Random short stories

Untitled Part 3

"Are you almost done? We got to be out in 10." I call, knocking on the bathroom door. 

"Yeah, just a sec." Amber replies. I plop down on the couch, unsurprised at Amber last minute timing. She is always late, even to her own gallery showings. "Do I look okay?" She steps out of the bathroom, a rubbing her palms on her mustard yellow skinny jeans. 

I step over to her, speechless. Her long mane of chocolate brown hair is in loose curls, and her lips are a maple rose color."You look beautiful." I assure her, my hands around her frail waist. I kiss her forehead. Feeling my phone buzz in my pocket, I have to break the mood. "The Uber is here. Shall we?" Her nervousness turns quickly into excitement.

"We shall." She says playfully, lacing her sweaty fingers in mine.

When we get to the café, she peers into the window and freezes. "What's wrong?" I inquire.

"He's here." She whispers anxiously, still looking into the window. I peer in as well, and immediately spot the big time art critic Francisco Von Xavier stroking his intricately cut goatee as he peers at one of Amber's paintings. She starts hyperventilating and turns to me, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. "Why is he here!" she whisper-screams. 

I smile. "Amber, this is what you need. If he gives you a good rating the Institute has no choice but to accept you!"

"Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god" She starts pacing around in a circle, holding her head in her hands. 

I gently grab her thin arm so that she is facing me. "You can do this. You are going to go in there, shake his hand, be the boss that you are, and I will be right by your side the whole time." She calms down a bit, smooth's her sweater and nods. I open the door and she walks in, confident as ever. 

As she walks toward the small karaoke stage, an applaud erupts, but Francisco Von Xavier is still looking at her art. She takes the microphone off the stand and clutches it as if it were a squirming puppy.

"Good evening, everyone. My name is Amber Westcott, and I am the artist being shown today. I started painting when I was 15 after being inspired by a tree in my back yard. You see, I grew up in a small farm house in the countryside of Pennsylvania, and there was a willow tree that I would sit and read under after school. In fact, if you look over by the window, you will see the original drawing of that tree." she says gesturing to the painting. Although Francisco is still not facing her, he turns his head to the painting. Amber glances at me and I give her a wink. You got this, I think.

"Since then, I have done multiple small projects and post the final products online as I apply for multiple art institutes. This collection is actually inspired by New York City, as this is my first time living here. So, without further ado, I hope you all enjoy your night here, and thank you." She concludes, setting the mic back onto the stand. She steps off the stage, and I meet her at the base of the stairs.

"That was amazing." I say holding her soft but very sweaty hand. She says nothing but stares wide-eyed past my shoulder. I turn and see Francisco strutting towards her. I step aside. 

"Vas all zis you?" he says in a thick French accent. 

That's strange, I think. I thought he was from Ohio. 

"Yes sir." Amber says, straightening her shoulders, and shaking his hand.

"Vonderful! So much talent in suck leettle lady!" he exclaims. "And who is this?" He says, nodding his head toward me.

"My fiancée, Paige." I shake his hand.

"A pleasure to meet you, sir." I say.

"A beautiful couple!" He cheers. "You say you have no training in ze arts? I can hardly believe it!" 

"Thank you so much!" Amber beams. 

Francisco checks his obnoxiously fancy watch. "Ah! I vish I could stay but I must go to another gallery show." he sighs, "I vish you ze best of luck!" He kisses her cheeks (must be some weird rich people thing) and says his farewells before leaving.

"I can't believe that just happened" Amber whisper screams, smiling from ear to ear.

"I told you it was going to be great!" I smile, giving her a quick kiss. We order lattes and hang out in the café for a while, Amber occasionally getting up to answer questions. 10 o clock quickly comes, and we begin to close Amber's first ever gallery showing.

                                                                    ****************

"To impressing Francisco von Xavier" I say clinking glasses of Rosé with Amber. We sit on the couch in sweatpants and tee shirts, watching rom-coms on Netflix. She seems engulfed in the movie, but I cant take my eyes off her lips. They are so soft and delicate, like rose petals. 

Before I know it, we are kissing, and the world around us disappears. My hands wrap around her back and slip under her tee shirt, feeling every inch of her soft skin. She pulls away, a shy smile on her face, and leads me to our bedroom.

When I wake up, she is no longer in our bed. I panic, jumping out of bed and rushing to put on my clothes. I quickly find Amber in the kitchen, cooking in her underwear. 

"What ya doing?" I say, wrapping my arms around her bare waist. 

"Making pancakes." She replies nonchalantly. 

"That's dangerous" I joke, knowing that Amber has a history of bad cooking experience.

"Oh shut up!" She giggles. 

We eat the pancakes (Some of which are undercooked, some burnt, but I eat them anyway) and hang out, when the doorbell rings. "I'll get it." I say.

"Letter for Amber Westcott?" the Mailman says.

"Yep." I take the letter and look at the address. Its from the New York Art Institute. I run up stairs, excited.

"What was it?" Amber says, bored.

I set the letter in front of her and she gasps. She quickly tears it open.

"Oh my god."