1-5 | Brush On My Skin

I decided I needed to update my wardrobe so I went to the local clothing store and picked up a few things. If I was going to make a good impression on the art world and Ainsley, I needed some clothes that didn’t have paint on them. I went home checked the mail and prepared macaroni and cheese. It was almost time for Ainsley to arrive and I set out the bottle of wine with two glasses and paced the room nervously. I was nervous because I knew I was beginning to like Ainsley and I was also nervous to reveal my art to her because she was an artist and I was scared of what she would see in my work. The doorbell rang and I opened the door, there stood Ainsley looking like an angel from heaven and she had a child with her.

“Hello Olaf. I hope you don’t mind but I brought along one of my top students who is very interested in meeting you. Olaf, this is Morgan.”

I extended my hand to the little girl and smiled. “I don’t mind at all. It’s nice to meet you, Morgan. Please come in and have a seat. Are you hungry? I just made macaroni and cheese, it’s one of only a handful of things I can cook without burning.”

“I love macaroni.” Morgan replied in a tiny voice.

I went to fix her a bowl, as well as one for myself and Ainsley, who sat down on my sofa and picked up my portfolio which was on the coffee table next to the bottle of wine. “Your work is beautiful, Olaf. You paint your soul. It’s almost as if I can feel your paint brush on my skin.” She blushed.

I cleared my throat nervously. “Thank you. Uh, would you care for a glass of wine?”

“I would love one.” She smiled and my breath caught in my throat.

As I opened the bottle, Morgan decided to go home; turns out she lives right across the street. I poured us a glass of wine and joined Ainsley on the couch. “This is the portfolio I am taking to the gallery tomorrow. I think this showcases some of my best work, but I am not sure.”

“Oh, Olaf. You don’t realize how magnificent these are. It’s rare I see a painting that moves me the way yours do.”

I took a sip of my wine. “Thanks. I would love to see your work sometime.”

“Oh, my painting are nothing compared to yours. I am more of a historian of art and my paintings are more of scenic views and flowers.”

“I would love to see them.” I say which comes out more as a whisper.

She raised her glass to her full lips. Lips I found myself wishing were on mine. I downed my wine and poured another glass. She waved off a refill as she followed suit and finished her glass.

“Maybe one day. I really must be going, but thank you so much for the wine and showing me this portfolio. Good luck with your interview.”

I walked her to the door, bid her goodnight and returned to the couch to finish off the bottle of wine while flipping through my portfolio.

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I must have fallen asleep on the couch.

I sat up and glanced at my watch, I had an hour to get ready and get to the gallery. I didn’t have time for a bath so I brushed my teeth, splashed some water on my face and combed my hair before getting dressed and running out the door. It wasn’t until the cab pulled up that I realized I forgot my portfolio. I ran back in grabbed it off the floor and ran to the cab. I was out of breath and full of nerves. By the time we reached the gallery I had regained my composure and walked into Mrs. Simmons office full of confidence.

That didn’t last long.

Mrs. Simmons took a glance through my portfolio and decided that my art just wasn’t a good fit for her gallery. They were wanting era pieces not my abstract ramblings, as she called it. To be honest I was insulted, angry and happy not to have my work in her stuffy old gallery. With that I took my portfolio and my bruised ego and went to the nearest bar. I needed a drink and fast.