by Danika Stone
“I’d be interested in what you come up with,” he added.
Kip’s fingers reached out to brush a piece of hair away from her face, the gesture so similar to the one Cole had used when he’d lifted her helmet off that it left her unnerved. Ava shivered and this time she did step back, but not before she caught Raya Simpson watching the two of them from the doorway, white-faced with rage.
: : : : : : : : : :
Ava painted until her stomach growled audibly, then decided to call it a night. She was buzzing with the feeling of flow and perfection. She thought last night’s trip to the train yards had something to do with that.
‘That,’ her mind whispered, ‘and Cole...’
She and Suzanne were washing up their brushes, chatting about scholarship applications, when Chim came bounding up the stairs, Cole Thomas next to him as if conjured from her thoughts.
“Hey, look who I found lurking downstairs!” Marcus said excitedly. Cole was red-faced and wide-eyed. He caught Ava’s gaze, horrified.
“You, Marcus Baldwin, are the only one who ‘lurks’ in the alley,” Suzanne answered smugly. She shook her head. “Unless, of course, Cole’s taken up smoking pot.”
“Well,” Chim said thoughtfully, “I was offering, but he wouldn’t take me up on it. No accounting for taste.”
Ava giggled. (If Cole’s face was any sign, he was about to die of embarrassment.) She pushed between Chim and Cole, dislodging her friend’s arm. Marcus’ clothing stank of cannabis.
“C’mon,” she said to Cole. “Want to see my studio?”
She linked her arm through his and they retreated to the sound of Chim and Suzanne’s laughter.
“Supper in fifteen minutes, children,” Chim called out as they disappeared around the corner.
: : : : : : : : : :
Cole stood before the wet canvas, his eyes drawn to the gold and green splotches next to the ripple of blue. There was something he recognized about the colours – though he couldn’t really tell what it was right now. It left him feeling like he’d had a dream that he couldn’t quite remember. Grief and regret just barely pushing at the edge of his consciousness like the hinted throb of a migraine, minutes before it occurred.
It scared him.
“These are really good,” he said absently, turning to absorb the others.
They were still laid out from when Chambers and Simpson had been there and Cole wandered from one to the other, admiring each.
“Better than good,” he said quietly, “they’re amazing, Ava. Unbelievably beautiful. God, I wish I could paint like this...”
Ava smiled, stepping beside him, her shoulder against his arm.
“Yeah, well, I wish I could sculpt,” she muttered.
He grinned down at her.
“The carving’s going really well now…” He leaned in, squeezing her arm, then moved back just as quickly. “Thank you for yesterday. You really helped.”
She smiled, warming under the praise, and he stepped to the next canvas, appraising it slowly. One of them was a smear of tinted colours, like water on a lens, and Cole gestured to it.
“This one looks like a Frankenthaler,” he said. “I like the pigment on the raw canvas.”
Ava let out a mirthless laugh.
“It’s that way because I couldn’t afford any gesso. Do not compare me to her,” she sneered.
Cole blinked, catching her eyes in confusion.
“Why not?”
She snorted, shaking her head as they stepped up to the next painting.
“You never heard that she and Greenburg had a thing? She was years and years younger than him, Cole, and he basically told her what to paint.” Cole raised his eyebrows. “Now that’s a fucking patron system with benefits.” She began to giggle. “Don’t you know your art history? I’m sure Wilkins would know that juicy tidbit.”
He started to laugh and they made their way down to the end of the line where the last painting – dark with crashing black waves and inky clouds – was propped up against the easel. With the waves now painted, the perspective on this one had changed too. The horizon line angled precarious sideways, leaden waves with white-caps like teeth, looming forward over the viewer. It was, Ava realized, a view from in the water.
“Oh my god,” Cole gasped, his face ashen.
“What?” she asked warily.
He was breathing hard, eyes wide and aghast. Without warning, Cole turned, pulling her into a tight hug. She was startled by the reaction, her arms fluttering like panicked birds before settling against him, holding him tight.
