Who Names The Colors

L'atelier Rouge

Oct 2014

Jo could see it so clearly, the red of the walls already cast a hue onto the occupants, whether the source of light was the window or the dingy hanging bulb over head. Harry would like red too.

She was red. That was for sure. If she had a palette and brush in her hand she would be mixing a little brown into her crimson to dull the orange and bring the color's brightness down to the hue of her desire. She imagined it would be deep and saturated, like Bordeaux or Syrah. She liked to drink Syrah when she was painting through upset. So maybe Boudreaux if she was painting out desire. Jo liked to have her wine accompany her mood. Like white with fish and red with steak.

He looked like a three course meal in front of her.

In her mind's eye it wasn't unrequited or unmet, the desire that pulsed up and through when he answered the door to his apartment in his current state. She was often on a low simmer for him, had been since his metamorphosis. It's power today though was shocking, like someone knocking you on the chin, but with brass knuckles. Jo's head is reeling and whirring from the blow. Her imagination is fired. And in her head Harry feels it too. Feels her and her ache and her thrust. So, there would be no preamble, which would never happen, clearly. Men wanted their tit and a blow job usually before they went for that tat. But in her fantastical reimagining of her first time in Harry's home studio, there was no tit. He just pulled her down to the flat table, shoved supplies to the side, pushed the flowy fabric of her long skirt up to her waist and grinned at her lack of underwear. She didn't wear them as a rule, but how would he know that? It would give him immediate access and his long stare would make her the opposite of self conscious, because he poured over her form the way he did the Van Gogh at the museum last week.

In the museum, he'd been entranced by the thickness of the brush strokes. "They are so full of emotion! I can feel this!" He'd been the most excited student there with her and she once again saw those flames around his head, his spark. Jo knew then that she needed to see his current art. He had been a bit of a prodigy as a teenager, but he told her that first day in her office that he had been painting voraciously ever since then. And all the sparks and ignition of ideas she could see coming out of his ears made her excited. As much as the trip to London was gassing up his artistic engine, she knew a trip to his studio would fill up her tank too.

She was wet, had been from anticipation before getting here and stayed that way when he answered the door in a pair of threadbare gray jeans and a half buttoned plaid. He'd pushed his hair back with a hand and Jo thrilled at all the tattoos on the underside of his arm where his sleeve was rolled. Jo had to stop herself from reaching forward and keeping his elbow pointing up so she could look at them all. For a boy obsessed with color, she wanted to ask why only one or two tattoos had pigment at all.

She kept her hands to herself, a little confused by the urges she felt, like seeing Zoe reach for a flame at her first bonfire or Ethan weep for the girl least interested. But seeing the art on his body was exciting and she hadn't even seen any of his creations yet. Jo couldn't imagine how she'd put a cork back in now that she has seen him in his place of revelation. Not that there was an adequate seal on her simmering need since he'd walked out of his cocoon into her house what was now years ago.

He's called her to come over, they had spoken in her office recently and arranged for a time for her to see his studio. But two days later and two before the appointed time, her phone had rung with a frantic, rambling H on the other line.

His mood was contagious, and her body had translated it into a different energy.

Harry pushed the door closed behind her and began talking really fast. Especially for him. He usually had a slow cadence to his words and he carefully placed each, like his thoughts were a puzzle and he had to find where the edges matched. It made you listen, and emphasized the low thick sounds he made.