Available Darkness: Chapter 41

The gallery was swarming with people. Hope shifted, uneasy under the glare of attention, doing her best to widen her half smile into a full one, while keeping the small talk flowing, between both those who wished to meet her and the money people Sergei sent her way.

So this is what it feels like to be a rock star in training, she thought.

Though the moment was everything she had always dreamed of – the launch of her career as a bona fide artist – part of her wanted to shrink away, run home and curl into a comma on the couch, with a good book and a blanket of silence. She had to fight the urge to flee and find that social part inside her, incongruous with her more reclusive artist side.

John happened to be passing by, right time and right place, as he would later say, when he happened to glance into the gallery. Her painting had drawn him in.

Dusk Wanderlust was a painting of a man standing beneath a tangled briar of shadows at the edge of a high bluff, a jagged crag of jutting rock above a wide sea of rolling waves and a bruised purple sky. The man stared into the distance, and seemingly right into the depths of John. Never one for art, John would’ve kept on walking had he not felt certain that he and the man in the painting shared a secret.

Hope was speaking with Sergei about an irritating harpy of a woman, Doris McEllny – an overbearing, far-too-chatty 50-something socialite whose money and name tore her ticket into these sorts of events. Though she acted like everyone’s best friend, her cattiness made her the first whispers on people’s lips the moment she sauntered away.

Sergei was assuring Hope that she’d only have to put up with people like Doris at every major event and most of the minor ones. Hope laughed – an honest sound that echoed against the gallery walls and warmed her from within. She glanced around to make sure Doris wasn’t around and spotted the man fixed in front of her painting, his head tilted in a pantomime of attempted recall.

“Oh, he’s a cute one,” Stephan teased Hope, nudging her forward, “what ever are you waiting for?”

Hope was already a mile outside her comfort zone. She turned to Stephan, laughed again and shook her head no. Something, however, compelled her feet to start moving her towards the stranger.

At first, John hadn’t noticed her. As she approached from behind, his head was still titled in that odd way, reminding her of a curious cat she had as a child. She noticed his dark hair, falling just past his strong looking shoulders, a bit wild, but not quite grunge. A thick black pea coat hung a few inches past his waist. His jeans were a faded, cerulean blue. His boots were black, and scuffed enough to show the miles. His clothes said blue collar, maybe even local bar band player.

Hope had gone out with too many guys in that area code to have interest in another self-obsessed boozer. If he hadn’t turned, ever so slightly at that moment, she might have retreated.

The first thing she noticed was his face, remarkably youthful, healthy and smooth, not at all the kind of face weathered by years of various abuses she expected to see. Then there were his eyes, impossibly blue, peeking out from beneath his dark thatch of hair.

Hope’s tongue was a mushy brick sitting in her mouth. She wasn’t used to approaching guys. In fact, every first date she’d ever been on had been initiated by the guys.

She spoke without thinking, “This artist is a real hack, eh?” Nervous laughter hid the small death inside her. What the hell was that?

His face looked as if he were trying to think of something clever. Ah, thinking before you speak, what a novel concept, Hope thought. His head tilted like a quizzical cat again, then he raised a finger, pointing at her, and smiled widely.

Such a beautiful smile.

“Ah, you’re the artist, aren’t you?” His voice was deep and strong, but also friendly. A confident voice with the slightest hint of an accent she’d never heard.

She nodded, then blushed against another nervous laugh, might have even crossed one leg in front of the other, though she wasn’t even aware of her whole body at that moment.

He explained how he had been walking by, saw the painting and was mesmerized. He just had to come inside to get a closer look. They talked about her inspiration for the painting, a dream she had had. They discussed her hopes of becoming a real artist and the drudgery of her real job. She rambled on about her favorite movies, books and trashy magazines. Hope even told the stranger about the time when she was 12 and had stolen a Kit Kat from the corner store.

Just like that, 23 minutes disappeared and the world faded around them. They were the stage’s only players, talking fast, laughing, and trading all manner of minutia, when she suddenly found herself observing the moment from within herself and thinking, I really like this guy.

In all honesty, she actually thought, I could really love this guy, though she would never have admitted it.

Then, as if this handsome stranger had somehow sensed her inner dialogue, conversation paused and stretched into the first awkward silence since they’d begun speaking.

Holy shit, I’m out of interesting things to say! She thought to herself in a panic. Please, please, say something so I don’t have to!

And then he did.

“I just realized, I haven’t even introduced myself,” he said.

She was stunned that it had not even crossed her mind. She’d already talked for so long and not even asked his name, or given her own.

“John,” he said, extending a hand.

“Hope,” she nearly whispered, looking downward, blushing again, as their hands touched.

She would have sworn that she felt the tiniest of electric sparks.

TO BE CONTINUED…