Unresolved Chords
I prefer going to the gallery alone, it’s a lot more peaceful and you’re not expected to give some worthless review on what you’re seeing. You can make your own mind up about what you’re seeing and feel no pressure to share that opinion with anyone else. I tend to sneak out of the house on Saturday afternoons and walk down to the local gallery; I’ve found that it’s busy on Saturday mornings but about an hour before closing time, it’s completely deserted. It’s the perfect time to go and spend an hour by myself amongst real art, makes me feel like I’ve done something worthwhile. It was quieter than usual when I arrived, most of the staff had already left for home and the whole building felt deserted.
I stepped into the exhibit room and breathed in deeply, John Boyd was still being shown. Every one of his pieces contains some semblance of a coffin; usually filled with the detritus of everyday life. Some of his pieces are so bland but some of them are breathtakingly inspirational and inspiration is something I am in desperate need of right now. I wandered from piece to piece, soaking them all into myself and wondering if I would ever be exhibited or if I would just end up working in a gallery. I stopped in front of the piece Adam had been so pre-occupied with a few weeks earlier; it was one of his better works. I don’t know how long I had been standing in front of the Perspex coffin when the door to the exhibit room opened, naturally curious, I turned around to see who it was. It’s a pathetic side effect of living in a small town my entire life. I would have happily wished for the ground to open up and swallow me at that moment; Charlie Summers had just walked into the room. I prayed silently that he would just look at the work and leave but he made a beeline straight for me.
“If only all of my students were as diligent, Miss Barker,” he smiled, looking at the coffin. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen any students in here when it wasn’t compulsory,”
“I’m in here every weekend,” I said, instantly offended by his insinuation. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen you here,” Charlie smiled and I almost died, up close and personal he was even better looking than I thought. Maybe it was the fact that we were away from the responsible surroundings of the campus. The gallery was safe ground for us, he wasn’t looking like a tutor and I wasn’t looking like a student. We were just two appreciators of art.
“Ah, busted,” he smirked. “I usually travel down to the Met, there’s more to see but I quite fancied checking out the locals today,” I nodded at his explanation, the Met was a beautiful gallery and was filled with wonderful pieces but I had always preferred the more intimate surroundings of a small-time gallery. It was the wannabe anarchist in me, rejecting the corporate galleries that charge a fiver for a cup of tea.
“Do you like Boyd?” I asked, desperate to keep the conversation strictly to art and desperate to find out a little more about the mysterious Charlie.
“Yeah, his work can be a little bizarre but generally, there’s nothing wrong with it,” he sighed, wandering around the room taking in each piece just as I had done and I was horrified to find myself following him. Admittedly, we were in the middle of a conversation but I still felt like a puppy dog following its master around. “I’m surprised that he’s being showcased in such a small gallery, I would’ve thought the Met would want his exhibit,”
“John’s really good friends with Amelia,” I said simply, not noticing the confused look on his face.
“Amelia?”
“The curator here,” I laughed. “Man, you really haven’t been here before. Yeah, John comes over all the time so when he had a new exhibit to show, he wanted to come here first. That’s why it’s nice to have a local gallery, less bureaucracy,”
“You sound like you know where you’re going to be exhibited when you make it,” he said, stopping in front of one of my favourite pieces; The Broken Woman. It was a wooden coffin lined with red velvet, that was it, nothing inside, just red velvet. “I like this one, it’s beautiful,” He reached out a hand to stroke the velvet, just as he had stroked the paint the first time I had ever met him.
“It’s my favourite piece,” I smiled; he looked across at me and nodded knowingly. “They’re about to close but I don’t have to be anywhere, do you wanna get a coffee or something?” The second the words had left my lips, I regretted them. I was crossing some tutor/student line but I couldn’t seem to find the guilt anywhere and Charlie was smiling.
“Yeah, sure,” he said and started to walk towards the exit. I picked up the record bag that I had abandoned in the corner of the room and followed him out of the room and out of the gallery, waving goodbye to Amelia as I left the gallery itself. I didn’t really know where we could go for coffee but it didn’t really matter, it was just the fact that I was leaving the gallery with the one guy I had been thinking about non-stop for the last two months. Not only that, but the one guy I could never have because he gave me my grades.
“Where do you wanna go?” I asked, sticking my hands deep into my coat pockets to protect them from the November chill. I wish I had bought gloves, I tell myself to every winter but never get round to it. “We could go to Starbucks or something but I’d prefer a smaller venue,”
“Do you want to get a real drink instead?” asked Charlie, looking down at me with a smirk. I loved that smirk, he used it for everything and it worked. “I quite fancy a pint,” I nodded dumbly and followed him down a dark alleyway and into a tiny pub that was playing Bon Jovi. It was like stepping into a Dickens novel, tiny shops and pubs just a side-step from civilisation. He pointed to a corner booth and I went to sit down while he bought our drinks; coffee had become a pint and I now felt completely out of my depth. If Charlie were anyone else then I knew exactly where this endeavour would end up but he was my tutor. I needed to remember that. He wasn’t just some guy I could talk to about anything and everything; I needed to hold back slightly. He was a figure of authority, not a mate to laugh with. Or was he? This side-step into The Newt and Cucumber had sent my mind reeling into hyperspace; what was going on?
