The Secret Behind Her Smile

1

THE SECRET BEHIND HER SMILE

Was it a strange fate? Or twisted irony? Did it matter? Knowing wouldn't change the fact that I look exactly like the very person I was named after, Mona Lisa. When I was younger, I tried to dye my hair and cut it way different than what it was like in the famous portrait of some dead dude's wife. But there were always that few who noticed, jee you look just like that famous painting or has anyone ever told you look just like Mona Lisa? To which I would reply in my head, yes because my name is Mona Lisa.

And the conversation would always turn into shocked disbelief and talk of fate or irony or destiny or whatever they wanted to blame my misfortune on. I guess that's a little harsh since after accepting the fact that I will always look like the portrait I began to not try and cover up the fact. And in doing so I caught the attention of many painters who would love to recreate the Mona Lisa with a live model. But the name was too much, I was always afraid that people would think I'm the strange one like maybe I got plastic surgery and had a weird obsession- which I don't. So, I just tell them to call me Lisa, and even that gets some attention but certainly not as much.

Which is what led me here today, to visit the famous exhibit that was supposed to be a recreation of Leonardo da Vinci's studio with real recently uncovered supplies that were supposedly his. I'm not sure I believe all of that, it was a good way to rake in money but really, how did they find a paintbrush of his that wasn't so ancient it turned into dust? And how did they know it was his? Truly I didn't care, but I'm not here of my own accord. John Alabaster, a new client of mine has made it his life's purpose to woo me and thought I would be interested in coming. I think he just wanted to show off a life replica of Mona Lisa to an audience who would clearly care more than random people on the street.

My suspicions were confirmed a half hour ago when he came to pick me up and was dismayed by my hair being covered in a beanie and my big round-rimmed reading glasses on (actually they were more for fashion and purposes like today). But John didn't need to know that, although he kept insisting the entire car ride there that I should take off my hat and glasses.

"Lisa are you sure you don't want to leave that stuff in the car?" He asked one last time as we pulled into a space in the lot.

"Come on John we're going to miss the first tour," I jumped out, narrowly avoiding another attempt and started heading toward the double doors. It wasn't long until I felt his hand on my lower back as he caught up to me, thankfully having given up the subject.

I was right too, just after we showed our tickets in the group was just heading out and we had to jog a little just to catch up. My ballet flats squeaked a little on the floor as we caught up. The tour was too big to take the elevator, so we had to walk up two flights of stairs to get to the floor that had the famous exhibit. Once we were there the guide began their talk about everything discovered, to which I tuned out and wandered a little around the room on my own.

The room we were in was decent sized, had three different easels with blank canvases on them ready to be worked on. One was placed in front of what was meant to be a window, another near a fireplace, and the last one on a rectangular wooden table which also held a bowl of fresh fruits and a plethora of brushes. One brush, in particular, was a bit longer than the others and it's handle red while the others were different shades of the color of wood. I stepped closer to it, somehow feeling entranced and pulled to touch it. But one step closer and I nearly toppled over the velvet rope that kept a safe distance from visitors and the precious collection.

Shaking my head, a little I looked over to see the whole group over in one corner while the guide pointed at some blanket which was supposedly Leonardo's favorite quilt. That made me smile, it was a pretty quilt, look like one of my own designs. John's head poked around the crowd as he made his way over to me, "Lisa, what are you doing, the tour already went over this area."

It did? I hadn't noticed, "Sorry, I was in la-la land," I chuckled.

"That's okay," He gave me one of his killer smiles, the kind that showed he had lots of money to keep his teeth white and lots of money that he would use to spoil any girl he liked, right now that girl was me. John wasn't the kind of guy I could see myself with ten years in time, but that doesn't mean I didn't like the feeling I got when he flashed that grin.

Slowly, though, his smile faded, and his face turned a little more serious as his hand reached up and lightly stroked my cheek. I've never been kissed before, and I wasn't sure I wanted that to change just yet.

"John let's catch up," I tried to turn but his hand that was on my cheek laid on my shoulder keeping me still.

"John?" I asked, my heart beating a bit faster now. He has that look in his eyes now, the same one he had when we first met, and he asked me to pose for him in the studio. The kind of look that says he'll get what he wants, and he knows it. But I don't understand what he would want right now.

"Lisa trust me on this okay, we're going to make you famous."

"Famous? What are you talking about? Hurry up they are about to le- "

John's other hand reached up and plucked off my glasses throwing them away before trying to go for my hat.

"Stop it!" I growled pushing his hand away as best as I could before he grabbed a fist full of hair and practically yanked my scalp off with the hat. Gasping in pain I stumbled backward taking the velvet rope down and falling on the display.

"Wait! You can't go there!" A voice yelled out in the distance, but my heart was pounding to loud in my ears as my feet tripped in the rope and I reached a hand out to grab anything that would keep my head from faceplanting into the ground.

It was like slow motion, I could see John's horrified face as he watched me fall just as I could hear the tour guide yell, "Noo!" and at the same time saw my own hand reach out to the table where the red brush was. And as my fingers first began to lay on the table the brush under my hand, everything went stark white and then black.