by JA Low
“Oh, when you said you were busy and I disagreed with you.” This renders him speechless. I notice a vein on his neck begin to tick. I’ve pissed him off.
“Do you know who I am?” He thumps his chest.
“Yeah, I do.” Those eyes narrow on me as if to say that answers the question. “I actually went and saw your show in London years ago, when I was in university.” He tilts his head at my change of subject. “It was magnificent. You inspired me. The colours. The way they dance across the canvas. I went home and painted some of my best work after that. So yes, Mr. Marchant, I know who you are.” Louis stares at me for a couple of seconds then turns on his heel and heads toward his studio, the one that he destroyed. “But I also know you’re not that busy because you have spent the past forty-eight hours in an alcoholic orgy daze.” This stops him just as his hand reaches the door knob to his studio.
“You know those women mean nothing to me.” Of all the things I thought he would say to me that was not one of them.
“Okay.” Because like I care. Not like I haven't thought about that kiss that we had days ago or anything. I mean, he’s probably forgotten all about it and he’s replaced my touch with a million others since. He lets out a frustrated huff and opens the door to his studio and stops.
“You destroyed most of it in a fit of rage.”
“I know.” His words are quiet. He walks through the devastation, picks up empty paint tins and looks at the slashed canvases. “I feel nothing when I come in here. Nothing.”
“What do you mean?” I’m hoping he will tell me more. He turns and looks at me.
“All I see is nothingness.”
“What did you used to see?” He frowns as if trying to conjure up something that seems so foreign to him now.
“Everything, the world was full of colour.” He stops, his attention pulled by something. He bends down and picks up the canvas. It’s new. I haven’t seen that before. Bright yellow lips are painted onto the canvas. “Life felt extraordinary.” His finger runs over the lips, lost in thought as if remembering a memory of them. “I used to feel free.”
“And you don’t feel free anymore?” He shakes his head. He places the unmarked canvas down on one of the tables.
“No, I feel trapped by all this.” He waves his hand around the studio. “I don’t know who or what I am anymore.” That comment shoots directly into my chest. He’s given his ex so much power over him.
“Then we need to get away from all of this.” Those blue eyes stare at me. “Forget about painting, forget about the exhibition, forget about being Louis Marchant the artist and let’s find out who Louis Marchant the man is.” He eyes me suspiciously.
“And I will find all this by going on a bike ride with you?” His question makes me laugh.
“Probably not. But it will get you out of this bubble you have cocooned yourself in.” Silence falls between us for a couple of moments, he lets out a heavy sigh.
“Fine.”
I jump up and down with glee.
“But just be warned, I’m not going to like it.”
“That’s fine with me. Gabriel has already organised a picnic lunch for us.” He looks at me dumbfounded.
“You knew I would say yes?”
I just smile. “The bikes are waiting for us out front.”
We’ve been riding around the local area for what feels like hours, I’m sunburnt, my thighs are burning, my butt is numb and I’m sweating like a pig, but Louis has a smile on his face and the tension from this morning seems to have vanished a little.
“You look like you could use a break,” he calls out to me.
“Nope, I’m fine,” I reply, even though I am ready to die. This makes him chuckle.
“There’s a field coming up on the left, we can rest there. There’s a big old tree you can sit under for shade. You’re as red as a lobster.” Damn English skin. It really wasn’t much longer until a beautiful green tree stood atop of a hill in the field. We pull our bikes off the road, Louis taking the picnic basket from my bike and trekking it to the tree. I look around and there is nothing but sunflowers, lavender fields and green rolling hills.
“Um, are there any public toilets around here?” I scan the horizon.
“Sorry, you’re going to have to find a bush.” I look at him in horror. A bush.
“There aren’t any snakes or anything around here, is there?” Louis chuckles.
“No. You will be fine. I’ll set up.” I frown as I scan my surroundings again. I don’t really see anywhere private to relieve myself, but I’m busting from drinking a tonne of water on our ride. I make my way over to where I see a grouping of bushes and squat down. Ah, that feels good, even if my legs are shaking like I have done a million squats. I make my way back to where Louis has set up the picnic for us.
“Your ass is so white it’s like a spotlight helping sailors come ashore.” I pick up a bread roll and throw it at him and he bursts out laughing.
“Screw you.” I pout, plonking myself down on the tartan picnic rug. “You shouldn’t have been looking,” I huff, popping a grape into my mouth.
“Believe me, I didn’t mean to but I thought there was a Lunar eclipse and the moon had come out.” I shove him hard and he falls into the grass laughing. I’ve never seen this side of Louis before, the jovial, funny side, it’s nice. He picks himself up and brushes off the grass. I grab one of the sandwiches that Gabriel made for us, my stomach almost ready to eat itself. We both eat in silence taking in the serenity, listening to the bird calls as they fly pass.
“So why did you take this job?” Louis asks, breaking the silence. I dust the crumbs off of my legs and fiddle with the non-existent lint on my leggings.
“My boyfriend moved to New York to be with another woman.” Louis looks at me, his long black lashes blink slowly.
“How long were you together?”
