Page 16 of Painting Celia

“Really?” he asked, stroking her shoulder. “You’ve taken every class?”

“Every one. And I was awful at them all.”

He leaned his head against hers. “Aw, you were just new to it. Art takes practice.” His voice rumbled in his chest against her cheek. “What did you like best?”

She didn’t want solutions, but he was trying to help. “Posing, maybe,” she said slowly. “I was a part of other people making good art.”

“You are an excellent life model,” he said, a smile in his voice. “Remember the sculpture of mine you posed for last term? I’m firing the final piece now. If it survives, I can show you this week.”

Artists always ended up talking about their work, even the sweet ones who meant well. What would it be like to have something of her own to talk about?

Andrew rubbed a gentle hand up and down her arm. “You don’t have to limit yourself to the college, you know. This is LA. There are artists everywhere who need to earn a living. You could get private instruction. If you want to keep going on the list, keep going.”

She sighed heavily. Meeting new people one-on-one? She was bad at that too.

Andrew reached up to ruffle her hair. “Let’s eat something, then get in the pool. That sometimes helps, right? The sun’s probably down by now. It’ll be cooler out.”

Celia let him lead her around, taking fruit and cheese from the fridge and going outside into the dusk. León had already put away his easel. His shadow moved in the pool house. Andrew made a beeline for it.

Oh no.

She didn’t want to see León after saying what she’d said.

Andrew didn’t give her a choice, pulling her by the hand right into the pool house.

León was in the bathroom, cleaning his brushes. “Oh, hey,” he said. “Is it okay if I clean these here? I’ll fix any mess I make.”

Was he acting like she hadn’t been awkward yesterday?

Andrew sat on the daybed to take his shoes off, looking around. “It’s different in here.”

“Not much,” she said. “I added a lamp.”

Andrew stood to grab his swim trunks from the drying rack he’d laid them on the day before, unzipping his pants without regard to who was in the room. León caught Celia’s eye and grinned, giving Andrew a meaningful side glance.

He was going to ignore what she’d said!

He straightened from the sink, approaching her with dripping brushes, but she wasn’t ready to be talked to. Celia retreated to the door, still holding Andrew’s forgotten plate of cheese. “I’ll just….”

Andrew was pulling his pants down as she slipped out.

She escaped to the very edge of the yard, between the pool and the wrought iron fence that ran along the top of the retaining wall. The canyon fell away below her, smelling of sage, the distant yips of coyotes a familiar greeting.

She’d made it through again. She still felt the weight of her failures, but Andrew had helped. If nothing else, she had to act normally so he didn’t worry.

Maybe she would look for private art teachers. Poetry, maybe. That didn’t need a lot of equipment, and throwing away a lousy poem was easier than some of the other awful artworks she’d made.

“Absolutely not!”

Celia jumped as León’s voice, raised and strident, pierced the serene backyard.

“No way in hell!”

He was shouting in the pool house! An old panic began rising. Andrew’s voice could be heard, low and placating, but she couldn’t make out the words.

Silence. It drew out.

Andrew came out to the pool, looking ordinary in his swim trunks. He wasn’t agitated or worried. Her heart began to beat again.

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