by Vivien Vale
“Let’s toast to friendship,” I manage to whisper.
“Friendship.” Robin’s glass touches mine and I listen to the ping the crystal glasses make as they gently collide.
I close my eyes as I enjoy the cool bubbles dance across my tongue. When the champagne finally slides down my throat, I quickly take another sip.
“You need to try this.” Robin holds out a chunk of chocolate.
“Rocky road?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Better.”
I lie back into the mountain of cushions I have brought out from the bedroom onto the couch. This is the life. How long has it been since we had a girl’s night?
I steal a guilty glance in Robin’s direction. I have neglected our friendship a little since Blake had been on the scene.
“So what do you want to start with?” Robin holds up a couple of movies.
“Not sure,” I mumble. The lump in my throat grows again and those darn tears are always just below surface, ready to spill at the most insignificant of things.
“There’s Greek god, fine Englishman,” she scans the back cover. I’m not sure if she’s looking for a suitable description for the main male character, or if she cannot work out who is the actor. “Or we could go for dependable but not much to look at.”
I grimace.
Robin puts down the films, takes another sip of her drink, and then busies herself with food.
“You know,” she starts, and I hold up my right hand like a policeman directing traffic.
“Don’t.”
Robin devours what looks like one of those arancini balls and I’m reminded of the time I had Blake’s balls in my mouth. Those blasted memories stalk me day and night.
“What do you mean stop?” She has finished chewing. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.” Her lips are in a pretend pout.
I roll my eyes. “You were going to tell me to call Blake and talk things over with him.”
Robin smiles. “And what’s wrong with that?” Her fingers pick up different pieces of the delicacies to examine what’s on offer.
I sigh and slump into the cushions. For effect, I pull one over my face.
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong with that idea,” I say and pull the cushion away. “It’s a stupid idea. Just like getting involved with Blake was a mistake in the first place.”
“A big fat mistake.” I shake my head. “I should have learned my lesson with Dale.”
“Men are useless and only able to think with their dick,” I continue. “I mean, I stumbled right into the next bloke who had a reputation of fucking his models and then discarding them. I knew. I knew and still I went ahead to make a fool of myself.”
I stop and look at Robin who is grinning at me.
“What’s so funny?” I demand.
Robin leaves her seat and comes over to wrap her arms around me. She squeezes me and then lets go. “You are what I’m laughing at. Listen to yourself. Are you trying to talk yourself into Blake being the bad boy you actually don’t know him to be?”
My head hurts, and I’m not sure I understood what Robin just said.
Before I can ask her to repeat it, and this time in English, a knock at the front door interrupts our peaceful evening.
With my heart beating a little faster than usual, I walk over and open up. Given my track record, I’m a little more cautious about visitors.
“Mademoiselle Katherine?”
I nod in acknowledgement.
He’s not a policeman, but the young man is wearing a uniform of sorts. He hands me a large white envelope, and is gone before I can say anything else.
Confused, I head inside and hold up the envelope for Robin to see as I sit back beside her.
“Open it, “demands Robin and watches me turn the strange stationary over.
“It doesn’t say who it’s from,” I hesitate.
This time, its Robin’s turn to roll her eyes.
Slowly, I take a silver knife from the tray and slide the envelope open. I pull out a large white invitation with purple letters on it.
Invitation for Katherine is written in the centre with a flourish. Underneath it are the words Art Show of Blake . Below that says Invitation for one.
Robin reads the words the same time I do and claps her hands.
I’m confused. An art show for one?
“He’s going ahead with the art show but only inviting you.” Robin is near delirious with joy, she’s practically bouncing on her seat.
“So?” I have mixed feelings and don’t know what to make of it.
“He’s trying to make it up to you.” Robin is talking slowly as if I’ve suffered a head injury. I hear the Duh? at the end of the sentence even if she doesn’t say it. “You are going, aren’t you?”
Up until she asked, I wasn’t sure. It’s so strange. What if I make another mistake?
I can’t help but notice the writing is in purple, though, not gold or black, the way these things are usually done. Had Blake remembered I told him my favorite color is purple?
“Katherine?” Robin prompts.
I look at her and make a decision. “I suppose I’ll go.”
Katherine
I take a deep breath and glance at my reflection on the window of the little antique shop next to the gallery.
My knee-length black dress hugs my body and I smile. Someone once told me to feel good, you must look good. And who has not read the book Clothes Maketh the Man ?
Tonight, with all kinds of insects crawling over my skin and insides, I find it is so true.
It has taken me several hours to find the perfect dress. At first I had been tempted to go in a tracksuit and sneakers. But who was I kidding? I would not feel good if I turned up looking like a tramp. And so I spend an hour trying on different outfits.
In the end Robin had chosen this dress.
Whilst on the face of it, it looked black, in the light you could see streaks of deep purple reflected in the material. It’s a low-cut dress, so I decide to wear a long silver necklace with a pen pendant on top of it.
Accessories are everything.
