, but she only cared about the money. That’s all women care about.”

  “That’s not true,” Shannon says. “Meadow doesn’t care about money at all.”

  Sparx turns to me with a big grin on his face. I glare across the room at Shannon. He’s trying like hell not to burst into laughter.

  This shit is so not funny. My business is on the line here!

  I’m saved by a commotion at the front door as a couple walks in, dressed in expensive clothes. Sparkling diamonds glitter from her ears, neck, and fingers. I smile at them. “Welcome. Is this your first time at Pathways?”

  The woman looks around as if a painting might answer for her. “I think so. We’ve been to so many galleries, it’s impossible to know for sure. Art is my passion.”

  Unbidden, dollar signs blink before my eyes. I flash a big smile, wondering how many paintings they might be persuaded to adopt. “Well, my name is Meadow Hughes, and I’d like to personally welcome you. By the way, the artist, Sparx Birdmann, is right here. We’re so honored he was able to join us.”

  Sparx belches and waves at them. Jesus, how bad would it have been if I’d given him beer instead? “Howdy.”

  “I’ve always admired American artists,” the woman says. “And the barnyard scenes. So avant-garde.”

  “Thanks.”

  I turn to him. “Sparx, why don’t you show them around the gallery and talk about all of your fabulous watercolors?”

  His brown eyes light up. Why do I already know everything I need to know about Sparx? His favorite subject is himself. “It would be my pleasure.”

  The couple follows Sparx to the adjacent room where all of the paintings are featured on walls with overhead lights highlighting their best points. I walk over to Shannon and pour myself a big glass of wine. “That wasn’t cute.”

  “What?” Shannon blinks.

  “For a second there, I thought we were knowingly harboring a felon.”

  He laughs, and I love the way his eyes crinkle up under the effort. He almost m
akes me forget my pang of fear for a second.

  “It’s not funny,” I say, smacking him on a bulging bicep.

  “Stop being so uptight and drink up. Let’s get the verdant Meadow a little loosey-goosey. Who knows what kind of hunk of man might waltz in here looking for Chicken Little to grace his office wall? You know, they’re the only animals you eat before they’re born and after they’re dead. That’s got to count for something.”

  I take a sip. “Looks like I’m gonna need this. I thought there might be more people here by now.”

  “Don’t worry, they’ll show.”

  I glance around, not so sure. Maybe climbing on the bandwagon of the latest hot topic in the art world is going to backfire on me. “You’re always so damn optimistic. How is that?”

  “I was born in a little town in Oklahoma where escaping was my number one priority. It wasn’t okay to just do me.”

  “That sucks, but I’m glad you’re here in NYC. With me.”

  Shan gives me a little two finger salute. “So, when you ask the source of my positive outlook on life… I have to take it back to my roots. I came from that place… but look at me now, sister.”

  “Here, here, I’ll drink to that.” We clink glasses, and I take a sip. The fruity flavor of the sweet wine explodes over my tongue. Yummy.

  “How about that, looks like you might actually have a decent turnout tonight.”

  As a huge group of people walk through the door, I nod. “You turned out to be right, Shannon. But then again, you usually are.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. I just hope that tonight goes well despite those dreadful jeans Sparx is wearing. Dear God! You’re not the only one I need to take shopping. Too bad I have absolutely no interest in middle-aged eighties fabulous, or he’d be right up my alley.”

  I glance over to where Sparx is engaged with the first to arrive couple. “He’s an artist. Artists don’t give a damn about what they look like, most of the time.”

  Shan grimaces as if the wine suddenly went bad. “But tonight should’ve been an exception, right?”

  “Maybe it can be a part of his brand. He’s got the whole 21 Jump Street thing going on minus the hotness of Johnny Depp.”