by Vale, Vivien
I scream. I moan. I cry tears of utter pleasure as he comes over me, my body still burning under the fire of the last orgasm.
Someone pinch me, because to feel this much pleasure must mean that I’m dreaming.
Katherine
There are mornings when the words flow down to the fingers and make them dance over the keyboard. I’m locked in another world. Nothing is sweeter than a white page turning into a field of text. What is that noise? It does not matter, period, space and new sentence. The sentences need to be short for this part.
OK so it’s a knock at the door. Darn, just when I nailed that scene.
I make a note, sigh and pick up my coffee cup. I’ll answer the door and depending on who it is, I will be cheerful and short or grumpy and short. Either way, it’s short because once the coffee cup is refilled, I will have my fingers flying all over the keyboard again.
I open the door, look up and down, and use every muscle in my arm to throw the door back to its frame so hard it should send both the door and frame flying out into the corridor.
Of all the people on earth, the very last person I ever want to see is standing there like he owns the space and still owns me. It’s Dale. I so want the door to smash him to the opposite wall.
But the door stops dead. I look at it in disbelief for a second and then look down. The jerk has been too quick and has his foot in the door. I put my whole weight against it and shove it with all my might.
The door moves, but against me. Dale is pushing his way in.
“What part of ‘I never want to see you again’ can’t you understand?” I near yell at him.
“Hey Babe...”’ Smug smile.
Prick.
The guy just doesn’t get it. It’s over. At a pinch, he could call me Katherine in a text message maybe from the other side of the world, but I never ever want to hear another word come out of his mouth, let alone the word ‘Babe.’
“You want the good news?” he asks.
I notice he is breathing hard. He is such a slob. The little workout at the door has been enough to get him breathing harder than a steam train. Or is he expecting something that’s not there for him anymore?
“Good news?” I say in a voice dripping with sarcasm, “You joined the Peace Corps and you’re off to deepest part of Africa until further notice, or you’ve landed a job as a sea captain doing the London to Hong Kong run or, wait, you have the best news I am ever going to hear: you just drew the winning ticket for a one way mission to Mars, leaving tomorrow. Hit me with it. Now that you’re here I could do with some cheering up.”
“Oh no, way better than that. You see the good news is for me, but I’m that sort of guy who just loves to share with my very close friends.”
“Good for you,” I say, “If any of them show up I’ll give you a call. Now leave.”
“You don’t want to know about Mr. Hot Brush, you know the guy with the eeny weeny charcoal stick. Don’t want to hear about the latest?”
“Talent really gets to you doesn’t it? Rest easy Dale. You’ve got talent. You do the best lines in gossip about other people. Guess that’s because not much is happening in your part of the world. No, wait, I’m wrong. There’s lots happening in your life but no one cares.”
The truth is, the guy has got me on a string now. Away from the writing, I think of no one or nothing else other than Blake. If the company was even half decent, I could spend all morning talking about him.
“He’s got an exhibition coming up.”
“Oh, wow. Next thing you’ll be telling me he’s an artist or something.”
I hope I sound convincing and there’s not slightest hint of quiver in my voice. I have not heard of any exhibition.
“Not just any exhibit. The word is, the guy is on fire. This is going to be his best so far, and that’s not coming from me. This is coming from his very own agent who says the collection will blow your mind. And I hope that agent is right because I know what this guy does. I can’t wait to go because I know what’s going to be on show. Hey, I don’t get to see it anymore but when this comes on –I can just spend all day, runnig my eyes over all that territory I know so well.
“Man, I know what’s coming and you are going to really light up a lot of sick puppies’ best dreams. And it gets better because you won’t be there. If this guy is any good, you better get used to spending time indoors because every guy who sees you on the street will be able to undress you with his eyes.”
How could Blake do this to me? He promised. He knows how I feel about that picture. When I look at that picture I feel completely exposed, right down to my soul. And more than that Blake has captured my eyes so well. Even when I look at it I can see passion, hot desire and just a flat out yearning for him to take me. Any guy who has even one drop of testosterone in him will know what the picture is about and what was on my mind.
And now Dale, the worst guy ever is talking like he knows exactly what the painting looks like.
“Hey look at that Babe. You’re blushing. Does the blush still go all the way to, you know, that little spot…”
“Get out.”
“Sure. I’m as good as gone but I’ll be seeing ya.”
Once the door is firmly shut, I slide onto the floor and burst into tears.
Blake betrayed me.
Blake
I turn the music up to full blast and dance around the studio. Can life get better than this?
According to Mateo, some of the most important gallery owners and critiques are going to be coming to the exhibition. This is fantastic news.
I’m all too aware of some of the critiques having written me off over the last few months. Some had said ‘It appears as if the talented young Blake has peaked and is now on the down hill slide. Such a pity, but an all too common occurrence for successful artists.’
I can’t wait to show them. And of course, I can’t wait to show Katherine what she has helped me achieve.
