Page 36 of Café Diablo

“Like painting?” I frown, then I immediately suck my pouty lip back into my mouth when her eyes flick to it and she looks like she’s going to bop me again like I’m her cutest nephew.

“The worst that will happen is you get some paint on that expensive suit.”

“You say that like it’s no big deal.”

She shrugs, thoroughly amused with herself. “If it’s ruined, then we’ll just make it your painting suit, and you can wear it when you come back to class number two.”

“You assume I’ll make it through class number one.”

“I have faith in you, Edwin.”

“You still haven’t explained why you’re not painting,” I say, pointing once again to the empty seat she hasn’t taken. “While I’m sitting here making a fool out of myself, what exactly will you be doing?”

Olivia leans forward and my whole body tenses as her lips brush against the corner of my mouth. It isn’t a kiss, but it silences me anyway, her scent and proximity intoxicating. Then she tilts her mouth to my ear and says softly, “I’m going to teach.”

She pulls away quickly, making me lightheaded, and I squint at her as she unravels a headset from her apron. She adjusts the tiny microphone as she hooks the device on her head like a telemarketer. Then she winks at me, before plugging the device into a remote or phone that’s hidden in her smock.

“Good evening, everyone!” she says, turning away from me to address the room. Her cheerful voice comes echoing out of a speaker on the stage, and I realize it must be wirelessly connected. “I’m Olivia Reese. Are you all excited to do a little painting tonight?”

The room cheers as she steps up onto the platform and waves to the crowd.

She wasn’t kidding. This isn’t a date. It actuallyisa painting class.

She sneaks a glance back at me, the reality of what she’s just pulled settling in. Normally I’d be pissed—let me be forthright, I am pissed—except she’s got this damn smile on her face that seems to say this will all pay off in the end. Pay the ticket and take the ride on the Olivia Reese roller coaster of fun.

“Now, how many people in the crowd have been to one of my painting nights before?” Olivia asks, and about half the room raises their hand. “Fantastic!” She applauds. “I see Jimmy and Rosie in the back,” she waves to a couple near the bar who whistle in support. “And up front we’ve got the Maiser sisters! I see you brought some friends.”

Olivia points to a group of middle-aged ladies—who are surprisingly hipster in their overalls and smocks—on the far side of the stage. They all lift their glasses and hoot, clearly half-drunk already.

“And how many in the crowd havenevercreated a painting before?” Olivia asks, and I look around to see that there are at least half a dozen of us. “Good!” she exclaims. “Virgin painters are my favorite.” She tosses a side-eye to me briefly before continuing. “Those of you who’ve been to paint night before, what’s the number one rule for all newbie painters?”

“Drink more alcohol!” Half of the room chants, making Olivia laugh as she soaks up the energy of the room. She picks up a glass of wine that’s been sitting on the stool behind her and raises it to the room.

“That’s right!” Olivia toasts. “Drink more alcohol. So, before we paint anything, we need to make sure everyone is properly…” She smiles for a moment and doesn’t finish her sentence, looking for the right word as she plays up the dramatic timing. “Let’s just say if this is your virgin painting—” She lifts an eyebrow at her insinuation. “I want to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible.” Her eyes cut to me with a full-on mischievous smile, before she points to the bar. “If you don’t have a drink, please raise your hand—nice and high. Because again, what’s the first rule for all newbie painters?” She prompts the room to recite with her.

“Drink more alcohol!” everyone echoes in unison.

In fact, the group of women on the far side of the stage have started their own mini-chant circle. “Drink more alcohol! Drink more alcohol!” The table’s glasses of wine are almost empty, as if calling out Olivia’s rule will magically make the glasses refill. Olivia points to them and laughs.

“As you can see, the ladies in the front are model students!” she praises, before looking back to the crowd. “That’s right, virgin painters, please keep those hands up nice and high. The absolutely lovely Zelda’s employees will be coming around and making sure you are properly …lubed up, if you will.” The room laughs at her joke, which she’s whispered to enhance its scandalousness. “Remember, the whole point of this evening is to have fun. Drunk painting is still painting. I mean, have you seen the entire impressionist movement?”

I roll my eyes as the room ripples with amusement. Only, Olivia is stepping off the stage and walking toward me while still addressing the room. She puts her glass of wine down on my table, giving me a disapproving ‘you didn’t raise your hand for a drink’ look.

“Of course, the drinking rule isn’t just for those who are new to painting,” she clarifies. “Everyone is welcome to become asinspiredas they like, because—” She lifts her hand like a music conductor and half the room chants with her.

“Creativity takes courage!”

“Yes, it does,” she agrees, clapping in approval to her sea of minions. “And if you need a little liquid courage to help you on your creative journey, then please drink up! This is a safe space with no judgement. Heck, if Hemingway and Faulkner and Fitzgerald can write entire tomes half-drunk,wecan put a little paint on canvass, don’t you think?”

“Hear! Hear!” come several hoots from the back of the room, accompanied by whistles and chants of agreement. Zelda’s Secret may not bemyscene, but clearly, it’s Olivia’s. Everyone in the room is hanging off her every word like she’s a Guru who’s about to lead them to drunken painting enlightenment.

It’s impressive. She has the whole room engaged and captivated.

“Now, one last thing before I go through the materials and what we’re going to paint this evening,” Olivia continues. “I want to introduce you to my personal friend, Edwin.”

A zip of ice shoots down my spine at the mention of my name. I’m fine with watching this whole presentation, but I don’t want to be a part of it. Yet, Olivia is currently leaning against the side of my booth and pointing at me like I’m an exotic animal who’s about to tap dance for the crowd.

“Can we all give Edwin a warm Zelda’s Secret welcome? He’s never been to one of my paint nights before.” Olivia claps her hands and the room follows, whistling and waving and following her command. Olivia motions for me to acknowledge the crowd, but I just glare at her, shooting mental daggers in her direction and refusing to become a part of her show. “Yup, this one is pretty uptight when it comes to trying new things, and I am pretty sure he’s about to murder me with the look I’m getting.”

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