Текст книги "Painless"

Автор книги: Devon Hartford

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

“I think it’s usually serial killers and guys that smell.”

“Do serial killers and guys that smell get along?” I mused. “Or do they hate each other and stick to opposite sides of the strip joint?”

“I think the strip joint separates them into two sections with a smell proof barrier between them.”

“Would I get to pick which side I stripped on?”

“Probably not. I think it goes by seniority.”

“With my luck, I’d be stuck in the stank tank,” I grumbled.

“Wait, are you saying that you’d prefer being cooped up with a bunch of odor donors over stripping for smell-free serial killers?”

“Wouldn’t you?” I protested. “I don’t want to be killed by my clientele.”

“After being locked up in the smell cell for an eight hour shift, you’d be begging for murder,” Madison laughed. “I know I would.”

“I’d wear a gas mask! Problem solved,” I grinned.

“Nobody wants to watch strippers with gas masks,” Madison chuckled dubiously.

“Come on,” I insisted, “guys don’t go to strip joints to admire the strippers’ beautiful eyes.”

“You might be right about that,” Madison said.

“Totes mascrotes,” I giggled.

“Stop!” she begged. “I think my brain is officially overdosed on totes quotes. Maybe we should take a study break?”

“I totes concotes.”

Madison leaned over and threatened to smack me in the face.

“Okay!” I pleaded, “No more totes!”

We left our stuff in the study room and took the elevator to the ground floor and walked outside.

“Mads, do you want to go get coffee at Totested Rotes?” I quipped.

“Did you just say Totested Rotes?” Madison growled.

I started running before she could catch me and pummel my ass.

She chased me all the way to the Student Center. We laughed the entire time.

* * *

My blank blue book stared up at me, challenging me to write something that wasn’t inane.

It was finals week.

Grrr.

I was sitting in the crowded lecture hall for my American History 2 final. I had to write several essay answers to various questions about 19th century America in the span of three hours. Timed essays? Whose idea was that? What happened to multiple choice? Groan!

The one nice thing about blue book exams was all the extra space for doodling. Did I get extra credit for drawing a picture of Abraham Lincoln? Probably not.

I scanned through the list of questions. Which one to attack first?

Discuss the War of 1812 and its economic consequences. I could barely remember what happened in 2012. How was I supposed to write about what happened in 1812?

Discuss the instigating factors and the political aftermath of the Mexico-American War. Didn’t it start over drug trafficking? No? Well, I was pretty sure after the war was over, the U.S. got to keep New Mexico, but the Mexicans got to keep Old Mexico. That was enough of an answer, right? Maybe not.

There was one question I was happy to answer. It was about the James Gang, as in Jesse James. A real American outlaw. I remembered the photo of Jesse James in our readings about his gang. I was not surprised to discover that he was quite handsome. If they’d made a movie version about Jesse James back in the old days, he could’ve played himself. I’d wondered if he had tattoos beneath his cowboy outlaw garb. I knew one thing for sure, if he’d been alive today, he would’ve ridden a motorcycle.

I did my best to b.s. my way through the exam questions for over two hours before I finally gave up.

I trudged down to the bottom of the lecture hall and dropped my blue book on the pile of finished exams already on the table, then I trudged back up the stairs.

Justin Tomlinson was waiting for me outside the lecture hall. As always, he appeared fresh from a boy band music video, or like he had just finished hosting Saturday Night Live. Justin flashed his matinee idol smile at me. “How’d you do?” he asked.

I slumped my shoulders as I walked toward him and rolled my eyes. “Kill me now,” I groaned. “The T.A.’s will recognize my blue book because it’ll be the one with all the flies buzzing around it due to all my stinky b.s. answers.”

He chuckled, “That good?”

I sighed, “How’d you do?”

“It went pretty good, but I can’t say for sure until grades come out.”

I think he was trying to be supportive. He’d probably aced it. I said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m desperately in need of caffeine before my next final. Do you want to get some coffee at Toasted Roast?”

“Sure,” he smiled.

