Blood and Guitars (13 page)

Just as promised, Aurora had left the back
door unlocked for me. I turned the knob and let myself inside.
There was music playing from somewhere above.

“Hello?” I shut the door behind me. “I heard
the artist who owns this joint might be up to giving a painting
lesson tonight.”

“I’m up to it if you are,” Aurora’s voice
called back. I smiled and walked forward. “Come on up.” The volume
of the music dropped considerably.

I climbed the stairway and found myself
standing in a loft with a long table toward the back. Several
paintings were hanging along the back wall and there was a small
kitchenette on the far left. A myriad of paint tubes, brushes and
other containers were organized on the table. A few small lounge
chairs were positioned at the half-wall next to me and a rolling
tray of some kind sat in the corner. Aurora stood a few feet away
placing a medium sized canvas on an easel. She looked up and smiled
at me when I approached.

“Nice work space you have here,” I said.

“Thanks,” she said. “It suits my needs.”

I stepped forward to get a better look at the
pieces that were hanging along the back wall. “Any reason these
aren’t downstairs with the others?” I asked curiously.

“I just finished this one a few nights ago.”
She pointed to a night scene with a pyramid. “It’s probably dry to
the touch now, actually,” she continued. She gestured to the other
two hanging next to it and added, “These are waiting to be
varnished. I might get them finished tonight while you create your
first masterpiece.”

“Masterpiece, huh?” I chuckled. “Don’t know
if we should be throwing that term around so loosely.”

“Have you thought about what you want to
paint?” She picked up an apron that had been draped over the end of
the table.

“Not really,” I admitted, feeling like an
idiot.

She stepped up to me and looped the top
string of the apron over my head. “The most important thing is to
paint what you love.” Then she stepped around me slowly and pulled
on the side strings, tying them together behind my back. “So, I
guess the question is what do you love?”

I bit my lip. “More specifically, what do I
love that I can attempt to paint?”

“That too,” she agreed.

I wracked my brain for a few seconds and then
said, “How about a guitar?”

“I think that’s reasonable.” She went to the
table and gestured for me to follow her. She handed me a palette
and pointed to the various colors of paint tubes laid out. “Get
some color on your palette. Don’t worry if you don’t find the exact
shades you want here. We can mix them up as we go. First, I’d start
with the background of the painting. Decide what colors you want
behind the guitar.”

I rummaged through the colors and grabbed a
tube of black. Once I had the paint on my palette she pulled the
rolling tray over to the easel and spread out a bunch of brushes on
it for me. Next she set a jar of water down and said. “The water
will thin your paint out so you can spread it easier on the canvas.
I think you’re ready to get started.”

“How long does this stuff take to dry?” I
fingered through some of the brushes, selecting one of the bigger
ones without a pointy tip.

“Not long. This is acrylic paint. The oils I
use take much longer.”

“Cool. So I just start slapping paint on
then?”

“Pretty much,” she said with a smile. “You
can’t really go wrong.”

“Sure, you say that now but you might just
change your mind once you see the mess I’m going to make of this
canvas,” I teased.

“We’ll call you an impressionist and sell it
for an absurd price,” she retorted with a wry smile.

I set to work painting my canvas black with
big sloppy strokes. Aurora took a painting of a pyramid down from
the wall and opened a mason jar full of a clear liquid that I
assumed wasn’t water once she started painting it over the image on
the canvas.

“Do you always paint at night?” I
questioned.

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. The girl I talked to the other
night, Kacie, said that you’re not usually around during the day. I
just wondered if you had another job or something.”

“I like to pretend I don’t have a job,” she
answered. “The truth is, I’m just a night owl and I find that’s
when I’m most inspired to paint. I’m kind of useless during the
day.”

She must have caught the smile on my face
because she turned and raised an eyebrow at me. “You must think I’m
strange.”

I shook my head and chuckled. “Not at all. I
just don’t usually meet girls who can relate to my mostly nocturnal
schedule. It’s nice.”

“What do musicians who work at night do
during the day?” she asked.

