Second Chance for Romance

Chapter 6

Christy and I had our not-date. Or we didn’t have a date. Whichever.

I was reading in my studio when she poked her head around the door.

“Are you going to be serious?” she said.

“That depends. Are you going to be here?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes.”

She smiled and stepped into the room.

I set my book aside and gestured to the empty chair. “Wanna pick up where we left off last night?”

“Before or after you were a jerk?”

“Before, of course. Let’s forget about after.”

“All right.” She took a seat and opened her sketchbook.

I reached for mine.

“So,” she said, “we were talking about proportions…”

I could’ve sworn I heard Wren smile.

Christy and I spent the next two evenings together. I made huge progress drawing people, but that wasn’t saying much, since I’d started from scratch.

Still, by Thursday I could sketch a person that looked real enough, as long as I didn’t mind a generic, almost cartoonish face.

“Don’t worry, faces take forever to master,” Christy said. “And not just portraiture. Drawing them at different angles is really tough.”

“You do it.”

“Well, yes, but…”

“You even sculpt them. They look like people frozen in time.”

“That’s because I’ve done it for years.”

“You also have talent. Loads of it.” I gestured at my own feeble attempts.

“I’ll never be able to do what you do.”

“You do other things. Here, look.” She turned to a blank page in her sketchbook. She drew a rectangle topped by a squat triangle. Then she added a smaller rectangle with a curlicue of smoke coming out of it. “That’s how I draw a building.”

She reached over and flipped back a couple of pages in my book. She tapped a drawing of a Palladian façade.

“I watched you do that in five minutes. Five minutes! You were just doodling. Last night. I don’t even think you realized it. I was telling you about my brothers or something. Remember?”

I nodded.

“I’ll never be able to do that. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

My eyebrows twitched up.

“Mmm hmm. Wait here.” She unfolded herself from the chair and disappeared out the door. She returned a moment later with a different sketchbook. She opened it and sat on the arm of my chair. I put my arm around her bottom out of pure habit. She glanced at me but didn’t move.

“This is from last year,” she said instead, “when you were working on that Beaux-Art building. I drew those water nymphs for you. Remember?”

I nodded again.

“Anyway, I thought your buildings were beautiful, but they didn’t look that difficult. I mean, they were just a bunch of straight lines and some shading, right?” She turned pages until she found what she was looking for.

“I thought, ‘If he can do it, so can I.’ I even checked out books from the library on architectural rendering and stuff. Ha!” She showed me her drawings.

“They’re not bad,” I said. “I mean, they’re better than mine when I was a first-year.”

“But they’ll never be like yours now,” she said. “Or in the future. That’s only part of it, though. Your drawings are beautiful, but your ideas are brilliant. I can barely come up with an idea how to pose someone, but you create whole buildings out of nothing. They didn’t exist before you thought

them up!

“Me?” She scoffed. “I just draw people. And sculpt them if I’m lucky.

Yeah, I’m pretty good at it, but I don’t really create anything new. And no one will ever live in one of my creations. I doubt they’ll ever buy them, either. I’ll probably end up a kindergarten art teacher with chalk on my dress and runs in my stockings.”

I laughed.

“You don’t think so? You know how many artists make a living at it?”

“No, I was laughing at the idea of you with chalk on your dress and runs in your stockings. Seriously? You?” I shook my head. “I’ve seen your wardrobe. If anything, you’ll be a fashion icon.” I shot her a grin. “Still a kindergarten teacher, though. You’re right about that.”

“Go ahead and joke. I’m supposed to graduate in June. I have no idea what I’m going to do then.”

“Get an MFA.”

“What good will that do? I still won’t be able to make a living.” She threw herself into her chair and sulked.

“You can be a starving artist.”

“Ha!”

“Then again, maybe not. You’ll waste away if you don’t eat at least a bushel of carrots a day. Good thing they’re cheap.”

She huffed. “I eat like a sumo wrestler and barely break a hundred pounds.”

“Right. Starving artist is out.”

“Very funny.”

I flirted with the idea of suggesting she marry rich, but that wasn’t her style. She had a fierce independent streak, and I couldn’t imagine her marrying someone just so he’d support her.

She looked at me crossly, and for a moment I thought she’d read my mind.

“What?”

“You made me think about food.”

I laughed.

“Now I want a snack.”

“C’mon,” I said. “Let’s go make a sandwich or something.”

“Boy, you really know how to treat a girl right,” she said sarcastically. “If we keep not-dating like this, I might actually gain a pound or two.”

We headed downstairs, where we passed Trip and Wren. They were studying in the dining room. Wren saw us together and didn’t even try to hide a grin. I gave her the evil eye.