We walked toward the Student Center together and chatted the entire way. Ever since Justin had first approached me in History class, I couldn’t decide if he was being flirty or not. Unlike Hunter Blakeley, whose flirtations were as subtle as Britney Spears climbing out of a limousine in a short skirt, Justin was hard to read. Whatever. I wasn’t going to worry about it. If Justin was interested in me beyond my art contributions to The Wombat, he wasn’t letting it show or get in the way, which I totally appreciated. If it became a problem, I’d deal with it then.

“Have you guys voted about which drawing to pick for Potty the Pot Smoking Wombat?” I asked.

“Not yet. I think people were too busy studying for finals. I want to give everyone a chance to submit their own drawings before the vote.”

“That’s cool,” I said, hiding my disappointment.

I was really hoping one of my drawings would get picked because I was pretty sure my final grade for History was going to suck donkey balls. When the grades for Winter Quarter came out next week, I was going to need some good news to offset the inevitable bad. Because, sooner or later, I would have to talk to my parents, as much as I loathed the idea.

It would be nice if I could show them some proof that my desire to become an artist wasn’t completely idiotic.

On second thought, I don’t know what I was worrying about. It wasn’t like my parents could do anything more than they already had to make my life miserable.

Chapter 13

SAMANTHA

“Spring Break!” Romeo, Kamiko, Madison and myself all squealed as we clinked wine glasses together. We stood on the backyard deck at the Manos Mansion. I had invited them all over for a house warming party. The weather was perfect for it. San Diego was having a heat wave. It was seventy-two, the skies were blue, and only a few cotton candy clouds puffed above.

Wine splashed out of our glasses onto our naked toes. Madison and I were in bikinis, already working on our tans.

“Where’s your swimsuit, Kamiko?” Madison asked.

“In my bag,” she said bashfully. She wore boy shorts and an Adventure Time baby tee.

“You gotta get that rockin little body of yours tanned up,” Madison said. “You look like you spent all winter inside studying.”

Kamiko groaned, “I did spend all winter inside studying.”

“And painting,” Romeo added. He wore a black short sleeve tee and black jeans. I think it was his version of swimwear.

“That’s right!” I smiled at Kamiko. “Are you still working on paintings for Brandon’s Contemporary Artists Show?”

“You bet I am,” Kamiko scowled. “I’m not letting that stupid Brandumb bring me down. I’m getting my art into his show even if it kills him.”

“Him?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Kamiko smiled mischievously, “if I don’t get a painting into his show, I’m going to assassinate him with my ninja skills while he’s sleeping.”

“Does that mean you’re going to seduce him into bed, then kill him?” Romeo asked.

“Ew,” Kamiko grimaced, “why would anyone want to sleep with a jerk like Brandumb?”

“I often wonder the same thing,” Christos said as he and Jake walked up to join us. Both of them had beers in their hands and wore nothing but low riding board shorts. Their rippled abs Veed down to the waistbands of their low riding swimsuits. They were a sixteen pack attack of muscled manliness.

Romeo openly ogled Christos and Jake. “I just came in my pants,” he said casually.

Christos rolled his eyes and smiled wide while giving Romeo a good natured fist bump.

“Ew!” Kamiko grimaced. “TMI, Romeo!”

“Admit it, Kamiko,” Romeo goaded, “the second you have a moment alone and your fingers are free to roam, the first thing on your mind will be a slow motion replay of Christos and Jake walking up with their abs flexing. I know that’s what I’ll be thinking about.”

“Dude,” Jake joked, “if you keep talking like that, I’m going to put my shirt back on. I totally hate being treated like a sex object.”

“Yeah, right!” Madison said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wearing a shirt except at my parents’ Thanksgiving!”

“True,” Jake smiled thoughtfully.

“And you had to borrow that one!” Madison continued. “Do you even own any shirts?”

“Nope,” Jake grinned. “I never need ‘em when all I do is surf.”

“You give surf bums a bad name,” Madison smiled at him.