“Sleep,” I said with a laugh.

“Can’t argue with that logic.” She walked
around to inspect my work. “It’ll only take a little bit for that
to dry. You can help me varnish this piece for a minute if you
want. There’s a sink over there you can rinse that brush in.”

I went to the sink in the kitchenette and
rinsed the brush until the black was gone and the water ran clear.
Then I set it back with the other brushes on the rolling cart. I
went to her side and she handed me the brush she was holding and
gestured for me to give it a try. I dipped the brush into the jar
with the clear mixture and then stared at the painting. I was
suddenly worried that I was going to do it wrong and ruin the
awesome pyramid. Aurora must have sensed my hesitation. She took my
wrist gently with her hand and guided the brush down to the canvas,
using long sweeping strokes. After a moment, she released my hand
and watched me work.

“See, you’re a natural.” She smiled when I
looked over at her.

“Hey, there’s no need for sarcasm.” That made
her laugh, and for the second time I enjoyed the musical quality of
her laughter. She smiled at me and I realized I had paused, hand in
the air, to gaze at her. Our eyes met and the strange sense of
vulnerability I’d experienced last night washed over me again. I
was caught in her green eyes for a long moment before I forced
myself to look down at the painting.

Aurora looked down as well and said, “Would
you like something to drink? I think I have some soda here
somewhere.”

“That would be great. Thanks.”

She returned a moment later with two cans of
Rootbeer, handing one to me. I set the brush back in the mason jar
of varnish and opened the can, taking a sip.

“Rootbeer. I know it’s silly,” she said. I
grinned and waited for her to continue. “It just reminds me of
being ten years old. The taste is nostalgic, I guess.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Rootbeer.” I
leaned against the table. “In fact, if you ask me, there are a few
things in life that just require Rootbeer.”

“Is that so? Like what?”

“Uh … pizza for instance. Pizza and Rootbeer
were made for each other.” I took another drink to buy some time.
“And uh … board games.” She gave me a doubtful look. “And painting
lessons, apparently.”

She smiled, biting her bottom lip while she
played with the tab on the can. “I bet your paint is dry now.” We
walked over to the easel and Aurora inspected the canvas. “You’re
good to go.”

I picked up my pallet and went back over to
the table, selecting a tube of green paint and a tube of white. “I
need this green to be uglier.” I held it up, inspecting the shade.
“Like a muddier color, or the color of manure or something.”

She snickered and reached out for a brown
tube, handing it to me. “Manure could be tricky,” she teased. “Try
adding a little of this. Just don’t add too much to begin with. You
can always add more.”

I mixed the paint until I was satisfied and
then began filling in the basic shape of my guitar on the canvas
with a smaller brush. I decided to do a close-up on the body of the
guitar, angled down toward the bottom right corner, with a third of
the neck showing and disappearing up at the top toward the left.
Once I had the shape of the body painted and filled in, I used some
more black to outline it and then add the three knobs. Then I used
the same brown Aurora had given me for the neck and fret board. I
went back over some of the outline in white, feeling like it was
missing something. The white helped.

“Not bad,” Aurora said from over my shoulder.
I nearly jumped at her voice. I hadn’t realized she was standing
there. “Sorry.” She grinned. “I didn’t realize you were getting so
into it.”

“Neither did I.”

“This is the guitar you were playing the
other night, isn’t it?” she asked.

I raised an eyebrow at her. “You remember
that?”

“Photographic memory,” she said rather
matter-of-factly.

“Seriously?”

“It’s a big bonus in the art department.”

“Yeah, I guess it would be. That’s cool.”

“It’s my little secret.” She brought a finger
to her lips.

“Your secret is safe with me,” I promised,
crossing my heart with my free hand. She grinned and walked back
over to the table where she was varnishing the other painting. I
took a few minutes to sip my Rootbeer and gaze at my painting, but
my thoughts were far from the canvas in front of me.

“The guy I met last night, Mark, are you
guys…” My voice trailed off as I tried to find the right words to
ask her the question that was burning in my head.

