With the question, Tess drifts off once more. Her blues grow gentle and her lips part to offer me an answer which never comes. She seems speechless as if she is unable to sort out her own thoughts because these are likely questions that she has never asked herself. “I—I—I honestly don’t know, Mila.” She swallows hard. “I don’t know.” A large breath is drawn into her lungs and when she does her chest rises and falls with the action and I try my best to keep my eyes on her face where they should be.
This woman is beautiful.
Even standing in front of me with her strands swept away from her face and her thoughts all over the place, there is something about her that holds me captivated just as I have been since I saw her from so far away through the glass across the room.
The silences swarms us, thick and heavy now.
TICK.
TOCK.
That stupid clock on the wall incessantly confirms that time is slipping away…
Tess’ head is low and when her blues land on me, I calm. “I feel like I know you.”
Because you do.
Pursing my lips, I exhale as quietly as I can manage. “I feel like I know you too.”
We speak nothing about the window and the endless months we’ve both been watching either other. It is a thing of unimportance although it has so much relevance here. I am only standing in the middle of this strange house because I could not resist meeting this woman. And she has not decided to throw me out on my ass because as much as she wants to deny it to herself because she wants me here.
But we speak nothing about any of it.
My attention is drawn to the window when the rain begins to fall a little harder. It dribbles down the glass lazily and the sky outside becomes grayer. Still it is spectacular.
“We should start as soon as possible.”
I nod. “Yes, of course.”
“My studio is upstairs in the attic.” She faces me head-on. “Hopefully, you find it more than comfortable.” She remains expressionless. “It is important to me that you are comfortable.”
“Yes, thank you.”
She smiles. “We’ll work for as many hours as we can, but you will have to be gone before Adriaan returns home each day which is usually around four o’clock.”
“Understood.”
“So, we will work steadily until then.”
“I can do that, Tess.”
“Okay, perfect then.” Tess sinks back into her thoughts.
Quickly, I realize that although this woman is undoubtedly much older than me, I can’t say for certain that she has really lived. This house is surrounded by so many windows yet none of them are open even just to allow the scent of the rain to drift in. Her clothes are cinched tight. Her hair is kept back. Everything about this woman—this artist—is reserved and I am keenly aware that this is the first time ever in her life that she has dared to do something wild.
Women do not dare.
Women do not defy their husbands and disregard their opinions.
Women do not challenge the status quo.
But Tess does.
And undoubtedly, so do I.
We understand each other…
I am so proud of her in this moment—glad that we have met and happy that I now know her. I dare to step closer, closer, closer to the woman I’ve just met and when I make it near her, reaching out, I place a hand on her shoulder and breathe in the delicate rose scent which floats around her. “Tess.”
Big blue eyes stare back at me. “Yes.”
“I would love to see your work.”
Her brows arch. “Yes, of course, Mila. I will show you everything.”
Tess
I REMAIN STANDING JUST behind Mila as she fingers through the rack of large canvases on the floor. She had already changed out of her clothes and is now only covered up by a silk robe and her blonde strands drape down her back in one long S. I struggle to tear my eyes away from her bare feet. I struggle to tear my eyes away from everything her in this most natural state. With each flip through my work, she grunts as if she’s judging each piece in her head and leaving me to only wonder exactly what she thinks about them. I observe her profile—the sharp line of her nose, her small ears, the smooth column of her neck and the ivory skin which covers it all.
She is the perfect canvas.
I have a fleeting thought of painting her entirely instead of the canvas which rests on the easel across this room. Biting my lip, I look around the large space and I’m reminded that the only person who comes in here is me, and maybe sometimes, Sadie. No one else enters this attic. This is my private space where I get to be alone for hours with my thoughts—no judgments. Something urges me to want to tell Mila that and I don’t know why it is so important to me that she knows something so irrelevant…
Hugging myself, I step further away from her, floor creaking beneath my weight, needing to be cold again.
“These are beautiful, Tess.” She glances at me over her shoulder and then smiles. Thumbing through more of the canvases, Mila frowns. “But they are all of fruit and objects.” She shudders dramatically. “I can’t say I see you as a woman who could continue to paint this sort of stuff, Tess.”
A little laugh leaves me. “This stuff is what made Gustave Caillebotte creating well into the night hours I’ve been told. He aimed to paint reality as it existed and as he saw it.” Stepping a little closer to where Mila stands, I peer over her shoulder. “And these images which have been captured on canvas are precisely how I saw reality at the time when I painted them.”
Mila makes a face. “They’re good, Tess.”
“Thank you.” I breathe in discreetly, inhaling the fresh scent of her strands and then I step away, away, away…
Mila rises to a full standing position and twists around to face me head-on.
A breath rips from me.
I feel exposed beneath her gentle green gaze.
I don’t know exactly what to do with myself and when I feel that way, I work! I gesture toward the opposite side of the room where I’ve laid everything out for us to begin. “We should begin, Mila, before it gets too late.” My eyes flicker between the woman standing in front of me and where the easel rests along with where the chaise is positioned across the room and beneath one of the large windows.
With uncontrollable nervousness having taken hold of me last night, I had spent hours arranging things, sorting through images in my mind, debating how I wanted to use the canvas for this work and deciding if I could even do it. A small part of me honestly had hoped that maybe this woman wouldn’t even show and then at least that way I could put this whole crazy scheme to bed and urge my right mind to come back to me. But she did show…She’s here in the flesh, skin and all her bones.
So, I must create…
“Yes, I agree, Tess, we should begin.” Mila follows.
We linger near one of the windows. Mila stands maybe two feet away from me. I don’t want her to come any closer. Stay away…A little smile tugs at her lips but she doesn’t allow it to fully bloom across on her pretty face.
Turning away from her slightly and facing the large canvas in front of me, I gesture with my hand. “You can sit on the chaise. I’m happy to give you some time to make yourself comfortable with being n—”