Jake wrapped his arm around Madison, “And you love it.”

Madison rolled her eyes at me and said, “Men. What would they do without their precious egos?”

“Hey, Madison,” Romeo said, “if you get tired of Jake, let me know.”

“Back off, buddy,” Madison grinned. “He’s all mine.”

“Women,” Jake quipped to Christos, “what would they do without our precious egos?”

“I’ll drink to that,” Christos said as he clinked beers with Jake.

“Romeos,” Romeo said, “what would you all do without me?”

Everyone chuckled as we toasted again.

“Spring break!” Madison squealed.

“Spring break!!!!” everyone else shouted.

* * *

Shish kebabs sizzled on the grill as Spiridon turned everything over. “Meat’s ready,” he said, “come and grab a plate.”

We all lined up and Spiridon served everyone.

Christos was busy putting out more pita bread to go with the fresh hummus he’d made. I noticed he had yet another fresh beer in his hand and was already buzzed. Oh well. It was Saturday. He could enjoy himself for the weekend. His paintings for Brandon could wait until Monday.

Once we all had plates full of food, we sat down at a table under a big sun umbrella and Spiridon joined us.

“Wow,” Kamiko smiled, licking her fingers which were sticky from eating the juicy shish-kebab, “This is so yummy!”

“Thanks,” Spiridon said. “There’s more if you want it.”

Romeo leaned into me and whispered, “Is Spiridon single? Because I’ve always had a thing for hot older men. If Christos looks that good in forty years, you’ll never leave the bedroom. I know I wouldn’t.”

I chuckled and shook my head. “Geez, Romeo. You have a one track mind.”

“What?” Romeo said defensively. “He’s hot!”

“He’s not gay. Even if he was, I wouldn’t want you dating my boyfriend’s grandfather.”

“Oh, pish posh. We could totally double date.”

I shook my head, “Eat your lunch, Romeo.”

After lunch, we all jumped in the pool. Except for Romeo and Kamiko. There was a small diving board at the deep end, so I dove off and swam to the other end of the pool in one breath. Blue green glimmers danced across the bottom of the pool as I breast stroked my way to the far wall. I still kept up my running regularly, and the pool wasn’t olympic sized, so it wasn’t too hard to swim it in one breath. But I was totally ready for air when my head popped out of the water at the end.

“Look at you, Aqua Girl,” Kamiko smiled.

“You should put your suit on, Kamiko,” I encouraged.

“I don’t want to leave Romeo alone,” she smiled. In a low voice, she said, “he keeps staring at Christos’ grandfather like he’s going to eat him.”

“I think Spiridon can protect himself. You should get in the pool.”

“Maybe later,” she smiled.

Christos and Jake took turns doing flips off the diving board. I think their goal was to splash as much water on me and Madison as possible. We moved to the far end of the pool and cheered them on.

Romeo and Kamiko were also egging them on.

Christos climbed out of the pool after his last jump, water dripping down his tattooed muscled body, and strolled to the diving board, where Jake stood ready to dive.

“Show us what you’ve got,” Christos said to him.

Jake took a few quick steps on the short spring board and launched himself forward as far as he could and landed in a cannonball. He made huge splash and water rained everywhere. When he rose out of the water he did that wet hair flip thing that made him look like he was filming a TV commercial for men’s cologne.

Madison and I were leaning against the wall in the shallow end.

I nudged her and whispered, “Do you think Jake could be any hotter?”

“No,” she smiled proudly.

I laughed. “You know, he’s totally spoiled all other men for you.”

“I know!” she grinned. “He better marry me or I’ll end up a lonely spinster. No other man can hold a candle.”

I winked at Madison, “Well, I can think of one man.”

“Dude!” Christos shouted at Jake, “that was nothing! Check this shit out!” Christos hollered as he backed up a few steps on the deck behind the spring board. He sounded a little slurry from drinking.

“What’s he doing?” I asked Madison, suddenly concerned.

She narrowed her eyes and turned to look at Christos. “I don’t know.”

