Nineteen
León had found a plinth to sit on, near enough to his paintings to eavesdrop but not so near as to give off mother-hen vibes. The yellow and purple canvases hung together on one wall, singing in counterpoint. Sun versus shadow. Solid versus ghostly.
The blue painting, though, on its wall alone, outshone everything in the room. The watery hues rippled across the canvas, that black line of Celia’s waist a fluid tendril of ink swirling up the center. It gleamed in aquamarines, the brush marks like wavelets of textured motion. It was a visual love letter to that night.
He almost felt naked each time people approached. He rocked on his seat, head turned away, thumbs tapping. Please, please, really see it.
“Well, this is just stunning. So fluid!”
“This piece could anchor a whole room.”
“I’ve never heard of this artist. Get one of the cards, will you, dear?”
The sample cards in their brochure holder, mounted to the wall between his paintings, were emptying fast. Why hadn’t he had more printed? He could have found the money.
He gripped his hands tightly to keep them still. He had more people around his work than anyone else in sight. They liked it!
Andrew approached, grinning at finding León on his perch. “Hovering, are we?”
“Obviously.” León looked past Andrew but saw only swanning patrons. “Where’s Celia?”
···
Trevor sat back on his plinth, mouth open as he eyed Kelsey’s stomach.
“Wow,” he mused, taking it in. “A baby? Back with Mom at forty? How do you feel about that?”
Kelsey’s back straightened. “I am not forty!” She poked Trevor’s shoulder as he chuckled.
“So, will you keep working?” he asked.
“Oh yeah, for most of it. Mom will help, and she said she won’t charge rent, but I’ll want to contribute.”
Trevor shook his head. “At least some parents do it right.”
“León’s parents supported him when he was getting started,” Celia said. “He feels really obligated to them still.”
“I’ll bet they don’t want him to,” Kelsey said.
“Good for them, though,” Trevor said. “Starting as an artist is tough. You’re broke and still learning, but having a regular job takes so much energy! You need time to improve your technique, find your creative voice.”
“That happened to me,” Kelsey agreed. “I wanted to try fashion designing. But I needed money, and before I knew it, I was just working at the shop. I was too tired to try and start another career in my free time.”
“I wonder how much art we’ve lost to poverty,” Trevor said, shaking his head. “It’s tragic.”
“I wasn’t in poverty,” Kelsey said, pursing her lips.
“No, not you, just in general. Kids out there right now, there could be some great art we’ll never get because they have to work.”
Celia thought guiltily about the money sitting unused in her bank.
“Well, not my kid,” Kelsey said. “She’ll get every opportunity. My mom couldn’t afford that for me, but we’ll pool what we have. That’ll make it easier. And multi-generational living is very trendy.”
None of them could hold back their chuckles.
“It’s brave, Kelsey,” Trevor said. “A kid at your age.”
“Oh, stop teasing. I’m only thirty-seven. That’s also very trendy, waiting until later to have kids. I won’t be the last of us.”
Andrew’s head poked around the corner. “Hey, León’s asking about Celia.”
Kelsey lifted her head. “I haven’t even seen his stuff! Let’s go.”
Trevor reached out to Andrew, who took his hand to pull him from his seat. Kelsey followed as they moved away, then looked back to see Celia lingering in the corner.
“I’ll be right there,” Celia said. At Kelsey’s raised eyebrow, she smiled. “And I’m okay on my own.”
They left her there.
Celia fingered the phone in her pocket. Slowly, she pulled it out and scrolled.
Don’t you dare, Celia Rose!
Exhaling deeply, she blocked her mother’s number, then followed after her surprising friends.
···
León jumped up, jubilant, as the gang finally joined him. They were going to love the paintings, right? Celia would—where was Celia?
“Wow,” Kelsey said, drawing the word out into multiple syllables. “Oh, wow! It’s Celia in the pool, right?”
“They’re all Celia,” Andrew said, moving close to the yellow painting. “Look at those big serious eyes.”
“They’re gorgeous, León.” Trevor cocked his head at the purple image. “This one is…wow.”
León laughed and bounced on his toes, turning his head to where Celia must be lagging. Where was she? He’d waited long enough!
A steel-haired woman joined the group around León’s work. “The raw emotion just leaps off the canvas, doesn’t it?” she said. “I see they’re all of the same model.”
“His muse,” Kelsey agreed. “They’re the best paintings here, right? I already heard two people say they’re going to buy this one.” She gestured to the blue painting as Andrew snickered.
There! León finally saw Celia in the middle of the gallery. She was standing alone, though, not looking for him.
“Are there no sample cards left?” the woman asked. León turned, to see she was right.
“Guess not. Here, take mine.” Kelsey dug into her purse and pulled out a business card.
“Stylist? The artist needs a stylist?”
Kelsey chuckled. “No, I just know him.”
Celia was still stopped in the center of the gallery. León couldn’t take it. He loped to her.
