The Art School Dance

by Maria Blanca Alonso

  We were just about coming to the end when Ben entered, saw me and bellowed, ‘You’re on hallowed ground, Ginny love! Sitting in my office!’

  ‘I was just helping,’ I explained.

  ‘Helping yourself to a bit of what you fancy, eh?’ he laughed, with a guffaw which shook the room. ‘Well you just carry on, Ginny, you just carry on.’

  He rifled through a filing cabinet or two, plucked out a few documents and sheaves of notes and then was off again.

  ‘He won’t be back today, we may as well finish,’ said Paula, pushing her chair back from the desk.

  ‘Has he said anything about us?’ I asked, as she pulled on her coat.

  ‘Not an awful lot. Just told me to be careful that I didn’t interfere with your future.’

  ‘That’s all?’

  ‘He did add that it might improve your life drawing, having a model all to yourself, said your technique needed polishing up a bit.’

  Always strong on sarcasm, was Ben.

  *

  The night before the open day I stayed over at Paula’s, on the Saturday morning awoke in her bed. We both had to go into college, even though it was the weekend; at some time or other everyone would have to be there, operating a rota system so that there would always be someone on hand to talk to the visitors, to tell them how marvellous art school was, to persuade young kids to enrol and to explain what the paintings were all about. Paula would be there to talk to people about grants, to hand out enrolment forms and so on.

  The affair didn’t begin until ten o’clock so we had the chance of a lie-in, a chance to make love in the morning, which I had come to see was the sweetest time; then we had a leisurely breakfast before walking across town to college. Saturdays were hectic days in the town centre, the streets were crowded with shoppers from early on, and though Paula and I had become more open about our relationship we avoided holding hands or embracing for the moment; there was too great a chance of me being seen by a neighbour or a relative. Neither of us liked having to behave this way, we itched to touch each other, but we recognised the need for caution and again I promised Paula that next week for certain I would tell Stephen everything; then there would no longer be any need for secrecy.

  ‘Being selfish, I’ll look forward to that,’ said Paula, as we found time for a quick embrace just inside the college entrance.

  In the exhibition hall Paula took up her place at the desk by the door and I wandered about, chat with Gus and Chrissie who were working the same ‘shift’ as me –an hour on and an hour off was how we'd work- while we waited for the first visitors to drift in. As the hall slowly filled we strolled among the visitors, explaining various aspects of art to them, making up excuses for those paintings which were a little difficult to justify. Quite a few old school-mates passed through, some of them regretting leaving school so early and looking for courses that might suit them. Those people that I knew I took across to look at my work, not the portrait or the crucified carcass, which might have been difficult to understand, but the drawing of Paula, which had them all stunned, the blokes and the girls alike.

  ‘Was she really like that?’ the blokes would ask, and I could see them almost drooling.

  ‘She was.’

  ‘Weren’t you embarrassed?’ the girls wanted to know, and when I told them that I wasn’t I could sense a kind of envy in their manner, as if they regarded me with a certain awe because I could look respectfully at a naked woman while all their boyfriends could do was pant and lust over dirty pictures. I could see in their eyes just how much they wished that they themselves could be seen as beautiful women, rather than simply as bodies with boobs and bums, things to be used rather than admired.

  I stayed there for a little over an hour, then went for a pie and a pint with Gus and Chrissie.

  ‘We’re going for lunch,’ I told Paula, as we passed her desk.

  ‘I don’t have time for any, so don’t rub it in,’ she said, for she had to stay there from start to finish, since she was actually being paid for her time.

  ‘It’s true love, isn’t it?’ said Gus, seeing my smile.

  I shrugged; I knew it was, but I wasn't not going to admit it to him.

  We had time for a couple of pints in the ‘Commercial’, stretched out our break from an hour to an hour and a half. On the way back to college we decided that we would take no more crap from the peasants of Sleepers Hill; we’d all three of us done far too much grovelling, ingratiating ourselves with the public and making apologetic excuses for our work. Enough was enough and we’d not take any more.

