Page 61 of The Art of Loving Ellie
“Let’s get busy.” He winks at me and the sound of "We Are Family" by Sister Sledge fills the room. Alex throws his hands in the air, singing and shaking his hips around absurdly, causing everyone to laugh at his antics, and I smile, shaking my head and following suit.
We are dancing, decorating, and laughing our asses off, creating our own little bubble of happiness and my chest grows tight from the blissfulness of it all. Across the room, Tina stares at us seemingly annoyed, and Alex and I sing our way over to her. We obnoxiously sandwich her in between our booty bump until she squeals for us to knock it off. We switch to our opposite hips, continuing to bump her around playfully and she gives in, shaking her butt one time and laughing at our silliness.
When I’m alone some hours later setting up the last painting brought from the University, I stop and turn around to look at my work family. Alex is spinning one of the waitresses, and giving her a playful swat on the butt. She doubles over in laughter, and I shift my gaze across the room to Tina and one of the caterers. They share a secret smile across the table they are setting up, and a smile touches my lips. Love and laughter pulse throughout the room, and in my heart, I know there is not a single other place on Earth that I was meant to be.
I am home.
∞∞∞
“Confidence, confidence, confidence.” I chant under my breath over and over, until I believe it and embody it. I look down at my lace-clad frame and feel a sinking weight in the middle of my stomach.
Ernesto and I stand at the back where I’ve hidden my painting, and I wring my hands nervously. I’ve entrusted him with my secret, and he’s going to set it up for Alex to see when I give him the cue.
“You’re going to be just fine, Miss Ellie,” he says to me, and I smile at his encouragement.
He disappears with my canvas, and I close my eyes as I listen to the violinist play soft, sweet melodies that calm my busy mind. I know my dad is here with me, and I can almost hear him telling me he’s proud of me. The sound of the music soothes me, giving me the strength to move forward, and my breath completely leaves my lungs when I exit the back and take in the sight before me.
The snow that has been falling outside all day gives a sleepy white backdrop to what I can only describe as a winter wonderland. Twinkling lights shine bright over the guests milling around, and large white and gold ornaments adorn every table, nestled into faux green fir arrangements. The waiters and waitresses walk around with shiny gold serving trays and their red and white apparel screams Christmastime.
The four walls making up the space have been rearranged and organized to present paintings both new, and old, of Alexandre’s. The students were given their own section toward the front where Mr. Tebbetts stands to greet everyone, and proudly describes each painting to the guests.
I frantically look for a familiar face through a sea of people, but I’m thankful we still had a good turnout despite the weather. People are openly staring at me in my all lace ensemble and my hands grow slick with sweat.
Stay calm, it’s okay,I reassure myself.
“Ellie, is that right?” A smooth, accented voice comes from behind me, and I turn around quickly. A handsome older gentleman, who looks to be in his late forties, looks me up and down.
“Yes, that’s me,” I respond, curiously.
Extending his hand to me, he introduces himself, “Wyatt Morgan. I remember you from Mr. Bernard’s Twilight Gallery. You are quite unforgettable.”
I blush at his compliment. “Thank you, Mr. Morgan.” Glancing around him nervously, I search every face in the crowd, praying for Tyler to suddenly appear. “Forgive my forwardness, but is there something I can help you with?”
“Straight to the point. I like that about you,” he chuckles lightly. “I know your little secret, Elizabeth Clark.” My eyes widen in shock at the full use of my name, and I’m unsure of which secret he is referring to.
“I’m a researcher you see. When I find something I like, I study it, and learn it—and to my pleasant surprise, I found that not only are you Alexandre’s beautiful assistant, you are also an artist yourself, no?” He gives me his arm, indicating he would like me to walk with him, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested to hear what this handsome stranger has to say.
I’m not surprised by his knowledge that I’m a painter. Anyone could google my name and find it in old newspapers attached to the paintings I have submitted in the fair back home. Taking his arm, we walk the perimeter of the first wall, and we look over Alex’s works as we talk. “I am an artist, yes. Though I have to be honest with you, until recently, I have been a little rusty. I haven’t created much of anything in a long while.”
He nods his head in understanding and his European accent touches my ears sensually when he speaks. “I understand, my dear. Those of us who create are often at the very mercy of that creativity. When the well runs dry, we feel an immense thirst.” He stops walking for a moment to look at me, holding his hand over mine. “I want to offer you a position, working for me.”
My pulse begins to pound in my ears and the look of surprise on my face must be comical. “Excuse me?”
He laughs at my reaction. “I have a gallery much larger than this one in California. Not only would I allow you to run it, but I would also request that you to fill it with your paintings.” I’m shocked by his offer. How this man has come to take an interest in me I will never know—but I’m overcome with the sudden urge to sit down. He quickly grabs a chair from a nearby table and helps me sit.
I fan myself trying to get a hold on my emotions. “Mr. Morgan, that is very generous of you.” He looks hopeful, and I feel at war with my thoughts as I think to myself how incredible that would be. I could get a fresh start and a chance to have my own space for my workings, without Alex’s heavy shadow, or the uncertainty of whether Tyler and I will ever work out.
Biting my lip nervously, I look across the room and lock eyes with Alex, who appears perplexed to see who I’m talking with. I stare at the man who has helped me through my every struggle and given me multiple opportunities to better myself, and the answer is blazingly clear—I can’t leave him.
“I appreciate your interest, and the opportunity… but I must respectfully decline.” I give him a genuine smile and stand to leave.
“Miss Elizabeth, wait. Take my card, and if you ever need anything, you have a friend in me.” I look down at his outstretched hand for a moment and politely take his card.
I let loose a shaky breath, holding my arms around my stomach as I make my way across the room. I’m trying to keep myself from feeling discouraged that Tyler is a no-show, but my heart sinks a little more with each passing minute that he isn’t here.
I stay preoccupied for a while talking with guests, and giving what information I can about the individual pieces on display. After about two hours have gone by, I steel my resolve and meet Ernesto’s gaze, giving him the cue. I’m going to be sick, but I choke down my fears and make my way to our makeshift stage toward the violinist, and ask her if I can have a few moments to speak.
She steps aside, and I hook a corded microphone up to the amp. A loud screech tears across the room, stopping everyone in their tracks, and I watch as one by one, they turn their eyes to me.
