Katherine
I take a deep breath and glance at my reflection on the window of the little antique shop next to the gallery.
My knee-length black dress hugs my body and I smile. Someone once told me to feel good, you must look good. And who has not read the book Clothes Maketh the Man?
Tonight, with all kinds of insects crawling over my skin and insides, I find it is so true.
It has taken me several hours to find the perfect dress. At first I had been tempted to go in a tracksuit and sneakers. But who was I kidding? I would not feel good if I turned up looking like a tramp. And so I spend an hour trying on different outfits.
In the end Robin had chosen this dress.
Whilst on the face of it, it looked black, in the light you could see streaks of deep purple reflected in the material. It’s a low-cut dress, so I decide to wear a long silver necklace with a pen pendant on top of it.
Accessories are everything.
A matching purse was hanging over my shoulder with only my phone and a credit card in it. I had no plans to use the ladies nor touch up my make up. I was pretty sure I would not be staying long.
Little diamond studs are my earrings of choice for the night, and black velvet shoes with high heels and little bows on the front of them complete my look of sophistication.
It takes all my courage to push the heavy doors of the art gallery open.
The bright lights highlight the emptiness of the space. As I slowly put one foot in front of the other, I realize there is no one else here. Well, no one besides Blake and now me.
With my heart beating wildly in my chest I take tentative steps toward the centre of the gallery. I can see paintings along the wall. There are numerous paintings. My eyes wander from one to the other but I cannot see the painting I’m looking for.
I feel Blake’s eyes on me. His gaze travelling slowly from my head to my toes. My nerve endings instantly start to tingle. I’m not here to fuck him, I tell myself and pull my shoulders back a little further.
Slowly I make my way toward the first painting. I’m mesmerized by the display of color. It appears to be an abstract work of art. As I stare at it, I can feel the joy emanating from the picture. Yellows, light pinks and reds dance on the canvass in joyous movements.
I move onto the next one. Blake has come up behind me. I wish he stayed where he’d been when I entered the gallery. He hands me a champagne flute.
“Care for a drink, madam?” He looks nervous.
I mumble something like thank you and am careful to take the glass from him without any skin contact.
As I walk from painting to painting, I realize I’m reliving the development of our relationship. It’s all there in abstract art and wonderful colors. The blues are so melancholic I swallow back the tears.
The last one is the one that really tugs at my heartstrings. A black background with dark red lines scrawled in a messy fashion over the canvass clearly depicts heartbreak.
My own heart seems to break again as I stare at it. There is no way I could have written the end of our relationship any more emotional than Blake had been able to depict it in art.
I swallow. Had I been wrong? Had I acted too quickly?
Now his hands are on my shoulders. He stares at me intently.
“Blake,” I whisper and once again, I, the wordsmith am lost for words.
“Kath, I –” he starts and I interrupt.
– I’m sorry. I …was hurt and jumped to conclusions and…”
He puts his finger on my lips. It takes all my effort not to kiss it.
“I should have explained what I was planning.” He points to the exhibition and continues. “This is the exhibition I was planning all along. I wanted to surprise you and dedicate it to you. You are my muse, my inspiration.”
“Blake,” I try again. How could I have been so stupid and simply believed that two-timing, no good Dale?
“I should have –” again Blake interrupts me.
“Hush.” His eyes bore into my mine and I think he’s looking right into my soul. “Maybe we could have both done things a little better. Maybe both of us should have handled things differently. But that doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is, you are here tonight, one of the most important nights of my life.”
I watch, with my mouth parted already, as he lowers his head and our lips combine, melting into each other. His tongue probes, almost asks for permission to be let in. In answer, my tongue meets his.
I feel his hands on my lower back, drawing me tightly into him. Through the think fabric of my dress, I instantly feel his hardness and it takes all my effort not rip his clothes off here and now.
When his lips leave mine they yearn for more. I want him and I want him now.
Before I can wrap my arms around him he takes me by the hand.
“Come, there’s one more painting you should see.”
He leads me to the very back of the gallery where a black cloth is covering a large canvass.
Blake pulls the sheet off with one swift movement.
I hold my breath as my gaze take in what has been unveiled before my eyes. Tears threaten to spill and I bite my bottom lip.
“Oh Blake,” I whisper and look at him. “It is truly a masterpiece.”
I’m looking at my nude, and goose bumps are forming on my bare arms.