“I’m tired of painting objects, Evi.”
“Okay.” Eyes urging to know more, Evi nods just once.
Spinning around to face her, I try my best to hide what I think is my shame, but I speak anyways. “I want to paint lifffe, Evi. I want to do something different. I want to feel the passion I once did for my work. I want to paint something that is alive.”
“Okay, yes, of course…something that is alive.” Evi glances over her shoulder at Sadie.
I squeeze my eyes shut and then open them. “I was thinking something more human, Evi. Or rather someone…” I gnaw on my bottom lip for a while. “I want to paint people…” I start to pace the kitchen again, arms flailing, voice passionate, heart raging with exactly what I need. “I want to capture life on the canvas just the way Lefebvre, Boulanger once did.”
“Yes, of course, I can probably find some suitable subjects, Tess. There are always children outside playing. I can offer their parents some money and bring them here for you and you can paint them.”
I come to a standstill. “No, Evi, they’ll need to be of age. They will have to be adults.”
“I can find you a man…”
She sounds just like my mother had so long ago…
Every concern Evi hasn’t spoken spells itself out in her eyes.
I don’t want a man.
“No, it has to be a woman.”
I’m certain of it.
Evi nods.
“And she must be willing to bare herself for the canvas.”
I feel that familiar hunger twisting and writhing in my gut. The one I can’t seem to satisfy even when I supply it with food.
“Oh.” Evi nods, nods, nods. “I understand, Tess.”
I face Evi head-on. “The most important part of all this, Evi, is discretion. I’m willing to pay whoever you find an attractive wage to sit for me and allow me to paint them. But they must be discreet. The must be willing to sit for hours on end and to be quiet during that time.”
“Yes, of course, I understand. I’m quite certain that I can find someone.”
I bite down on my bottom lip, debating.
“Are there any other requirements, Tess?”
“Yes, just one.”
I kick my fear aside. Pulse quickens, skin perspires, creativity blooms and blooms and blooms.
“What is it then, Tess?”
With a breath, my lips part to speak. “They must be willing to be nude.”
Evi sucks in a breath. Neither of us speaks. We only stare at each other for a long while.
“Nude.”
“Yes, Evi, nude.”
Evi swallows hard.
I temper my annoyance. “What is it?”
She makes a face and all I can find in the pretty thing is pain.
“Do you think you can find someone who would be willing to sit for me, Evi?”
She relaxes. “Oh, yes, I do.” Her grin is mischievous. “Yes, of course, I do.”
“Okay then.” I lift a hand and wipe the sweat from my cheek for the second time wondering for just a moment what on earth am I doing. But it must be done.
Every great artist must dare…
Evi steps forward. “But the requirement for the woman to be nude, Tess, might cost you extra.”
Mila
“WHY DO YOU ALWAYS smell like dog?” Cocking my head to the side and laughing just a bit, I observe the strange woman who sits across the table from me and frown.
Evi makes a face and then sniffs herself, first the left shoulder and then the right. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize it.” For a second she looks genuinely contrite and then it all goes away in a flash and she returns to scooping the chicken noodle soup from the bowl placed in front of her.
The dining room of this place is busy tonight.
Inhaling a breath, I gaze out the window at the city lights and then up and then find the bright moon and the stars which twinkle in the night sky. Even though it’s far away, it’s all so captivating.
“I should remind you that there are plenty of free tables in this dining room tonight.” Evi’s teeth sink into a buttered roll and she gestures to all the empty tables with the flick of a hand. “But you sat here.” Her eyes go big. “You found me sitting here, remember?” She scoops up more soup. “So, I guess I must be good company even if I do smell like dog.”
I fiddle with my fingers and exhale a breath. “Yes, I suppose you are good company, Evi Bakker from Maastricht, who is twenty-five years old, just like me...”
She smiles. “Thank you for spelling out the details of my life which I’d rather not remember.”
Who does?
I smile too. “You’re very welcome.”
And then we’re both laughing for a little while before this table slips into silence for a little while.
“What do you do when you leave here in the mornings, Evi?” I brush a hand over my skirt, smoothing out the fabric, soothing myself from the painful day I’d had.
“I have a job.” Evi chews.
“What do you do?”
She stops eating and sends me a look before she laughs. “I suppose it’s why I smell like dog.”
I grin. “Okay, right, yes, so what is it that you do?”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, I do all sorts of things…I don’t exactly have a detailed job description. I just sort of do whatever they ask me to. It’s the strangest job I’ve ever had but I don’t mind it.”
“At least you have a job.”
“Yes, that’s true.” She smiles. “I am grateful.” She shoves her bowl aside and makes herself more comfortable. “I once had a job shoveling manure. And then after that it was shining shoes. And then after that I was serving food at one of those seedy, brothel-type places on the east side of this city.” She groans. “It was awful.” Squeezing her eyes shut, she shakes her head. “I don’t know if I could go back to that, Mila, so I’m happy I found this job.”
“What are the people like?” I sit forward. “The ones you work for…”
Evi lifts a shoulder. “They’re nice. The husband is a lawyer. He’s always preoccupied with work and he’s obsessed with time, always looking at the clocks, his watch, the clocks again…and things like that like he’s going to die any minute. And the woman is quite interesting.”
“No children?”
“No, just a dog.” She sniffs herself purposely and laughs. “And I love that dog.”
We laugh.
“The woman is an artist.”
“Oh.” I tap a finger on the table. “Is that why you said she’s interesting?”
Evi rolls her eyes. “All rich people are interesting, aren’t they?”
Pressing my lips together, I smile. “I’ve never found them to be...”
“Well…” Evi stretches out more in her chair and tosses an arm behind her head like she’s lying in bed at this very moment. “I’ve always found people who have more that the average person interesting. You know, they’re different. Their lives are different. Their daily concerns are different.” She points a finger at me. “While you and me concern ourselves with making a daily wage that’ll feed us at least two decent meals a day, they’re debating whether or not they should have their wealthy, shallow, champagne-drinking friends over for dinner and titillating conversation on either Friday or Saturday night.”