The Painter & the Pretty Girl

chapter n i n e : georgia

"And I said, 'What shall I do, Lord?' And the Lord said to me, 'Rise, and go into Damascus, and there you will be told all that is appointed for you to do.' And since I could not see because of the brightness of that light, I was led by the hand by those who were with me, and came into Damascus." –Acts 22:10-11

"WELCOME TO ART HISTORY 248," George Devereaux says in the small classroom. I'm surprised there aren't more people here, considering that most of the time, art history classes are the equivalent of a soccer match between a group of children and David Beckham–which is to say, an easy A. "This is going to be a lecture series on Christian art. I also have a special trip planned near the end, to Italy, if any of you are interested, to see the birthplace of several of these paintings."

An excited murmur rises up amongst the thirty-some students gathered in the classroom. I sit in the back row at the very top of the auditorium, looking down at my laptop to avoid meeting his gaze. Most of the students at NYU are wealthy, from well-to-do families who would think nothing of dropping a few grand to go to Italy. Myself included, of course.

I skim the class syllabus and the course outline as George pulls up a powerpoint. "Let's dive right in. Can anyone tell me who created this painting?"

The room is silent.

"Anyone?" He points the clicker, a red dot appearing on the surface of the painting. I know the answer, but I won't give him the satisfaction of hearing it.

Also, my temples are throbbing. I definitely had one too many glasses of champagne at Abigail's wedding.

"Here's a hint, it was an old, dead, white guy," he says, clearing his throat.

Someone's hand shoots up next to mine. Since when do know-it-alls sit in the back row? "Caravaggio, professor."

"That's correct. And, you can just call me George," he says. I will definitely be calling him professor, then. "This is Caravaggio's painting, Conversion on the Way to Damascus. It was painted in 1601, and depicts..."

My mind trails off into thought. I have a date tonight, if I remember correctly, and as I turn on my phone under the desk, my suspicions are confirmed. Let's meet at the Rose and Anchor by eight.

I groaned inwardly. I was not going back to that nightclub. It held far too many memories of watching Leana Lim get away with catfights and vomiting on the dance floor. I clicked on the text, about to banter back with a different venue and time. Why don't we meet at the Ivy instead?

"Miss Philips," George's voice booms, aided by the microphone clipped to his hunter-green henley. "Is there something more interesting than my class that you're currently focusing on? If so, I welcome you to leave."

A challenge sits in his hazel eyes. I rise to it. "Yes, I actually was just checking in with my date tonight."

"You can do that later, I presume?" He's walking up the stairs at a sedate pace as giggles erupt around me, students poking each other and whispering. My cheeks flush but I look him dead in the eye as he appears next to me.

I drop my phone on the floor. He actually has the audacity to bend down and pick it up, sliding it into the pocket of his jeans before he goes to continue his lecture. "Now, the conversion on the way to Damascus. Who knows what this painting is depicting? Who is the subject?"

"The horse," I joke, clearing my throat. A large horse does actually take up most of the frame, even if he's standing next to one man and has his hoof hovering above one lying on the floor.

"Incorrect," George says as he makes his way back down and stands next to the lectern. "The subject of the painting is Saul, or Paul, from the New Testament, and the horse, while prominently featured, is not actually the main subject of the painting."