“Jesus, Cole.” she said shakily. “Are you all right?”
He was clearly upset. She wished she could see his face. He took deep, shuddering breaths as if he had been running and there was something about the way he was holding her that worried her, as if he expected her to run from him.
“It’s nothing,” Cole said after a moment. “It’s just… it’s… it’s me… The painting… it just… it just reminds me of a dream I used to have.” He pulled back, his eyes glittering, his fingers painfully tight on her shoulders. “I want you to know that I love your paintings, Ava – I really do...”
He pulled her back toward him, burying his face against her neck,. His breath was warm against her skin, but she still shivered at his words.
“But I do not like that one.”
Chapter 11: The Crown and Sceptre
Two more weeks passed by under a welter of projects, papers and parties. Ava and Cole continued to hang out in Wilkins’ class, chatting afterward, but their weeknights were spent separately. They’d grabbed supper more than once, a movie on two occasions (once with Chim and Suzanne and once alone), but nothing more serious than that. There had been several passionate kisses as he’d dropped her off at home and one make-out in the back of a mostly-empty movie theatre, but it had ended when the lights came up. Ava hadn’t asked him back inside since that first drunken night and Cole had been holding strong on his decision to wait out her nervousness. He wanted things to work out with her. For now, friendship with a slow burn of sexual tension was the extent of how they related.
Ava, for some reason, was fine with that.
Cole took out his growing frustration with the impasse on his artwork. He pounded away at the form, the slivered stone chips releasing his pent-up dissatisfaction with their relationship. He, for one, wanted more from their companionship, but for the time being, things were at a standstill. Cole spent every evening working on his sculpture, with Ava posing twice more, and it hadn’t gone well. Partway through the first week, he hit an unexpected vein in the stone and an entire portion of one arm broke off below the elbow, pushing the shape back yet again.
That night, Ava talked him down from abandoning the project altogether.
“It’s just not working,” he’d snapped, dropping his face into his hands. “I can’t stand it. I’ve worked so goddamn hard on getting the hand right and it’s just… gone! You can’t fix that, Ava. Don’t you get that?!”
He sat on the chair, his tools scattered in anger on the cement floor at his feet. Leery of his mood, but wanting to help, Ava broke the pose to step up to him. She reached out for his shoulders, letting him rest his face against her stomach. He was breathing harshly – like he had the day at her studio – and she ran her hands through his hair again and again. Waiting out the storm.
“Just stop worrying about it,” she said quietly. “Just let the stone be what it wants to be. You can’t control everything, you know.”
Cole laughed harshly before lifting his chin to look up at her. Under the strain, his face looked older than it really was and the thought made her sad.
“And if the stone wants to be a one-armed war amputee?”
Ava tried to look serious, but she couldn't keep her face under control. She put her hand against his cheek, trying desperately to keep from cackling aloud.
“I won’t assume that has anything to do with how you feel about me,” she said, stifling a giggl
e.
Cole reworked the statue again.
Under his relentless toil, the shape had begun to shift and change from his original vision into something completely different. Ava stopped posing; the face was already done and she had her own canvas to complete.
The finished pieces were due to the gallery Thursday after class.
: : : : : : : : :
Friday, Ava lured Cole out for a night of partying with Chim and Suzanne, refusing to take no for an answer. He was finished his sculpture now – the piece submitted to the curators – though it wouldn’t be seen until the student exhibition. Ava was annoyed that she hadn’t viewed the sculpture completed, but she had been impossibly busy these last days. Her own painting had still been damp in patches when she dropped it off at the university gallery.
Tonight they were sitting at ‘their booth’ in the Crown and Sceptre, laughing loudly and telling stories. Around them were the remains of five pounds of chicken wings, several empty pitchers of beer and a crumb-lined dish from a once-heaping portion of nachos. Ava decided that she hadn’t felt this good in a long time. Cole somehow fit with them, the same way that Suzanne did. As if yet another piece of the puzzle of ‘what this was’ had now found its place.