“Christos?” I said. “Maybe you shouldn’t—”

Before I could do anything, Christos ran toward the board and leapt onto it, continuing to accelerate. He hopped and landed on the front edge of the board. For a second, I feared he would slip right off and hurt himself. But he didn’t. The board bowed under his weight and he was flung high into the air at an angle. Instead of heading toward the middle of the pool, he was sailing diagonally toward the cement side. Everything that happened next happened in slow motion. His body turned languorously in a forward flip. But he was going too slow to get his feet back under him. His head was aiming right at the side of the pool. Oh my god, he looked like he was going to hit it head first.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod—

My heart jumped into my throat and my eyes popped out of my head.

CRACK!!

At the last second, Christos’ back flopped onto the surface of the water, making that sickening slapping sound you hear when someone does the most painful belly flop of all time, except on his back. He had missed the cement side by inches, yet he still sank slowly into the water.

Kamiko gasped, “Oh no…”

Was Christos okay? I didn’t know. I swam toward him as fast as I could to check.

The backyard had gone suddenly silent.

Romeo stood up from his chair where he sat in the shade like he wanted to help somehow.

Jake had swum over to check on Christos too.

I was about to dive under the water to pull Christos out when he slowly rose to the surface head first, bubbling water out of his mouth. “Man,” he laughed, “that fucking hurt.”

“Are you okay?” I asked nervously.

“I’m fine,” he smiled.

“What the fuck was that?” Jake asked.

“Did you miss it?” Christos quipped. “I can do it again if you did.”

“No!” I shouted. “We don’t need to see it again. Maybe we should be done with the diving board?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Madison said, now floating beside us.

We all climbed out of the pool and everyone stood around Christos. I think we were all still shaken.

“Are you okay, C-Man?” Romeo asked.

Christos nodded, “I’m good.”

Spiridon had been inside and came walking out onto the deck. “Does anybody need anything?” He’d missed the whole thing.

“Maybe some towels?” I suggested.

Spiridon nodded and went inside. He returned with a stack of towels.

After toweling off, everyone laid out on the loungers in our damp swimsuits. Romeo and Kamiko sat under a sun umbrella around a circular glass table.

Ten minutes later, I think my heart was still doing a drum roll in my chest because of Christos’ brush with disaster.

Christos stood up and stopped at the foot of my lounger. He asked, “You need another beer?”

I shook my head, “I’m good.”

“Anybody else?” Christos asked the group.

“I’ll take one,” Jake said.

When Christos was gone, Madison leaned over to me and muttered, “Is it just me, or is Christos drinking too much today?”

“You noticed?” I winced.

“Yeah,” she scoffed, “but I wasn’t worried about it until his back flop. I don’t remember him drinking this much before. Has something been bothering him?”

“I think he’s just blowing off leftover steam from his trial.”

“Oh,” Madison said thoughtfully.

A few days after Christos’ court case had been dismissed, I’d asked if he minded me telling Madison and the gang about it. He said he didn’t care. So I’d given them a rundown of all the hair raising events over fish tacos a couple days later.

I said, “Do you think I should talk to him about his drinking?”

“Maybe you should,” Madison said seriously.

I resolved to have a conversation with Christos about it tonight. In the meantime, I just needed to keep him out of the pool and off the diving board until he sobered up.

I eased back onto my lounger and closed my eyes, letting the warm sun wash over me. I should’ve been more relaxed, but something nagged at me, like I was missing some obvious looming threat that would inevitably injure Christos or take him away from me forever.

But I couldn’t figure out what it was.

* * *

When people were ready for a shade break from tanning, Romeo and Kamiko asked Christos for a tour of his art studio, which neither of them had seen. Christos took everyone inside to check it out.

“Wow, Christos,” Kamiko marveled, “these paintings are even better than the ones you sold at your solo show at Charboneau.”

“Thanks,” Christos said casually, leaning against the nude portrait of Jacqueline, which he’d pulled out of the drying rack. I’d met Jacqueline several times while Christos was painting her. She was nice.

