1001

The Studio

In the end, it didn't matter.

The chit deserved her fate, and he found what he searched for these last ten years: the place that would propel him to glory, where he would paint his masterpiece.

Lars climbed the stairs and eyed with doubt the spiral staircase; another five floors to the best studio in town. His mouth curved in a satisfied grin. He still couldn't tell the difference between Mike's 4s and 9s so he crashed the wrong party. He frowned when he found only youngsters ten years his juniors, and then nursed a bottle of wine the whole night. He never bothered to find the right party; he would have hunkered in a corner just the same, with a bottle of wine, dreaming of his painting.

The museum would display his masterpiece in a special wing that would open just before dawn. People would wait in long lines to see secrets revealed only in the soft glow of the sunrise. To paint his magnum opus he searched for the studio that would come alive under the caress of the rising sun. For ten years, he mixed his paints with care in the loneliness of his apartment. If the studio's dull wall paint could speak to him in the trembling light of the new day, then his colors would explode in a rainbow of forms.

He almost missed the sunrise in his drunken stupor. A youngster shook him and asked.

"Have you seen Flo?"

He rubbed his eyes and asked flummoxed.

"Flo who?"

The youngster shook his head and moved on. Then he saw it, the soft orange tremor that embraced the glass of the studio. It tentatively kissed it and asked for entrance. Glass guarded the room on three sides, and the sunrays assaulted it with a soft but undeniable persistence.

The transparent shield surrendered, and the confident orange pulse invaded the room and surrounded every man and woman in a glowing halo. Light crashed on the wall and lit its paint in an explosion of colors.

He heard the youngster complain.

"Flo missed it again."

At the answer, he caught his breath and gulped..

"She might as well; she'd lose the place soon. Too much drink and fun."

Lars stormed the door and only stopped in Mike's office. During his desperate search for the perfect studio, his real estate agent became a friend of sorts. There he heard a sob story about wasted youth and poor decisions. His mouth curved then in a satisfied grin. So the life went, the spoiled kid deserved it. The offer was ready and faxed in the next hour. The bank answered the following day, and they closed in one week.

Today he would watch the sunrise in his studio and try his colors. He shivered and tried to shake the unpleasant feeling. For ten years, he dreaded the moment of truth, the moment he would find out if his colors were as good as he thought. They were the dream for which he sacrificed family and friends, love and life. The girl, Flo, had one week to clean up, and he hoped she kept her part of the bargain. He offered a good settlement to make sure it would happen.

Lars paused and breathed hard from effort. He looked up and winced, another two stories. He put his hand on his knees and took several more breaths.

A voice startled him, and he rose to see an extended hand in front of him.

"Hullo there, I guess you're the new owner of the studio. I am Flo. Thank you for the generous settlement."

Lars blinked in surprise. She was beautiful, with ebony hair and tanned skin. The black smudges under her eyes told him she didn't sleep much. He tensed and answered with more harshness than he intended.

"I hope your belongings are out as we agreed."

She startled; however, she recovered fast and nodded.

"It took me a few days to clean the glass and the wall. Come, I'll show you; I only came to take the last box."

Lars turned and climbed the stairs without waiting. He didn't find much in common with a young miss with party and gossip on her mind.

He unlocked the door, and the dullness of the place hit him in the gut. He could see the glass was clean; the lights of the city passed unperturbed through it. They fell in chilling shadows on the whitewashed wall.

"I hope you find it to your liking. I have this addiction, you know, and I wasn't sure I could add enough layers of paint to cover it. Or scrub the windows properly."

"People threw up on the wall?"

Lars regretted the words, as soon as he spoke them.

Flo looked at him baffled and pointed to the box on the floor.

"No, I never had enough money to buy alcohol. All I had went on paints. I bought this studio cheap, to live while in college. It was drab and dirty, so I had to clean and paint it. Then I noticed the dawn did something to my colors. So I started to experiment. It soon became an addiction. I missed school; I held a party every night just to see the effect of my colors on people. One week ago... well it scared me, so I was grateful for your offer."

Lars's mouth opened and closed then he croaked.

"The wall?"

"The wall and the glass should be clean."

The need to know took him by surprise.

"Where will you go?"

"To the dorm. I'll use the money from the studio to get a degree or something."

It wasn't fair.

"I know a few special colors myself. Care to see them?

Her eyes sparkled with hope, and Lars lost himself in orange flames that speckled a green he'd never seen before.

"Saturday?"

He startled at her voice, and looked at the glass. The dawn came and went.

In the end, it didn't matter.