I woke up with a bad taste in my mouth, wondering how much longer I was going to continue living like this. The clock went tick-tick-tick like little guilty reminders of how little time I had left to pull my life together. I got up from the couch and poured myself another shot of gin. I drank it down straight, not caring anymore about acting responsible for anything.
I put the glass down and re-read the stained rejection letter. ‘Thank you for your interest blah, blah, blah. We are sorry to inform you that there is no position vacant blah, blah, blah.’ I threw it into a bin, atop three warning letters from three different credit card companies and five other rejection letters.
Last night, I had spent the last of my money on a bottle of cheap gin but I still find myself waking up to the same problems. There was nothing to do but to go to the studio. Even now I could hear my father ranting and raving about sins and vanity and lust from his fire and brimstone pulpit. But I had to eat.
I wiped myself clean with a damp towel at the sink in the corner, brushed my teeth and donned on my cleanest shirt and jeans before putting on my soiled jacket.
Carefully, I treaded down the urine and vomit stained stairwell and on reaching the dingy foyer, the building manager called from behind his caged counter, “Hey pretty boy. Where’s my rent?”
“I will have it by the end of the day, Lou. I promise.”
“If I don’t see it by tomorrow, I will throw everything out, with or without you.”
He might as well have physically punched me in the stomach because that was exactly how the words felt. I bowed my head and walked outside where an autumn drizzle greeted me. With no change to spare for a bus ride, I walked the three miles to the studio.
The neighborhood there was made up of old factory buildings which were now mainly used as delivery depots. A few, however, had been renovated into design or art studios. As I crossed a low bridge over a wide drain, my heart began to race, for the top floor skylight of the gallery was open. Ferdinand was in.
I trudged in to a side alley, and pressed a doorbell next to a wrought iron gate as I stared up at a security camera. The gate clicked open. I stepped into the dim stairwell and climbed up three flights of stairs in twos. When Ferdinand inherited this old sewing factory from his grandfather, he converted the first two floors into a gallery and the top floor into a studio apartment. And it was to this studio that I was heading. The door at the top of the landing was open. Timidly, I stepped into the sunlit space.
“Hello, Joachim. You changed your mind,” he said eyeing me up and down. I nodded and swallowed at the same time. He continued, “You have lost weight.”
“But that is always better right?” I said, the flippant retort coming out terrified.
He looked into my eyes. “It is alright.” A pause. “Take off your jacket and shirt.” I did, then braced myself for more like instructions. But to my relief he said, “Go lounge by the window,” and pointed to a window seat that looked out to an empty sky and the bay area in the mist-shrouded distance.
I sat stiffly down. He approached and arranged my pose with light touches that heightened my senses with the fight or flight adrenaline. My new half-sitting, half-lying position on silk cushions was very comfortable and a nearby radiator warmed me to a doze. The shadows had grown long by the time I woke with a start.
“I am sorry,” I said sitting up then blushed on realizing that I had moved from my position.
“It is fine. We are done.” He waved his hand, inviting me to look at the canvas.
I was astounded and embarrassed at the same time. Yes, he had caught me sleeping and he had caught the light playing on my buckle and had warmed my exposed skin to an autumn glow. I didn’t realized how dirty my jeans were until I saw the stain he had added to his painting.
“Well, what do you think?” he asked.
“Wow, you are very good at…,” I circled my hand in front of the canvas, “…this.”
“Only if the subject is worth painting.” He scrutinized my face in a way that made me uncomfortable. “There are some buns and coffee on the counter. Help yourself.” Then as he was about to walk away, he turned to ask, “Cash right?”
”Yes,” I nodded. After he left the room, I opened the large bakery box on the counter and inside it I found doughnuts, cakes, buns and sandwiches arranged like the bouquet of a June bride. My stomach growled painfully. I gorged down a doughnut in large mouthfuls then stuffed a pair of sandwiches between sips of coffee to wash them down. I stopped the moment I came to my senses, ashamed of my bad manners. I poured myself another cup of coffee.
A pair of voices, one Ferdinand’s and the other a stranger’s, echoed into the studio. Soon they appeared and Ferdinand said, “Joachim, this is my investor, Steven Talbot.”
I rubbed my oily hand on my jeans before shaking his. “Hello, sir.”
He smiled with an amused twinkle in his eyes. “What do you think of the tit-bits?”
“They’re very good.”
He slapped Ferdinand’s shoulder. “See I told you they will work. Most of your clients are men anyway. They’re not going to go for all those exotic dainty stuff.”
“Oh, alright. Do as you will.”
Steven turned away to study the new painting while Ferdinand passed $200 to me.
“Thank you,” I said with an audible sigh of relief.
Steven turned. “Will you be back for another sitting?” he asked, his eyes appearing to read every single expression on my face.
I smiled nervously. “I’m not sure, maybe.” I shrugged.
A quick look passed between him and Ferdinand.
“I… I have to go now,” I said with a quick jerk of my head and a flick of a nervous wave.
“So do I,” Steven said. “I’m going downtown. Anywhere I can drop you?”
I hesitated.
Without looking out the window, Ferdinand said, “Rain’s picking up again.”
I decided to compromise. After all Steven was Ferdinand’s investor. “Just past St. Jude’s Hospital. My place is only a short walk from there.”
“Okay,” he said and we left. We didn’t go straight to St. Jude’s because he had to drop by his other businesses-a restaurant and two clubs. It was 2a.m. by the time he was ready to drive past my area and I let him drive me straight to my flat. When I left the building for lunch after a long hard sleep, he was waiting at the curb and again he brought me to some of his businesses about the city. At the end of the day he told me that I could move in with him anytime I wanted. A week later, I did.
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