Across The Sea

Chapter 21

    The exhibition was a success. That was evident from the smiling faces and the admiring eyes fixed on the portraits on the wall. This was a culmination of years of Josh's hard work.

Before today all his work - including his paintings and his photographs - was put up under a pseudonym, so that his family's name and fame did not affect the true judgment of his merit. But last year, when he received the Pulitzer Prize in photojournalism, he finally decided to reveal his true identity.

And today, for the first time he was showcasing his work under his name. All of his paintings finally bore his signature and his photos were finally trademarked under his name.

It was a proud moment for him. And that was the only reason why I'd come tonight, although I felt like shit. The three hours of fragmented sleep I'd got before I came had done more to make me late than to alleviate the dull ache I felt behind my eyeballs. My head throbbed and my body was utterly exhausted.

Sleep deprivation was no joke and I was no stranger to its adverse effects. But I only needed to stave them off for the night. As soon as this event was over I was going to head straight for bed. The alarms on my phone were set, and the pink noises queued to be played. I just hoped I wasn't too late to get to them, that my body didn't decide to choose for me and shut down at an inappropriate time.

"So....did you like it?" Josh's voice dragged me out of my thoughts.

I nodded, pointing at the painting in front of me. It was of a couple locked in a passionate tango. The girl wore a simple red dress, one that fell to her mid-calf and had a halter neckline, showing off her beautiful back. Her dark hair was pulled back into a bun, but a few tendrils had escaped from it and fell on her face as she stood nose to nose with her partner. He wore a simple black shirt, the sleeves rolled up, with black trousers and shoes. Their bodies were entwined in an intricate pose that depicted the push and pull of a passionate relationship. Around them was darkness, lit only by a faint reddish glow that seemed to emanate from them.

Rightfully, it had been named Rouge.

"I wanted to buy it, but they're all sold out," I told him.

"Someone bought the entire collection." He gestured towards the six paintings of the Dancing series.

"An old patron?"

He shrugged, raising his pink suit-clad shoulder, "I don't know, haven't checked with the curators."

"When are you going to paint one for me?"

"When you tell me exactly what you want." He retorted without missing a beat, "or when you let me photograph you."

I shook my head. "Not in this lifetime" I absolutely hated having my picture taken." And I couldn't stomach the idea of some stranger gawking at my face on a blown-up canvas hanging in his living room. Fuck, even the mere thought of it, wouldn't let me sleep ever again, and I was struggling as it was.