After meeting with Leighton in her office, Casey returned to her easel though her mind was elsewhere. Still, she needed to begin the day’s assignment.
Leighton had rejected her invitation. What had she expected? She’d acted on impulse and surprised even herself. If Leighton had agreed, she wasn’t sure how she would’ve paid for lunch. Her credit card would’ve had to take the hit. Leighton’s rejection had been tough to accept, but talking with her afterward had left Casey feeling warm and fuzzy, and she wasn’t supposed to feel those things. She was a student, and Leighton was her instructor. Leighton had made that clear.
Besides, what had she envisioned happening? Leighton saying yes and the two of them embarking on a hot, romantic affair with weekend trips to Gymboree? Not that she could afford going there. She and Leighton moved in different economic circles and different, well, everything.
A few minutes later, Mark approached her. He wiped his hands on a paper towel. “I’m starving, Case. Let’s get some grub.”
“I can’t. I’m working on this.” Casey taped a piece of paper to her board. Plus, she’d brought a sandwich from home to save money. She didn’t mean to take out her rejection by being short with him, but her appetite had disappeared.
“The bust cast study? No one’s started that yet. Aren’t you hungry?”
Mikala piped up from the next station. “I’m always up for grabbing some food. I need all the calories I can get with Guard training.” She patted her toned abdomen.
Mark perked up. He appeared thrilled to find someone to accompany him, let alone someone who’d be willing to eat in the reverent, uncompromising manner he practiced.
“Are you feeling all right? Can I bring you a sandwich?” He nudged Casey with his elbow. Concern darkened his features.
She thanked him and shook her head.
He left with Mikala while debating the superior qualities of a chopped cheese versus a cheesesteak.
Leighton had disappeared, her office light off and the door closed. Casey turned her attention to her assignment, set an alarm on her phone for twenty minutes, and worked on the preliminary sketch for her cast study. She’d chosen a replica marble bust of a Florentine girl from the choices on the shelves.
Once she’d finished the envelope—that’s what Leighton had called the straight lines sketched around the figure—the cast drawing would fit within its border. Casey worked sight-size, so when she stood at the masking tape line on her rug, the bust and the drawing would appear identical.
As she focused on straight lines and angles, Stefan wandered over. He munched on a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos without her looking to verify. The scent was unmistakable. Any other time, she’d crave them, but the thought of eating made her stomach ache. She didn’t want to think about lunch.
“Want a bit of advice? Hold your pencil up to match the angle you see. Imagine it pointing to the minutes on a clock. See how the line sloping from her ear to her shoulder lands at about the thirty-seven-minute mark?”
She found the suggestion helpful when she tried to replicate it on her paper. “Thanks. I hadn’t heard that trick before.”
“Leighton and I had an instructor in Florence who taught us that. Back then, everyone could tell time on a real clock.” He winked at her, then glanced at Leighton’s office. “Have you seen her around? She didn’t mention she was going anywhere.” He crunched a chip.
The warm corn smell almost made her retch. She hoped he’d search for Leighton somewhere else. “I haven’t.” At least not since Leighton had told her no, twice. Casey didn’t know where she’d gone. Maybe she enjoyed eating lunch alone. She’d made it clear she wasn’t interested in sharing a meal with a student, though Casey was certain it was her whom Leighton had rejected.
“Hmm. I wonder if she wanted anything set up for the Flemish lesson. Never mind, I’ll text her.” He retreated to his office.
Casey hoped the unpleasant scent would also leave and refrained from waving her hands to clear the stench from the air. She needed no more reminders about lunch.
At least she’d scored one win this morning. When she’d asked if Leighton would be interested in her if their situation was different, she’d said yes. Imagine that. Leighton Vaughn, interested in her. For the remainder of the hour, Casey hid her smile.
Soon, those who’d left to find food began to return.
“We missed you at lunch.” Mikala stopped by Casey’s station. “I had the most amazing sweet potato fries, but as addicting as they were, I would’ve shared some with you.”