The mere thought of the woman fills me with desire. My cock seems to instantly take on a life of its own the minute any of my thoughts stray into her direction. It will be so beautiful to see her face when I surprise her.
Occasionally I’m filled with guilt at the thought of deceiving Katherine, but since its for a good cause I push those thoughts aside.
The sudden stillness has me stop mid spin. Why had the music stopped?
I find Katherine standing in the middle of the studio.
Now my dick is practically performing acrobatics at the sight of this goddess. It takes me less than three steps to be near her.
To my surprise she reels back when I reach out to touch her. What’s going on?
“How dare you!” Her face is a scowl, like a thunderstorm has taken up residence there.
“What do you mean?” I’m completely at a loss on how to explain her behavior.
“You promised.” I notice the clenched fists by her side. “You promised,” she repeats, this time her voice is a little higher than before. She’s not quite hysterical but does not seem far from it.
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
It’s true, I’m not exactly sure what she’s getting at, although I’m beginning to have an idea what has happened.
I try again to pull her into my arms. If I can just kiss her, reassure her, explain to her she will understand.
Her fists pummel against my chest. I don’t try to stop her.
“You bastard. You prick. You no good, lying scoundrel. I trusted you and this is how you betray me.”
I let her take it out on me. I don’t think there’s anything I can say to make her stop.
When her fists do drop to her side again I take a step back.
“Dale came to my place and told me how you’ve been going around town bragging about putting on the biggest art show yet. How you’ve painted this amazing piece and how it will be on display for the world to see.”
I don’t interrupt her. I let her talk. She’s in such a state by now I thi
nk it’s best I keep quiet. Inwardly, I’m seething.
Who could have thought Dale would be the bearer of the news? If I had stopped and thought about it, I should have guessed. The guy owns a gallery, after all.
Mental note to Mateo, never ever invite that prick to another one of my shows, and don’t send the usual Christmas card and hamper either.
Katherine is sobbing.
Before I realize what is happening, she’s throwing something at me. It lands with a metallic clang on the floor near my feet.
“Here’s your fucking key and key ring. Give it to the next model you pick up and fuck.”
And without another word, she turns on her heels and walks out.
I’m too numb to follow her. When the door slams shut, I slowly bend down to pick up the key ring.
That’s that then, I think and put the painful memory into the bottom kitchen drawer. It is the drawer with all kinds of useless things in it, the sort one finds in kitchens or laundries. It is the drawer least used in my apartment.
I don’t know how long I stand there. It could have been seconds, a few minutes or an hour.
In my mind, I replay what has just taken place. A hysterical Katherine barged in and accused me of something I’m not guilty of. The reason behind all of it: Dale. Dickhead Dale.
Eventually, I walk back into my studio. I don’t turn the music back on. My day has been ruined.
I walk over to my paintings, my babies. I stare at the one of Katherine. Then I find a cover and throw it over the artwork.
I will decide the fate of the nude tomorrow, tomorrow is another day after all.
I make myself a cup of coffee and convince myself what has just happened is for the better. Who needs an unstable emotional woman in their life? Not me, no thank you. I have been managing just fine by myself, and I will do so again. It was fun while it lasted and now it’s time to move on.
My coffee goes cold. I don’t feel like drinking it. I don’t feel like painting. I don’t feel liked doing much of anything.
I slump onto my couch and sigh. Why had she not even wanted to hear my side of the story? Surely, she of all people must understand there are two sides to every story. I never expected Katherine to be the person to jump to conclusions and act before asking some pertinent questions.
I put my head back against the couch. Such a pity, she is a real gem.
But who needs women? With sudden bout of energy I get off my butt and make my way into the studio. Time to brush into the canvass, time to show her I don’t need her in my life. I painted just fine before I met her and I will be just fine now that she has left my life so abruptly.
Blake
I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
How could you have been so stupid, my reflection screams at me. And I shake my head.
My spoon swirls aimlessly in my bowl. Not even my favorite breakfast cereal tastes any good any more.
With Katherine gone, it’s as if someone has taken all the oxygen out of my apartment.
The ship is sinking and I am the only one left on it. A voice deep down tells me to do something about this.
Mateo had tried to warn me. He said something about the art world being a small community and other things I no longer recall.
I toss my half finished bowl into the sink. Silently I apologize to Camilla for the mess I’m leaving.
Was it arrogance on my part that had caused this train wreck? I should have known Dale would stick his head in where it doesn’t belong. After all, he had done the same with his dick.
I pace my apartment like a caged animal. The walls feel as though they are closing in on me. How could I have been so stupid?
Of course dickhead Dale would get into her ear: Dale whose dick had caused so much hurt and upset.
I kick my oversized exercise ball and watch it roll across the floor. With a sigh I walk to the studio. Maybe painting will help.
It is without any enthusiasm I mix my paints. I have to force myself to pick up a paintbrush.
