Paint The Rainbow

by John Harris

  “No, not really, John,” Juan said. “I’ll have it like Ryan, please.”

  John snorted again. “Then I better get started. Shoe soles take quite a bit longer than steaks!”

  Meat never came in small measures at the Mitchell household. It made Ryan think of Mason again. He loved a rare steak, and Ryan was sure that Mason and his father would get along fine after the initial shock of his sexuality had faded. How he wished things had gone differently. Why was Mason such a coward? He couldn’t live out the rest of his life pretending to be a heterosexual.

  While John monitored the grill, the others talked and sipped on their beers. A nervous air hung over the gathering. Ryan was about to impart his big news to his dad. His mom, sister, and friend already knew John would not take it lightly. They dreaded the moment when he would erupt into a maelstrom of ripe oaths and vile recrimination.

  “I think we’re all done here,” John said, removing the first chunk of meat from the heat. “Helen, are you done with the salad?”

  “Yes, coming up, honey.” On cue, Helen stepped out of the house. “Come on, everybody. Let’s eat.”

  Everybody ate in silence. Helen’s figs wrapped in bacon were a great hit and so was the salad, but for a while, nobody said a thing.

  “You sure know how to grill a steak, John.” Juan chewed contently.

  “Been doing it all my life.” John devoured the contents of his plate as if he were eating his last meal. He turned to his son. “So, Amber mentioned that you’d been to Mason Whitelock’s place.”

  Despite it being months ago, John had never revealed that he’d known about that before. “Uh-huh. Remember that guy who came over for dinner, but never got it because you hounded him off? He arranged it.”

  “Him? Naw.”

  “Yeah, Dad. He’s a big-time art dealer.”

  “I guess all fags are good at that kind of stuff.” John snorted his disgust. He followed his words with a large slug of beer.

  “Yes, they are,” snapped Ryan. The anger burned inside of him. He couldn’t listen to his father mouth off about his kind any more.

  Next to him, Amber tensed. A little farther around the table, Juan looked at his plate in the hope that nobody would notice him. Only Ryan’s mom gave him any sort of encouragement. She nodded at her son to say his piece.

  With scowl etched onto his features, Ryan nodded. “Dad, I gotta tell you something.”

  John looked up as he placed his knife and fork on the plate, indicating that he was done eating. “Yeah…”

  Ryan wasn’t sure how to spill the beans. It was not every day that you told an ardent homophobe that you were into guys.

  “Dad…”

  “Yeah, say it already. It’s not like you’re about to tell me you murdered somebody.”

  Amber tittered a little too hysterically. She quickly took a sip of beer. She had always been the strong one. Today, however, all her resolve had abandoned her. She nipped on her beer bottle. Noticing that it was empty, she got up and headed for the kitchen. She came back with more beer for Ryan, her dad and Juan.

  When she handed the bottle to Ryan, she said, “You’re going to need this.”

  Ryan nodded gratefully. He took a sip and smacked his lips. “Dad, I’m gay.” He didn’t say more than that. There wasn’t any more to say.

  “What?” John appeared to not hear right.

  “Jesus, Dad. Are you going to make me say it again? I like guys, I’m gay, and I’ve been gay for as long as I can remember.”

  The color drained from John’s face. His lower lip shuddered and his cheek twitched. Amber and Ryan had never seen him look so troubled. It was as if his entire world had collapsed.

  “Say something, Dad,” said Ryan. He was no longer nervous. It was out in the open and he felt relieved. There would be no more hiding for him, not even from his own father.

  John opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. He just stared at his son as if he were a stranger. The silence continued to hang over the table. Ryan decided it was time to get up. He wasn’t going to hang around any longer. He father’s words now seemed ironic. It wasn’t like he’d confessed to being a murderer or something. Apparently, it was worse… much worse.

  “Sit your ass back down, Ryan,” John growled.

  Ryan smarted on the insides, even though his dad didn’t intimidate him anymore. He remained standing as he looked down at his father.