  *

  The three of us were arrogantly cocky as we walked back into the hall, but then my bravado wilted as I heard someone cry out, ‘Oh, Mum! Look what she’s done to me!’

  Stephen and his parents were standing in front of his portrait, dressed for the wedding, and I wondered why the bloody hell they’d changed their plans. I stopped beside Paula’s desk, and from either side Gus and Chrissie looked at me as if they were ready to catch me, as if they expected me to pass out.

  ‘Is that who I think it is?’ Paula whispered to me, for of course the subject bore no resemblance at all to the portrait.

  I was frozen, speechless, I tried to nod my head but was unable to.

  ‘Yes, that’s Stephen,’ Gus told her.

  ‘And look what she’s called it!’ Stephen screamed. ‘‘Boy-fiend’! Oh, Mum!’

  I looked at Gus and recognised the guilt written on his face, the proof that he’d switched titles on me. I took a step or two towards Stephen and his folks, as they turned to see me, noted that his mother was already dripping tears of mascara onto her lovely peach wedding outfit.

  ‘You nasty vindictive little cow!’ Stephen’s father said to me, and I could see that he was all set to lay into me with both fists, or at least give me a slap across the face; luckily for me Stephen’s mother flung her arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder. He consoled her, and as the three of them walked across the hall I edged along one wall and then another, keeping a safe distance between us. They were just near the exit, close by Paula’s desk, when someone went across to them. I didn’t see who it was at first, it took me a moment before I recognised the girl; I knew her as one of the college catering students, yes, but then realised she was the very same girl who had tried to chat up Stephen in the ‘Crofters’ that night, the one I was responsible for getting thrown out. I couldn’t hear what’s being said -I only found out later, from Gus- but there was much gesticulating, the girl and Stephen looked across at me, then she shook her head and pointed at Paula.

  Stephen looked at Paula, who turned away innocently, and it was all too easy to guess what had passed, for Stephen looked as crestfallen as a bride ditched at the altar.

  When they had gone, and that cow of a catering student, I went across to Paula.

  ‘I’ve been fingered, shopped, cited as the other woman,’ she said, looking from Gus to Chrissie to me. There was a slight humour in her voice, a look of startled amusement intended to make me feel better.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ I said, in too much of a state of shock to smile back.

  ‘Well, at least he’s found out now,’ Paula sighed.

  ‘It had to happen,’ Chrissie nodded.

  I looked around the hall. All the people who witnessed the scene had now returned to the work on show, most of them paying especial attention to the portrait of Stephen.

  ‘I’m going,’ I said.

  ‘Where?’ asked Paula.

  ‘Out. Anywhere.’

  ‘With Stephen’s father out there somewhere? Do you think that’s safe, Ginny?’

  ‘I’m going,’ I said again, thinking that I had a better chance of evading him outdoors than in the narrow confines of the exhibition hall.

  ‘Go with her,’ Paula said to Gus, as I started to walk towards the door.

  ‘Yes, go with her,’ said Chrissie. ‘I can manage on my own until the next shift comes.’

  *

  I wan
ted to get drunk, rotten rolling drunk, but felt too sick in the stomach to take much. Gus and I sat in the ‘Commercial’ for a while, wandered around town, in the park and by the parish church, returned to the pub about five o’clock and found Paula and Chrissie waiting there.

  ‘Well wasn’t that a to-do?’ said Chrissie. ‘I bet there’s never been an open day like that.’

  ‘Not in the five years I’ve been there,’ said Paula. ‘Look on the bright side, Ginny. At least Stephen knows about us now.’

  ‘But I should have told him,’ I said, rather more shocked than stricken with remorse. ‘He should have heard about it from me.’

  ‘You’d never have said anything to him,’ Gus believed. ‘You’d only have kept putting it off.’

  ‘No I wouldn’t. I was going to tell him next week.’

  ‘Like you were going to tell him last week?’

  ‘I was going to tell him last week. I would have told him if it hadn’t been for that bloody bitch in the pub. I’ll swing for the cow, I swear it.’

