She began fiddling with the knobs, raising the tray to an appropriate height for the medium-sized canvas she had brought. She had thought she was alone, but once she was set up, another person came out of a small office tucked into the side wall and scared the crap out of her.
“Oh, hey! Aullie! Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was here. I was wondering why the lights were on.” It was her teacher’s assistant for her advanced oil painting class, Gerald Woodley.
He was only a few years older than her, about the same height, with thick black glasses and a full head of curly black hair. She could see how someone else could find him attractive, he had that sort of androgynous, hipster-like vibe that girls seemed to like, but he definitely wasn’t her type.
“Hey Gerald,” she said, still trying to slow her startled heart rate.
“I don’t usually see you on Tuesdays,” he said.
“Yeah, had a random night off work, so I just figured I’d get some painting in.”
“Well cool,” he said with a smile. “These are my office hours and it’s usually pretty dead in here. I’m glad you came in, though. I actually have a question for you.”
“What’s up?” she asked. What kind of question could he have for her?
“Well, a spot actually opened up in a gallery show that a friend of mine is heading up this weekend. They’ve got a pretty decent amount of wall space to cover, it’s mostly other abstract work and I thought of you.”
“Really?” Aullie asked, bewildered. She definitely hadn’t expected that.
“Yeah. I know your last show was a little... disappointing,” he said, with apologetic eyes. “So, I figured maybe you’d be up to giving it another shot. Do you think you’d be able to get a group of works together by then?”
“Yeah, totally,” she nodded enthusiastically, a smile breaking across her lips. “I’ll have to get my shift covered at work, but if I can, then yeah, count me in.”
“Cool,” he said with a grin. “If you give me your number, I’ll shoot you a text with the details later tonight.
Aullie unzipped her backpack and pulled out her sketchbook and a charcoal pencil. She scrawled her phone number on a blank corner and tore it out, handing it to Gerald. She thanked him again and he went back to his office, which Aullie was grateful for. She felt a new zeal, a refreshed excitement at knowing she was getting another shot.
She squeezed tubes, mixing colors and sloshing them all over the canvas. The work she did wouldn’t matter, she thought, there was no way it would be dry in time, but as the prism-esque rainbow came to life on the scratchy white surface she recognized that her groove was back. This opportunity had been exactly what she had needed to break her out of her painter’s-block funk.
The next two hours flew by. Once she had done everything she could, Aullie washed her brushes and her hands and packed up all her equipment. Paint still stained her fingers and forearms, probably her face and neck too like usual, but she didn't really mind. It wasn't like she was trying to impress anyone.
She waved at Gerald through the window, thankful again that he had thought of her for the show. “Is it cool if I leave that canvas here to dry a little? I can come pick it up when I have class tomorrow.”
“Yeah!” he replied. “I’ll move it into your cubby later when it’s a little drier.”
“Thanks!” Aullie said as she headed out the door.
As her car was revved up and homebound, she began to seriously think about the show. It was a big deal for Aullie and she needed to make sure she was putting her best foot forward. Not only with her art but with herself.
During her first show, she’d been nervous, and given that she was naturally pretty introverted, she had hung back on the walls and hadn’t spent as much time marketing herself as she probably should have.
Her little debacle with Weston was behind her and though she resented the entire ordeal, it had opened her eyes to some self-consciousness she hadn’t recognized before.
She was aware now that she wanted to succeed. She wanted to feel worthy of a successful man so that next time she found one, her own stupid insecurities wouldn’t get in the way.
Once she was home, it was go time. Aullie poured some coffee she had made that morning into a mug with a little bit of creamer from the fridge and nuked it in the microwave. As it made its roundabout way around the microwave, she looked her walls up and down, trying to channel her inner art critic or collector.
Most of her class projects, though she was proud of them, weren’t show material. It was hard with class stuff because everyone needs to learn the basics and therefore did similar things, so none of that work would stand out.
She had finally painted the deer she had drawn, his proud neck shrouded in beautiful flowers, the light tan of his textured fur stood out against the blueish background, it was definitely one of her better originals. Hopefully, it would be totally dry in time.
But what else?
Suddenly, she no longer felt optimistic but overwhelmed. There were so many choices, plus the stacks of paintings she kept in her closet because she had no wall space. Aullie had been painting for so long, there were too many options.
Though others respected and admired her work, she could see the tinier details in each and every painting; the mistakes, the layers and layers of paint to fix them, places where colors had run together, works that hadn’t quite stayed true to her original vision. Everywhere she looked, she found flaws, flaws, flaws! Her confidence nosedived hard.
What am I doing with my life?
Aullie seemed to be having these surges of doubt more and more often, lately. She had no business being in a show, she thought, she wasn’t ready.
Would she ever be ready? Was she destined to wait tables forever?
The microwave beeped, probably for the third or fourth time since Aullie’s coffee had finished reheating and she extracted the mug just to angrily slam the little door closed.
She took a sip, the coffee wasn’t even warm anymore, but she craved some kind of buzz. Some kind of explosion of clarity to help her take the necessary steps to becoming the person she wanted, or needed, to be.