Casey ignored her coy insinuation. Mikala was cute, but she didn’t care to flirt with her. She had no interest in starting anything and didn’t want to lead her on. They could be friends, sure.
“Did Mark take you to his favorite place?”
“Yeah. I got a chopped cheese.” Mikala hovered close. “He’s a funny guy.”
She glanced at Mark and Devin in the lounge area, laughing at some joke. “Yeah, he’s great.”
Mikala nodded at her easel. “You work fast. I still need to finish my color charts and my Bargue drawing. I haven’t started two of my sketchbook assignments for the week. Cross your fingers Leighton will cut class short, and we’ll have more time to get everything done.”
Casey doubted Leighton would shorten her class, nor did she want her to. She enjoyed being around her, plus Leighton seemed invested in making the best use of her time with her students. When she wasn’t lecturing, she gathered everyone around her for a demonstration. Even when she turned them loose to work on assignments, she circled the room, paying them individual attention, offering suggestions, and asking critical questions.
On cue, Leighton appeared. Casey hadn’t seen her return from lunch. She hoped it wouldn’t be awkward between them. The rejection stung, but Casey didn’t regret asking. Her desire to know Leighton was as strong as ever, and she didn’t want to stop trying. She’d achieved the important things in her life by going after them. Perhaps if Leighton got to know her better, she’d change her mind. When Casey factored in her age, her status as a mother, and the evaluation standards of the atelier, she really didn’t think getting to know Leighton better was such a big deal.
“Gather round, folks.” Leighton motioned for them to join her in the lounge area. She glanced at Casey, then looked away. “Before I start the lecture, I want to bring something to your attention. This winter, the Salmagundi Club will host an exhibition titled Adoration of the Female Figure. Their annual classical painting contest is one of the most coveted exhibitions east of the Mississippi. They award monetary prizes for first, second, and third place.” She handed a stack of flyers to Phoenix. “The Best of Show winner will receive a six-month, all expenses paid, study abroad opportunity in Florence.”
Their reactions might have led an onlooker to think they had a one in ten chance of winning the lottery.
“I encourage all of you to enter. You’re welcome to use the painting of a female figure you paint in class, or you’re welcome to enter something you do on your own. I can give you a list of live model sessions in the area if you choose the latter.”
Six months in Florence. Casey had never been to Europe. Imagine, sketching Michelangelo’s David or wandering through the halls of the Uffizi Gallery for hours. She took a flyer when the stack passed. It was a long shot, but she’d enter for fun. Why not? Her female figure painting fit the entry guidelines without requiring extra work. It’d thrill her to have her painting accepted into the exhibition.
“One last thing. If you choose to enter, the atelier will cover your entry fee. Please talk to Maxine about it.”
Relief flooded Casey at not having to come up with the funds. Erica had never mentioned the atelier covering such fees before. Based on Erica’s joyous expression, it was unusual.
Leighton clapped her hands. “Okay, let’s begin. Grab your notebooks or laptops. Today we’re going to talk about the Flemish Technique. Second-year students, the first part will be a refresher course for you, then I’ll work with the four of you on some of the more advanced intricacies and what I’ll expect to see in your paintings versus the first-year students’.”
A pang of jealousy hit Casey. She wanted to learn what the second-year students would be taught. Maybe she could eavesdrop and incorporate some of what she overheard into her painting. It couldn’t hurt to impress Leighton. Plus, she liked when Leighton praised her. In her eyes, Casey was talented and worthy.
Leighton wheeled a large whiteboard to face them. “The Flemish Technique was developed during the seventeenth century’s Dutch Golden Age, and artists have used it ever since.” She uncapped a marker and wrote imprimatura in large letters.
* * *
That evening, Casey scraped the leftover paint from her glass palette with a razor blade. She wiped it on a paper towel and cleaned her hands. The darkened sky outside the studio windows and the clock on the wall reminded her how late it’d gotten. She’d missed dinner, but she missed Andy even more. He was growing up so fast, right before her eyes, and she hated being apart from him. At least he’d been excited to stay at Aileen’s where he was safe, loved, and asleep.
