Page 31 of The Artist's Rival
“How are you doing?” Ellie closes the door, kissing Tatiana’s cheek.
“Yeah… I have something to talk to you about.” She sets her things on the table, taking out a colored sketch. It shows a little house somewhere among fields of grape vines, a scene taken out of a dream, a memory, a blend of both, it would seem.
“You see, I think I’ll keep the house, the Italian house, remember? I’ll keep it in cool tones, because in my opinion it creates an interesting juxtaposition to the surroundings. And we settled on my painting from the sketch that you gave me, and on the sketch there was no indication of color,” she states, sure of her words and ready to hear the response.
Ellie nods, upset, apprehensive. She sits down opposite Tatiana, resting her chin on her hands, her eyes set on Tatiana’s face.
“Alright, that upsets me, but I feel like you mean to tell me much more than just about the house.” She looks at Tatiana, prompting, “You look all on the edge.”
This infuriates Tatiana, who already has been feeling talked down to. The apprehensive tone of Ellie’s voice doesn’t seem to fit the situation, an aggravating attempt at being the bigger person, Tatiana’s thoughts sizzle. She feels the burning temptation to make Ellie truly upset. “Well, I think you’re influencing me with this project a lot—not your art, which would be fine, but you’re giving me a lot of instructions, and it’s meant to be a collaboration, not a learning experience for me,” she says, ready to elaborate. Ready to throw out all the uncertainty planted by insecurity and watered by Connie’s words.
“You also instructed me some, remember?” Ellie asks, innocently, shifting on her chair. “Those were only suggestions! I’d never tell you to recolor a fucking house!” Tatiana shouts.
“Okay, I don’t think we have to get so heated about this,” Ellie suggests, visibly uncomfortable and unwilling to escalate the situation. She begins playing with her rings, fingering and twisting them one by one, making them sparkle in gold.
Tatiana can see a crossroads ahead, she’s driving towards it, full speed. Either to mitigate the situation or to give in to the impulse and pour out all the little ways Ellie has been making her feel inferior in the recent weeks. The perspective of a fight tingles her nose, it fills the air between them with sparks. She doesn’t feel as independent around Ellie as she would like, and she’s afraid for her art. She stands at the crossroads, aggravated, and takes a step.
“Why are we always painting in your studio, even?” she fires, spreading out her arms to illustrate the point.
“Tatiana, because you do not have a studio,” Ellie responds, rising from her chair. She looks slightly agitated now, touched either by Tatiana’s words or by Tatiana’s intentions, which doesn’t matter much to Tatiana herself. What matters is that she breaks through this condescending demeanor of Ellie’s, that she gets out her true feelings. She craves nothing more at the moment but to shatter this pedestal Ellie is standing on and get her down to the ground with her, to get her to crawl with anger too.
“I have an apartment,” Tatiana accuses.
“And would we just carry the supplies around from one place to another? Be serious now,” Ellie spreads her arms wide, helpless as to the direction the conversation is going in.
“Don’t tell me to be serious. Don’t tell me to be serious,” Tatiana repeats, feeling that the sentence encapsulates her problem exactly. “Who gave you the right to treat me like a child? Be serious, for real?” She shakes her head.
Tatiana looks around the studio, feeling her body intensely. Her heart is racing, and her chest is struggling with some tightness she hasn’t felt for a long time. Ellie is standing in front of her, and Tatiana has no idea what to feel. She is torn between an impulse to embrace her, and an impulse to run away from the studio and from their relationship.
“I’m sorry.” Ellie comes closer.
“Yeah. You’re always acting like you know so much better, as if I don’t know anything about art or even life, for that matter. Is that what you think? That you need to teach me everything, the way you teach me your little yoga poses?” Tatiana goes on. “It’s tiring, Ellie.”
She swallows loudly, trying hard not to regret her words, but the feeling leaves a nasty aftertaste in her mouth, sliding down her throat. Regret tastes bitter and stings her tongue.
“Are you tired of me?” Ellie asks, visibly hurt now. She hugs her own shoulders in a nervous gesture, a gesture bringing only more pain to Tatiana.
“Maybe, I don’t know. Maybe I am,” she utters. “Maybe this project really was a bad idea, and you can’t seem to trust me with my own style. Which is just unfair,” she concludes.
They stand next to each other for a while, agitated and upset. Tatiana feels a mixture of emotions she cannot untangle from around her throat, tightening her vocal cords and making breathing difficult. She can’t be sure whether she meant all the things she said, and her anger seems to be evaporating much quicker than she expected.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Ellie says, backing further away.
“I think I’ll go,” Tatiana says under her breath, gathering her things clumsily.
At the door she looks back at Ellie, unsure whether this is the outcome she wanted, but knowing that the little traces of tears around Ellie’s eyes would soon burst her heart.
“Bye,” she throws into the room, shutting the door behind herself.
On her way home, she begins to feel the avalanche of regret finally overcome her thoughts. As usual, she notices that she started the conversation on the right track, after which she let herself go completely. She rarely takes the right turn on the crossroads, a thing unchanged since childhood.
Her phone rings. She knows it’s Ellie so she picks it up.
“Hey, Tatiana.” She hears Ellie’s voice is slightly raspy, perhaps from crying.
“Hey,” Tatiana says carefully, not sure what it is about.
“I thought over some of the things you said, and I think that if you feel this way about me, we shouldn’t really be together anymore.”