Aullie’s eyes came to rest on the painting she had done after her first night out with Weston. She had added to it after their second date, vibrant swirls of white, lavender and powder blue thrived against the fiery fuchsia background. It was a beautiful painting, she had to admit, but there was no way she could include it in the show. Some part of her wanted to hold onto it; the only reminder she had left of the man who had made her feel again. The relationship may have crashed and burned but, be that as it may, she had felt things with him she hadn’t felt in a long time, if ever.
The painting opened a sort of rabbit hole, one thought about Weston led to another and Aullie couldn’t help but feel as if she were tumbling down, down, down into the abyss of obsessive thought.
She looked at her phone. One little button push, that’s all it would take to unblock him. He had come over to explain himself, right? What if there was a valid explanation? What if there wasn’t?
She didn’t know if she could handle another emotional roller coaster with him; between work, school, and her being poor, she had more than enough to be worrying about. But the truth was, she had enjoyed the unexpected rush. And, like a junkie, she craved it again.
Aullie picked up her phone. She scrolled through to his contact page. Her thumb hovered over the ‘Unblock Caller’ button.
One phone call wouldn’t hurt. Just to hear what he has to say.
She set her phone down without unblocking the man, not allowing even a tiny opening for Weston to return to her life.
Just as she had every other time for the last week, which was roughly every few hours, Aullie talked herself out of it. The biggest thing holding her back was the feeling, deep in her gut, that the relationship was doomed.
Aullie envied the rich and famous almost as much as she loathed them, and Weston was one of the rich and famous. With his job and h
is heritage, it wasn’t like any of that was going to change.
Maybe Aullie would make it as an artist, maybe they’d at least be on closer levels one day, but maybe she wouldn’t. She had always sworn to herself that she would never become dependent on a man, and she wasn’t about to be some little failed artist looped on to some rich guy’s arm. No way in hell!
She did a pretty good job convincing herself that the beautiful other woman had nothing to do with it, too.
‘I’m done’, Aullie reminded herself. ‘I’m done, I’m done, I’m done’, she repeated it in her head like a mantra, each time with more and more conviction.
She thought of a saying she loved from one of her favorite yoga teachers; breathe in the positive: success, prosperity, confidence, and forgiveness, breathe out the negative: doubt, anger, spite, and jealousy. And Weston, she tacked onto the end of the exhale, with a coy smile.
She was going to breathe him out, she had to, and staring at his stupid painting wasn’t going to do her any favors. Aullie grabbed the painting from where it leaned against the legs of her old, wooden easel, probably not as gently as she would with another painting, and tossed it in the closet. It landed on its corner, leaning against the wall in the back under her coats.
Take that, Aullie thought, a little triumphantly. She closed the door a little too hard, reveling in this new sense of resolve. Out with the old, with the failure and insecurity, and in with the new, success and hopefully a relationship with an honest, more realistic man.
Someday, anyway.
Chapter 3
Thankfully, Aullie was able to get her shift covered at work, but Saturday found her in a manic frenzy. Gerald had forwarded her the information for the show and she had selected thirteen of the required fourteen pieces for the show and couldn’t for the life of her decide what the last one should be.
There were so many options, and yet there were no options. She only had three hours until she was supposed to be there to set up and, even though she technically had plenty, it felt as though she had no time at all.
‘How am I ever going to pick?’ Aullie thought anxiously. For probably the millionth time in the last five days she considered dropping out of the show. There had to be someone out there more driven, more prepared, or just plain better to take her spot, didn’t there?
No, Aullie clenched her fists at her sides. She was done doubting herself. Hunting around, she found her phone and found Gerald’s number. The phone rang three times before he answered with a curious, “Hello?”
“Hey Gerald, it’s Aullie.”
“Hey, Aullie!” he replied. “What’s up?” There were voices and bustling in the background of the call.
“You aren’t already at the show, are you?” she asked desperation, leaking into her voice. “I was wondering if you could come over to my place and help me pick the last piece for my collection. I’m kind of losin’ it over here. I can’t decide.”
“Yeah, I get that!” Gerald said, empathetically. “I’m already at the show, but I could stop by real quick. I’m not really needed here right now. Could you text me your address?”
“That would be super great. Yeah, I will, thanks.” Probably overeager, she hung the phone right up and was probably texting him the address as he was saying goodbye to thin air.
-U R close!- He typed back. -B there in 5-
People who texted that way drove Aullie nuts, but at least she’d finally get a legitimate opinion. The five minutes dragged on, it ended up being seven, as Aullie paced and paced around the thirteen paintings she had already chosen. Nerves and doubt had her wanting to tear out her hair, but she had already done it for the show so she resisted the urge.
When the knock came on the door, Aullie scrambled through the tiny apartment to answer it. She unlocked the door, feeling flustered, and smiled at Gerald standing on the other side. She smoothed the full skirt on her dress down with one hand and tucked her hair behind her ear with the other.
“Hey,” she said, breathlessly.
