Alan regarded her for a moment, dragging a hand through his morning stubble as he stroked his chin and considered her. “Maybe you can’t play hooky but my boss never seems to mind. And I’m always sure to think of you as I go to the beach without you.”
He was already laughing as he side-stepped the pillow he’d already known would go flying past him. It connected with the wall as Alan turned back to her, grinning. “Hey, Kiki, you can’t blame me. If I knew another sure way of getting you out of bed, I’d use that instead.” He regarded her seriously as he added, “It’s really your own fault for loving the beach so much. If you loved it less, I wouldn’t use it against you so often.”
A long pause wafted between them as Alan cocked his head to the side, considering, “Nah, we both know that’s not true. I’d still use it to lure you out of bed. So, we’re back to this being your fault for loving it so much.“ He laughed lightly again as he watched her dig through the closet, pulling out of her clothes to start the day.
Mentally running through her schedule, he knew she was already far behind on party planning. Not that Alan even believed he needed a party. It had been her idea. And if she wanted to throw one, who was he to stop her. But he really didn’t care about showing off his art or selling it, for that matter. Sure it would be nice to show his friends and even to make some money. But, in all actuality, it should’ve happened long ago.
The fact that he was only just now unveiled his first ever finished creation was disheartening. What if he unveiled his second painting in another ten years? What would that say about him then?
Certainly that he had no worth ethic. Or that he was just another one hit wonder who could never find his groove again. If this painting was even a hit. And he was sure it wouldn’t be. It was nothing spectacular. At least, he didn’t believe it was. But it was finished. And that was what mattered.
And Kim’s reaction. Hers was the one he wanted most to see. Hers would be the one against which he would measure all the others. And the one he would use to determine if he would now be a success or a failure.
The problem was actually dragging her down to his studio to see the thing.
He’d already started dragging her out of her room and down the hall when her endless stream of questions made him stop short. Still clutching her hand, he turned back to her, not even realizing how close he was standing to her in the narrow hall. But he knew his subconscious was recording every detail and it would all come out in the keys later that night, after everyone else had gone, when he rested before the piano and unwound from the night.
But now, he didn’t dwell. Instead, he raised an eyebrow and with faux exasperation asked, “Would you prefer I answer all your questions or just show you? I wouldn’t mind standing here, describing it. But I think we both you know you would prefer to just see it. In fact, you probably won’t believe me unless you actually see it. It’s clean. Or, well, as clean as I can get it. I think some grime might be permanent. But hopefully no one will notice.”
In fact, his studio was so full of permanently spilled paint most people would probably have trouble identifying which daubs were supposed to be there and which weren’t. The whole house was filled with rustic wooden floors but the walls, well, Alan had painted them all when he moved in and there were done in his usual eccentric style.
Alan had purchased several buckets of paint in various colors. But none of the buckets had stayed in their correct rooms. The result was something of a rainbow as each wall was painted a different color. Sometimes not even the whole wall contained one color. Alan couldn’t say exactly how it happened as he hadn’t planned it that way. He’d just found himself, erm, a little distracted at the time.
But, whatever the case, it served his purposes well. His studio contined such a mixture of colors that erring paint appeared to fit right in. But so did dust and dirt and grime. Which may have been one of the reasons he never thought to clean the place.
Until now. And only because he had to.
He gave Kim a wink and smile before he started to drag her down the stairs. But as she asked if he had a portrait of her tucked away somewhere, he almost stopped short again. It was a joke, he knew but one that could mean one of two things. Either she was teasing him about her appearance in every single one of his works. In which case, her comment was all in jest and perhaps letting him know that she had spotted herself.
Or she genuinely did not know.
He was betting on the latter. Kim was not the kind to let a thing like this go. He knew if she found herself in his paintings, it would not be the kind of thing to warrant and offhand comment. So she really didn’t know.
Which was why he let it slide. Left it to fate. She would see his finished painting soon enough-- complete with her apperance yet again. She wasn’t a dominant figure this time with was perhaps why he’d managed to finish this painting. Only a whisp of blonde hair had appeared as she stood with her back to the painting, gazing across the beach she loved so dearly. The painting itself could actually be a remembrance of their first beach trip together. But in the ten years it had taken Alan to finish the work, other influences had slipped in.
Now he wasn’t sure just what the painting represented. But like it or not, the beach had as much affect on him as it did her and after ten years of trying, he’d finally managed to capture it, in all its glory. Or, at least, as much glory as he’d been able to squeeze onto the canvas.
This was why Kim would be the best judge. Who knew the beach better?
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