Page 31 of Love Is an Art
“Same,” he says. “I have to take calculated risks when picking stocks for my funds.”
“No risk, no reward,” I say. My brushstrokes do not look quite as good as they did at home. The canvas resembles my earlier versions.Nerves.I take a deep breath and breathe out.
“That’s funny,” Zeke says. “A lawsuit against my fund settled because the plaintiff used a similar expression to acknowledge the risk.”
“You must be happy,” I mutter. I put that brush down and pick up another one with a different color to make the apartment buildings.
They don’t have any depth. They look like squares on the canvas.Focus, Tessa. Remember what Miranda showed you.
I should’ve practiced painting while trying to hold up a conversation. Zeke says something more about the lawsuit, but I miss it because I’m trying so hard to fix my structures.
“Anyway, it’s a huge relief,” he says. “I’m grateful to the lawyer who settled it. I thought it was going to be a long, drawn-out fight, and it’s really freed up my schedule.”
“I’m sure they’re grateful the case settled as well.”How can my painting look this bad?“One less thing on their docket.”
“Sounds like you know some lawyers.”
“I have a close friend who is a lawyer.” I glance at him. “She likes law because it’s like a puzzle that she has to figure out.”
“Interesting. You’ve learned a lot about being a lawyer from her.”
“We’re practically inseparable.” I pick up my brush again and stare at the canvas. Three squares on top of a purple-and-blue background.
I dab at it some more.
The squares now have big blobs of paint within them.
They look more like some sort of raised relief topographical map of mountain terrain. But square mountains. In the middle of a purple-and-blue paint spill.
With my brush, I try to smooth one out so it looks more like the facade of a building.
My brush goes outside the line, so now it’s no longer a straight line but a slightly curvy … no, not curvy, it’s a zigzagged line.
Maybe it could be a very modern structure?
I don’t know how to fix it.
Do I make the building bigger?
What was I thinking, pretending to be an artist?And worse yet, to have a date where I paint in front of Zeke?
“Would you mind giving me a few minutes alone here?” I ask. “I’m having a hard time concentrating while talking to you. I’m not used to talking and painting at the same time.”
Not ideal, but maybe that will show the anti-social aspect of being an artist.
“I need to get in touch with my emotions to convey them on the canvas.” I close my eyes and tap my chest.Miranda would kill me if she saw me doing this.“Maybe you’d like to get a drink?”
“Oh. Sure,” Zeke says. “I’m sorry. Is there something you’d like to drink?”
“A glass of water.” Wine did not help my painting at the “Sip and Create” law firm function.
He leaves.
I stare at my canvas to see if there is any way to fix it.
The works of art on the easels near me are all compelling. The woman next to me is concentrating fiercely, her brow furrowed. She’s doing a self-portrait (she even brought a mirror), and her charcoal-shaded eyes peer out at me from the canvas.
I bite my lip.