“Hey yourself,” Gerald remarked, a mix of impressed and surprised in his voice. “You look amazing.”
“Wh-? Oh! Yeah,” Aullie said self-consciously, looking down at the classic, vintage-cut dress she wore. The low shoulder accentuated her pale, birdlike collar bones, the wide A-line skirt showcased her narrow waist. The black silk and dark gothic rose print looked artfully edgy with her straightened long black hair. She hadn’t put on her shoes yet and her red-painted toenails were out and free. “Thanks. Come on in.”
“Thanks,” he said as he stepped over the threshold. He was dressed in his typical modern, nerdy-chic getup, just a bit classier; skinny-cut khaki colored trousers with striped socks and wing-tipped oxfords, a polka dotted button down and a structured navy blazer. With the thick black glasses, and the charcoal gray fedora capping his dark curls, she had to admit the look worked for him.
Aullie led him inside, pointing to the thirteen paintings laid out on her couch, table, chairs, and counter. “So, these are the ones I picked,” then she pointed to the others that were scattered everywhere else, including the open closet. “Those are all the other ones. I haven’t been able to decide and I figured since you’re experienced and good at this stuff, that you could help me.”
Gerald put a hand over his mouth as he stalked back and forth, surveying her choices. “I like these,” he said. “I like these a lot. What kind of mood are you trying to set here?”
“I… I don’t know,” she admitted. “Not crippling nerves and overwhelming self-doubt?”
Thankfully, he got the dry joke and laughed. “That’s ok, it’s totally normal for your first few shows.”
He turned and considered the other paintings, scattered like new fallen snow, with the same scrutiny. Aullie waited impatiently as he paced. Gerald stepped carefully through the mess into the closet.
What could he want in the closet? She thought. It wasn’t like she kept anything good in there, it was a closet.
Oh!
Oh no!
He came back, fingers fatefully wrapped around the wooden frame of the painting she had kicked into the closet several days ago. Weston’s painting.
Dammit!
“This is sensational,” he said, genuinely. “How could you be hiding this in your closet? You have to take this, it’s so… Alive.”
The word punched Aullie in the gut. Alive was how she had felt that night, but it didn’t matter now. “You really think I should use that one?” she asked, unsure.
“Absolutely.” He nodded. “It’s beautiful.”
There was a space between two paintings that fit Weston’s perfectly. Aullie had to admit that it completed her colorful collection pretty perfectly.
It’s a sign, she told herself. A sign that she really did need to cut the cord, and put the painting up for sale.
She took a step back, admiring the collection as a whole. Gerald was right, it was a perfect fit. She turned to thank him, but suddenly his mouth was against hers.
Alarm bells sounded in her head, his mouth felt cold, awkward and wrong. None of the emotion, none of the passion she’d felt with Weston was present, plus the creepy, unwelcome surprise was rigid and off-putting. He practically slobbered on her, his hands locked on the sides of her head. Aullie stumbled backward, away from him, and broke from his grasp.
“Gerald!” she yelped, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth. “What the hell was that?”
“Aullie! I’m sorry,” he reached toward her until she batted his hands away. “I must’ve misread…”
“Misread what?” Aullie sputtered, steaming like a boiling kettle.
“Well you know, I hooked you up with this show, you invited me over…”
“You only hooked me up with this show because you thought I was going to sleep with you?!” Rage coursed through her veins.
How dare he! She should’ve known better, why else would he have been putting her up for a show outside the school like this?
&nbs
p; Oh, how Aullie wanted to hit him. The pig!
“No!” he insisted. “No, no. I didn’t mean it that way at all. I’m sorry. I really am. You’re a great artist. I never meant to insinuate…”
“Insinuate that, oh, you just hoped I’d also screw you for the help?” She could feel the hot flush in her cheeks. Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she was determined not to release them.
“I’m sorry I made you think that. I’ve liked you for a long time. I looked too far into things and I really am sorry. Do you need help getting your work to the show? Let me help, make it up to you. I’m sorry.”
His pleading eyes begged for her forgiveness. All she saw in his pitiful little face was weakness and disgust boiled in her stomach. As surprisingly as his gesture and confession had been, they definitely weren’t feelings Aullie shared.
Plus, all his kiss had really done was rub salt in the tender wounds Weston had left in her heart. Kissing Weston had been… unreal.
The stark reminder that she couldn’t just find that passion with someone else was depressing and disheartening. Her silence, probably coupled with the despairing look on her face, had Gerald looking desperate.
“I’m sorry, ok? I really am. You’re just such a good artist and you’re so pretty and…”
“Stop,” she said, sternly. “It’s fine. I’m just kind of going through a… breakup? I guess you could call it that. I don’t know. It’s not you or your fault, it’s just that my head and heart are with someone else.”
As she said the words, Aullie realized her heart really was still with Weston. Even though it had only been two dates, even though they were so different, even though she really hardly knew anything about the guy, she was hung up and she was hung up bad.
She looked again at the collection she had picked, how perfectly the bright, happy colors complemented Aullie’s mostly dark and aggressive collection.
The Naughty One Page 71