2. B++b Job?A Chapter by Craig2591Ian and Chrissy get to know each other better.Ian set his brush down and scooted his stool back away from the canvas. “That's it!” he announced with a smile, “It's done! I thought it was going to take at least one more sitting, but I was wrong.” He looked at Chrissy, the young woman he had hired to pose for him and said, “You can move now. I'm done.” “It's about time!” she muttered sullenly as she moved and stretched, “It's been thirty minutes since my last break. It's not easy holding perfectly still like that for so long, you know!” “I lose track of the time when I'm working,” he explained, “You should've said something.” “You seemed really focused. I didn't want to disturb you.” The painting had only taken two sessions. Ian had gotten the idea for it when the strange woman that was standing in front of him had shown up at his studio to peruse his paintings one day. He had practically begged her to pose for him! She was looking at one of his paintings with such a discerning eye that she reminded him of an art critic in a fancy, big city gallery, except for the way she was dressed! She wore torn black jeans, black work boots and a white, wife-beater over a black bra. Her short black hair was uncombed and her arms and shoulders were covered in tattoos. He painted her holding a bottle of beer in her hand. A child of the streets, out of place in a high class joint. “Come look at it and tell me what you think,” he said. She stood behind him and stared at it for a very long time before she finally said, “You gave me b***s!” He wasn't sure he heard her right. “What?!” “You gave me b***s!” she repeated. It was the last thing he expected her to say! Had he inadvertently enhanced her breasts without realizing it? He wasn't sure how to respond. Finally he gestured toward the painting and said, “You're a woman. Women have b***s.” “I don't!” He swiveled around to face her. His vantage point from his stool put him at eye level with her chest. He had to admit, there wasn't much there, but still... “Yes you do,” he nodded at her breasts. “Not like those!” she pointed at the painting. “Jesus Christ! Do you want me to paint over them?!” he asked with exasperation. She stared at the painting for several seconds before replying, “No. Leave it like it is.” “Thank you!” he said sarcastically. He grabbed his brushes and got up to walk to the counter and his jar of turpentine. “Other than the b***s, what do you think of it?” he asked with annoyance as he cleaned out his brushes. She stared for several minutes. Finally, after what seemed like forever she said, “I like it. I especially like my face. You gave me an attitude.” “I didn't give you any attitude! You brought it with you!” he said acidly. That made her smile faintly. It was the first time he'd ever seen her smile. He decided it made her look pretty. He smiled back and walked over and stood beside her to look at it together. “It is good,” he said, “The best one I've done in years - maybe ever! I'm going to call it 'The Critic'.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out some bills. “Here,” he said, handing them to her, “It's not much, I'm afraid. I really appreciate you posing for me, though.” She took the money and stuffed it in her pocket. “Sure,” she replied. She reached for her motorcycle helmet and started toward the door. “See ya,” she said. “Uh... Wait!” he said abruptly. She turned to look at him. “Um...I know we're done with the
painting and all... but...” he stammered, “I thought... you
know... if you wanted to come over and just hang out, I... I'd like
the company. I have wi-fi, so you could bring your computer if you
have one. You can come over anytime you want... you know... if you
want a quiet place to relax.” He couldn't meet her eyes. He
immediately felt stupid. She probably got the wrong idea and thought
he was hitting on her. She looked at him for a long time. “Maybe,” she finally said with a shrug. She turned and left. A few seconds later he heard her motorcycle start up and drive off. Why did he do that?! He felt so stupid! He barely knew her! Was his life so lonely that he would invite a sullen and moody woman his daughter's age that he barely knew to hang out at his studio? He was sure she must've thought he was hitting on her. How embarrassing! God! What a loser!
Was he hitting on her? © 2012 Craig2591Author's Note
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StatsAuthorCraig2591OHAboutI am a visual artist with no formal training in creative writing. I get stories knocking around my head and sometimes I write them down. I decided to join this site to share them with other writers .. more..Writing
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