I felt better now that Christos was far from the pool. There wasn’t anything he could really hurt himself on inside the studio. But I kept a close eye on him, just in case. I didn’t want him knocking over an easel by accident and ruining a painting or something.

“Yeah, Christos,” Romeo said, “these new paintings are awesome.”

Christos frowned seriously, “Even better than my painting of Tiffany with the mustache you added?”

Romeo laughed nervously. “Your painting of her was awesome, but you have to admit, the mustache made her look way better.”

The anger melted from Christos’ face and he smiled at Romeo, “Yeah, totally.”

Romeo heaved a sigh of relief. I think he still felt guilty about triggering Tiffany’s tirade on New Year’s Eve.

Madison rolled her eyes. “Tiffany was totally lameballs that night.”

I had to agree. What a trip that had been on Tiffany’s yacht. If I never saw that hot air ho-bag Tiffany again, it would be too soon.

Christos clinked his fresh beer against Romeo’s glass of wine, then gulped down several swallows.

I sighed to myself. How much was Christos going to drink? I’d resolved that as long as he wasn’t driving or diving, I wasn’t going to stop him. He was over twenty one. He could drink all he wanted. If he ended up passed out on a couch, so much the better. I wouldn’t have to worry about him breaking his neck. All I’d have to do was make sure he didn’t drown in puke.

Christos pushed the painting of Jacqueline back into the drying rack. Then he tried to pull out another one, but it seemed stuck.

I think the real problem was that Christos was too fumbly drunk to manage it himself.

“Let me help,” I said, stepping forward.

“I’ve got it,” he said, wrestling with it. Suddenly, it popped out of the drying rack. Because of how he’d been standing, he stumbled backward and threw his hands out to keep his balance, causing him to release the painting, which started tipping forward. At the same time, Christos bumped heavily into the table behind him which was covered with painting supplies. The table rocked and a glass jar sitting on the corner containing a bunch of brushes fell to the floor and shattered on the concrete. Wooden brushes clattered and danced.

I was laser focused on stopping the falling painting. I clenched my teeth, and lunged for it, but Kamiko was in the way, and I would’ve had to put my foot right through the middle of the canvas to reach the falling edge because it was so tall. There was nothing I could do to stop it.

I was expecting the worst, but the painting acted like a big sail. It was so light, it caught enough air to cushion its fall. It landed softly on the floor of the studio. Phew. Disaster averted.

“Whoops,” Christos slurred.

Romeo quickly bent to pick up the painting, a concerned look on his face.

“Don’t worry, it’s dry,” Christos reassured from where he now sat on the floor. I could tell he felt a bit stupid for his drunken clumsiness.

I helped Christos to his feet and he dusted off his ass.

“I’ll get a broom,” he said.

I squatted and started picking up paint brushes.

“Be careful of the glass,” Madison said.

Christos returned with a hand broom and dust pan, “I’ve got it.” He squatted and swept up the mess.

Trying to defuse the awkwardness of the situation, Kamiko said, “Err, ah, who are all the women in the paintings, Christos? They’re all so beautiful.”

“Brandon hired them,” Christos said as he shook the last of the glass out of the dustpan and into a wastebasket. “They’re all kind of bland, don’t you think?”

“Totally,” Romeo joked, also trying to lighten the mood. “Maybe you could paint some hot muscled guys with big dicks?”

“Dicks and fine art don’t go together,” Christos chuckled.

“That is so sexist,” Romeo growled. “I want more dicks in fine art! Dicks, dicks, dicks! I want to see them exploding all over the place like fire hoses!” Romeo was trying his hardest to make people laugh, but it wasn’t working. Discomfort still filled the air.

Kamiko said, “So, Christos, how many paintings do you still have to do for your upcoming show?”

“I don’t know,” he dismissed, “a bunch.”

“Who else are you going to paint?” Madison asked.

“More of Brandon’s models,” Christos said apathetically.

“Why don’t you paint Samantha?” Madison suggested.