This is always the point where my mind goes into overdrive and I lose all sense of my surroundings. I mean, how would you feel if this stunning guy you really liked asked you to go for a drink with him on a Saturday afternoon? Okay, now imagine that this guy is your teacher? Gives the whole situation a different spin, doesn’t it? So, I smile politely as he passes me a pint of lager and wonder what the hell we are going to talk about. It was then that I decided to throw away all my pre-conceived ideas and just talk to Charlie as if he was a friend. What was the point of getting all worked up over nothing? If you’re thinking that I have officially gone insane, contradicting my own emotions and everything then you would be right; gold star, top of the class.
“I didn’t know you lived here,” I said, sipping the top of my pint to reduce the likelihood of spilling it everywhere when I next picked it up. “Most of the tutors can’t stand to live in the student village,”
“I’m one of those really sad wankers who never moved out of their student house,” he laughed out loud, attracting glances from the few patrons of this delightful establishment. “It’s just too comfortable and I’m still a student really,”
“Yeah, Adam mentioned you were working on your PhD, how’s it all going?” I asked, wondering if I sounded interested or merely courteous. He sighed slightly, as if he was sick of being asked about it but he soon smiled again and turned to face me full on. I swallowed hard, I could handle being in the same vicinity as him but to have his full attention was too much to take.
“I’ve finished my piece but all the writing up and getting it shown is a pain in the arse,” he said, taking a big mouthful of lager and swallowing it down. “I mean, I’m an artist, I don’t want to equate my work to some other guy’s. I just want to make art and have people see it. I hate this obsession with essays at university; we’re taking art for God’s sake. I mean, if you want to write essays then take art history, not art,” I nodded sagely, I knew exactly where he was coming from. The number of times I had complained bitterly about writing an essay when all I wanted to do was paint was unfathomable. I loved hearing him get passionate though, his eyes blazed with a fire that made my groin stir and he would curl his lip in defiance, he was like a rock star.
“I think we should probably change the subject before you storm the art department,” I laughed, he grinned back and I felt pleased with myself. I was handling myself very well, I wasn’t acting like some loved up teenager, I was a woman and I could have an adult conversation with a man I was attracted to without it becoming some drool-fest. “What do you do when you’re not making art?”
“It depends; I’ve been working so hard lately I haven’t done anything at all. I guess I’m just like the rest of the world, movies and music and seeing my mates,” he shrugged. “This is my first Saturday off in ages, I just abandoned the brushes and wandered out into the real world,” I laughed and drank my lager; this was turning into quite a pleasant afternoon. And then it hit me, and I wished it hadn’t but when I remember, I can never let it go. The list. I was thinking about the list and I was thinking about Charlie and the list. Don’t get me wrong, the guy is my tutor and even if he managed to fulfil every criteria then there was still no way that we could be together but there’s no harm in finding out a little more about people, is there?
“Do you like foreign films? I love French movies; they’re so much better than the Hollywood shit we’re forced to endure,”
“Yeah, they’re okay but I wouldn’t go out of my way to see one. I find them all a bit pretentious to be honest,” he said. My whole world deflated. French film is such a huge passion of mine; there was no way that we were meant to be together. In fact, I kind of lost a little interest at that point, how can any artist describe French film as pretentious? “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,”
“No, everyone’s entitled to their opinion, right?” I smiled, secretly feeling daggers in my soul. I don’t know why I take failure of the list as a personal attack but it happens every time, if he hates French movies then he’s going to hate me. It makes no sense but that’s what I hear. He finds me pretentious; he wouldn’t go out of his way to see me. “What about old movies? I find it hard to believe that an artist couldn’t love black and white films,” He laughed and shook his head, a hint of disbelief in his look.
“I love how you see things so simply, it’s refreshing,” he said and though I didn’t quite understand what he was getting at, I took it as a compliment anyway. “I do love black and white films, especially Humphrey Bogart movies. He was such a great actor,” I nodded with a smile; Casablanca was one of my favourite Sunday afternoon movies. Whether it was on television or I put the video on, any boring Sunday afternoon was immediately saved by Bogart and Bergman.
“Do you want another drink?” I asked, only just noticing that my pint glass was empty. Charlie drained his and shook his head with a grin.
“No, I’ve gotta get home. Megan’s waiting for me,”
“Megan? Is that your girlfriend?” I asked, kicking myself under the table for sounding like a child. Charlie laughed out loud, once again attracting the attention of the other pub-goers.
“No, she’s my dog,” he laughed, pulling his coat on and checking his pockets. “Are you staying here or are you gonna walk me out?” I smiled and stood, pulling my own coat on and walking out of the pub with him. We stood in the street; I didn’t really know what to say, what do you say in this situation? “Well Miss Barker, thank you for saving me from boredom for an hour,”
“No worries,” I shrugged, digging my hands into my pockets once more. He did the same but brought his hands out almost immediately holding a pair of black wool gloves which he thrust in my direction.
“Give them back on Monday,” he said as I took them with a frown. “Don’t want you freezing on the way home,” He flashed me that amazing smile of his once more before turning around and walking away, leaving me standing in the street holding a pair of gloves that were way too big for me and looking a little bewildered.