I spotted what he was referring to almost instantly. Near the far wall of windows, there was an easel and canvas set up along with some brushes and other supplies on a nearby table. We were on the first floor, in the back of the gallery. He had a wall of windows looking out at the busy street, but no one seemed to be looking in.
"Don't worry, they can't see in," he said. "But I can draw the blinds if it's distracting."
I wandered toward the canvas, feeling like I was on the edge of some sort of precipice—like I was about to paint something important—the thing that would either impress him or disappoint him.
"We have a big studio upstairs with the artist housing," he said. "I'll take you up there and show you around, but I figured you could have some peace and quiet in here."
There was a table next to the easel that was covered in tubes of paints, and I stared down at it.
"So you want me to just stand here and paint?" I asked.
"I assumed that's what you were going to do," he said. "Since you didn't have a portfolio. I borrowed the acrylics from a resident named Macy and the watercolor from Nicholas. They're basic quality, as you can see, but they both said they weren't worried about having them returned. There's some paper under the canvas if you decide to work with the watercolor. I wasn't sure what you wanted to use. We have some tools upstairs in the studio, but the artists supply their own consumable materials."
I scanned the tabletop, trying to decide what I wanted to use. "Is this the watercolor?" I asked, positioning myself right in front of the table and easel.
Lane came up beside me, and I pointed to the small tubes of color that looked like mini versions of their acrylic counterparts. I was used to the type of watercolor that came in hard, circular shaped cakes, so I didn't know quite how to use this kind. I knew it existed, but I had never tried it.
"Is it liquid?" I asked inspecting a tube before glancing at Lane.
He nodded. "I think it's about the consistency of acrylic or oil when it comes straight out of the tube."
My heart was pounding at the fear and excitement of it all. I couldn’t quite imagine how liquid watercolor would behave, and I already had things I wanted to try with it.
"Where's the water?" I asked. I glanced at him and he smiled.
"I'll get you some."
"Can I use this?" I asked, taking the palette off of the table. I was accustomed to using the lid of the watercolor package for mixing, but I knew how amateur that was.
"That's why it's there," he said. "I'll get you some water."
"I'm so excited about this, thank you!"
Lane stood there and looked at me for several seconds before turning to head to the door. I could tell he was intrigued, and I prayed to God to help me do something abnormally great in this tiny little window of time that I had to make an impression.
I didn't give myself the chance to get nervous or second-guess my instincts. I wanted to get started right away, and I didn't know how long it would take Lane to get back with the water, so I took a deep breath and squeezed some acrylic paint onto the palette. I was amazed by how thick it was. It was like three times thicker than the cheap stuff I had used in the past.
I looked around, wondering if people ever added water to it, and wishing Lane was around so I could ask him that. I smiled, figuring what the heck as I took a metal tool that looked like a small putty knife and swept a huge stripe of the yellow paint onto the canvas. I grinned at the texture of it and the way it spread across the surface. I had three different colors open and going by the time Lane came back in the room.
"I'm playing with the acrylic," I said. "Do I need to add water to it or anything?"
"I don't think so," Lane said. "I'm not a painter, but I don't think they do."
I smiled and shrugged at him.
"Do you need me to call upstairs and ask somebody?"
"No, don't do that. I'll figure it out. It's just different than the stuff I've used."
"You think it's gone bad?" he asked, coming to stand by me so he could look at the paint.
"I think it's fine," I said. "It's just me—getting the hang of all this fancy stuff." I used the end of the paintbrush to point toward the shelf. "I like that little robot. I hope you don't mind if I paint him."
"Not at all. Is there anything else I can get you?"
"I might need access to a sink so I can rinse this brush," I said, holding up a beautiful round brush that instantly felt like an extension of my own hand. I loved the weight of it and the way the hairs gave way under my pressure. "I'm gonna have to buy one of these for myself," I said. "Thank you," I added as Lane set the large cup of water on the table near me.
He bowed as a gesture to say you're welcome. Lane Alexander was strikingly handsome, and under normal circumstances, I would have probably been extremely distracted by him, but I had never been exposed to the likes of these art supplies, and the quality of them and the importance of this piece had me feeling like I needed to stay focused on the task at hand. Plus, I knew if I didn't prove myself, this would be the last time I met him.
"I've never used paint that felt like this before," I said. "I hate to rush, but I also hate to take over your office. Is it going to bother you if I stand here and do this for about the next four hours or so?"
"It won't bother me at all," he said.
"Am I going to be in your way? Because I can go upstairs."
He shook his head. "I'm interested in your process."
"I'm afraid I'm going to disappoint you if you're expecting a process. I'm kinda learning as I go. The feel of this paint and the way it moves is blowing me away. I'm just gonna stand here and play for a little while if you don't mind."
"I'm going to do my best to go about my business while you work. There's a restroom right there if you need to rinse your brushes or get clean water."
