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I scoff rudely. That's ridiculous. "You're an incredibly talented, world-renowned photographer, Cal. I hardly think it's a comparison."
"You keep saying that like it isn’t just a circumstance of luck. But really, it's not a comparison at all, that's the point. You make art, therefore you are an artist."
"I can appreciate that, I suppose."
"If none of this hanging on the walls is yours, where do you keep all of your work?"
"Um, in my studio. The spare room," I say, pointing to the closed door opposite the bedroom.
"May I see?"
"Um… sure." It feels incredibly personal, but then I consider that he's had his face between my legs and been inside me. I know I'm just being self-conscious.Let it go, Beth.
After we’ve both cleaned ourselves up, I stand nervously in front of my studio, trying not to grind my teeth as I watch Cal pull on his boxer briefs and walk over to join me.
Opening the door to the larger of the two bedrooms, because I need more room for art than I do to sleep, I flip on the light and step back to let Cal enter first. I watch him closely as he takes it all in.
There’s a lot in here. The walls are covered in various sized canvases, all different styles of art that I’ve tried in the past few years. Landscape paintings, industrial drawings, and a bunch of my favorite life figures. There's a huge drafting table facing the back wall, and three different easels with stools, so I can move back and forth between projects as I feel inspired. One whole wall is floor to ceiling shelves with paints and other art supplies. Some of my other projects, like pottery and different crafts, are displayed on the shelves.
Cal is completely silent, walking through the room and studying each canvas as if he were in some kind of famous gallery. I can't discern the expression on his face, but his opinion of my art quickly becomes the least important thing to me once I realize that, hung all over the walls, are sketches and paintings of Ezra in various forms. Some might not be obvious, like the oil painting of his irises, the deep amber with swirls of gold, but then again, Cal is observant enough to recognize his best friend's somewhat uncommon eye color.
I hold my breath while I wait for him to say something about it all. I'm worried that he'll decide to leave and cut this shorter than it already has to be, or that he'll tell Ezra I'm some kind of creepy stalker. Which, let's be fair, I totally am. I'm waiting for him to mention it, to ask questions, poke fun at me, or get upset, but he surprisingly doesn't.
"Beth," he says with what I can only describe as surprise, turning his intense gaze to me. The light hits his eyes, fathomless depths of moss and a darker, hunter green. My fingers itch to mix my paints. "This is…"
He trails off, and I shrug. It's alright. I've learned a lot under Ezra's tutelage. My techniques have definitely improved, but I still have a lot to learn.
"No. No shrugging. This," he gestures wildly around him, "isn't shrug-worthy, Beth. This is breathtaking. I don't know how you aren't doing your own exhibits at the gallery."
"Ha! Vandreth would never. Mr. Greggs was definitely all about giving unknown artists a chance, but Vandreth only wants the most popular, trendy, influential artists inhisgallery. Not that Mr. Greggs would have found my art worthy, but Bobby definitely wouldn't." I hesitate, choosing to wrench open more of my vulnerabilities. If Cal is going to be leaving, the least I can do is use the time to practice being a better, more confident me. "The idea of showing my own art also terrifies me. It's incredibly personal, sharing these parts of yourself and opening yourself up to critique. I'm all about constructive criticism, and I feel like I take it well. I like to learn and improve from it. But some people can be so cruel."
Cal reaches for my hand and pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around me and bending to kiss me lightly. "Thank youfor showing me. I realize how very special it is that you opened this to me. I'm honored."
I push myself up to my tiptoes to get more access, deepening the kiss.
"I'm so honored, in fact, that I'm not going to ask too many questions about the very interesting number of Ezra's looking back at me right now."
Oh God, I knew it was too good to be true. I decide to go with honesty, sort of. "I don't have a ton of friends and tend to keep to myself. Ezra is kind to me, and he's an amazing teacher. I aspire to be as good as him someday, even if I'm not sure it's actually possible."
Cal smirks. "Well, first of all, I think he'd disagree with that statement. But also, I think maybe you're a little hot for teacher?” He holds up his thumb and finger, holding them about half an inch apart. “Just a tiny bit. Not in, like, an obsessive stalkery way at all."
My eyes close and I roll my lips together to avoid laughing. "Rude," I choke out. I'm not about to lie and deny it, so I just try to deflect. "Just for that, I'm not going to show you my photography studio."
"Wait, your what?"
I turn on my heel and saunter out of the room, purposefully putting a little extra sway in my hips. He catches me by the hem of my sleep shorts and yanks me back.
"Show me, woman."
Cal
Talented is a fucking understatement. I am in awe from the moment I take a step into Beth's art space. I don't understand how she can keep this all confined to one area, not even displaying one piece of her own art on the walls of her home. When we'd talked about our families, and she'd filled me in a little on her strained relationship with her parents, I realized that had to be the origin for so much of her self-consciousness.
But to bethistalented and be in denial about it? Those scars must run deep.
It doesn't take me but a minute to notice the detailed study of my best friend. It might be that she feels comfortable drawing him because she sees him as a mentor, but I think it’s more than that. A lot more. I can feel the love she has for him in every stroke of the brush or pencil. She hasn't just captured his likeness; she’s captured his exact essence. It's like he's here in the room with us.
Maybe I should feel jealous, and maybe there is a tiny pang of wanting to be the subject of her every fantasy. But she just met me, and Ezra is a good person. He's the best person, and whether he'll admit it or not, I’m now convinced he has it bad for Beth. That drawing he had displayed tonight caught my attention, some recognition poking at the back of my brain. That same drawing has been hanging on the living room wall in his home for more than a year at least, and it barely registered for me. It’s only now that I see her drawings of him, too, that I realize who the subject is.