···
On her way to León’s corner, the import of what she’d done hit Celia. Blocking Mom? Oh, the fury once she realized! The last twenty-four hours crashed down, setting her trembling, too full of highs and lows and revelations and feelings.
Celia stopped, trying to control the storm inside. Throbbing fear and relief over Mom. Pain for Trevor, wonder over the change in Andrew. Kelsey’s pregnancy! And León, a sweet, constant hurricane of pride and tenderness and want. She could scream right now and still not get all the new feelings out! She could paint this for León, purge it that way, but it would just be one big scribble of every color.
If only she’d had enough talent.
Talking worked, though. She knew things about everyone that she hadn’t, just last week. Being vulnerable and honest in person did make things change.
Was this the final end of her art list? She still loved art and could keep it in her life by helping León. Everyone had said in their own way that her support was valuable, a worthy role. Maybe that was enough. Maybe she could support more artists, like the kids Trevor talked about. She had the money.
She looked around the gala again.
She’d wondered, last time she was here, about running a gallery. She liked the building. It was the industrial loft style she’d always loved, an old airy warehouse with high brick walls and concrete floors. It was clean, well built.
What if she bought this space? The current owners hadn’t made a success of it; it might be a bargain. They were moving to a more exclusive location, tired of fighting locals who claimed they were gentrifying the neighborhood. Maybe she could do something less elite with the building. Something that involved the community.
She knew how to run a business—that was just organization and planning. And she could afford it.
She started to feel excited.
León was suddenly there, pulling at her hand, eyes quizzical. “Celia?”
She nodded, barely hearing him.
If she had a gallery, she could show León’s paintings. Then he’d be free of the extra work of getting his paintings shown, giving him the time Trevor talked about to just create.
She could do that for new artists too. In the community, right here. Gift them the time and space to grow.
A crashing storm broke over her, a blinding electric arc blanking away vision, thunder rolling through her veins.
León planted himself firmly in her line of sight, taking both of her hands in his. “What’s wrong?”
“Let me think, please,” she begged, eyes screwed shut.
The young artists. The money. Seeing people’s needs, supporting them. Running a business. It was all right in front of her! It was worthwhile! It was something she was good at, something that would make a difference!
“Celia?”
Her head swam with too many ideas. Ears ringing, she took a stumbling step toward León, pulling at his hands.
“I need to go look. Come on!” She took off for the front door, heels clicking on the concrete floor. León followed her outside into the darkened street.
The gallery lights through the front windows spilled gloriously onto the pavement, just like her wall of windows at home. She could practically see young artists in there, creating. Safe. Provided for. Uplifted.
A wave of certainty washed over her. She spun in glee. “This is it! This is what I can do! This is my thing!”
“What are you talking about?” León’s voice behind her was utterly confused, and a touch anxious.
“The kids! The artists!” She whirled to look at the other buildings on the street and jumped up and down for literal joy. “Businesses on the ground floor but residential on top! And the warehouse is three stories! Look at the windows!”
She’d never been so awake!
How much could a building in this part of town cost? She could get a mortgage. She had more resources.
“Celia! What are you talking about?”
A final spin brought her around to León’s baffled face. “I’m going to buy this gallery and make a studio space! For artists just starting out, to live here and work. Free food and beds and laundry and showers, and they can have the time they need to make art!”
She could barely catch her breath as the possibilities piled upon each other. León gaped at her, transfixed.
“I know how to run it!” She bounced in the street. “I’d finally be using that stupid money for something real! The front can have a little gallery, so they can sell their work. I could invite important people to view what they make. That’s networking! Trevor can help with that! And promotion, Kelsey! And Andrew can teach classes here if he wants. We could have other teachers….” A little squeal escaped her. “This is it. This is everything!”
Oh, look at how stunned he was! She laughed out loud, filling the whole street with joyful echoes.
“You want to build an artist collective?” he asked, disbelief written across him.
“I didn’t invent it? I don’t care,” she babbled. “I can cook for them all. And I can live above it! There must be room. I don’t need very much space.”
León finally broke into a smile. “It’s a big idea. Is this really what you want?”
“It’s everything,” she beamed. “It’s all my skills, my way to matter. It’s finally it, my idea I was looking for. Oh god.” She hugged her arms around her body, blurring vision creating faint halos on the street lamps. “Is this what inspiration feels like? It’s wonderful.”
León’s grin widened as he watched her, his eyes softening.
A weight, a mantle around her of black and blue tension, wisped away into nothing. The bone-deep burden had gone unnoticed until now, its absence dizzying. Disorienting—a lightness unlike falling, different from floating. She might slip upwards into the sky.
The relief of it.
She ran and threw her arms around León’s waist, pressing her face against his chest. As his arms closed around her, she burst into loud sobs.
“I know,” he said, stroking her hair. “I know.”
She was capable of it. Inspiration.
She’d been so afraid she wasn’t.