Page 11 of The Artist's Rival

Going from acquaintance to acquaintance making small talk, Tatiana grows impatient to have a longer conversation with Ellie, eager to remedy the clumsy bathroom one. She feels peculiarly unresolved when it comes to their relations, and ideally, she would like to straighten things out. She doesn’t like to think of herself as uncivil, or ill-educated. Worse yet, someone who can’t stomach criticism.

She caves into the temptation and downs another glass of champagne, preparing to go looking for the artist of the night, hunting for a glimpse of her dress. Asking around she finds nothing, at this point during the evening the guests tied themselves into neat groups, disinterested in others. Hopeless, she finally spots the dark green dress somewhere near, quickly following. She finds Ellie drinking water in a secluded corner, next to the bathrooms. The weight of these events can sometimes take its toll on an artist, putting themselves out there to be judged. Approaching, Tatiana realizes she’s entirely unsure of the course she wants the conversation to take, unsure even of what she means to say.

She looks so beautiful. Emerald dress. Emerald eyes.

“Hey.” She takes a place next to Ellie, leaning in against the wall.

“Hey, Tatiana,” Ellie looks at her. “I heard you don’t like my paintings,” she sighs. The sentence doesn’t come out as hurt or offended, rather quite playful.

“No, I don’t mean—” Tatiana gets flustered, mad at Fred for sharing such a raw opinion.

“That’s okay,” Ellie interrupts her. “I got to exhibit either way, didn’t I?”

She tilts her head to the side, and the rich storm of her golden hair embraces her face in an effortless compliment. There is something tired about her eyes, Tatiana cannot guess what exactly, but she can still see a playful sparkle swirl around in their depth. She sobers up, looking away.

“Well, that’s just arrogant,” she says in blank disbelief.

“You have that effect, don’t you? I want to be blunt with you,” Ellie fires back.

The women look at each other, soaking in the honesty of such a raw confession. Tatiana doesn’t know what to do with her limbs, suddenly awkwardly aware of her arms. She crosses them on her chest, unluckily taking on a more assertive pose. They stand face to face, hugged by the wall’s support.

“I think that the idea is more powerful than the art. That’s my honest opinion,” she decides to get it out, thinking that perhaps being straightforward is the best solution. They’re both artists of their own right, allowed to critique each other, constructively. She licks her lips, dried out in the hall’s crowded air. The dry skin, covered by her lipstick, stings.

“You just bash my art every time we talk,” Ellie nods. “I have no strength for this tonight, frankly” she says, leaning in closer. “I’m tired.”

“Why are you tired?” Tatiana says more quietly, now that the distance between them diminished so abruptly. She loses her focus.

The conversation has its own tracks, but confronted with the naked reality of Ellie’s neck, Tatiana’s body enters a different form of dialogue. Their arms dance around each other, careful not to collide, but careful not to get too far away. Tatiana’s nostrils flutter, tingled by notes of lemons and cinnamon, mingled with the heat of Ellie’s body. She keeps failing to decide where to keep her eyes, sliding around Ellie’s collarbones, lips, finally her eyes.

“There’s a very demanding guest here tonight,” Ellie admits, seeming equally distracted. She looks to the floor, and Tatiana can swear her cheeks appear more vibrant than usual.

“The woman in the checkered dress,” Tatiana lets out slowly, pronouncing every syllable. They roll off her tongue like candy, each word full and round. “Am I right?”

Ellie gives her a prolonged look, her gaze sliding down Tatiana’s eyes towards her lips. She gets closer, and tall as she is, forces Tatiana to look up at her.

“I don’t want to be talking about that woman,” she whispers in a husky voice, close to Tatiana’s ear, sending filaments of shivers up her back, weakening her knees a little bit.

Tatiana looks around, slightly ashamed to discover her legs itching to part. Ellie stands so close that the heat of her body strokes her skin, and even little breaths can be felt, raising the net of goosebumps around Tatiana’s body.

“What do you want to talk about?” Tatiana swallows a bit loudly, keeping her gaze up.

Ellie raises her hand, her fingers wrapped by heavy rings make their gentle way up and down Tatiana’s throat, stroking her delicate skin. Tatiana leans in closer, enchanted and hot, desire now in full swing in her mind, pumping her boiling blood with force.

Ellie’s lips raise their corners in a little smile, seeing her thirsty eyes. She leans in, sticking her tongue out and tracing Tatiana’s lips.

“Kiss me,” Tatiana whispers, impatient and in a feverish state of want.

“Well not here,” Ellie clicks her tongue, looking around. “But if you go with me to the bathroom… I’ll fuck you the way you deserve it.”

Oh, fuck. Yes.

The sudden force of her voice sends a wave down Tatiana’s legs. Now she really wants to get fucked like she deserves it, whatever that may be in Ellie’s mind. She can feel her heartbeat pulsing in her neck, her thoughts overflowing with dirty imaginings. There was nothing about Ellie that prepared her for this, she thought at first, but now she understands. The comprehension fills up her mind, making her hungry to hear more.

A bit dazed, she looks around, takes Ellie’s hand, and sneakily leads her to the bathroom. She feels like a teenager again, an insolent brat about to get in trouble. The thought only makes Ellie’s promise more appealing.

They enter and the bathroom stands empty, in its full invitation to commit something salacious. Ellie closes the door behind them, and grabs Tatiana closer to her.

“So, you don’t appreciate my art?” she demands, distractingly close to Tatiana’s face.

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