Mac is a gay male struggling to get through another slog of winter months that will crash his mood. In denial about possibly being subject to Seasonal Affective Disorder, he heeds the advice of his best friend and attends an art gallery show -- which turns out to be art made entirely of light.
Mac is disinterested until he meets the artist, Noel, who happens to be a hottie. Mac gives Noel’s art another chance and finds that the light displays are literally brightening his mood. How will Mac repay Noel? Mac has a few ideas ...
Just as I was getting a lungful of chill night air, a voice said, “Welcome to the panic room.”
I jumped, then focused on the figure leaning against the brick wall further along the metal scaffolding. He had a plastic cup of champagne and tipped it toward me in welcome. He was around my age, dressed a little spiffier but still casual. The lines of his body were relaxed, as if he were content to spend hours out here.
“Am I intruding?” I asked.
“Nope. You duck out for a smoke?”
“I don’t smoke. I was getting a headache in there.”
“Yep, that’ll happen after a while.”
I asked, “Do you have something to do with the show?” Was he the setup guy? Was this his gallery? He didn’t look like a techie, nor rich enough to own this big space.
He shrugged. There was no moonlight of course, just a diffuse city glow. I could see he had nice features. He said, “That light show in there --” he shrugged again, maybe apologetically “-- it’s mine. I designed it.”
I was left flatfooted. Of course I was. And of course I had blundered out here just when this man was enjoying some solo champagne. I didn’t want to say anything offensive to him. After all, he’d done something with lights that some of the people in there seemed to be liking. What was the harm?
“Well,” I muttered. “Uh, congratulations. I’ll --” I made to go back the way I’d come.
“My name’s Noel,” he said.
I paused. “I’m Mac.”
“Nice to meet you, Mac. I’m sorry I gave you a headache. Want a sip of this?”
I eyed the plastic cup. Just to be a smartass, I said, “Suppose you’ve got cooties.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Then we’ll have something to share.” He was still holding out the cup.
I stepped nearer and took it. I had a swallow. “Hey, this is good.”
“I’d say let’s go sneak a bottle out here, but I don’t want to go back inside.”
“Why not? You don’t like your own show?”
He chuckled. “Au contraire. I’m very happy with it. But when you create something so fundamentally simple as this, it opens it up to interpretation. The more basic the core idea, the wilder the speculation gets. What does it mean? What’s it saying? I was trying for something beneath language. Something that directly touches the primal places in a person. It’s really that simple.”
I pondered that. “You think light can do that?”
“The right light, at the right moment -- absolutely.”
I didn’t want to probe that any deeper, instinct warning me off. What was I afraid of, though?
But Noel continued, “I was a psych major in college. I took a whole course on the effect of light on brainwaves.”
I gestured behind me, at the gallery. “So, that’s the culmination of your two passions in there?”
He shrugged again. “I wanted to make art. You use what’s at hand.”
“Your whole show -- that’s like a mass therapy session, then?”
I thought maybe that came out a little snide, but he laughed again. “Like I said, the idea is basic. The light can reach people, but it works best if they don’t overanalyze.”
Right then, as if on cue, I flashed on Julian, the beach, the blaze of sunlight. It stirred a happiness in me, something soothing. It also aroused me some. But the presence of this fetching male was doing that as well, I realized. Noel had a sexy ease to him, and he was plainly smart and even had a sense of humor. Maybe this evening wouldn’t be completely wasted after all.
