Muse

10

Normal time. The time I usually show up to Claude's to pick up Aaron's coffee. How he knew that was 'normal time' was beyond me. As I walked into the quaint shop I couldn't help but stare at the tables and chairs situated around the cafe, a tall figure sitting on what seemed like a miniature chair against his back. Sipping on some steamy coffee, flipping through his thick binder. I consider if I should take some time to gather my courage and order Aaron's coffee first, giving me some time for my heart to come down from my throat. Logically, it would make sense to order Aaron's coffee later so it was at least warm by the time I got back to the gallery. He would undoubtedly ask why in the world I took so long for such a simple task.

I take a deep breath, quietly, and stride my way over to the table. Stopping beside it to wait for Alex to notice my presence.

"Please, sit." He voiced, without even looking up at me. "Thanks for coming."

"Well technically I'm here for Aaron's coffee." I state, pulling out the chair for me to sit on, placing my coat on the back of it. Today he wore something similar to his business attire. Toned down to be more casual but still professional nevertheless. I wait for his response, yet he still has his attention on the binder.

"What do you think of this painting?" He finally looks up, his dark brown brooding eyes locking onto mine as he rotates the binder and slides it across the table toward myself. I almost forgot to look at the binder.

I peered down after a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, after my eyes were seemingly paralysed for a split moment. The contents of the page were different to the first painting I saw, this time a portrait. A dark background against a dark figure of a woman, seemingly middle aged. The strokes had been purposely smudged around the page, and dropping down as if they needed to escape it. Tones of grey, red, blue and purples swallowed the figure who was sat vulnerably, looking me directly in my eyes. A piece that was full of emotion, I hadn't seen anything quite like it before. I was trying to figure out what those emotions were and what they meant to her.

"I mean, it's a beautiful piece." I start, still looking down at the picture in front of me. "It's very dark, it's emotional. What does it mean?"

"I didn't think you would have to ask that." He retorts, swiftly snatching the binder away, pulling it back to him and turning it around. He quickly flipped over the page as to completely disregard the painting to move onto a new one.

"Just so I could understand it more." I explain quietly, getting the feeling that maybe my question struck some kind of chord for him. He ignores my explanation, and I wonder if he actually cares about what I have to say since he ignores most of what I do say. Why would he invite me to have a look at the pieces if he was just going to ignore my feedback?

"What about this one? Is it good enough?" He asks, sliding the binder over once again, not rotating it this time to leave that job for me.

The painting was quite similar to the first one, yet the subject matter of this one seemed to be a tall male figure and a smaller figure – I interpreted as a father and son – walking on a sidewalk underneath a street lamp. The painting had warmer colours in it, hues of yellows and orange illuminated by the street light added some depth into the deep colours that were still present. Visually, it caught my eye. It was more clear than the first one and made more sense to what the subject matter was, even if the figures remained faceless.

"I like this one, the contrast of the street light and the colours around it make a really nice visual." I state, being careful to not question what it was trying to portray.

"I like that one too." He states, a bit softer than his tone beforehand. He listened to what I said and replied, interesting. He looks up at me, glaring into my soul, searching for my approval. "It's an emotional piece, don't you think?"

"It's... emotional, yes. That's clear in the colours and the brushwork." I remark, and yes it was an emotional piece, yet I could not for the life of me see what was being portrayed. Maybe it was because I hadn't seen many paintings like those. The paintings I always favoured and looked into were always bright, even with darker underlying tones they all were very similar aesthetically. I wondered if I could truly be a good artist without exploring other works. Perhaps that's the reason I'm having trouble expressing myself in my paintings.

"That sounded unsure, Veronica." He frowns, looking back down at the painting and turning his head in different angles to try and see the painting from my point of view. His tone almost disappointed.

"No, I'm sure of it, really." I nod my face slightly jiggling from the force. There was still a tinge of uncertainty, I wasn't sure if it was me who didn't understand, or the painting that didn't portray it properly. "Is it by the same artist?"

After a few moments of staring at the work, he slowly nodded, and pulled the binder back to him. He quickly shut it and closed off the contents within. I became confused, he'd only shown me two artworks when I imagine we'd spend hours going through all the ones he thought were worthy of going in the gallery.

"You'd better get back to work." He states after he pulled his phone out from his pant pocket, and turning it on the check the time. "Don't want big boss to yell at you for not having his coffee there on time."

Shit. That makes sense. I would have been here for at least 20 minutes by now. I don't have any more time left on my lunch break to get back there – on time at least – however that was possibly the least of my worries compared to this man sitting in front of me. I would much rather be here than using my lunch break for anything else – including getting Aaron's coffee. I take a deep breath as I remain in my seat, watching as Alex starts to pack his satchel.

"I can look at more, it's okay." I say to him, folding my arms in protest. I didn't want to go back there just yet.

"You want to see...more?" He stops and looks to my face, moving his eyes around until he leans over to take the binder out of his bag. Maybe my eyes were deceiving me, but I could've sworn I saw the faintest smile grow from his lips.

"I liked them, why wouldn't I?" I state, ignoring the fact that the reason why he said to finish up was because I had to go back to work.

"What about–"

"He isn't going to die without his long black with two sugars."

"He might."