I tossed and turned all night, but the tromping of feet through the house finally woke me. Yes, it was probably Lisa. She’s had writers block for the past three weeks and when she has writers’ block she tends to ramble through the house. Tromp. Tromp. I threw back my covers and sat up. No, the noise was coming from up-stairs, in my art studio. I jumped out of bed and ran up the stairs. I inched the door open and peeked in, and almost fell over in shock. It was Lisa, and she was painting, or at least trying to paint. All her concentration was on the canvas, which she was spattering orange paint on, I rubbed my forehead, sighed and went back down to my room. It was a dream, I just knew it was. NO … it was a nightmare, she had been painting on bare canvas.
I woke up bright and early for me, which is about 11:00 for a normal person. I was supposed to go down to the coffee shop to meet Dante. We were going to visit the museum to see an exhibit on the Pre-Raphaelites. Dante is a flake, really. He always says he’s an artist, but I’m not too sure about that. I think that he just likes hanging around artists, but who knows. I can’t seem to worm out exactly what he does, he won’t show me any of his work, and we have been going out for quite a while. He does love to keep his secrets, so I won’t begrudge him this one—-for now at least. Did I mention that my sister doesn’t like my boyfriend? She can’t stand him – not that she knows him – but Lisa loves to make fun of his goatee, his clothing, and the way he rambles on about nothing. She does have a point. Dante is gifted with savior faire, if nothing else. He wears his black hair short – thank the goddess it’s not longer than mine, but I digress – and crisp blue eyes. I finally, after hitting the alarm clock four or five times, made it down the stairs. Lisa was no where to be found, but I shrugged it off, she was probably typing. I crept into the kitchen and grabbed some breakfast: a cherry turnover and a couple Twizzlers. The turnover was delectable, one of Lisa’s creations. At least she can cook. I shoved the two remaining Twizzlers down my throat as I put my coat on and trotted out the door.
The coffee shop was six blocks from our house, it was one of those places that always seemed to draw the artsy crowd. That morning was no exception. The place was crowded and noisy, with groups of people gathered around small, round tables holding animated discussion’s bout this and that. It took me a few seconds to spot Dante’s black-haired head in the crowd, but there he was in a corner table, doodling on a piece of paper. I slid up behind him, running my fingernail up his spine. I like to see him jump, and I was rewarded as usual, he almost fell out of his chair.
“Delilah, God-damn-it! Will you quit doing that?”
I smiled a cat’s smile, “Stop what?”
He glowered up at me, “You know very well what I mean.”
I just shrugged, which I knew would infuriate him more. I love it when I push him over the edge. It’s so hard to render him speechless … but oh when it does happen. It simply makes my blood tingle. “What were you doing?” I reached for the napkin he had been scribbling on, but he jerked it away, shoving the whole thing into his pocket.
“Nothing”
“Humph. Whatever.”
I finally eased myself down into the seat opposite of him. “Have you noticed Lisa acting weird lately?”
He rolled his eyes at me, “Lately, what do you mean lately? She always acts weird! Besides, why would I go near her? She doesn’t like me, remember?”
I sighed, “It’s not that she doesn’t like you. It’s just, that---well, she finds some of your actions-—amusing.”
“Amusing?”
I shrugged, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” I looked down at my watch. It was 12:35. “Well, the museum is open, let’s go see that exhibit.”
After we finished viewing the exhibit at the museum (Which, incidentally, took us over three hours to do, mainly because my companion wanted to analyze everything) we headed back to my place. All of the downstairs lights were turned off, but we could clearly see the painting that was leaning up against the balustrade. It was a rather large canvas, without gesso, it sported three orange vases on its pristine surface. The orange paint looked vaguely familiar … damn Lisa, she had been in my studio! I had thought it was a dream. I would have sprinted up the stairs to ring her neck if not for Dante. He started spouting the most atrocious speech about the ambiance of the piece, and what a clever artist I was. Stupid idiot, like I wouldn’t gesso the freaking canvas before I started painting! I have my moments, but I’m not that stupid.
“Del!? Did you hear anything I just said?”
I scrunched my forehead together, “Huh?”
“I asked you why you didn’t sign it?”
“Sign it … but…” I looked up and caught Lisa peaking over the stairs, “Well, I’m not done with it.”
Dante looked puzzled, “What aren’t you done with? I thought the pots were setting on snow?”
“They’re vases, and they are, but I have to … to shade the snowflakes.” Shade the snowflakes, what the hell.
Dante beamed down at me, “You are so brilliant!”
I caught Lisa’s eyes when she was finished rolling them and huffing, and made a cutting motion at my neck. Scram. Then I grabbed Dante’s arm and pulled him down to my room.
Dante was still gushing on about the painting as I pulled him into my room and shut the door. Distraction—-I needed a distraction! That was when that napkin he had been doodling on this morning sprang into my mind.
“Now, Dante dear, about that note you were writing this morning.”
He turned a bright shade of red, very becoming. “Um—-what note”
I tapped my foot impatiently, “You know very well what note.” Somehow I knew he would not be very forthcoming, so I simply tackled him. I have found that it is something easier to take what you want when the one you are taking it from is otherwise occupied. So I simply tickled him until he fell over with laughter, took the note, then rolled off of him and opened up the crumpled up napkin. It contained quite intricate plans for the most beautiful ring I had ever seen. It was a band with what appeared to be mourning glory vines covering it, a morning glory blossom composed of gems crowned its top. To the sidelines was a little quote, “Mon Coeur Est Tout A Toi. Garde Le Bien Pour Moi.” 1
“That is what I was going to inscribe inside the band,” Dante whispered into my ear. “Do you like it?”
“I … I love it.” I turned my head toward him, “You were going to have it made … for me?
“Yes … I was going to make it for you, for your birthday.” His face fell. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”
A grin inched onto my face, “I’ll act surprised, I promise.” Then I hit him lightly on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me you did silver-smiting? I was beginning to think you were just a poser.”
He grinned, and rested his chin on my shoulder. “I would have eventually told you.”
I sighed, looking guiltily at my hands, “About the painting … I didn’t paint it, Lisa did.”
Dante snickered, “Well, I figured that. I have seen your work and the styles were quite different, but I thought I’d put on a show for her.” His eyes twinkled wickedly. It made me want to laugh myself silly, my dear sister thought my boyfriend was a complete moron. Dante only prattled like that when he was nervous .. and really, he’s just a hopeless romantic. They are a lot alike, truth be told.
“I had better be going, I have work to do,” he sighed reluctantly. I hugged him, kissed him on the forehead, and bid him adieu.
That night, I crept in to Lisa’s room, and woke her up. She looked up at me with unseeing eyes for a moment, but she became quite animated when I shoved one of my carefully hoarded markers into her hand. I shoved her back down the stairs, stopping once we reached the painting.
”Now sign it!”
I knew a smirk lit up her face as she scrawled Lisa across the bottom of the white canvas. I lifted it up and placed it on the mantle of the fireplace. We sat down on the floor together, our heads resting against each other and stared at the painting.
“Shouldn’t you paint a flower or something in one of the vases?”
She looked at me with a dead-pan look on her face, “It’s winter. Flowers don’t grow in winter.”
“You have a point.”
She made a face at me, “I still don’t know what you see in that guy!”
I shrugged, and smiled off into the dark, if she only knew.
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