Finding Sam (Featured)

Chapter 7 - Artist-In-Residence

"As long as my brother didn't twist your arm for you to come to that decision, then I'm okay with it," Olivia smiled. "My brother can be, shall we say, quite persuasive at times without any consideration to what others might feel."

"I wouldn't worry about it," I said. "I was actually thinking of signing up for an art class at the community college so I could use their studio."

"Really?" Olivia said, arching her eyebrows. "Perfect timing then! Well, now you've got your very own studio, right here on the Strand! Why don't you go check it out? I'll watch Michael for you."

As she spoke, Michael walked towards Bella and sat down. I called his name, but he was engrossed in one of Bella's toys, a colorful piano that was now playing Twinkle,Twinkle, Little Star.

"Go on. Michael will be fine with us here," Olivia urged, smiling. "That way you can tell my brother exactly how you'd like the studio to be built. Let someone tell him what to do for a change. He needs that now and then."

I would never dream of imposing my demands of what I thought a studio ought to be, but I kept such thoughts to myself. After all, my old studio, if one could call it that, had been the garage, complete with cans of motor oil and boxes destined for Goodwill.

"C'mon, then," Erik said, beckoning me to accompany him as he took a step back towards the door. "Tell me if there's anything you need for me to do. I know nothing about artist studios. Nothing."

A few minutes later, we were standing in my new studio. Other than a hole in the wall leading to a small garden and a cement wall, as well as a man hammering on a door frame, the space was just about finished. The rest of the room was bare except for a brand-new-looking futon, a coffee table and a small refrigerator. Two folded drop cloths were arranged along one corner and towards the back of the room, there was a bathroom with a full bathtub. He had also gone through the trouble of having an industrial-sized sink installed outside the bathroom, and for a few minutes, I found myself standing in front of it.

There was nothing like having an industrial sized sink for a painter like me. As long as the plumbing was done right, I might as well have been given a glimpse of heaven.

Eunice had taught me how to paint using oils, but after she died, I switched to acrylics. I missed oils, but with a studio of my own, who knew? I'd probably go back to them.

"This wasn't here two days ago," I said, trailing my fingers along the porcelain. It wasn't like those ugly utilitarian industrial sinks. It was simply a larger than normal one, and still somehow fitting with the aesthetics of the space. Heaven forbid my studio ruined the value of a beachside house.

"I wasn't sure if you needed one, but since we were having some stuff done to the pipes anyway, I figured, you could use one. You do need one, right?"

I smiled. Since I no longer painted with oil, I didn't really need one, but it would make washing the paint brushes a lot easier. "I really appreciate all this, Erik. I don't know how I can thank you."

"Just paint. I wasn't using this room for anything anyway. And if you wish to hang anything on the walls, go ahead and do it." He handed me a set of keys. "This is for you. It's for the separate entrance door once it's finished, which will be tomorrow, Friday. You did say that you'd probably use it on weekends, when your ex has Michael."

I nodded, but I didn't take the keys. Instead, I pulled out a folded piece of paper from my pants pocket.

"What's that?" He asked, perplexed.

"It's an agreement. A rental agreement, just as a formality. I wouldn't want to just take the keys from you without any agreement to set up boundaries, expectations. That sort of thing," I said. "I went ahead and wrote down the basic stuff. It's the best I can do, legal mumbo-jumbo wise, but it should work. We just have to sign it."