(Read the prequel here: Unfathomable Love)
I woke up with a start and dropped my fist on the loud alarm clock. It was nine-thirty in the morning, the sun was out and my head throbbed in pain. I did not remember when I had fallen asleep. The bottle of Campari on the side-table kept staring at me, uncapped and uncared for; the ashtray was overflowing and the autumn-morning breeze was carrying the remains of burnt tobacco with it. I stretched my way out of the bed and crawled towards the balcony, grabbing the pack of cigarettes as I trudged along. As I lit a cigarette, the cold winds left rough marks of goosebumps all across my naked chest and shoulders. It was a perfect October morning, with not a cloud in the sky and the streets below bustling with business.
My mobile was lying on the floor, its notification light blinking, reminding me of the series of events lined up for the day. As I looked around my one-room apartment, I realised I had time to neither clean-up the room, nor myself. I put on the first ironed shirt I could see in my wardrobe, took a shot of Campari (breakfast of champions) and picked up my sling-bag from behind the door.
As I got off the bus in front of The Gagosian Gallery at Via Francesco Crispi, I could see that a few people had already started coming-in for the exhibition. I hurried my way to the Office of the Curator and took my ‘Artist’ ID and lanyard. I walked, smiling, towards the area where my sketches were up on display; suddenly feeling hungry, anxious, nervous, and a range of other emotions I found hard to describe. There were people congratulating me, some asking me about my muses, media personnel taking pictures and the critics talking about the arrogance in my work.
The entire day felt like a dream dreamt half asleep. I could remember very little and I just felt groggy. It was probably ten minutes before the closing time; I was walking towards the bar counter when I noticed a set of eyes glued upon one of my sketches. A young woman who was not just admiring the canvas, she was conversing with it in silence. A crisp white shirt with a pair of high-waist trousers over white heels; she was carrying a tan-coloured purse and wore brown spectacles which made her look more serious than she intended to portray. She had tied her hair in a bun carelessly and was carrying an empty cocktail glass in one hand. I just stood there for a couple of minutes, admiring her admiring my work. Then suddenly, as if the dialogue between her and the sketch ended in an argument, she turned and noticed me staring at her in a strange bewilderment. She adjusted her glasses and came towards me with her right hand extended to congratulate me on the successful exhibition. She knew who I was, and she had come to check out my work in particular. She had already bought the piece she was so minutely analysing.
I offered to refill her cocktail out of gratitude and she counter-proposed dinner instead. We went to a small open-air restaurant at the corner of the street and she told me how she was an art collector. I told her about my time traveling the world, trying to learn the different kind of painting, sketching and drawing techniques and how I fell in love with the city the first time I came here as a tourist and decided to rent out a small apartment. She told me all about herself, her family, how she has lived everywhere around the world because of her father’s profession, her art collection; she kept talking and I kept sipping on my whisky. She seemed to be enjoying just having someone with whom she could talk. Her body relaxed with every story she narrated. She was in an emotional stupor, and the only way out of it seemed to be through it.
We finished our meal, she hardly ate, but she looked satisfied nonetheless. It was not food or drinks she was craving for, it was company. She graciously paid for the bill too and we walked towards her home in silence. As we approached her villa, she gave me a hug and said she would be waiting for my call. She turned and went inside the building as suddenly as she had come towards me earlier that evening. I just stood there thinking about what had happened. I smiled to no-one in particular and continued walking towards my apartment.
She was a beautiful mess!