“Five years. I thought he was proposing. He took me to a beautiful restaurant, told me he got a promotion but that he didn’t want me to go to New York with him. He broke up with me because I lacked ambition, those were the words he used, and that he needed a woman on his arm that he could be proud of.” That stabbing pain in my heart is still there when I think about what Toby did to me.
“He sounds like a jerk.”
“He was. Although, I guess he was right. I kind of just plodded along from one crappy job to the next.”
“Well this one is pretty crappy too.” I look up at him and see the genuine smile on his face.
“It’s not all bad. I’m in the South of France, eating delicious French food, looking at a magnificent view of the countryside with one of my favourite artists. I think it’s not too crappy.” Louis is looking at me in disbelief.
“I’m one of your favourite artists?”
“Is that all you heard? I see you needed your ego stroked.” I laugh, which makes him smile.
“Yes please. It’s been awhile.” He gives me a smirk.
“Fine. This is a one-time thing. Yes. I love your colourful art.” I feel him stiffen beside me. I turn and see he is picking a baguette apart. “But your newer stuff, I really like too.” This catches his attention. “I like that you are capturing love from a different point of view. That it’s not always sunshine and rainbows, that it’s raw, dark and intense.” I have his attention now, his full attention, and if I’m honest it’s a little breathtaking.
“You like the dark side of love?”
“At the moment, yes.” I shrug. “But if I’m honest, I’m not sure if I ever was really in love with Toby.” This grabs his attention.
“Why do you say that?” I fidget a little more.
“Because I’m not having alcoholic benders because my heart is broken.” I look up into his blue eyes, he looks away quickly.
“I don’t think that the way I have been acting is a good indicator of love. I think it’s more…obsession.” His honesty surprises me.
“You’re obsessed with her?” This has me concerned, the look on
my face must say it all.
“I’m not crazy.” He continues to pick at the bit of bread. “She’s always been there for me, especially with my painting. Encouraging me, inspiring me. It’s like she was my anchor and now that she has set me free I’m drifting. I feel the only thing that feels like it can save me is my anchor, but…” Louis’ shoulders slump. “She’s not there anymore.” I reach out and place my hand on his shoulder which tenses under my touch.
“It wasn’t her that made you a great artist, Louis.” He turns and looks at me, a frown marring his perfect face. “It’s you.” I take my hand away and fold it back into my lap. “I think you’re giving her too much credit. She may have supported you, encouraged you, but she didn’t paint for you, she wasn’t the one envisioning the work. Each brush stroke along the canvas, that was you. Just like a great novelist, someone else may have given them an idea but they did not write the book.” His eyes widen at my words as if they are sinking in. He lays back and stretches his arms above his head, his white polo rising up, showing off his tanned, toned skin. I shove another sandwich in my mouth. We fall into a pleasant silence as we watch the world travel by.
We both must doze off for a long while after filling our bellies with food and getting way too much sun and a tonne of exercise because I wake up and realise I am snuggled into something hard. It takes me a couple of moments to work out where I am, and that I am staring at Louis’ white polo shirt which I was just drooling over. Oh my God! I sit up quickly and Louis chuckles beside me.
“You looked so peaceful.”
I wipe the side of my mouth removing the traces of my drool.
“I am so sorry.” I move away from him. “That was utterly unprofessional.” Louis frowns at me. I shimmy further away from him. I probably look like a mess; I can feel my hair has a bird’s nest going on. I start to pack up the leftovers from our picnic lunch.
“Emily.” Louis reaches out touching my hand. I look up into his bright blue eyes. “It’s okay. We just fell asleep together, nothing happened.” I nod, feeling very flustered. “I’m not angry,” he says softly. I nod again, words escaping me. He frowns again pulling his hand away. “I’m sorry, Emily.” He helps me pack up the picnic.
“Why are you sorry?”
“I’ve been a bastard to you since the moment you arrived.” I’m not sure where he is going with this conversation. “And I can see now that my actions have hurt you. That I scare you.”
“You don’t scare me.” Why does he think that?
“Because something as innocent as falling asleep beside me has you cowering away from me.” Oh.
“I just didn’t think it was very professional, that’s all.” I can’t look at him.
“I’ve hardly been professional myself.” I shrug because I’m not going to lie to him. “I want to start over.” My eyes widen in surprise. “Hi, I’m Louis Marchant. You might know me as your favourite artist.” He holds out his hand to me, making me laugh.
“Hi, I’m Emily Chapman. And you might know me as your best assistant ever.” His hand stays in mine as he tips his head back laughing.
14
Louis
“We should take a photo,” Emily tells me.
“You want to show off to your friends that you're with your favourite artist?” I joke. She rolls her eyes at me.
“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” She shuffles through her backpack.
“Yeah, probably not.” I like her honesty, the way she is so open without even realising it. Every emotion, good or bad, is written across her face in bright neon colours for anyone to see.
“I think a picture of you in a field of lavender would be social media gold.” She waves her phone in front of me.
“You want to post a picture of me to your Instagram?” I feel a little concerned. Is she an undercover groupie?
“Not to mine. To yours.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s my job.” Shit, of course it is. I’m a dick for thinking anything else. You’re also an egomaniac too. Thinking she wanted a photo with you.
