Page 81 of The Other Side of Paradise
“The process,” she laughed. “We can call it that.”
“Are you—I thought you wereunwellright now. Hurt and sad.”
“We all process things differently, Allison.”
So we did. “Does that mean I should be flirting back?” I said, trying to make it sound like a joke, not looking at her.
“Ihavegotten very attached to it.”
Yeah, so had I. I couldn’t believe she was going to leave in just a couple days. I was going to cry. “Well, then I’ll… I’ll make sure to study your f-form really… nicely. Shit, that was awful.”
She laughed. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”
“I’malwaysembarrassed.”
“You’re always cute. Let’s get to it.”
“How—” I turned towards the bedroom and stopped, giving her a look. “Wait, how did you even find my house?”
“Brooklyn told me to show up here and harass you.”
“Ugh. They’re both evil, her and your sister.” But it wasn’t like Iminded.Did it mean something that she’d been talking to Brooklyn about it? That Brooklyn had told her to come see me? Emphatically enough that she gave Stella my address? What had she been talking to Brooklyn about?
A mature, responsible woman would ask. So I didn’t.
I got a second easel from my bedroom, and I brought it back to the living room, setting it up across from the other one, rolling the floor tarp out to lie underneath both, and I laid a sketchbook on mine too. I had a whole pile of canvas-sized ones,since I was indecisive and always had about six projects on the go at once. We could say I was just preparing in advance for the most beautiful and sexy woman I’d ever seen to come around and ask if we could study each other’s bodies.
Because I was prepared for that. Sure.
“Have you done figure studies before?” I said once we were set up, and she shook her head, holding the pencil up in the air, looking at me with her eyes narrowed, studying.
“Never in person. Just from pictures.”
“It’s more different than you’d think, doing it from an actual 3D scene. Try to isolate the volumes and see them on an invisible perspective space.”
She nodded, and I felt myself blush at the intensity of her focus, eyes locked on me, studying, as she started scratching out shapes on the canvas. I forced myself to look at her as a figure to sketch and not as the woman I had a devastatingly huge crush on, and I took my time, letting my eyes flow over the lines and curves of her body. I did a quick sketch of her at the easel, and I took my time refining it, focusing in on the finer details, blocking in the basic shading with my pencil, and I was so in the zone reverently studying her that I jolted in surprise when she set her pencil down and stepped back.
“It’s not too bad,” she said. “I kind of like it. Life studies. Guess it helps to have a good subject.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” I said. “You should be charging me for the inspiration.”
She laughed, stepping back for me as I walked over to her easel. “Smooth,” she said as I stepped up in front of it, and I got a keen pang in my chest seeing it—a sketch of me, simple but lively, and I swear Stella was magic, because something about what she did with it made me look so… pretty.
She was a good artist—better than I’d expected, honestly, and I’d already been assuming anything and everything Stelladid would be incredible—but it wasn’t just the technical skill, the way her lines carved out solid, believable 3D figures on the page. There was something about the fine detail on every aspect of my face, rendered like it… like it meant a lot to her. The shape language of my expression and pose that made me feel so vibrant, alive, like I was a different person when I was drawing, like the artist was captivated with the way the subject was doing what they were doing.
“I didn’t capture the splotchy paint mess all over you,” she said, her voice playful, and I huffed, folding my arms.
“Sneaking that in before I can give you a compliment. Maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to compliment you anyway.”
“You’re going to. You’re a softie,” she said, and Iwas, even before she stepped up close to me from behind and I felt like my stomach fell out at the touch of her hands on my hips, pressing up against my back.
“You’re a beautiful… artist,” I said breathlessly. “I mean, your art is beautiful, as in, like… you have a lot of technical skill. Very skilled, technically. That was the same thing said two different ways.”
“Barely even two different ways at all, you just switched the word order.”
“Yeah, I know, I know—just—it’s beautiful. Wow. Um, wow. Do you want to see mine? It’s nothing special—”
She put a finger to my lips. From behind me, reaching around to my front. I got cold sweats. “Shh. I would love to.”
