Blake
I turn the music up to full blast and dance around the studio. Can life get better than this?
According to Mateo, some of the most important gallery owners and critiques are going to be coming to the exhibition. This is fantastic news.
I’m all too aware of some of the critiques having written me off over the last few months. Some had said ‘It appears as if the talented young Blake has peaked and is now on the downhill slide. Such a pity, but an all too common occurrence for successful artists.’
I can’t wait to show them. And of course, I can’t wait to show Katherine what she has helped me achieve.
The mere thought of the woman fills me with desire. My cock seems to instantly take on a life of its own the minute any of my thoughts stray into her direction. It will be so beautiful to see her face when I surprise her.
Occasionally I’m filled with guilt at the thought of deceiving Katherine, but since its for a good cause I push those thoughts aside.
The sudden stillness has me stop mid spin. Why had the music stopped?
I find Katherine standing in the middle of the studio.
Now my dick is practically performing acrobatics at the sight of this goddess. It takes me less than three steps to be near her.
To my surprise she reels back when I reach out to touch her. What’s going on?
“How dare you!” Her face is a scowl, like a thunderstorm has taken up residence there.
“What do you mean?” I’m completely at a loss on how to explain her behavior.
“You promised.” I notice the clenched fists by her side. “You promised,” she repeats, this time her voice is a little higher than before. She’s not quite hysterical but does not seem far from it.
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
It’s true, I’m not exactly sure what she’s getting at, although I’m beginning to have an idea what has happened.
I try again to pull her into my arms. If I can just kiss her, reassure her, explain to her she will understand.
Her fists pummel against my chest. I don’t try to stop her.
“You bastard. You prick. You no good, lying scoundrel. I trusted you and this is how you betray me.”
I let her take it out on me. I don’t think there’s anything I can say to make her stop.
When her fists do drop to her side again I take a step back.
“Dale came to my place and told me how you’ve been going around town bragging about putting on the biggest art show yet. How you’ve painted this amazing piece and how it will be on display for the world to see.”
I don’t interrupt her. I let her talk. She’s in such a state by now I think it’s best I keep quiet. Inwardly, I’m seething.
Who could have thought Dale would be the bearer of the news? If I had stopped and thought about it, I should have guessed. The guy owns a gallery, after all.
Mental note to Mateo, never ever invite that prick to another one of my shows, and don’t send the usual Christmas card and hamper either.
Katherine is sobbing.
Before I realize what is happening, she’s throwing something at me. It lands with a metallic clang on the floor near my feet.
“Here’s your fucking key and key ring. Give it to the next model you pick up and fuck.”
And without another word, she turns on her heels and walks out.
I’m too numb to follow her. When the door slams shut, I slowly bend down to pick up the key ring.
That’s that then, I think and put the painful memory into the bottom kitchen drawer. It is the drawer with all kinds of useless things in it, the sort one finds in kitchens or laundries. It is the drawer least used in my apartment.
I don’t know how long I stand there. It could have been seconds, a few minutes or an hour.
In my mind, I replay what has just taken place. A hysterical Katherine barged in and accused me of something I’m not guilty of. The reason behind all of it: Dale. Dickhead Dale.
Eventually, I walk back into my studio. I don’t turn the music back on. My day has been ruined.
I walk over to my paintings, my babies. I stare at the one of Katherine. Then I find a cover and throw it over the artwork.
I will decide the fate of the nude tomorrow, tomorrow is another day after all.
I make myself a cup of coffee and convince myself what has just happened is for the better. Who needs an unstable emotional woman in their life? Not me, no thank you. I have been managing just fine by myself, and I will do so again. It was fun while it lasted and now it’s time to move on.
My coffee goes cold. I don’t feel like drinking it. I don’t feel like painting. I don’t feel liked doing much of anything.
I slump onto my couch and sigh. Why had she not even wanted to hear my side of the story? Surely, she of all people must understand there are two sides to every story. I never expected Katherine to be the person to jump to conclusions and act before asking some pertinent questions.
I put my head back against the couch. Such a pity, she is a real gem.
But who needs women? With sudden bout of energy I get off my butt and make my way into the studio. Time to brush into the canvass, time to show her I don’t need her in my life. I painted just fine before I met her and I will be just fine now that she has left my life so abruptly.