Imagining Us

Ch.58- Are We Still Tiptoeing?

She heard the whispers from the couple next to her. Esi had seen the looks when she first walked into the gala. She'd decided to ignore them and assume that she just looked that good.

The majority of patrons were white—this was Connecticut and she was used to it , but she had seen a smattering of black people and a few other ethnicities so she didn't feel very out of place.

Still, there was this older couple next to her making strange comments. Either the man was losing his hearing or they were deliberately speaking that loudly.

What do you think she's doing here?

In that ridiculously tight dress.

Her dress fit her.

Esi glanced around. There were so many other women in figure hugging dresses. Why should she be looked down upon just because her thighs were fuller. Just because her hips were wider.

Do you think she even understands what she's seeing?

As if art couldn't be subjective.

As if it couldn't be interpreted in different ways.

She sighed.

It itched her to turn to them. To ask them what their problem was. To ask them if they were that different beneath their skin.

Because as far as she knew they probably had the same internal organs.

Because aside from different skin colors, ethnicities, history and cultures, they were all human.

Esi wasn't normally a confrontational person, but certain things didn't sit well with her.

"Excuse me," a voice cut through her thoughts before she could voice anything.

That voice.

Now devoid of emotions.

She looked at Porte where he stood behind the couple. He was clutching two stemmed glasses.

Esi glanced at his fingers. If he clutched the glasses any tighter, she was positive that they would shatter. She saw the look in his eyes—knew it.

Porte's eyes were focused on the couple.

He knew that if he looked at her that she would tell him not to say anything, but he was a man on a warpath.

The couple turned around, eyes widening and smiles appearing when they recognized him.

They greeted him enthusiastically.

"Mr. Danvers, we—

He cut them off.

"Are any of you artists or painters by chance?" He asked.

Esi groaned silently as she waited. That was not an innocent question.

The wife spoke unknowingly. "As a matter of fact, we're avid admirers of art. I do attend a sip and paint class, but we're not professionals by —

"That's what I thought," he almost barked.

Bloody hell.

Esi knew that the situation was tense, but his control–the easy way that Porte demanded attention did something to her.

"Look at her..." he gestured towards Esi.

The couple wore matching looks of confusion, and if Esi hadn't become the subject of the conversation, perhaps she would've laughed.

"Take a good, long look," Porte demanded. "She is...beautiful."

His left hand gestured to her with that hand—the hand that he used to create things. An artist's hand.