Page 42 of Painting Her

No one takes any notice of him. Out of the corner of my eyes I see him leave, the poodle following obediently.

After I take a sip of the complementary champagne, Robin bombards me with questions.

“What did Dale say to you? How are things between you and Blake? How’s the painting coming along? Is he really as good in bed as they say he is?”

As the bubbles dance across my tongue before sliding down my throat, I relax and feel a little better. I managed a chuckle.

Words, Katherine, they are only words he used, I try and tell myself. It’s not working.

“Which question do you want me to answer first?”

Robin rests her head in her hands, elbows on the table.

“Tell me all about you and that hunk of a man Blake.”

I’m not sure where to start. It’s a bit public to tell all about the sex we’ve been having. And generally, we don’t really discuss the sex we’ve been having.

“Why were you late?” I ask to buy a little time.

I notice how my best friend goes a little red in the face.

This is unusual.

“I lost track of time,” she mumbles and picks up her own glass to take a sip of the cool liquid.

Ever punctual Robin lost track of time? I can’t believe it.

“You never,” I start, but she interrupts me.

“Just tell me about you and Blake.”

I make a mental note to interrogate her further about this allegation of losing track of time, but oblige her request and start talking about Blake.

“You know,” I take another sip of my drink. “He’s really a brilliant artist. He captures his subjects in the perfect way. Colors perform the way he wants them to.”

Robin is grinning.

I stop talking.

“What?” I don’t recall having said anything amusing.

“You’re in love.”

“Am not.” I protest and am pleased a waiter is bringing our entre.

I take a forkful of steamed fish, which melts in my mouth. Delicious.

“Do you make the same sound when he kisses you?”

“Stop it.” I growl at my best friend.

“Oh Blake don’t stop, please give me more.” Robin coos and we both laugh.

“Stop it. You’re so cruel. We’re just–” I stop midsentence. I realize I’m not sure exactly what we are.

“You’re in love with Blake.” Robin shrugs. –And who can blame you. I mean he looks the complete package. God-like. Unlike Dale, who is a poor excuse for a man.”

I’m tempted to defend Dale out of habit, but then I recall his words from earlier and stop myself.

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