I had been glancing back and forth between Lane and the canvas, but I turned to focus my gaze completely on him. I looked him straight in the eye the way we do in Texas, and, from the bottom of my heart, I said, "Thank you." I balanced the brush in my hand, being careful not to get any paint on him when I reached out to touch his arm with the base of my hand. "Really," I said trying to show him my sincerity through my facial expression. "Thank you for letting me come here and do this. I mean it. I know you're doing me a favor. I know you don't owe me anything."
For a few seconds, we just stood there and regarded each other. Lane crossed his arms and tilted his head as he glanced at my painting in progress and palette and then back at me like he thought I was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.
"Thank you," I repeated since he hadn't responded.
Lane smiled and shook his head almost imperceptibly at me. "You're welcome."
Chapter 4
I stood in Lane's office and painted for the next several hours. I worked on the robot a lot at first, but I started playing with watercolor during times when I was waiting on areas of the robot to dry.
For the first couple of hours, Lane sat at his desk, returning phone calls and clicking away at his computer. We talked a little, but he hadn't paid attention to what I was doing, and as far as I knew, he had no idea I'd been experimenting with the watercolor.
I noticed that he was on his way over to see what I was doing, and I casually slipped the watercolor paper behind the canvas. I wanted to see if he liked the robot before I showed him the other one.
"I've got to go to a meeting," Lane said on the way over to my workstation. "Do you mind if I see your progress?" he asked as he approached. I knew he was getting close to being able to see what was on the canvas and I moved out of his way so he could get a look at it. I watched as he leaned in to inspect the painting. "How'd you get that texture in the springs?" he asked, peering at it.
"I just wiped it on with this brush, and then I chopped it with this." I pointed to the brush and putty knife looking thing.
He grinned at me. "You wiped it and chopped it, ay?" he asked as if just clarifying.
"I know we said I need to be done at five," I said, glancing at the clock.
"I'll be back by then," he said. "Do you need anything?"
I wanted to say, "Some peanut M&M's, a soda with lots of caffeine, and a shower," but I just smiled and shook my head. "No, thanks." The movement drew attention to the fact that my neck had gotten stiffer and stiffer as the afternoon went on. I stretched it by tilting my head.
"You okay?" he asked. "Because you don't need to hurt yourself. It's obvious to me that you have something special, Zoe. I love the way you layer like this."
"You do?" I asked, feeling suddenly renewed by his words even though I wasn't sure exactly what he meant by layering. "I usually don't do stuff like this, so I was worried. I've never worked with anything that could make this much texture. It's so thick. I can't tell you how much fun I'm having."
"I can see how much fun you're having just from looking at the work," he said, still staring at it. He seemed so impressed that I decided to save the watercolor to the end. I would feel great if I could make a surprise attack and have two complete paintings done for him when it was time for me to go.
"I'll be back in an hour or so," Lane said. "Don't leave, okay?"
I smiled, thinking about how nice this place was compared to that hotel. "I won't," I assured him.
"Zoe, do you have any influences?"
I shook my head. "I wish I did," I said. "I was having to care for my parents when I wasn't working. They were my grandparents, but they raised me, so I thought of them as my parents. Anyway, Mom didn't understand me wanting to paint, so I didn't even start trying it out till she passed away." I paused and shrugged as I smiled. "I haven’t gotten around to getting any influences yet, to answer your question."
He smiled before taking one last look at the robot. "This is such an interesting style."
"You think it's a style?" I asked.
He smiled, and I stared at his white teeth, all lined up in a perfect row.
"It's a style, Zoe," he said.
"What if I do the next one differently?" I asked. "Will I mess up my style?"
His smile broadened. "No, you won't mess up your style," he said. "You just do what you do, and that is your style."
I grinned and nodded, thinking that inventing a new style every time was exactly what I wanted the freedom to do—especially as I got to know these new paints.
"Are you waiting on something to dry," he asked.
I nodded since I wasn't going to tell him that I was actually working on the painting that was behind the one he was looking at.
"I've got a few minutes if you'd like me to take you on a little tour."
Lane and I spent the next fifteen minutes on the second floor, touring the beautiful studio and one of the artist's flats. There was a communal kitchen area with a few round, picnic-style tables with built-in benches. The place was clean and tidy, and I smiled at Lane as he scanned the room with an overseer's eye, making sure everything was ship shape.
The women's restroom and shower area was down at one end, and Lane waited outside for me while I went in to look around. It was immaculate. There was a woman in there cleaning when I went in. She introduced herself as Carol and said she worked at S&S as a fulltime member of the staff. She gave me the run-down on what was what, telling me there were eight shower stalls and that I shouldn't worry because usually there was at least one unoccupied. She was friendly, and we talked for a minutes about me being an artist and applying for a room at the collective.
Lane was standing there when I went back out. He was just finishing a phone conversation, and he gave me an apologetic look. "I'm on my way," he said before hanging up.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I know you need to go."
He shook his head. "It's fine. I knew Carol was in there when I sent you in, I could hear her whistling. I wanted you to talk to her and take a look around." He began walking toward the stairs, and I followed him. "How'd you like it?" he asked.
