Page 104 of Painting Celia

Kelsey waited until he released her, then turned to Trevor. “Okay, now my news.”

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.”

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