Trip was clueless. “What’s up?”

“Raiding the fridge.” I hooked a thumb over my shoulder. “Time to feed the bunny.”

We made leftover chicken sandwiches, and I put away the ingredients while she halved and cored an apple.

“Peanut butter?” I said.

“Yes, please.”

We joined the others in the dining room.

“Hey,” Trip said without preamble, “d’you mind going over this history stuff with me? You know I always get Romanesque and Gothic mixed up.”

“Gothic is prettier,” I said around a mouthful of sandwich. “Describe the characteristics of each.”

“You sound like Joska,” he laughed.

I shrugged and took another bite. Then I impatiently gestured for him to talk while I ate.

“Okay. Romanesque flourished in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries. It was a revival of the classical elements established by the Romans. It…”

We spent twenty minutes reviewing until he finally knew it cold.

“Thanks,” he said. “You mind if we go over Renaissance and Baroque tomorrow night?”

“Can’t. I’ll be in Atlanta.”

Christy looked up. “Again? Why?”

Wren looked surprised too, and a bit flummoxed.

“I told you all, remember? Kara’s wedding? I’m an usher.”

“Ah,” Trip said, “that’s right.”

“Remind me again,” Christy said, “who’s Kara?”

“Leah’s sister,” Wren said. Then she put two and two together. She looked at me in alarm.

That’s right, I thought at her. Gina will be there.

“Oh,” Christy said. She didn’t make the connection, but she sensed Wren’s reaction. She ventured a smile. “Sounds like fun.”

“It should be,” I said, more for Wren’s benefit. Then I suppressed the instinct to tease her. I turned to Christy instead. “Our families have known each other for years. Kara’s like my big sister.” One that I’ve had sex with, I

added to myself.

Wren glared. She knew what I was thinking. The gist of it, at least.

“Anyway,” I said, “I’d better get back to work. I have an Environmental Control quiz in the morning, and I haven’t even started to study for it.”

“You mind if I hang out with you?” Christy asked. “I have to do a figure study for Siobhan. I can call it ‘Man Versus Environmental Control’ or something.”

I laughed. “Sounds good.”

Wren caught my eye and nodded toward the kitchen.

“I’ll take the plates,” I told Christy. “You go on up. I’ll be right behind you.”

“All right.”

Wren followed me into the kitchen. “What’re you doing?”

“I told you,” I said, my voice pitched low, “I don’t need any help in the girlfriend department. Christy’s nice and all, but she isn’t my type.”

“And Gina is?”

“Who said anything about Gina?”

“She dumped you once. Do you really wanna go through all that again?”

“Listen, Gina and I are friends. That’s all.”

“Friends with a history. And with similar… lifestyles.”

“If you mean that I wouldn’t have to explain a million things about my life, then you’re right.” I pointed toward the top floor. “You know what my problem is with Christy? She’s smart, funny, and cute. Totally my type. But she’s a Catholic schoolgirl at heart. A goody-goody. Thanks, but no thanks!”

“What? She isn’t like that. She—”

“Save it,” I said. “I don’t need you to run my life. Okay?”

“Everything all right in there?” Trip called from the dining room.

Wren started to say something bossy but thought better of it.

I looked at her with new respect. “Good for you.”

“Thank you,” she said insincerely. Then she raised her voice,

“Everything’s fine. Paul and I were just having a difference of opinion.”

He appeared in the kitchen doorway. “You mean you were trying to tell him what to do, but he wasn’t having it?”

“That about sums it up,” I said.

Wren rolled her eyes and huffed. “I’m telling you, Paul, you’re wrong about Christy.”

“Seriously, dude,” Trip agreed. “If even half the stories are true.”

“They’re all true,” Wren snapped.

“Right,” he said without missing a beat. “As I was saying… Christy’s a lot wilder than you think, man.”

“You too?”

“Hey, I’m just tellin’ ya what I think. Wren might be right. I’d trust her on this one.”

“Yeah?” I shot back. “And what if she isn’t? Which one of us has to move out?”

“What are you talking about?” Wren said.

“You’ve seen how Christy and I are when we fight.”

“I dunno,” Trip said to Wren. “He’s right about that.”

She opened her mouth to say something dismissive. And again she controlled the urge.

I chuckled and looked at Trip. “Dude, if you ever need proof that she loves you, there it is.”

“What?”

“She’ll tell you.” I stepped around her. Then I leaned back so I could see her face. “Thank you for being a friend. I know you care. But you can’t live my life for me.”

She reluctantly nodded. “Christy’s special,” she said after a moment.

“She really likes you, so don’t lead her on. Okay? Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Now go on. She’s waiting for you.”