Listless, I move my brush into the red and then make random strokes across the canvass.
A broken heart emerges. My broken heart.
I can’t understand what motivated Dale to blab to Katherine, particularly since he doesn’t know the whole story, the entire surprise.
I sigh.
Then I punch the canvass and see the red on my knuckles. Bastard. Prick. Asshole.
Take some responsibility man, my inner voice grumbles.
I finish smashing the canvass. I feel no better.
Maybe I should start over.
I grab another blank canvass and start again. This time I’m using yellow. A giant round face with tears running down its cheek shows up. It kind of looks like an emoji. It brings a smile to my face, briefly. From world-class paintings to fucking emojis – maybe that’s all I’ll be able to do without Katherine in my life.
I should have thought things through. If I had given it more thought, I would have realized Katherine is vulnerable. She had been in a relationship with a bloke who had totally betrayed her.
I try to picture what that would feel like. How would I feel if Katherine had been with another guy whilst we were together? The image is like someone kicking me in the gut.
Ok. So I have screwed up.
I made a complete mess of things.
Leaving the painting I have started, I cross the studio and pull the cover off my masterpiece.
As soon as my eyes see her, my dick stirs.
For once, stop thinking with your dick, I remind myself.
I needed to fix this but I’m not sure how. Should I destroy the painting? And then what?
At the thought of destroying this amazing piece of art, I feel as if someone is stabbing me right through the heart with a pointy dagger. No I couldn’t destroy it. If I destroyed it I had nothing left. This way I at least have Katherine on canvass.
But I if I want to get her back, I have to do something.
In total frustration, I pace the length of my studio. Pictures of Katherine doing this after she had seen the painting of herself flash into my mind.
I run both hands through my hair. There must be a way to make amends. I’m not the bad guy. Dale’s to blame. Dale and that shriveled cock of his.
I might have fucked some of my models, but I would never cheat on a woman, particularly a woman I love.
Love. A four-letter word that has so much meaning.
It hits me; I love Katherine.
Maybe if I…
A plan builds in the back of my mind. Maybe I should try again and this time, do it properly. This time I need to do it thinking about Katherine and not myself.
I grab my mobile. I need to make a call. In my haste I drop the darn thing and it falls to the ground.
I groan and pick it up. Now the blasted thing has gone totally black. Don’t tell me it’s broken. My finger fumble to find the On button and I press it down. I wait. I count to four, yet the stupid thing’s screen remains black. Surely one fall could not be responsible for the death of the phone, or could it?
What should I do?
Suddenly I recall I did not recharge my mobile the night before. Maybe it was just out of battery.
I almost run into the bedroom where I keep the recharge.
As soon as I plug it into power source, a little red symbol appears.
Phew, it only needs a recharge. For some reason it seems to take hours for the phone to have enough battery for the display to come to life.
I crouch down next to the bedside table and scroll through recent calls. I’m tempted to call Katherine but I know she won’t answer it. The last hundred or so had gone straight to message bank.
Should I try a text? No, this time I’ll have to do something more personal.
My fingers scroll through contacts and hit call when Mateo’s name appear on the screen.
“What’s up, man?” Mateo shouts into the phone. Judging by the background noise he is somewhere where music is being pl
ayed too loud.
“The show will go ahead Mateo.” I say and wish I wasn’t restricted to crouching. I’m too worked up to be sitting still.
“I can’t hear you Blake.”
I shake my head.
“That’s better.” Mateo comes through loud and clear.
“I was calling to tell you the show will go ahead. I’ll be attending to some changes. But you make sure it goes ahead please.”
I end the call before my agent can ask questions. I have work to do. I need to win back the woman I love.
Katherine
“Do you want the red one or the white one?” Robin calls from the kitchen.
I squint as I rummage through the movie choices my best friend has brought with her to cheer me up. None of them will do. They are all romance films with spunky main characters and a happy ending.
A churning in my stomach has me almost run to the bathroom to throw up.
“Are there any bubbles?” I answer. I want something expensive, preferably French. Since the publication of my first book I have acquired several bottles of the expensive stuff, and the plan has been to drink them for a special occasion.
Well, this is a type of special occasion, I guess.
Tears threaten to spill yet again, and I quickly take a deep breath. Robin will kill me if she finds me a blubbering mess on the couch, again.
“I’m sure there’s some from the publisher in the door.” I call to her before she can respond. I hope my voice does not betray me.
Seconds later, Robin appears with two glasses, puts them down, and disappears again. When she reappears, she’s carrying a large tray of goodies.
My heart does a little somersault as I realize the effort my best friend has gone to. On the tray is the most amazing assortment of food. There’s an abundance of salty things, fatty foods and plenty of sugar. Did I mention there was plenty of a fatty food?
Robin picks up her glass and holds it out to me.
“What shall we toast to?”
My hand shakes just a little as I automatically recall the toast with Blake where he promised.
What a lying scumbag he turned out to be.