“Because Brandon wants nudes. That’s what sells,” Christos said.

“I’ll pose nude for you,” Romeo said enthusiastically.

“Who would buy a nude painting of you?” Kamiko asked.

“I would!” he said. “I’d pay a million bucks for a painting of me.”

“Do you have a million dollars?” Kamiko asked.

“No,” he sighed.

“Exactly,” Kamiko frowned.

“Christos, I think you should paint Romeo,” I winked at Romeo. “He is super sexy. But with clothes on. That’s when he’s at his sexiest.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Romeo smiled at me, then glared spears and arrows at Kamiko. “At least someone around here has good taste,” he hissed.

Kamiko rolled her eyes.

Christos laughed, “I’ll keep it in mind, Romeo.”

At least no one was making a big deal out of how drunk Christos was.

* * *

A dog barked softly somewhere outside our bedroom the next morning. The winter sun was up, brightening the bedroom.

“Somebody shut that fucking dog up,” Christos moaned. “It sounds like it’s barking inside my head.” He slid his head under his pillow and pulled it tightly around his ears.

“Do you need some water?” I asked.

He peaked out from under the pillow. “Can you add some vodka to it?”

“No. The bar is closed. I’ll get you some cold water from the fridge.” I threw on my robe and padded downstairs to the kitchen. When I returned with the glass, Christos was sprawled out in bed face up with the pillow over his face, the blanket pushed down to his waist, revealing his rippled abs.

I considered resting the cold glass on his stomach, but that would be cruel. I sat next to him and rested my hand on his abs instead. Yum. Even hungover, he was ten times sexier than mortal men.

He sat up and drank the water thirstily.

“Thanks,” he sighed. “I could use five more of those.”

“Do you want me to get the pitcher for you?”

“No, thanks, I can get it. I might have to crawl, but I can do it,” he grinned.

“Christos, is everything okay?”

He blinked and looked at me seriously. “What do you mean?”

“Uh, um, you’ve kind of been drinking a lot lately.”

Christos’ brows drew together in a frown.

I winced, expecting an argument. Memories of short fused Damian Wolfram gnawed at the edges of my awareness. I reminded myself that Christos wasn’t a hothead. He might be drinking more than he should, but never once had he raised his voice at me, or shown a single sign of anger. That was one thing I loved about Christos. He never seemed to get angry. He knew how to handle his emotions like an adult. I hoped this discussion wouldn’t be the exception.

“Yeah,” he sighed and laid his forearm across his eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe later?”

At least he didn’t get angry at me for bringing it up. Maybe I should’ve waited until he wasn’t hung over.

“Do you want some breakfast?” I asked.

“Sure.”

“How about I make you breakfast in bed? You’re always doing all the cooking anyway.”

He lifted his forearm off his face and smiled at me with his dimples and brilliant blue eyes. “Sounds awesome.”

“Eggs and toast?” I suggested.

“Perfect,” he said sleepily.

“You wait here, and I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

I went down to the kitchen and made breakfast for both of us. When I brought it upstairs on a tray, Christos was fast asleep.

I didn’t have the heart to wake him.

* * *

When Monday morning rolled around, I woke up to an empty bed. I threw on a robe and went downstairs to find Christos. I heard slashing and rattling noises as I approached the studio.

I leaned my head through the door to the studio, afraid of what I might find.

Christos stood behind the big canvas of Isabella, practically attacking it by throwing big gobs of paint at it with a loaded brush.

“What are you doing?” I asked tentatively.

Between slapping paint on the canvas, Christos said, “Getting the canvas…” WHACK! “…ready for Isabella…” SPLAT! “She’s going to be here…” GLOP!” “…at ten.”

I walked around behind Christos and the canvas. The painting of Isabella was almost entirely covered in wet brown paint. The only part that wasn’t covered was the face. “Oh my god, Christos,” I gasped, “what did you do to your painting?”

Now he was working the blobs of paint into the canvas with a big brush. “It needed some work…” SMEAR! “…a lot of work.” SCRUB! “I’m going to change…” RUB! RUB! RUB! “…the pose.” He took a step back from the canvas to assess it.

