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He was quiet for a moment. She could feel the beating of her heart. It was so loud she wondered if he could hear it. Woman drops dead in art class because hunk tells her to describe apples. Story at eleven. "You dont like the look of them," he said at last. "Somethings wrong. Ive set them out badly. How should I have done it?"
"The tablecloth should be yellow. There should be one apple; no, an orange. No bowl. Everything else is clutter. "
He leaned closer. She felt the separation of air as he moved, the sound of his breathing. Then he touched her hand. She flinched, tried to pull away. He wouldnt let her. The next thing she knew, she was holding a paintbrush.
She opened her eyes. He was looking right at her.
"Show me what you can do, Elizabeth. "
He was so near she couldnt think straight, couldnt draw an even breath. She tilted the paintbrush in her hand, let it settle into its place.
Suddenly all she could see was the painting--her painting. A single, plump Sunkist orange. Everything around it was bright sunlight and yellow cloth. The shadow it cast was the palest lavender. A tiny green blemish marred the oranges puckered peel. She dipped the sable tip into the paint--Naples yellow--and began.
She couldnt stop. Her blood was on fire, her hands were a whir of motion. Her heart was pounding in her chest and in her temples. It felt like the start of a migraine, but she didnt care. It was better than sex--better than any sex shed had in years, anyway.
When she finished, her breath expelled in a rush, and she realized only then that shed been holding it.
She was shaking, sweating. She felt sick to her stomach and exhilarated. Slowly, she looked around.
The room was empty.
She glanced up at the clock. It was eight oclock. An hour after the end of class. "Oh, my God. " She laughed, feeling great.
"Where did you study?"
She turned and saw Daniel leaning against the bookcases in the back of the room. He was staring at her with an intensity that was unnerving. She felt a flutter in the pit of her stomach, a kind of restlessness that set her on edge. "The University of Washington. About a thousand years ago. "
He moved toward her. "Was Waldgrin there?"
That surprised her. "Yeah, he was. Did you know Leo?"
"Are you kidding? I hitchhiked cross-country to study with him. "
"Hes a wonderful teacher. "
Daniel came up beside her. For a long moment, he looked at her painting--a childish explosion of color, she saw now; no precision, no sophistication--then he looked at her.
She felt it again, that tightening in her stomach that reminded her of high school. And she knew what it was: attraction. She was attracted to this man who was probably half her age.
Oh, God. Could he read it on her face? What if he asked her out--what would she say? Youre too young. Too handsome. Im too old. My underwear is the size of a circus tent.
Had she actually thought that? Fantasized about him asking her out? In Jamie-speak: As if.
He smiled slowly. "Why are you in my class?"
"I havent painted in a long time. "
"Thats a crime. "
Her fingers were trembling as she removed her painting from the easel and put the supplies away. Holding the damp paper gently, she slung her canvas bag over her shoulder and headed out. She was at the door when he said, "You have talent, you know. "
Elizabeth didnt dare turn around. Her grin was so big she probably looked like the Joker--and with her wrinkles thatd scare pretty boy to death.
She smiled all the way home. More than once, she laughed out loud.
A
t home, Elizabeth taped the painting to the refrigerator and stared at it.