  ‘She did you a favour, really,’ said Gus.

  ‘Like you did me a favour, I suppose, by swapping those titles? The painting was supposed to be called ‘Portrait’, nothing more. I told you.’

  ‘My title was better.’

  ‘Did you know what he’d done?’ I asked Paula. ‘Were you in on the joke as well?’

  ‘I didn’t know a thing about it, I swear. I didn’t take any notice of what the titles were, not with so many to do.’

  ‘Come on, forget about it,’ Gus urged. ‘There’s nothing you can do about it now except have another pint.’

  Gus bought another round of drinks, and as miserable as I was I was beginning to see the funny side of things by the time I reached the bottom of the glass.

  ‘Did you see his old man’s face, though?’ I said.

  ‘Livid,’ Chrissie remembered.

  ‘I hope I don’t meet up with him tonight. He’ll likely murder me.’

  ‘You’ll end up looking like one of your bloody crucifixions,’ said Paula. ‘I think you’ll be safer staying at my place tonight.’

  ‘And for the rest of the weekend,’ I added.

  Gus imagined what the wedding of Stephen’s cousin might be like, more of a wake, with his mother still in tears and his father quaking with rage. Slowly I cheered up, we drank a little more and laughed a little more and I managed to convince myself that everything was for the best.

  ‘You’re not sorry?’ Paula asked me.

  ‘About what happened?’ I said, and shook my head. ‘I just wish it hadn’t come about the way it did. No good can come of it, all these people upset.’

  Chapter Twelve

  I didn’t stay at Paula’s flat for quite the whole weekend, but went home early on Sunday evening. Although there was no posse waiting for me I could tell by the faces of Gran and my mother that Stephen had been there and told them everything. My mother was pathetically glum, gazing vacantly at the fire, and Gran had a face like thunder, her knitting needles were clacking together and working up a storm. I said a quick ‘hello’ and took off my coat, went to the bathroom for a pee and then to the kitchen to put the kettle on, doing anything to postpone the inevitable confrontation. It was no use, though, I knew that, so eventually I sat down with them in the living room.

  ‘Just what the hell do you think you’ve been up to, girl?’ Gran finally demanded.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Stephen was round here this morning.’

  ‘I saw him yesterday,’ I said. ‘He was on his way to his cousin’s wedding.’

  ‘His parents were here, too.’

  ‘What did they want?’

  ‘What do you think? You shamed them! You belittled their son! How could you treat the poor boy like that?’

  My mother was silent, she could almost be asleep, but I knew that she was taking everything in.

  ‘Alright, so we’ve finally split up,’ I said. ‘No one promised that it would last forever.’

  ‘But did you have to shame him like that in the process? He’s told us all about the painting.’

  ‘It was a joke,’ I said, and tried to explain about Gus’ unfortunate prank.

  ‘He didn’t think it was! And neither did his parents!’

  ‘The joke was supposed to be on me.’

  ‘Stephen was the one hurt by it.’

  ‘Well I’m sorry, I meant to tell him, I’d tried before.’

  ‘Tell him what? That you were going to make a fool of him in public? And with a painting that he’d told everyone was so wonderful?’

  ‘It is, it’s a good painting.’

  ‘It’s a monstrosity!’

  ‘You haven’t seen it.’

  ‘I’ve heard enough about it to know.’

  ‘Yes. And a fat lot you know about painting anyway.’

  In exasperation I looked to the ceiling, to the floor, and my mother said softly, ‘Ginny, what about this woman?’

  ‘Paula.’

  ‘Stephen tells us she’s the college secretary.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And the woman you draw naked?’

  ‘Yes, the life model.’

  She was tearful as she asked me, ‘What are you doing getting involved with a woman like that?’

  She talked as if Paula was a tart. ‘I’m not involved,’ I said. ‘I’m in love.’

  ‘But she’s a woman. She’s older than you.’

  ‘By a couple of years, yes.’

  ‘And she has a flat?’

