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“What’s wrong?” Robin asks.
“Nothing.”
“Come now Kath, it’s me Robin, your best friend not some stranger.”
I sigh. She has a point.
“It’s just Dale said Blake discards his models like other men discard their underwear. And,” I hesitated; “and I think I do really like him.”
There I’ve said it. It is out in the open.
“For starters, what does it matter what loser Dale has to say? Second you’re in love with Blake. And third, how do you know he does not feel the same way about you?’
“I don’t.”
She points her fork at me.
“See what I mean? From the way you’ve described the painting, he’s done it for you as a work of love. Not to mention, he gave a promise he not to display it. I’d say he’s got feelings for you. I’d say Blake’s in love with you.”
I shake my head. I wish I could be that confident. Dale’s words bounce around my head like an out of control basketball: everyone knows he fucks all his models and discards them once he’s painted them.
“Kath. Earth to Katherine.”
Robin’s voice brings me back to the present.
“Sorry. I just can’t help thinking about what Dale said. Maybe I should run before I get hurt, again.”
“Stop it. Stop thinking about what Dale said. He’s a loser. Of course he’s trying to rattle your cage.”
I nod.
“I just don’t know what to do.”
Robin looks me straight in the eyes.
“Look, baby cakes. You just have to trust. Trust that this is the right one. Falling in love is like jumping off a cliff and hoping you don’t crash land.”
Robin raises her glass and I do the same.
“To love.”
Chapter 23
Blake
I’m whistling as I’m mixing reds, blues, greens and yellows. I love this time of the day best, particularly on a sunny day like today.
Some of my best work was created on days like this.
Although the critiques have been kind to me, I’ve e been less than satisfied with my creations of late. I can’t put my finger on it, but as far as I’m concerned they lack something, something special in them.
Of late, it has become harder and harder to paint. In fact, it’s been quite soul destroying, to find my muse at such a low. I can’t recall how often I have stood in front of a canvass and be unable to create anything at par with my usual standard.
Sure the paintings have been good, better than some of the crap you see in galleries or restaurants, but just not good enough for me.
I sigh.
Today is different. Today, like the last few days, I’m not struggling to get going. On the contrary, I’m itching to put paint on a fresh canvass, the large white space calling to me to turn it into something special.
