Page 32 of Painting Celia

“We’re not girls.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You mean Celia’s still thinking I look at her too much?”

“She mentioned it. We all got used to not making eye contact when she’s quiet, but you’re new.”

“That’s just weird,” he said. “You guys are all friends, but you can’t look at her?”

Kelsey sat up a bit, tugging her top back into place. “She wasn’t always that way. She’s so much fun, really. She’s just in a rough place right now.”

“Right now,” he repeated, looking back at the house. “How long have you known her?”

“Oh, it’s been years,” Kelsey said. “Before the money. She was at a club, and I got her to buy tickets to my concert. After that, we just started talking and got along.”

“You play music? Or sing?” Andrew had said his friends were artists, but not what Kelsey actually made.

“Oh no,” she laughed. “I was just pushing tickets. It’s what I did before I started at La Creche.”

“What’s that?”

“The clothing store I work at. Melrose. Fancy-ass clothes that cost more than my rent.”

That did not sound like art. “Why were you pushing tickets, then?”

“Promotion. I was a street team kid.” His face must have shown his confusion because she laughed again. “You know, hired by whatever company. We’d dress up and go into clubs to get people to buy a brand of vodka or talk about sneakers.”

Oh, he’d seen that in New York. Years and years ago.

“It was so fun,” she said, “but I aged out of it. No one believes you’re cool if you’re over thirty.”

“Andrew said you were an artist, though,” León said.

“Only sort of. I model for Trevor, and I’m picking up some photography tips from him.” She waved her phone again. “The shop can be boring, so sometimes I style the mannequins and take pictures, and the social media guy posts some of them for the store.”

“Well, that’s art.” Sort of. He wouldn’t judge, though.

“Nah, it’s promotion. I just like buzz. It’s fun when someone comes in asking about something I shot.”

“Modeling is an art.”

She nodded. “I guess. Trevor and I get each other. His paying gigs have cast models, but I sometimes help on his personal projects.”

León remembered an earlier conversation. “Celia said he dropped her after she introduced you.”

“Nah,” she said, “he still shoots her sometimes. She’s better for fine art, though. She used to pose at the college all the time. She’s good.”

But how? She was so inexpressive! “I have a hard time picturing her doing that.”

“Doing that well, you mean.” Kelsey didn’t pull punches, apparently. She swiped on her phone. “Look.”

She scrolled for quite a while, then handed the phone to León. Trevor’s Instagram.

The photo was moody, the background a black unlit studio, a snowy white figure in the center, mid-pirouette. Celia. She wore slim white pants and a gauzy white button-up shirt tied at the waist. Her hair was longer, her face obscured, but definitely her.

“Nice tits,” he said.

Kelsey grimaced. “Really, dude?”

Well, they were pretty obvious, the spotlight from the side outlining her breasts under the shirt. Her nipples were dark shadows pushing against the fabric.

---