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“Yeah, I’m not sure what my exact plans are now, though.”
He nodded, thinking about it.
“I’ve known many, many artists over the years,” he said. “It’s not always an easy life, but in my experience, it’s a life that chooses you.”
“We’re going to talk through some more practical choices,” her dad interjected, and Ansel looked at him like he’d forgotten Jim was there.
“There’s nothing impractical about being yourself,” Ansel said, his voice quiet. “I think it’s the only way to find true meaning in life.”
“You love what you do?” Saber asked.
He smiled without parting his lips. It seemed strange, restrained.
“I do, actually, yes.”
“Better to love something you can make money at, though, right?” Jim asked, laughing a little.
Ansel shrugged, like money was the most irrelevant thing in the world.
“Saber, do you know who Jenny Saville is?”
Saber’s eyes widened.
“Yes,” she said. “Of course.”
Ansel smiled that restrained smile again.
“I have one of her paintings in my library.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Come, I thought you might like to see it.”
The three of them walked through the living room, back into a glassed-in room with huge windows, overlooking the Puget Sound and the city of Seattle, its buildings and lights diffused by dense, heavy fog. On the wall opposite the enormous windows was a wall of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with books, some of which looked very, very old. It was the most magnificent room Saber had ever been in. On the far wall, glowing with a recessed art light, was the Saville painting. A portrait of a girl’s face bruised, lip bloody, eyes unfocused, skin painted in every shade of pink and lavender, light and dark.
“Uh, wow,” said Jim. “It looks like she has a fat lip.”
Ansel completely ignored him, and watched Saber, who stood in awe of the painting, drawing closer and closer to it.
“I’ve only ever seen photos of these,” she said, hypnotized.
“I can never get over the way she paints flesh. So…alive.”
Saber looked at him, staring up at his painting. In profile, he was even more elegant, his nose and beautifully bowed lips accentuated. His skin, she noticed, was even more pale and colorless next to the vivid painting, but who’s wouldn’t be? She could smell him, too, the faint, familiar smell of cedar wood, and something light and peppery. An expensive cologne, probably.
If she’d had a harmless crush on him before, now it was exploding. They stood in silence for a long time, the awe she felt for the painting flowing, intense and vivid. Ansel watched her, as though drinking from her own pleasure. He wasn’t joking when he said he enjoyed showing off his collection, apparently.
“We should go,” Jim said, interrupting the perfect silence. “Thanks, Ansel, we’ll talk again soon.”
Ansel smiled at Jim, then at Saber.
“Thanks for coming by,” he said, “and Saber, if you paint any masterpieces, let me see them first. I’m always looking for my next acquisition.”
“I will.”
She blushed, and looked away from him to hide it, smiling a shy, embarrassed smile. He had such a crazy effect on her.
In the car, pulling out of the driveway, they were silent for a minute.