A matching purse was hanging over my shoulder with only my phone and a credit card in it. I had no plans to use the ladies nor touch up my make up. I was pretty sure I would not be staying long.
Little diamond studs are my earrings of choice for the night, and black velvet shoes with high heels and little bows on the front of them complete my look of sophistication.
It takes all my courage to push the heavy doors of the art gallery open.
The bright lights highlight the emptiness of the space. As I slowly put one foot in front of the other, I realize there is no one else here. Well, no one besides Blake and now me.
With my heart beating wildly in my chest I take tentative steps toward the centre of the gallery. I can see paintings along the wall. There are numerous paintings. My eyes wander from one to the other but I cannot see the painting I’m looking for.
I feel Blake’s eyes on me. His gaze travelling slowly from my head to my toes. My nerve endings instantly start to tingle. I’m not here to fuck him, I tell myself and pull my shoulders back a little further.
Slowly I make my way toward the first painting. I’m mesmerized by the display of color. It appears to be an abstract work of art. As I stare at it, I can feel the joy emanating from the picture. Yellows, light pinks and reds dance on the canvass in joyous movements.
I move onto the next one. Blake has come up behind me. I wish he stayed where he’d been when I entered the gallery. He hands me a champagne flute.
“Care for a drink, madam?” He looks nervous.
I mumble something like thank you and am careful to take the glass from him without any skin contact.
As I walk from painting to painting, I realize I’m reliving the development of our relationship. It’s all there in abstract art and wonderful colors. The blues are so melancholic I swallow back the tears.
The last one is the one that
really tugs at my heartstrings. A black background with dark red lines scrawled in a messy fashion over the canvass clearly depicts heartbreak.
My own heart seems to break again as I stare at it. There is no way I could have written the end of our relationship any more emotional than Blake had been able to depict it in art.
I swallow. Had I been wrong? Had I acted too quickly?
Now his hands are on my shoulders. He stares at me intently.
“Blake,” I whisper and once again, I, the wordsmith am lost for words.
“Kath, I –” he starts and I interrupt.
– I’m sorry. I …was hurt and jumped to conclusions and…”
He puts his finger on my lips. It takes all my effort not to kiss it.
“I should have explained what I was planning.” He points to the exhibition and continues. “This is the exhibition I was planning all along. I wanted to surprise you and dedicate it to you. You are my muse, my inspiration.”
“Blake,” I try again. How could I have been so stupid and simply believed that two-timing, no good Dale?
“I should have –” again Blake interrupts me.
“Hush.” His eyes bore into my mine and I think he’s looking right into my soul. “Maybe we could have both done things a little better. Maybe both of us should have handled things differently. But that doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is, you are here tonight, one of the most important nights of my life.”
I watch, with my mouth parted already, as he lowers his head and our lips combine, melting into each other. His tongue probes, almost asks for permission to be let in. In answer, my tongue meets his.
I feel his hands on my lower back, drawing me tightly into him. Through the think fabric of my dress, I instantly feel his hardness and it takes all my effort not rip his clothes off here and now.
When his lips leave mine they yearn for more. I want him and I want him now.
Before I can wrap my arms around him he takes me by the hand.
“Come, there’s one more painting you should see.”
He leads me to the very back of the gallery where a black cloth is covering a large canvass.
Blake pulls the sheet off with one swift movement.
I hold my breath as my gaze take in what has been unveiled before my eyes. Tears threaten to spill and I bite my bottom lip.
“Oh Blake,” I whisper and look at him. “It is truly a masterpiece.”
I’m looking at my nude, and goose bumps are forming on my bare arms.
Blake
I must tell her, but I wait a little. I’m bathing in her innocent, genuine joy. She really is the goddess I have captured on the canvass. Every stroke on that picture reflects every minute detail of Katherine.
Even if I have to say so myself, it is the greatest painting of my career, even Michael Angelo would offer me his praise.
Like a good wine, I need to savor her, take in every last detail. I send silent thanks to the universe for making sure she came. There had been darks hours earlier when I had paced the art gallery not knowing if she would show.
When I first came up with the idea, I wasn’t sure what I would do if Katherine did not come; I still had no back up plan right up until the door opened and she had walked in. I had gone out on a limb and to my utter amazement it had worked out –at least so far.
There’s one more thing to do before my master plan is complete, but I’m in no hurry. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying this moment a little longer.
Katherine says nothing. She has her back turned toward me and is simply staring at herself in all her glory.
Eventually, I take a step forward and turn to face her. She smiles.
“I want you to know I meant what I promised.”
Her brow furrows and I resist the urge to place a kiss there, reassure her there’s no need to worry.
“But,” there’s hesitation in her voice. “The painting is great and…” she falters, the inner struggle all too obvious on her face. She is an open book as far as her feelings are concerned.
I reach down and pick up a bottle.
“You don’t understand,” I tell her.
“This painting is nothing. It’s inconsequential compared to you.” I point at her. “You’re all what matters. You are a masterpiece.”
