Page 25 of The Artist's Rival
“True,” Ellie admits. “I was feeling kind of bad to leave you on the cubicle floor last time we fucked..”
“Yeah, I was feeling kind of angry about that, I think, but I just pushed the feeling away,” Tatiana says. “It’s a vulnerable thing.”
They hold each other closer, each thinking her own thing. Tatiana’s back begins hurting from lying on the unforgiving surface, but she tries to ignore the discomfort. There is something infinitely calming for her in Ellie’s arms, something she doesn’t usually get from hook ups.
“I like your studio,” she says.
“I like it too.” Ellie smiles. “It’s exactly the way I imagined when I started art school.”
They fall back into the soft embrace of silence, but it doesn’t feel unnatural. Their silence feels right, filling in the space between them like a pillow. Looking at the time, Tatiana realizes she soon has to go.
“Ellie, it’s 1pm already!” She disentangles her limbs, looking for a graceful way to slide down from the table. “I have lunch scheduled with someone for 2:30, and I still need to change,” she says, more to clarify the plan to herself rather than inform Ellie about the details.
“You still have time.” Ellie gets up too, only now beginning to feel the consequences of lying so long on the table. She puts her pants back on, struggling to zip them back.
“Tatiana, you broke my zipper!”
Tatiana looks up, in the middle of tying her shoes. She grins.
“Sorry!”
They both laugh, suddenly realizing the absurdity of their relationship. Each feels a little bit younger when around the other, and their sex brings much refreshment to both of their lives. Tatiana gets up from the floor, her shoelaces tied, her bag hanging from her shoulder.
They share a brisk kiss, a quick goodbye, and she’s on her way. Her steps remain light, and the perspective of working with Ellie is no longer a daunting one.
10
ELLIE
The doorbell rings so loudly and suddenly that Ellie drops her cup to the floor, shattering it into a sea of sharp glass specks.
“A moment!” she shouts, irritated.
She knows it’s Fred, which means the door can wait. The remains of the cup now richly decorate the floor, hundreds of hazardous little tears. The late spring sun shines through them, here and there painting a rainbow on the bright floor. Ellie takes the broom and begins cleaning up, Fred still waiting outside.
“What the hell took you so long?” he explodes when she finally opens the door.
“It’s your fault, you shattered my favorite cup,” she points to the gathered glass, sitting on the dustpan.
They embrace and she sets the water to boil for some tea, impatient to show him the paintings stashed all around her room.
“Why there and not the studio?” Fred inquires.
“You know, I like to keep these ones close, I don’t fully know why.” Ellie smiles. “I think we’re doing lots of good work, Tatiana and I.”
“I’m sure,” smiles Fred, “the whole thing still astonishes me.”
“Me too,” Ellie sighs, a thought or two passing through her mind before she pours the water.
They take their cups and walk towards the bedroom. The hallway is not very well lit, as opposed to the rest of the flat, giving it a rather tunnel-like feeling. Once they reach the bedroom, they’re welcomed back by sweeping light.
“You know, I don’t think I have ever even seen your bedroom,” Fred wonders, looking for the paintings.
“Yeah, I don’t usually have men in here,” Ellie retorts while opening the door to her wardrobe.
“No! Don’t tell me you stashed them in your wardrobe, Ellie.”
She turns to him, surprised.