Chapter 7
SEVEN
Dee
The Old Bear was exactly as Dee remembered it from her youth, including the dinky dartboard, the dented road signs on the wall, and the table that she’d carved her initials into during a drunken night as a teen.
She swirled her glass of wine while she tried her best to listen to her old friends from primary school play catch-up on their lives. It wasn't that she didn't care, she just hadn't seen or talked to them in a long while. They were more or less strangers but she was happy for them.
“So how’s the painting going?” Jen asked. “I read you’re featured in galleries nowadays?”
Dee nodded, quickly swallowing her mouthful of wine. “Yes, business has been good.”
Good was an understatement. She did very well for herself and her paintings sold at good prices and fast. She wouldn't say that other artists would kill to be in her position, but seriously maim sounded about right.
“So do you still paint cities?” Ruth asked.
“Mostly, yes,” Dee said, trying her best to smile. She should feel passionate talking about her work but she always just felt awkward. If she was good with words and public speaking, maybe she wouldn't need her paintings to do the talking.
“You were always doodling in class,” Ruth recalled. “What about love? Anyone you haven't told us about?”
She said it like they chatted regularly and it was her duty to know everything about her friends.
“No, nobody right now,” Dee said, finishing her wine so she could have another. It was her third in a relatively short amount of time and they were a lot more stingy in the city with their alcohol. She was already under the influence, her whole body heavier and her head growing quieter with the moment.
“You know, I have a co-worker that I think you would really hit it off with. Wait, you’re still into women, right?” Jen checked, pausing mostly for courtesy. “Her name is Jill and she’s really nice. Shifter too, and recently bought her own house.”
Dee wondered when she'd reached an age that meant she needed interventions in her love life. Everyone was offering to set her up like somehow she was going to meet her fated mate over coffee.
“Thanks, but I’m not dating at the moment,” she said instead of voicing her real opinion. And even if she were, a blind date would not be in her acceptable repertoire. If she were dating, she wanted someone who didn't drain her social battery, someone who loved painting as much as she did, who could leave her alone when she needed space. She was fairly certain that Jill who worked in communication with Jen wasn't that.
While her two friends gossiped about a mutual friend, Dee went to the bar to order another drink. The world swayed more than expected and was ever so slightly blurry. Being drunk always reminded her a little of oil paintings. The fine details were lost but other things were just so much clearer. Like how very much she didn't want to be here.
The frustrating thing was that she didn't know where she would want to be.
She arrived at the bar and grabbed hold of it, instantly regretting it when it was sticky. She recoiled, bumping into someone much steadier next to her.
Dee turned, frowning when she found herself staring into Clarissa's brown eyes. Unlike the previous times she'd run into her, Dee didn't feel the same annoyance or upset. She was actually kind of glad because she'd been worrying about her rival. She even considered stopping by the craft store to check on her but that was a step too far.
"Oh. Hey," Clarissa said, her smile almost reaching her eyes.
"Hi."
Awkward silence fell between them, only highlighted by the music coming from the speakers.
"How are you feeling?" Dee asked eventually. "About, umm, you know. Last time we spoke?"
Clarissa pulled a face. "I'm okay. Mostly embarrassed that you had to see me cry like that."
"Oh, don't be embarrassed. I've seen worse. Like the time you sat on your palette and went to school with paint on your butt. Or when you slipped off that ledge and fell on your face," Dee said without thinking. "Wait, that was supposed to make you feel better, not worse."
A proper smile showed on Clarissa's face. "You're one to talk. I still remember the day you were in the store. You were eating an ice cream and looking at paint. You tripped over your own feet?—"
"And face planted and smashed my ice cream into the most expensive pad of paper," Dee continued, laughing at the memory. "I remember. I was freaking out because I couldn't pay for the damage. Your dad was so nice though, he just gave it to me for free since he couldn't sell it anymore."
"That's Dad." Clarissa's jaw tightened and she turned to the bar.
Dee felt like an idiot for bringing up Clarissa's father.
"Sorry," she muttered. She'd been apologising a lot to Clarissa lately. She drummed her fingers on the bar. "I know, let me buy you an apology drink."
"Do you not have friends to get back to?" Clarissa asked, nudging vaguely towards the table where Jen and Ruth were no doubt excitedly speculating about this encounter.
"They won't mind if yours don't," Dee said, which was the honest truth. Even though a lot of time had passed since she hung out with her old school friends, she knew they would be fine with it. They would grill her about this later but she could live with that.
Clarissa glanced over her shoulder. "They won't even notice I'm gone. It's a sort of reunion with some of my old volleyball friends but they're all still playing so I'm the odd woman out. I guess some things never change."
"I forgot you played volleyball. I could never, I'm way too clumsy. As proven by the ice cream incident," Dee said. It caused the other woman to chuckle and the sound was warm and full and lovely. It sent a little jolt of satisfaction through Dee which surprised her. She'd never before cared about making Clarissa smile.
