“Oh, come on, Krystal! Give her a name already!” Fabio interrupts my thoughts as I procrastinate finishing this painting, adding unnecessary layers of paint here and there.
I try to block out his impatience, well aware of his hovering over my shoulder. Looking at the woman portrayed before me, I rack my brain to find the perfect name for her. She stares back at me and I can already feel her eagerness to come to life.
Fabio, one of my first paintings, is truly the impersonation of a nuisance – aka, a real pain in the ass. I’ll never forget the night he came to be.
I had finished painting him and sat on the edge of the couch studying the result. I couldn’t help but draw a mental image of what he would be like if he was real; straightforward, impatient, kindhearted. And then, purely out of spite over how ridiculously handsome I’d made him, I baptized him ‘Fabio’.
“Fabio is short for fabulous, right?” I’d imagined him saying.
That very same night, while I was sleeping, I felt a forceful shove. I turned to see who on earth was waking me up, and I met the scorching blue eyes of… Fabio! After the first shock – and the second, and the third – we shared a mutual reaction: the longest, loudest, most hysterical scream of my whole life. I even drew a breath and continued screaming.
I don’t know how, and I sure as hell don’t know why, but when I gave a name to the man I had drawn, poof! He was there, flesh and bones.
I was truly stunned. I walked around him, poked him, I talked to him and he talked back for God’s sake! Have you ever felt that the eyes of a painting follow you everywhere? Well, I had the real man, out of the canvas, following me everywhere.
It was weird at first but… I kind of… got used to it? Bullshit, how can anyone ever get used to this? Let’s just say it became easier after a few, well, screams.
This extraordinary situation started about a year ago, after the opening of my gallery. That had taken over all of my time – and life – for the past couple of years. Finishing paintings, finding a venue, setting up the exhibition hall… When all that was eventually out of the way, I had the time to connect with my new painting. And for the first time, I saw the character on the canvas and gave him a name. And along with that …a life?
“What about ‘Fabia’?” he interrupts again.
“I’m not calling her Fabia! Can you just-? Stop distracting me!” I protest, looking around to see where everybody else is.
Beatrice, my plump, posh, British duchess is seated at the edge of the sofa, ankles crossed, sipping her tea. I know that the corset I drew her in is too tight and she’s having major difficulties sitting, moving, talking, even breathing in it. She handles it with class though and never complains. She just has this constant look of disapproval on her face.
Laurie-Al, my cheerful, pin-up girl keeps Beatrice company, indulging in the older duchess’ caprice to teach her some savoir vivre. The hot brunette seems pretty into it, mimicing Beatrice’s moves – extended pinky off the tea cup and all.
Mason, the superhot rockstar is leaning over Beatrice, teasing her being his most enjoyable hobby. He literally rocks his looks; leather pants, topless, shoulder-length hair, sweaty and so full of himself, carrying his microphone around like an IV drip.
Annie smoothes out her 40s skirt, supposedly paying attention to the conversation hippie Sunshine and cowboy Lucas are having, but casting a subtle look to check out Mason every now and then. She smiles at him but I’m the only one to notice.
Unagi the ring-leader practices his whips on… Sir Clings-A-Lot’s armor!
“Unagi! Leave the poor knight alone!” I spoil their fun and turn back to my painting. The purple-haired fairy stares at me, a lifeless picture, for now. Fabio examines her with concentration.
“Can we make her…a bit… bigger?”
“She’s a fairy, Fabio, she’s meant to be lean and aerie-like…”
“I didn’t mean bigger…bigger,” he moves his hands around his body. “I mean bigger…in this area,” he gestures again only over his chest.
“You’re gross!” I get his point and push him out of the way.
“My dear,” Beatrice addresses me, “don’t you have a date to get ready for?” she casts a look at the clock on the wall and I follow her eyes to see that I only have half an hour to make myself look presentable. Shoot!
“And no matter what Sunshine says,” she pauses to glare at the hippie and continues with her heavy British accent, “there is no such thing as being fashionably late! Now, go have your shot at a happy ending and you can deal with ours later.”
I drop my brush and palette on the desk and rush out of the studio.
“Krystal, wait! What’s her name? You can’t just leave my fairy like that!” Fabio follows me.
“We’ll call her…Faye! Faye the fairy!” I shout over my shoulder.
He halts his step and stares at nothing.
“You don’t like it?” I try to read his expression before I get in the shower.
“I…I fucking love it!” his features light up like fire and he abruptly turns around and runs back to the studio.
Faye…yes, I love it too. Not like some of my earlier paintings – Sir Clings-A-Lot? Unagi? Really? Well, in my defense, the ring leader is Japanese and I didn’t know their name was what made my drawings come to life back then…
All Fabio ever wanted was true love. I did try to give him a companion, Selena the ballerina. But Selena and my Latino lover fell in love with each other. When that happened, they ceased to exist overnight and returned to their canvas world, but this time, they somehow appear in each other’s painting.
That’s when I realized a happy ending was all they needed. And that triggered a series of chained reactions, painting after painting.
In my effort to make them all happy, I lost sight of what a happy ending is for each one. What if true love is not what everybody needs to be truly happy?
Feeling like I’m spiraling in this mess that I’ve created, I’m losing hope and wonder if I’m really fit for this. Real or not, the power of happy ending seems to be the only thing that completes the characters I bring to life, giving them closure.
When Gabriel had first walked into my gallery, it felt like the earth stood still. His looks and his physique were striking. The way he carried himself filled the space with elegant austerity. I felt intimidated by his mere presence. He purchased a painting a few months ago, and when he came back last week, he asked me out on a date.
And that said date tonight was purely magical. We talked about everything and nothing… He even made me forget about my alternate universe of all the painting characters lounging around my place, waiting for their happy ending.
Lying on my bed, exhausted and yet a bit overwhelmed, I replay the last scene of our date.
He’d walked me to the gallery and before we said our goodbyes, he smoothed my hair behind my ear and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek. He said the people on the canvas look so real and that my colors give them life. Oh, dear Gabe, if only you knew… He then looked into my eyes, and very slowly, he leaned to kiss my lips.
I let go of the breath I’d been holding and responded to his kiss, feeling my insides scorching with desire. He slightly guided me backwards until my back hit the glass window. I couldn’t help my hands from reaching up to his chest and beneath his jacket. He snaked his arms around my waist and a small growl escaped him. Utterly shocked by the chemistry between us, we broke the kiss before we found ourselves naked in the middle of the street. We chuckled at each other and I thanked God it was dark, my face was as red as Laurie-Al’s lipstick.
My grin couldn’t get any bigger as I hugged my pillow and turned to my side. And with a jolt, I shot out of bed, my grin vanished and my eyes wide as saucers. I remembered him asking what the name of the painting he bought was. Too caught up in the moment, I just said ‘Ariel’.
Shit!
Before I had the time to process, my phone rang.
“Gabe?” I dreaded the words I’d hear on the other end.
“Krystal? What-?”
I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the sky to fall.
“What’s the mermaid from your painting doing in my bathtub??”
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