“So what kind of work do you do?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“I know you’re an art history major, but do you do any artwork?” he asks absentmindedly while signaling the waiter.
I just told him art history was my minor, but whatever. Close enough. “Well, some painting and sculpting, but my passion is drawing.”
“Yes, can you get our check?” he asks the approaching waiter, who nods and walks away. He turns back to me. “I’m sorry… you were saying?”
I shake my head. “It’s not important.” It’s not like he was paying any attention anyway.
“Have you heard about the museum’s anniversary gala?” he asks. Has he already forgotten the art history thing?
“Yes, I have,” I tell him, trying not to sound sarcastic.
“You would probably have a wonderful time there. It’s too bad you can’t get tickets. The Tribune only received three. I was lucky enough to get one of the press passes, since it will be the entertainment event of the season,” he boasts.
Should I tell him I’m going or should I not? Hmm.
“I’ll be sure to have a full report on it for you.” He grins.
I decide not to tell him. I will keep smiling, and maybe he’ll get the hint. My phone begins to vibrate in my purse. I take it out and see it’s Hillary. Oh, I love you, Hillary!
“Excuse me for a minute,” I tell him before walking to the front entrance. “I’ve never been so happy to hear from you,” I say gratefully.
“I take it your date sucks?” she asks excitedly.
“Other than the food, yes. I’ll be home in an hour. Jason is probably the most self-absorbed person I’ve ever met. The whole conversation tonight was all about him. I probably got three sentences in,” I tell her.
“Aw, you poor thing! Well, you can’t strike gold twice.”
I smile, thinking about my date with Cal, which makes this seem like an appointment with a dentist.
“So does he have anything else planned after dinner?” she asks.
“I don’t know, but I can’t take any more of this.”
“Remember the guy I met at the party you didn’t want to go to last week? Jinere or Johnae—I’ll never be able to say it right. Anyway, something foreign, and he’s ridiculously hot. I’m making him dinner and I may be his dessert…” she warns with a hint of excitement.
“Have fun, Hillary,” I say. At least one of us will be having a good time tonight.
“Want me to wait up for you?”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, night, hun,” she says, and I hang up the phone.
I look at my watch; it’s only 9:12 p.m. This night is going way too slow. I walk back into the restaurant and see that Jason isn’t at the table. I suppose he’s gone to the restroom. Thank goodness. It’ll be quiet for a few minutes.
“Excuse me, miss?” asks a small voice from behind me.
I turn around to see the hostess who seated us when we arrived.
“The gentleman with you had an important call and had to leave, but he’s called you a cab,” she informs me.
He’s ditched me? He’s ditched me. After an hour and a half of talking about his boring job and attendance history in class, he leaves me? I sigh and notice that the hostess is waiting for my response.
“Thank you,” I say, smiling to hide my annoyance.
She nods and walks away. I take my jacket from the back of my chair and put it on. Who would have thought at the beginning of this evening that I would end up sitting in the lounge alone, waiting for a taxi to take me home because my date ditched me?
I stare at the blank canvas in front of me and see… a blank canvas. I have no inspiration. I see nothing. I move the easel back to the wall and grab my sketchbook off my desk. I have to flip all the way to the back to find an empty page.
I make a light mark with a pencil in the middle of the paper. All of my drawings start off this way, then I go with what I feel. Painting isn’t that easy; you have to have your colors mapped out, your setting, and you can’t paint stray marks and wait until they turn into something.
That’s why I love to draw; it’s therapeutic. My thoughts drift to the anniversary of the museum tomorrow. I feel butterflies starting to play in my stomach. Since it’s the anniversary, I know they’re going to have all types of new collections flown in just for the night, even though they will probably already have new pieces I haven’t seen. It’s been forever since I was there. I’ve always enjoyed being there alone, in my own world. Tomorrow will be the first time I’ll actually go with another person outside of school. I’ve always kept art as a private reward for myself.
I wonder if Cal is into art. He didn’t seem too excited about the event, but most people wouldn’t be. He does get credit for actually suggesting a date based on my interests, aside from the fact that he had tickets to an event that would be difficult for an average person to get.
I put down my sketchbook and go to the closet to pull out the dress I’m planning on wearing tomorrow. Angela was kind enough to let me borrow it, since this is probably the only time I’ll ever need something for an occasion like this. I admire it again, along with the six-inch black heels that Hillary contributed. They’ll murder my feet, but they match perfectly, and it will all be worth it.
Any artist in Chicago would die to be there, and I get to dress up for something other than work. Oh, and Cal isn’t too bad of a perk either.
I laugh at myself and hang the dress back up. Cal… I really don’t know what to think about him. I thought I had him all figured out the first time I met him, that he was either a suave businessman or some rich playboy. I couldn’t have been more wrong. He’s neither of those, but even though I can say what he isn’t, I still don’t know what he is. I know less about him now than when we first met, which is intriguing and scary. He’s invited me to this party because he could guess how much I’d love to go, so I know he’s got at least that chapter of my autobiography, yet here I barely have a snippet of his birth certificate.
The only thing I really know about him is that he’s mysterious, outspoken, and incredibly sexy. I still can’t believe I wanted so much more after that kiss. Usually I never even let a guy approach my lips, pulling the old kiss on the cheek or awkward hug move. Letting a guy slip his tongue into my mouth is sacrilege in the “Code of Lauren Brooks,” but I’ve broken a few codes already when it comes to Cal. By now I’d usually know his age, what he does for a living, how many siblings he has, and what his first pet was, but it occurs to me that I didn’t ask him a single question about any of those things. Well, his smile and eyes kept distracting me. They draw you in and make you stay there…
May 5th 2011
I wipe the steam off the mirror and crack the bathroom door open to let in some air. One shower and the room is up to 105 degrees. I wrap myself in the plush bath towel and slip into the flip-flops I left by the tub. I yawn a little, even though I shouldn’t be tired at all. I woke up at ten at night, and I couldn’t believe I had slept the day away. But I guess sleep is the best thing to relieve stress, and I had tons of relieving to do.