  “Is this some kind of joke? Because if it is, it ain’t funny?” John glanced at his wife for support. His gaze then raked over Amber and Juan, until finally it came to rest on Ryan. “There’s no fucking way you’re a fag, Ryan. I raised you, you played sports at school and in college, and you had girlfriends. You’re joking with me! There’s no way you’re a fag!”

  Ryan felt his whole body tense up. He wanted to call his father every name under the sun, but he couldn’t. Seeing the confusion play on his dad’s face, Ryan actually felt sorry for him. He slowly sat down.

  “Dad, guys who like other guys can be good at sports, too. And the girlfriend thing… well, I only had girlfriends because I didn’t know what I really wanted. I never enjoyed being intimate with them.” He reached across the table and took his father’s hand. It surprised him that he had done so, and that his dad didn’t pull back.

  “Maybe you were just with the wrong women,” John said. His voice had a pleading tone to it.

  “No, Dad. I just don’t find women sexually attractive. I like guys… you know?”

  John shook his head. “No, no. It can’t be.” He pulled his hand away from Ryan and buried his head in his hands.

  “It’s so unnatural… how does it even work?” He shivered as his mind somehow created an image in his head. “No, not my son.”

  Ryan’s mom looked at her son carefully. The expression on her face betrayed her sadness. It was not because Ryan was gay, but because she knew what was about to come next. She moved closer to her husband and began to stroke his back.

  Ryan nodded at his mom. He gave his despondent father one last look and then he got to his feet.

  “Ryan…” John muttered.

  Ryan turned, “Yes, Dad?” He smiled at his father, half-expecting a hug and to hear his father say it was okay.

  “You will never set foot in this house again. You have dishonored me, this family, and yourself.” He looked at Amber for support, but finding none, he continued. “Your kind are an abomination before God, an unnatural pestilence that needs to be eradicat—”

  “I don’t have to listen to this shit,” Ryan sighed. “I never knew that my father was some kind of Nazi. Goodbye, Dad. I guess you will never see me again.”

  Ryan turned and marched into the house. Behind him, his dad shouted the vilest things. Ryan didn’t feel sad, only empty. It would have been so much easier dealing with this situation if Mason had still been with him.

  Liam looked about the large room where the exhibition was being held. Most of the important art patrons in the city of New York were present. “I just got a call from the buyer’s representative that his client wanted them all,” Liam said. “All of them have sold, Ryan.”

  Ryan looked perplexed. “What? This gig has barely started.”

  “It is great news, but I don’t know what I’m going to tell the other people here when they want to buy one of your paintings.”

  “I guess I’m going to have to do some more painting,” he laughed.

  “Yes, I think that’s the only thing to do. I’m so happy for you, Ryan. You made a killing on this batch, and the next time, we will ask for even more for your work.”

  Ryan never would have thought in a million years that he would be a successful painter one day. His life was so different than what it had been such a short time before. His dad still hadn’t gotten over the shock of his son’s homosexuality. Mom had dropped by his apartment, but they hadn’t spoken of that fateful evening. She had only come around to tell her son that she stood by him.

  And now
this—all of his paintings had sold to some mysterious buyer who, according to Liam, was not even present. Ryan had woken up that morning in his suite at the Peninsula Hotel. The night before, Liam had hosted a dinner in Ryan’s honor at one of the best restaurants in the city. It was all a dream coming true. The only thing missing was… Mason. Not a day had gone by that Ryan hadn’t thought of the man he loved. So many times, Ryan had thought of phoning him or dropping by his mansion in Bel Air, but he’d never managed to summon the guts. Besides, if somebody had to make the first move, it should have been Mason. Especially after the way he’d ended things.

  Relegating the thoughts of Mason to the back of his mind, Ryan focused on the current situation. He couldn’t let these people go home without having the chance of owning one of his pieces. “I got it,” he said, remembering a TV show he had watched on Picasso.

  “What?” Liam looked at his young protégé with hope in his eyes.