“But it was almost finished,” I said, feeling an overwhelming sense of defeat. He had put a tremendous amount of work into this painting. It had looked amazing to me before. Now it seemed, I don’t know, ruined. “You’re starting over?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? It was beautiful. Kamiko and Romeo and Madison and Jake all thought it was amazing. I thought it was amazing.”

He grimaced, “It wasn’t working.”

I sighed. Oh well. I wasn’t the one who’d sold hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of paintings. I trusted that Christos knew what he was doing. Besides, it was too late to do anything about it now. He really did have to start over, no matter how far it put him behind on his deadline.

Since I had the week off and Christos had to work, I decided to spend the day in the studio with him. When Isabella arrived and they went to work, I sat down at my drawing table to work on some cartoons for The Wombat based on ideas Romeo and I had discussed.

Isabella got undressed and Christos had her sit in a variety of different poses until he found one he liked. They all looked good to me, but based on Christos’ brooding demeanor, I could tell he wasn’t happy with any of them.

Once he started painting, he sighed audibly at least once every five minutes. He wasn’t enjoying himself. Too bad the weather was so nice outside. It was the perfect day to get out of the house and take a road trip or do something relaxing in San Diego. There were a hundred options of fun things to do in town, but Christos needed to work. He didn’t need to add more stress by losing another work day today.

So I sat quietly at my drawing table and worked. If Christos had to work today, I would too.

After painting Isabella for half an hour, they took a break. Christos walked into the living room and returned with a glass of bourbon and the bottle. When he went back to work, it seemed like every time I looked over, he was taking another swallow of liquor. I couldn’t decide if the bourbon was helping his mood or making it worse.

I contemplated finding Spiridon and asking him if he could throw away all his booze or at least hide it until after Christos’ gallery show. Too bad that wouldn’t actually solve anything.

Around one o’clock, I was ready for a break. I set down my pencil and closed my sketchbook. “Does anybody want a sandwich or something?” I asked, standing behind Christos.

Christos laid down his brushes like they weighed a ton each. “Sure,” he mumbled, sounding exhausted. I knew it was the stress.

“May I break, Christos?” Isabella asked demurely in her Portuguese accent.

“Sure,” he huffed dismissively and walked through the French doors to the back deck.

“Isabella,” I asked, “do you want a sandwich?”

“Please,” she smiled.

It wasn’t at all weird to me anymore that Isabella sat naked in front of my boyfriend on a regular basis. The jealousy I’d felt the first time I’d been in the room with Christos painting her nude had shrunk to almost nothing. It helped that she seemed to have lost interest in him, which was odd because before she’d been all over him. Maybe she had met a cute guy of her own. “I’ll go make those sandwiches,” I said. “Care to join me in the kitchen?”

She followed me and we chatted while I pulled ingredients out of the refrigerator.

“Have a seat,” I said, motioning to the chairs at the kitchen table.

“Oh, no sitting. I sitting all day. Now I stand,” she smiled. “Standing good.”

“How’s the modeling up in Los Angeles?”

“L.A. is good. I busy, all the time busy.”

“That’s good,” I smiled as I pulled a loaf of sourdough out of its paper sack and sliced off several pieces with a bread knife. “I imagine you’re making good money?”

“Very good. Also nice to work here with Christos. No cameras. He make me perfect without the Photoshop.”

“Yeah,” I grinned. “Christos is an amazing painter.”

“I thought I heard you in here,” Spiridon said as he walked into the kitchen.

“Do you want a sandwich?” I asked him.

“Please,” he smiled. “Isabella, can I get you anything to drink?”

“Agua, por favor?” she said. “Oh, uh, I mean the water, please?”

“We have plenty of água,” he winked at her as he pulled out the pitcher from the fridge.

A loud crash echoed in from the studio.

I jumped where I stood at the counter, “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Spiridon said, setting the pitcher down. “I’ll go look.”