“No.” I continue to pack up our picnic.
“Um, yes,” She shoots right back.
“No. I’m not going to go stand in front of a lavender field like a dick.” I shove the leftovers into the bag.
“You’re standing here like one, might as well add a pretty background.” I stop what I’m doing. She’s kind of snarky. The vein in my neck twitches. She lets out an exhausted sigh.
“You need to show the world you are a functioning artist.”
“And lavender fields represent that?” She rolls her eyes at me, jumping up and scanning our surrounds.
“There are sunflowers over there if that is more suitable.” She points off into the distance.
“I don’t care about the background. I don’t get why taking a photo of me in some field represents my art.” She moves a couple of steps toward me.
“It’s about showing the world that you don’t give a toss that your ex-wife is running around the world with your ex-protégé. It’s showing her she has no control over you. It’s showing your fans. Your critics. You. That you don’t need her to be successful again.”
“And sunflowers and lavender will do this?” I’m still not convinced but I give her an A+ for her enthusiasm.
“Do you want your ex back?” she asks.
“No.” That answer surprises me, and it must surprise her as well.
“Really?” She looks shocked. “Could have fooled me.”
“I didn’t think. It was the first thing that came out of my mouth.” This makes her smile.
“I say that’s progress.” She nods enthusiastically at me.
“Maybe.” I’m unsure why that ‘no’ was so strong.
“Okay. Then we need to create an image of the new you.” My eyes widen.
“With lavender and sunflowers?”
“Oh my God, Louis, stop obsessing over the flowers. I just want you to look like you’re having fun, that you're happy. That’s all.”
“And you think this will help?” She nods.
“The last photos on your account are pretty depressing.” She hands me her phone. I flip through the images and they are pretty pathetic, stupid memes about love sucking, betrayal and pretty much a lot of dark shit. As I scroll further I see the images of her and him on my account.
“Delete all the pictures of them from my account, please.” I hand the phone back to her. She nods but doesn’t say any more.
“If you think me taking some stupid photos here will help with my image, then fine, I’ll do it. I guess I need to do something to salvage my career.” Her eyes widen, a smile lights up her face, those two dimples pop out urging me to touch them, but I stop myself.
“See, I told you these wouldn't look cheesy.” She hands me the phone, the photos are good, the light, the composition. She has a picture of me walking through the lavender with a bottle of wine in my hand, another of me riding my bike through sunflowers, another with me laying on the picnic rug, my sunglasses on and looking relaxed. She uses the hashtags #livinglife #happiness #inspiration when she posts them. The phone starts going off with numerous likes and comments.
“What are they saying?” My ego gets the better of me.
“Nothing but well wishes, people telling you how good you look, how happy you seem.” She looks up at me and smiles.
“Guess I’m good at faking it.” I give her a small smile.
“Guess you are.” She turns looking sad and starts packing up the rest of the gear.
“Hey, Emily, come here.” She looks at me weirdly, but I wave her over. “Selfie time.” I give her a wink, which shocks her. I put my arm around her shoulders and hold out her phone and take a picture of us.
“Don’t post that.”
“Why?” I look up from the phone.
“Women don’t want to see that.” My eyes narrow. “On your social media,” she adds.
“Oh this isn't g
oing on my account it’s going on yours.” Her eyes widen.
“What? No!” she screams, trying to grab it off me, but I’m so much taller than her and my legs are so much longer and I eat up the grass as I run away from her, furiously typing up a status for her. She eventually catches me and swipes the phone from my fingers making me laugh. “What did you do?” She scrolls through her photos. “Dreams do come true. Hanging out with my favourite artist in the world.” #livinglife #dreamscometrue #bestdayever #hotartist #hessingleladies,” she reads the words out. “Oh my God, you are such a dick,” she giggles as she lightly hits my arm.
“If I have to do it, so do you.” I raise a brow at her. “Show your dickhead of an ex that you’re not pining away for him either.” A smirk crosses her face.
“That’s brilliant. If he can take photos of him and American Barbie on a romantic carriage ride around Central Park days after leaving me, then I can get my photo taken with a hot guy.” The words are out before she realises what she’s said.
“A hot guy,” I repeat her words. She stomps her feet and growls, walking away from me. “You think I’m hot,” I tease her.
“Ego the size of Mount Everest,” she calls back.
“It’s not the only thing big that I have.” She stops, turns slowly and looks at me in shock. Yes, I am talking about my dick. “I saw you checking it out this morning.” Her face goes bright red and she tries to splutter out an answer. “It’s okay. I don’t mind if you look.”
“You can’t say those things to your assistant,” she tells me as I walk past her toward our bikes.
“And assistants shouldn’t be looking at their boss’ dicks either, but you did.” More cursing and grumbling comes from behind me as I put the picnic basket onto my bike. She refuses to look at me, she’s so flustered, her cheeks are pink and her ears are red. I like that I have affected her so much. This is not how I thought my day would end up, but I am kind of glad it has. Getting out of the studio is exactly what I needed, a day not thinking about art, not thinking about anything other than good food and good company. Maybe I need to get out more, explore the world around me again, join the land of the living and stop living in the past.