  “Everybody here will have one of my paintings.”

  Liam frowned. “How are we going to that?”

  Ryan winked at the older man. “Do we have paint, canvas and an easel here?”

  “Sure, I always have that stuff around, but why? Are you going to paint over a hundred paintings?” Liam chuckled nervously.

  “Something like that, sure.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “No, it isn’t. If Picasso can do it, then so can I.”

  “Picasso painted over a hundred paintings in one day?”

  “No, but I saw this show about him where he demonstrated how fast he could complete and transform a picture with a brush. It was incredible to see the speed in which he worked. If I remember correctly, he was done in ten minutes.”

  “Ten minutes is still too much. You’d be here all day if you had to paint over one hundred paintings.”

  “Look,” Ryan pointed at the people milling about in front of his work. “Most of them are couples, so they will only need one painting, right?”

  Liam nodded, “I guess. But fifty pictures is still quite a lot.”

  “True, but it can be done.”

  “What do you have in mind exactly?”

  Twenty minutes later, Liam announced that all of the paintings had been sold to an anonymous buyer, but he had a surprise for everyone present. “We are very fortunate to be in the midst of the man who created all of these beautiful pieces. Mr. Ryan Mitchell was so saddened to hear that all of you would leave this place empty-handed that he has offered to paint a picture for all of you.”

  Murmuring filled the space. People exchanged quizzical glances as they tried to process what they had just heard.

  “That’s impossible,” someone said.

  “Yeah, how will he do it?” another person asked.

  “One of these must’ve taken weeks to paint,” another person said, pointing at a painting of a man standing in the center of the canvas. The figure held his head down, averting his gaze from a group of men standing close by while he looked at a women swimming naked in a stream. It was called, “Denial.”

  Ryan stepped forward, “I agree… for me to do one of those would be impossible. I will call this next series, ‘Black and White,’ a voyage through life, if you will. Now, with just a few brush strokes, I’ll show you how beauty can be created simply and quickly.”

  He took a few steps to the easel that one of Liam’s associates had set up. He picked up a brush and dabbed it into black paint on the palette he held in his left hand.

  “What part of life’s voyage would you like, ma’am?” He asked a lady standing closest to him.

  The woman thought a moment and smiled, “Marriage.”

  “Marriage it is.” Ryan didn’t need any time to think. He was in his element. Within moments, he had sketched the outlines of a man and woman on the canvas in black. The man held the woman’s hand while he slipped a ring on her finger. He completed the picture with some elaborate brushstrokes, finalizing the image with the two people standing in a gazebo. Ryan concluded with his signature. “There. Done.”

  It had taken him no more than three minutes to create the abstract depiction of marriage. It was so perfectly done, and most of all, the onlookers had a chance to see him work. The room erupted into loud applause.

  Ryan’s idea was a major success. He worked for the rest of the afternoon. He painted everything from birth to graduation to death. The patrons of art were ecstatic to own a Ryan Mitchell for free. The pictures had none of the intricacies of one of the pieces on sale, but they were impressive, nonetheless. It was being able to see Ryan work for them - as if they had commissioned him - that they found so seductive. Liam’s employees had to label the paintings with their new owners’ names so they could be delivered once they were dry, and already, the press had gotten wind of the action. Soon, news of the generous artist would be all over the Internet and the tabloids.

  “What can I do for you?” Ryan asked the next patron. He didn’t take his eyes off the canvas, still lost in his own little world of creativity.

  “Love discovered, love lost, and love found again.”

  He spun around on his heels, “Mason,” he gasped.

  Mason smiled. He moved in closer so that Ryan’s nostrils were assaulted by his hypnotic fragrance. “You look so cute, Ryan.” Mason rubbed his thumb on Ryan’s forehead. “You’ve got paint all over your face.”

  “What are you doing here?” Ryan asked.

  “I had to see you again,” Mason blushed; seeing Ryan again freed all of the emotions he had tried to suppress.