  Which was made to sound like a brothel, the way my mother spoke of it.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, with as much patience as I could muster. ‘She has a flat.’

  ‘Ginny, don’t you see what you’re doing to us?’

  ‘I’m not doing anything to you. I’m just doing something for myself, that’s all.’

  ‘Always for yourself, never a thought for anyone else,’ said Gran. ‘I suppose that’s where you’ve been all weekend, with her?’

  I ignored the old woman, said to my mother, ‘We would never have stayed together in any case, Stephen and me, not when I went off to college. It had to happen sooner or later.’

  ‘But this way, with a slap in the face?’

  ‘I didn’t-’

  ‘Just look what you’re doing to your poor mother,’ said Gran, for now my mother had started to weep.

  ‘What would your father have thought?’ she cried.

  ‘He’d have thrown the little reprobate out on her ear,’ Gran was sure.

  This was the two of them at their blackmailing best and for the first time in their company I swore –‘oh, fuck it!’- and stormed from the living room even while Gran was shouting after me and demanding that I apologise.

  Apologise? For what? I had done nothing to be sorry for and all I could do was go to bed, go to sleep, go to college in the morning and back to Paula.

  *

  ‘It was terrible,’ I told Paula, when we got a chance to talk; it was lunchtime by then and I’d needed to speak to her all morning, had needed her comfort all the previous night and wanted her near to tell me that everything would be alright.

  We spent the lunch break in the studio, Paula with her arms draped around me and her head resting on my shoulder.

  ‘The funny bit’s over with now, isn’t it?’ she said.

  ‘For the moment,’ I agreed. ‘There’ll be no fun for me for a while, not with those two old bags going on at me all the hours God sends. There’ll be days and days of arguments, then weeks of their silent accusing glances.’

  ‘Poor Ginny,’ said Paula. ‘How will you cope?’

  ‘I’m not sure that I will,’ I had to admit, in all honesty.

  ‘I know a way you could.’

  ‘How?’ I asked, lifting Paula’s head from my shoulder and searching her eyes for an answer; there was that gleam of a smile in them, that twinkle I often saw when Paula had an answer that I myself had overlooked.


  ‘Well, if things get too much-’

  ‘They already have,’ I told her.

  ‘-then you could come and stay with me,’ she invited, and I looked at her uncertainly, once again slow to grasp what she was suggesting. She gripped my hand, made the proposal more concrete, said, ‘Come and stay with me, Ginny.’

  ‘I could?’

  ‘For two days, three days, every day of the week. What’s the difference? Wouldn’t you like to?’

  ‘Would you really want me to?’ I countered.

  ‘I’d never make the offer if I didn’t. So? What about it? Do you want sanity and love with me, or would you prefer two tired old women and an ex-boyfriend’s bitter parents hounding you all the time?’

  There seemed to be little choice, but it was still not a decision to be taken rashly. ‘You wouldn’t think me ungrateful if I asked for time to think about it?’ I said.

  ‘Of course not, I wouldn’t expect you to rush into anything.’ Paula glanced at her watch. ‘Look, I need to do some errands before I get back to work. You think it over and I’ll see you tonight.’

  I left the studio with her, we parted company on the ground floor and I went on down to the basement canteen.

  I was the one who had caused a controversy, most everyone in the canteen was aware to some extent of what had happened on Saturday. I sat with Gus and the others, suffered their jibes for a while before they settled down to treat the matter with a little less amusement. It was talking with them which persuaded me, when I considered the vendetta which would be waged against me at home and accepted that I wouldn’t be given a moment’s peace, when peace was what I most needed; it was talking with my friends which convinced me that I would be foolish not to make the break with home and family, foolish not to take Paula up on her offer. I didn’t need any more time to consider, but went to meet Paula as she returned from her errands, was waiting for her on the college steps.

  ‘Do they have a word for it, what we’re going to do?’ I asked her.

  ‘I believe it’s called cohabitation,’ Paula smiled. ‘When do we start? Today? Can you pick your things up tonight?’