“So how about you, Booker?” Chim asked, kicking her foot under the table. “You and your dad doing anything special this year for the holidays?”
Ava shook her head, smiling.
“Nope,” she said with a sigh. “He’s still in Sydney. The tour ends on the twenty-eighth, so he’ll be back in time for the student show in January, but not before. Christmas will just be me. Lots of painting time without you guys to distract me.”
Cole sat up straighter.
“Come home with me,” he announced. Around the booth, everyone turned.
“Nah… it’s alright,” Ava answered. “I’ll just chill at home. It’s fine.”
“No, really,” Cole repeated, face earnest. “I fucking hate family events. I’d love to have an excuse not to make small talk with my dad. Come with me - PLEASE.”
Ava bit the inside of her lip. Chim leaned against the backrest, an eyebrow arched in interest. The pose said everything he hadn’t: Told you so…’ (Chim had been insisting that Cole was completely smitten with her for weeks.) ‘Smart-ass,’ Ava thought in annoyance.
“So I’m a distraction from your dysfunctional family dinner?” Ava asked with half-concealed contempt.
Cole laughed, embarrassed.
“I think I pitched the idea way better than that sounds.”
Ava giggled and the banter between their group began again. Chim told stories about Ava’s high school antics. How she had shaven her head on a dare three weeks before graduation, and had had ‘monkey hair’ for the grand march at the prom. Ava glared at him.
“You’re an asshole, Marcus Baldwin .… that was YOUR dare at YOUR grad party that caused it. It did not look like monkey fur. It was badass.”
Hearing it, Cole started to snigger, trying to smother it under his hand, but Suzanne picked up the sound and in seconds they were all hooting with laughter, the occasional “monkey hair” comment being thrown out again and again.
They ordered another round, and the stories grew worse. Ava wanted to know the most awful stunt Cole had ever pulled. He rolled his eyes.
“Knew this crazy ass girl who dragged me out in the middle of the night. Just about got me busted by the police for trespassing.”
“WHO?!” Suzanne shrieked, her eyes wide.
Cole launched into the story of spray painting in the train yards, describing Ava’s anger at him coming to save her.
“She’s yelling at me to ‘fucking RUN...” Cole said, “but I’m caught up on the goddamn fence and can’t get over.”
Ava grinned at him, lifting Cole’s arm and pointing at the muscles like a salesman.
“These guns, my friends,” she said in a stage whisper, “are all for show, apparently.”
Cole chuckled and kept going.
“Ava leaves me on the other side. Climbs over and gets to my bike before I’ve even hit the top. I forgot to cover the spikes. Got a nasty cut on my ass for my trouble.”
“My hero,” she said dryly, and Cole elbowed her. As the last chuckle disappeared into contented sighs, Ava caught sight of Marcus. He was frowning, brows pulled low over his eyes.
“Not to sound like your dad, Ava...” he said, “but if you do get caught now, you know there’s going to be serious consequences.” He sighed, crossing his arms. “You’re not a kid anymore.”
She snorted.
“Good god, Chim, YOU are not the person to be lecturing me...” she leaned forward, eyes narrowed though she was still smiling, “I’ve seen the stash in your studio. It’s a fucking pharmacy up there. Get the police in on that and there’ll be hell to pay.”
He laughed, shoving her across the table so that she bumped against Cole, leaving her body humming with the unexpected connection.
“Just watching out for you,” he said kindly.
Suzanne nodded, turning to Ava, her face serious.
“You know if you ever do get caught, you should just call a lawyer, Ava. Don’t even talk to the police without one,” she said gravely. “Chim’s right. There’ll be consequences at your age. Jail time, even.”
“I don’t know any lawyers, Suzanne,” Ava scoffed.
Suzanne laughed, her dark sheet of hair hiding her face for a moment.
“Suzanne’s mom is a lawyer,” Chim admitted with a grin. “Nice lady.”