The bartender paused in front of them. "What can I get you, ladies?"
"Glass of red for me," Dee said, glancing sideways
"Glass of white, please," Clarissa ordered.
"I see we still have opposing tastes."
Clarissa winked at her. "Some would say those are not opposing tastes at all."
When the drinks arrived, they gently clinked their glasses together for a toast. Dee didn't know exactly what they were toasting to but it felt significant, like maybe they were burying the hatchet after all those years. She certainly knew she would never see Clarissa in the same light again, not after witnessing her cry like that. They were still rivals though.
She watched as Clarissa sipped from her wine, noting the print of red lipstick left behind on the rim of the glass. It was kind of pretty and if it were left on skin, it would be a visual memory of a kiss. Just like a painting.
Without meaning to, Dee found herself staring at Clarissa and admiring the individual features that made up an admittedly very pretty face. Dee's classical nose was slightly crooked, her eyes had the longest lashes, her lips curved up perfectly into that desired cupid’s bow. When she turned her head briefly, the dim light of the old chandelier caught in the two studs in her left ear and the metal bar across her shell.
If painting portraits was Dee’s thing, she would’ve loved to paint Clarissa.
The thought surprised her and she looked at her wine, impressed with it. She should ask for the name if it was sparking the desire to paint and have plenty, plenty more.
“You’re staring. Do I have toothpaste on my chin? Smudged lipstick?” Clarissa asked, wiping the corner where her lips met.
“No, I was just thinking that your face is pleasant,” Dee blurted out, in an attempt to give an explanation why she’d been staring. Her cheeks flushed. “For painting, I mean.”
A genuine laugh emerged from Clarissa. “Thank you. You have a nice face too. For painting .”
Dee was mortified. This wine was not good, it was horrible. And to make matters worse, she could see her two friends staring at them with knowing excited grins on their faces. She had no doubt they would ask her all sorts of questions when she got back as if they were in school again and she’d been caught chatting with her crush. Not that Clarissa was her crush but she was sure that nosey Jen and ever-romantic Ruth wouldn't believe otherwise.
She pushed the thoughts away and focused on the woman in front of her. "You mentioned something about a class. You're taking a class?"
Clarissa let out a hum. "Teaching a class. Outdoor Painting for amateurs. It doesn't pay that well but it gets me out the door and painting, so I love it."
" You're a teacher?" Dee didn't mean to sound so surprised.
"I know I'm not quite the star you are but I think I do alright."
The gravelly feeling in the back of her throat was back making it hard to swallow. "I wouldn't call myself a star."
Clarissa raised one of her perfect eyebrows. "Now you're going to act humble? Last year, they named you one of the most promising rising artists. And you've shown your work in some of the biggest galleries in the country. If that's not star quality, I don't know what is."
"Please, stop. Besides, you were always a much better painter than I was," Dee muttered, her accolades stabbing through her like daggers. Even though she'd worked for them, hard, it didn't stop her from feeling like a fake or a fraud while she struggled to paint. If anything, it made it worse. It made her wonder if she ever deserved all the praise and fame.
"If you're trying to make me feel less bad about my art, this isn't helping. Your art is amazing and beautiful and atmospheric. It literally stops people in their tracks. I've seen it happen," Clarissa rambled.
Dee's ears started to ring and she tightened her grip on her wine glass, almost causing it to snap. Hearing her rival praise her like this should've made her feel good but it didn't. It just brought back old feelings of failure, rejection, inadequacy.
"I've always been in awe of your compositions, of your strong lines, of the way---"
"I can't paint!" Dee interrupted, so loudly, a few people turned their heads towards her. Her cheeks burned and she wished she could sink through the floor, disappearing from sight. Potentially forever.
Clarissa's face mirrored the shock. "What?"
"I've not painted anything in months. Or rather, finished anything. I hate everything I do. Hate it. It all looks wrong, like some toddler made it or someone who has never painted in their life. It's shit. I'm creating shit. I'm shit," Dee admitted in a whisper, her heartbeat hammering in her skull. She didn't know what had come over her or why she'd just blurted this out. And to her rival, of all people. This was humiliating.
"Everyone goes through painter's block from time to time," Clarissa said gently, so gently it hurt.
Dee took a big swig from her wine. "It's not a normal painter's block. It's like I can't breathe, can't think. I feel like I've lost something and I don't know how to get it back."
"Hmm... Maybe you should come to my Outdoor Painting class then."
"This isn't a joke."
"I'm not joking. A change of scenery might be good for you. And who knows, maybe it'll help? Worth a try, right?"
Dee tried not to scoff at the suggestion. If she was honest, Clarissa was the last person she wanted help from but at this point, she was so desperate to paint and love it again, she was willing to try anything.