"I already knew I wanted one of these rooms before I got here, and now you've gone and made matters worse. How will I ever wait till January? I regret that I'm not already in one of those showers." I rested my head on my hand, indicating that I could almost fall asleep walking, which was just about true.
He chuckled. I thought he might say something about it being inadvisable for me to assume I'd get a spot in January, but he didn't. We were quiet for a minute as we made our way down the hall and onto the staircase, headed down to the first floor.
"You're welcome to take a shower if you want one," he said finally.
"Do I stink?" I asked. "I'm sorry. I'm sure I do. I wanted to go by my hotel again before I came over here, but I didn't have time. It takes forever to get anywhere in this town. There's so much traffic."
We came to the bottom of the stairway, and he held the door open for me. "You don't stink at all, but I know you've been on the road and you're probably tired. If you finish up with your painting, and you feel like taking a shower you're welcome to do so. That's all I was saying. Everyone knows you're here, so nobody would hassle you if you decide to do that while I'm gone.
I smiled at him. "Thank you."
He gestured toward the main gallery door. "I should get going."
I nodded. "I'll show myself back into your office. Thanks for the tour. It's so nice up there."
Lane smiled and was off without another word.
***
It was five o'clock on the nose when someone knocked on the door, giving a short series of taps before opening it.
"Zoe?" she asked.
I nodded and waved, and she waved back as she came inside.
"I'm Mia. Lane called the gallery just now. He wanted me to come in here and tell you he was going to be a few minutes late, and to ask you please, please, please, not to leave." She gave me an appraising smile while chomping her gum. "He said three pleases in a row like that."
I felt instantly short of breath at the thought of Lane wanting me to stay. It didn't help matters that Mia had come to stand beside me and was now looking straight at my robot.
"Did you do this?" she asked. She stared at it in much the same way Lane had, and then she turned to look at me. "Are you applying for a room here?" she asked.
I nodded.
"Did you paint this just now?" I nodded again. She glanced down at the paints. The tubes of acrylic were clearly marked with the name Macy in bold Sharpie. She looked at me as if she was right in the middle of catching a thief in action.
"I just moved here, so these people donated this paint till I got my own."
She smiled and shrugged as if she wasn't curious about it, which she totally had been.
"Were you going to do a watercolor at first?" Mia asked, still inspecting my workspace. She was friendly enough, and she wasn't trying to pry or anything, but I'd been keeping the watercolor a secret, and I felt fidgety at the mention of it.
"I like watercolor," I said, carefully avoiding her question. "But, ultimately, I decided to use these," I added.
She backed up a step or two and looked back and forth from my painting to the model I'd been using.
"Is this Lane's little robot?" she asked.
I nodded.
"That's nice," she said. "It looks good."
"Thank you."
She smiled and took off toward the door. "I guess I see why he said three pleases," she said from over her shoulder. She was obviously saying she liked my painting, and I smiled at her sweet compliment.
"Thank you," I called.
She turned to face me once she got to the door. "You're welcome. I like your style."
"I like your style, too," I said, causing her to stare at me cur
iously. "You know, your clothes and stuff," I added, feeling nervous.
She smiled at me the same way other New York people had done earlier that day—like my friendliness was unexpected and maybe even cute. "Thanks," she said. "Lane said he'll be here in a few."
She closed the door behind her, and in what seemed like one second, but was probably more like twenty minutes, the door opened again.
"Hello?" he called as he opened the door. I turned to find Lane walking toward me. He looked like a perfect example of a clean-cut, confident businessman, and there he was, looking almost relieved to see that I was still in his office.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I got held up."
"I held you up on your way out," I said.
He shook his head. "I wasn't late getting there. I wouldn't have stayed and gave you the tour if I was running late." He came to stand beside me in much the same way Mia did and stared closely at the robot painting. "I'm in love," he said, inspecting the canvas.
"Really?" I asked. I tilted my head at it, thinking about all the things I'd do differently next time.
"Yes, really. I can't believe you can work on the spot like this."
"Are you kidding? This has been amazing. It's been so fun working in here. The paints were so nice." I gestured at the window and let out a little giggle. "And the people watching isn't bad, either. There must be a mirror on the outside."
"There is," he said. "Somewhat, at least. Why, did someone check themselves out?"
I nodded. One lady stood right here in front of me and shamelessly put on her lipstick, smooching and making kissy faces and everything. I tried to wave at her to let her know I was here, but—"
"She couldn’t see you," he said, cutting me off. "It's not even that highly reflective, but people still use it as a mirror all the time. I have to close the blinds if I get distracted by people watching. Sometimes I just work from my apartment so I can have a nicer view."
"Is your apartment up higher than this?"
Lane nodded distractedly as he continued to study my painting. He shifted to stare at me. "I really like your style, Zoe. You were right about me being happy with myself for meeting with you. I think you might be as amazing as you promised."
So Much for Boundaries (Shower & Shelter Artist Collective Book 3) Page 3