I can see confusion on her face.
“I don’t understand.”
Taking a step toward the painting I aim my bottle at it. Now that I’m about to do it, doubt knocks on the door of my mind. Is this really necessary or am I being overly dramatic. Could I make my point some other way?
After taking a deep breath, I continue. “I don’t need the world to see this. I want the world to see you by my side.” And without any further hesitation, I start squirting the insides of my bottle at the painting.
“I want you to believe me that this does not mean as much to me as you do.”
Pale pinks, brown, and other colors run down the canvas. The solvent starts to do its work. Like a hungry caterpillar, it eats away at the color. I smear more and more all over the painting. Soon you cannot recognize what had been drawn.
“I…” Katherine starts but does not finish her sentence.
Like a madman, I rub the liquid all over the painting until there is nothing left of my masterpiece. I stop and stare at the ruined piece of art.
In my planning stage, I had mulled over a lot of different options on how I could convince Katherine I would never display this picture. At first, destroying it seemed too drastic. After all, it’s a great piece of art we could have hanging somewhere private, for just the two of us to enjoy.
But after much soul-searching, I realized as long as it was around, the painting would be the barb you don’t want in the relationship. The barb had to be destroyed, and Katherine have to witness the destruction.
I glance at Katherine to gauge her reaction and mood.
To my surprise she’s smiling.
“I can’t believe you just destroyed a great piece of art.”
I shrug.
“I didn’t destroy the greatest artwork. The greatest artwork is our love. Without our love, I’m nothing. Without our love, the world is an empty place for me.”
Her mouth is open just enough for me to see her white teeth and a bit of her tongue. Oh how I’ve missed that mouth. I feel the desire rage through me like a wildfire. If I don’t move on to the next stage of the planned evening things might go out of hand.
I go down on one knee, like a knight kneeling before his queen. Of course, that is exactly what I am doing; kneeling before my queen, queen Katherine.
My eyes find hers. She’s smiling. Lust is in her eyes. She will have to wait just a little bit longer.
I take her hand and my eyes don’t leave hers. I want this to be just right. I don’t want to mess this up.
I cannot understand blokes who resort to technology to do this sort of stuff. What emoji could convey my true feelings to this great woman I love? Romance should still be done face to face.
My left hand pulls the ring out of my pocket. The large diamond catches the light and sparkles between the two of us. I can almost feel little electric shock waves pulsate through her body.
“Katherine,” I start and put the ring on her ring finger. “Will you do me the honor and accompany me on the long road of life? Will you be my wife?”
She seems to take forever to answer. And in that time darkness descends over me. In that instance I know that a life without Katherine is a life lived in darkness.
I hold my breath and my eyes never leave hers.
I watch her face, a reflection of anticipation, processing and finally recognition of words fading in one after the other.
“Yes,” she whispers and then again, “yes,” a little firmer and louder.
Instantly I stand up and pull her toward me. My lips crush down on hers and my tongue forces its way through her lips. I want to show her how much I love her, I want to possess her and I want her, right now.
&nb
sp; Katherine
I pinch myself and when I feel a little pain in my cheek, I know I’m not dreaming. Of course it’s easy to understand why I would be thinking I’m dreaming. I mean how many women can say their life goes from being flushed down the toilet to fairy tale status in a matter of hours? Not many I bet.
“Stay here,” Blake whispers in my ear and I don’t think I could move even if I wanted to.
My lips ache for his to return and each and every one of my nerve cells is tingling with anticipation of being touched by the man of my dreams, Blake.
I glance at my ring finger and play with the diamond ring on it. It is real; I didn’t imagine the whole thing.
I look around but I can’t see a chair. My legs feel a little wobbly. I think alcohol on an empty stomach has left me a little light headed.
Tempted as I am to call Robin, I don’t. I don’t want Blake to return and find me talking on the phone. The moment is too special and too personal to ruin it by calling my best friend.
Part of me cannot believe Blake just destroyed his most amazing painting. I look back at the canvas, which looks awful. Instead of my nude, there’s now just some smeared bits of color.
I had not really wanted him to destroy it, although I have to admit as far as a declaration of love and commitment goes, it was pretty awesome. If Dale ever dares to show his face anywhere near me again I won’t be held responsible for how I react.
It was hard to believe that not so long ago I had hoped for Dale to propose. Isn’t life strange?
I smile and see Blake coming back pushing a silver trolley.
“I thought we should celebrate here.”
The trolley sports a silver ice bucket with a bottle of French champagne sticking out. There are two clean champagne flutes, filled to the top. I spot a selection of oysters and a seafood platter to die for.
“Wow,” is all I manage to say.
After I let the first oyster slide down my throat, I look at Blake.
“Thank you,” I say and he stops mid oyster.
I love the way he tilts his head to the left when he is unsure of what is happening.
“I want you to know what you did tonight is just amazing. I’m sorry I doubted you, I’m sorry I did not trust you.” The words tumble out of me.