She turned to Mikala, the only other remaining person. “Will you be finished soon? I didn’t realize the time.”
“I need about ten minutes, and then we can walk out together.” She answered without looking up from where she used her mahl stick to steady her painting hand.
“Sounds good.” Casey took a few minutes to tidy her taboret, place her brushes in the freezer, and empty the garbage can at her station. She sealed her used rags in the fireproof container. The atelier wouldn’t go up in flames because of spontaneous combustion because of her.
With a few minutes to spare, she studied the painting she’d been working on from a distance, not from a few inches away like when she painted. It was the entire reason Leighton had taken away their stools.
Her values looked good, cohesive. She didn’t think she’d over-modeled. However, she needed to soften the edges she wanted to recede into the background. The subtle touches she’d given them were imperceptible from here, the distance someone would view it in a gallery or museum. It wouldn’t do. She’d have to rework them tomorrow.
“It’s lovely.” Mikala startled her.
“Thank you. I only see the things I need to fix.”
“We all do with our art.” Mikala moved her head like she needed to see past the glare on the canvas. “We’re our own worst critics. That’s why we need one another to point out when we do something right.” She turned to Casey. “But if I had to point out everything you do right, we’d be here all night.”
Mikala’s outright flirting was getting more difficult to ignore, especially when she ran her hand from Casey’s shoulder to her elbow, where she left it. Casey stared at the canvas, not knowing how to respond. Mikala’s touch didn’t give her shivers or make her heart race like Leighton’s had. Even so, she needed to put some distance between them. She bent and grabbed her backpack.
Mikala let go of her arm. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll meet you by the elevator.”
Casey picked up a few bits of garbage and threw them away even though Leighton hired a cleaning service to come in once a week. The trash wasn’t hers, but that wasn’t a reason not to keep the place looking nice.
She shrugged into her jacket as Mikala met her in front of the elevator. The compliment and innuendo echoed in her head. Mikala’s flirtations had been increasing over the last few days. Soon, Casey would have to say something.
Mikala caught hold of her elbow. “Hey.”
Casey turned, and Mikala stood close. Too close.
She brushed a lock of hair away from Casey’s face. “I’m not sure when I’ll get another chance.” Before Casey comprehended what she’d whispered, Mikala leaned in and kissed her. With her hand on Casey’s lower back, she pulled her closer.
Stunned, it took her a moment to react. She broke the kiss and backed away before it went anywhere. “Mikala.” It was an awkward situation, and she never knew what to say during times like these. She took a deep breath. “You’re a good friend. I like you, but I don’t think I feel the same.”
Mikala’s disappointment loomed in her eyes, but she offered a regretful smile. “I was afraid of that, but I figured this was the time to find out for sure.”
“The person who feels the same way for you as you do them, what a lucky person they’ll be.” Casey smiled to let her know no harm was done.
Mikala laughed, but it sounded rueful. “You always have something nice to say.” She slipped an arm around her and called the elevator. “Thank you.”
As they waited, the security cameras flashed through Casey’s mind. She didn’t want to be obvious and see where they were and if they might have caught the encounter. Instead, she crossed her fingers that Leighton had aimed them in another direction. It was late, and nobody should be monitoring them at this hour, anyway. Nobody, meaning Leighton.
They rode down to the first floor in silence, then crossed the reception area.
Despite her lack of interest in Mikala that way, the kiss lingered on Casey’s lips. It’d been fine, but it’d stirred nothing in her—nothing but emptiness.
Mikala made sure the atelier’s front door latched behind them, and they headed for the train.
Casey’s wistful sigh escaped into the cool night air, and a heaviness weighed her down. It’d been so long since she’d been kissed, but the woman who’d kissed her tonight hadn’t been the woman she wanted. And the woman she wanted had made it clear she couldn’t have her.