  “Why? You made it pretty clear that you couldn’t have me in your life and at your side,” Ryan scowled.

  “I know, and I’m so sorry, Ryan.” Looking pained, he moved forward and took Ryan’s hand in his. “Can you forgive me?”

  Ryan’s heart was on fire. His brain sizzled as various thoughts shot through it. What did Mason want from him? Could he really be willing to open up to the world and his family by telling them that he loved a man? He looked so good in his dark dress pants, and his formal white shirt clung to his torso like a wetsuit. “That depends,” he said at last.

  “On what?”

  “You know what I want.”

  Mason swallowed deeply. “Yeah, I do.” He turned to look at the many people still walking the room. He nodded as if he knew what he had to do. He turned and took Ryan’s hand in his, guiding him to one of the paintings on the wall.

  “Didn’t you want me to paint the love discovered, love lost, and love found again?”

  Mason chuckled. His customary swagger was coming back. “I think that would be a little greedy, considering.”

  Understanding dawned on Ryan, “You?”

  Mason nodded, “Yeah, me.” He swept his arm over the room. “I bought them all.”

  “Why?”

  “How can you ask me that?” Mason shook his head. “Look at them.” He pointed at the closest picture. “This is when we walked down the beach holding hands at Paradise One. This one is of us doing yoga. That one is of me napping in the sun. And this” - Mason flashed Ryan a smile - “is an abstract of us making love. God, it was incredible. The best days of my life. Now, can you understand why I can’t have any of these hanging around someone else’s house?”

  Ryan could’ve kissed Mason right then and there. It was the most romantic moment in his life, to have the man for whom he had painted every single picture spending a fortune and laying claim to them. “I love you, Mason. You broke my heart, you know.”

  Mason squeezed his hand, “I know, and I’m going to make it up to you now, and for the rest of my life.” He turned with Ryan to face the art patrons and the press. He cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention. Standing next to me is not only a very talented artist, but the man I love. I bought all of these paintings because they represent our love. A great man once told me, ‘You cannot spend the rest of your life living in the shadows,’ and I agree. It’s over. From this day forth, I stand by my love f
or Ryan Mitchell and declare it to the world. Thank you.”

  Ryan just stood there like an idiot. He did not register the people looking at him and Mason. The announcement had taken him completely by surprise. Already, the press took pictures of them in a frenzy of flashing bulbs. Ryan quickly turned right into Mason’s arms. “Did you really mean what you said?”

  Mason laid a finger on his lips, “Shush, my love.” He then kissed Ryan passionately.

  Ryan gave in to this amazing kiss, giving all of himself to the man he loved, the man he now knew would stand by him. The kiss felt like it lasted an eternity, and Ryan’s lips burned from the passion and the stubble. When Ryan thought that he was about to collapse, Mason pulled away, and it was only then that Ryan realized that the crowd had been applauding them.

  “I’m guessing you’ll want to know how I told Clarice,” Mason said. He pointed to one of Ryan’s paintings. “And you’ll want some say in where we’re going to hang all of these in our new home.”

  “You want to live with me?” All of it was too much for Ryan. Mason had walked back into his life right out of the blue. It was all he ever wanted, but he still couldn’t quite believe that fortune had favored him so.

  “I want nothing more, Ryan.”

  “Take me to the hotel, Mason. I need to feel you again.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  A tidal wave of thoughts battered through Ryan’s head. He was in the elevator at the Peninsula Hotel with the man he loved. He couldn’t wait to feel Mason’s hard body pressed against his own. It seemed as if an eternity had passed since they had last been together.

  Jesus, the guy’s built like a Marvel superhero, Ryan thought. He couldn’t take his eyes off Mason’s muscular chest pressing against his shirt. Seeing it again sent Ryan’s head spinning as images of the last time they’d made love clouded his mind. It all cleared as he came to the full realization that Mason was truly with him now, that he had declared his love in front of an audience.

  “What you said back there,” he said, “it took me completely by surprise.”