“Together?” She glanced over her shoulder.
“No,” she said simply. “Mark’s always just been a friend.” She put
down her brush and turned to look at me, picking up her can of
Rootbeer. “I’m sorry about the way he was acting last night.”

I shrugged it off, doing my best not to grin
like a fool. “What are friends for, if not to get super protective
and jealous when someone new comes around, right?”

“Wow, he really was a jerk, wasn’t he?” A
small laugh escaped her lips at the thought.

“It’s cool. I get it.” And I did. I could
only imagine how torturous it would be to spend a lot of time with
Aurora and never make it past the friend stage. I was pretty sure I
wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Aurora and I talked for another hour while I
continued to work on my painting. She finished up what she was
doing with the varnish and got comfortable in the chair nearby,
watching me as I worked. I expected to feel self-conscious having
her sit there and watch every brush stroke, but instead I found
that I was really enjoying the whole painting thing. It was kind of
therapeutic, which surprised me, since I usually only felt that way
about my guitar. Then again, I was painting my guitar. Apparently
that was close enough.

“What do you think?” I stepped back to admire
my finished work.

“Not bad for your first try,” Aurora teased,
appearing at my side again.

“At least it’s recognizable,” I said with a
grin. “I wasn’t expecting as much when I started.

“I like it,” she said. “If I ever decide to
go on a long vacation or something I’ll let you keep the gallery
stocked while I’m gone.”

“Very funny,” I said. Then I realized Aurora
was gazing at me with a smirk. “What is it?” I asked.

“You just have a little paint on your face,”
she said. I wasn’t entirely surprised by this news, considering I
had managed to get it all over my hands and even on the apron she’d
given me. “Where?” I asked.

She grabbed a wet rag and cupped my face with
her free hand, wiping the paint from my cheek with it. “There. I
think I got it.”

“Actually, you have some, too.” I said.

“Huh? Where?”

I swiped my paintbrush lightly on the tip of
her nose, making her gasp in surprise. “Right there,” I said,
laughing as she shoved me playfully.

“Now you’re asking for it.” Faster than I
would have thought possible, she had a brush in her hand and loaded
some paint from my pallet onto it, grazing my face with a big
stroke of manure green. We spent the next few minutes dodging
around everything in the loft and trying not to knock the easel
down as we took swipes at each other. When we finally succumbed to
our laughter, it was obvious that she’d painted me way more than I
had gotten her.

“I give,” I said, laughing. “You’re the
master.”

“Don’t forget it,” she said, smiling at me. I
sighed in happy defeat and she gestured for me to follow her. “Come
on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

We walked over to the kitchenette and she
turned on the sink, getting a rag with warm water. She took my arm
and pulled me over to the counter top. I leaned against it and she
started to wipe the paint from my skin. She was biting her bottom
lip and smiling. Even covered in paint she was beautiful. Having
her so close made it impossible to resist the gravitational pull
she emitted. Aurora must have sensed my gaze because she paused and
looked into my eyes for a second. That second was all I needed to
lean in and brush my lips against hers.

She stiffened but only briefly and then she
relaxed and leaned into me, lifting her hand to rest on my chest.
She tasted like summer. Like Rootbeer and a salty breeze. When we
pulled apart, she gazed at me, her eyes full of wonder. She seemed
surprised at herself, but when I leaned in again she met me
halfway. Our lips touched once more and my breath caught in my
throat. My stomach twisted up in a way that completely surpasses
the nervous feeling I get before I go on stage in front of
thousands of people. I just knew Aurora could feel my heart
pounding out of my chest, but I didn’t care. Pretending that she
didn’t have this affect on me would be a lie, and in that moment I
wanted her to know everything.

Aurora pulled back suddenly and turned away
from me. Maybe I’d moved a little too fast. I mentally berated
myself and reached out to touch her arm. She hesitated for a second
but then she turned back around to face me, a shy smile on her
lips. I brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and tucked it
behind her ear, staring into the depths of her green eyes. She bit
her lip and picked up the wet rag to wash some more paint from my
arm.