The Second Coming

Chapter 4: One More Time

 I rushed around in a frenzy. The burgundy skirt of my dress swirled around my feet as I did my last round, checking on everything before it was time to open the doors. By the time I decided everything was perfect for the third time, I nodded my consent to the doormen. Doors swinging open, formally dressed men and women entered, they gave their congrats to me followed with a friendly kiss to the cheek or hand shake before slowly, amiably walking around to examine my new art work. I silently thanked my friends for taking me out on a relaxing night, because I was a ball of stress after the long day I had. This was my least favorite part about being an artist. I'd live happily if I could just paint in solitude for the rest of my life, but with the way my paints boomed with popularity, there was no way to escape it. With people continuing to file through the doors, no matter how many times I've done this, it still had me staggering at the amount of people who show up to my galleries. The building would be filled to its capacity in no time.

At last, it was impossible to fit any more people and the doormen closed the doors on the line of people waiting for their turn to enter. I relaxed and moved around the room, answering questions, and checking on everything. Ashley bustled around the building making sure everyone had refreshments and Promise was walking around with her head ducked, covered in a stylish, black lace covering to help prevent a stampede.

I glanced around the room, taking in all the different colors of the ladies' dresses. Not one dress was the same, couples chatted amongst themselves, and critiques and newspaper writers conversed about the paintings. I was content just standing in the doorway watching. All my hard work was paying off by the excited prattle.

“Ahem.”

Startled by the voice behind me, I quickly spun around, facing a talk dark haired young man with light blue eyes, dressed immaculately in a tailored white shirt with a black vest. “I'm sorry, please excuse me. I'm afraid my thoughts caught up to me. What can I help you with?"

The man raised a dark eyebrow. “I noticed. My name's Austin West from Access Atlanta newspaper. If I can have a few moments of your precious time, I have some questions for this coming art section.”

“Why, of course,” I replied, politely.

Austin nodded as he plucked a notebook and pen from his breast pocket. “I'm sure most of your fans are just as curious as I am, were do you get your inspiration for your work? They're all so different and elaborate.”

I mulled over my answer, before replying. “They are all a part of my mind. Each has it's own special place and begs to be painted, new ones always follow. It's never ending."

The man before eyed her carefully after he jotted down her answer. “Why do I get a feeling you mean something else by 'a part of your mind?'”

I shrugged and politely waited for him to continue.

“What inspired you to start painting?”

I chose my words wisely. “There are several things. My parents, the art teacher at the school I went to as I grew up continually supported me and encouraged me to continue what I did because it was a gift not too many get, and just life in general. Painting is an easy release.”

Austin glanced around the room, looking for proud, elderly faces, but found none. “And were are your parents now? I would love to talk with them and get their insight.”

“They are no longer with us, Mr. West.”

He was a little startled by her sudden coldness, but made no remark. “I'm terribly sorry to hear that, Mrs. Daisy.”

“It happen quite a while ago. Now, if you please, can you finish this up? I have to make my rounds and be at the door for when my guest depart.”

Nodding respectably, Austin looked back at his notepad. “I wanted to exhibit one of your paintings along with the article. I looked at all of your works, which were magnificent I must add, but a certain one piqued my attention- Fraudulent Happiness. Could you give the story behind the painting?”

I knew which one he was talking about right away. I could see the image still burned into my mind. A dirt road winded down to the back of the picture until it disappeared, on it it carried away a blundering truck with a canvas top, in it's dusty wake it left a man wearing an army uniform supported by crutches, a happy excited grin lit up his grungy face completely content at looking at the picture before him. Fields of flowers and crops decorated both sides of the dirt road, and at the front of the painting centered on a young woman. The wind was blowing, and I had froze her position as the wind played with the woman's dirty blonde hair and long skirt of her plain, dirty brown dress. A dirt covered hand was held up to her forehead, blocking the demanding sun to see the man not twenty feet away. Her other arm was occupied by a large basket with fresh vegetables she just picked from her garden. A happy grin graced her face, but didn't quite reach her eyes. A certain look shone through the crystal blue orbs.

“Fraudulent Happiness takes place right after the WWII. The young man just got back from the war to his home and family.”

“And the woman?” Austin inquired. “What's the look in her eye?”

“The woman is his wife. She's happy to see him, but the look in her eye is guilt. While he was off in war, she had an affair.”

Austin's eyes widened as he thought about it. “I can see that. What inspired you to come up with this masterpiece?”

“It's a true story. A story that begged to be painted and shown to the world. My goal of my work is for the viewer to continually try and guess what happened before or after.”

“Fascinating.” The writer commented, pen still hadn't lifted from his pad of paper. “But didn't you say your paintings come from your mind?"

"Mr. West, if you do not mind. I must go." I replied quickly. 

A look passed through his eyes before he smiled. "Well, Miss Daisy, I love your work and thank you for talking with me.”

“Thank you, Mr. West. Have a wonderful evening, I hope you'll stick around and look around for a little longer.” Shaking his hand, I quickly moved away, tugging on the long sleeves on my dress, leaving the young man scribbling away at his paper. I silently sighed in relief. Grabbing a flute of wine, I quickly drank it and relaxed. All I wanted to do was curl up in front of my fireplace with a warm drink with a sketch book on my lap.

The rest of the night went by like a blur, one moment I was in one room and the next another. Talking to many people, not remembering a name. A fake smile plastered on my face; I just wanted to go home to peace and quiet. As a server walked past with a tray of champagne flutes, I snatch one off right before a hand snatched it out of my grasp. Turning around glaring, a pair of icy blue eyes glared back from under dark netting.

Hand on her hip, dressed in her rose colored dress, Promise held the flute in her hand. “You don't need this. If you drink another one, you'll regret it in the morning.”

She silenced my protesting when she drained the glass down her throat and a smug grin graced her lips. “But I need it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Where's Ashley?”

Shrugging, Promise glanced around the room. “Where else? Somewhere helping. When do we get to leave this party?”

“Soon,” I replied, still looking for my other friend. “I need a vacation.”

“Don't we all, darling?” Promise retorted. “Now, let's find this chick and ditch this place. I'd rather not spend the rest of my night standing around watching people look at art. Let's go do something fun.”

Dread filled my stomach, Promise's kind of fun is partying and that was the last thing I wanted to do. I smiled hopefully. “Or go home and sleep or watch a movie?”

Laughing in my face, she swiveled on her heels to go hunt down poor Ashley. I really wish she had let me drink that flute.