Suddenly Ava was bellowing with laughter; the absurdity of ‘Chim the Revolutionary’ dating the middle-class daughter of a lawyer was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.
“Oh my god, Marcus,” she gasped, still laughing. “You’re sleeping with the fucking enemy. You know that, right?”
He grinned and kissed Suzanne, who was giggling too.
“Gotta keep you guys guessing...” he said after a minute. “Wouldn’t expect that from me now, would you?”
: : : : : : : : : :
An hour later and Cole was ready to leave. He was overtired from the final push to complete the sculpture. It wasn’t at all what he’d intended it to be when he began, and it was certainly not realistic in the way he’d originally envisioned, but it still felt like ‘Ava’ to him. He smiled, wondering what her reaction would be.
“Well, I should run, guys,” he said, grabbing his coat and dropping two twenties on the table.
“Hey! No way! That’s way too much!” Suzanne said, picking through her purse for change, but Cole waved it off, standing up from the booth.
“Thanks for letting me hang out,” he said, heading off without another word.
He had just made it outside, wondering if the leaden sky meant rain or snow, when he heard her jog up behind him. He turned around, grinning, seeing Ava approach. His smile wavered as he saw her face. She was furious; her expression brewing with something dark.
“What was that,” she snapped, hands on hips.
Cole took an uncertain step backward.
“What was…?”
She pointed angrily at the now-closed door of the Crown.
“That!” she hissed.
For a second, Cole wondered if she was angry that he had asked her to come home for Christmas. It had been spur of the moment, certainly, but it wasn’t like he’d proposed, and the group of them had joked for a long time afterward. He was about to open his mouth and protest when Ava strode forward so that she was only half a step away. The two of them toe to toe.
“You didn’t even say goodbye to me,” she said, voice shaking. “What’s up with that, Thomas?”
In that instant, he could see the flip side of her fury… the fear. She was chewing the inside of her lower lip, her body coiled tight, ready to explode.
“Hey now,” Cole said, giving her a lopsided grin. He reached out, running the back of his knuckles along the length of her jawline. “I’m sorry, Ava… I just… I just didn’t know how much
you’d said to your friends about us, and I didn’t want them to assume...” He paused. “Things.”
She let out a frustrated sigh.
“You could have at least said bye to me,” she grumbled petulantly.
Cole leaned closer, his hands running down her arms, feeling the chill of her skin through his palms.
“I wanted to kiss you,” he admitted.
She glared up at him, blue eyes sparking with a challenge.
“Well, why didn’t you?”
Cole grinned, he liked her voice when she was annoyed. He shrugged and answered honestly.
“Because I didn’t know what you wanted me to do. I mean, sometimes it just seems like you need… space. Other times, not so much.” He laughed. “Honestly, Ava, I just don’t know what we’re doing here.”
With an exasperated groan, her hands came up to grab his collar.
“God, Cole. We’re together, alright? A couple. Don’t be so fucking dense.”
With that she pulled him down and kissed him hard, their tongues and lips coming together in a rush of wanting. Minutes later, the kiss ended and Ava backed away. She was breathing hard and grinning. She waved once, then crossed the darkened parking lot, heading back toward the closed door of the bar. Cole watched her retreat, his heart thudding in his chest.
As she reached the door, she turned around.
“And yeah, I’ll come to your house for Christmas,” she shouted. “Nothing like a dysfunctional family to get me in the holiday spirit.”
Cole chuckled, and the door banged closed. With a smile, he turned and began walking home.
It felt like he was in flow again.
Chapter 12: Connections
The following night, Ava, Chim and Suzanne attended Chambers’ wrap party. It was held at the same downtown gallery as the opening so many weeks earlier. The show’s signage, picked out in a strong serif font, was visible along the white band of the entrance. Qaletaqa “Kip” Chambers, The Art of Rebellion. Seeing his full name, Ava struggled to remember its origins. She’d read it in a magazine once. ‘Cherokee...? Blackfoot...?’ her mind asked. It was something she’d have to ask Kip about later.