Another summer day in London, everyone trying to keep cool. The recent heatwave made poring over his manuscript a greater trial than usual. Dorian’s lunch break brought relief.
The breeze, pungent with traffic fumes, blew parched leaves around the streets as he made his way to Trafalgar Square. The resplendent figure of Nelson looked down from his Column.
The girl sat at a make-shift easel, sketching. She bent over the artwork, deep in concentration. A strand of blonde hair fell over her eyes. She brushed it away. Her confident movements, and unorthodox clothes, showed independence.
She looked up and caught Dorian studying her. He felt his cheeks redden under her gaze. Eyes of piercing blue held his momentarily. The full lips parted in a smile. Mmmm. Kissable!
“I, I’m sorry,” he stammered. “Just admiring your picture. Head in the clouds as usual.”
“Well! Happens to us all sometimes, I guess. I won’t hold it against you. I’m Jenny.”
“Pleased to meet you, Jenny, I’m Dorian” he laughed. “I’ve never met an artist before.”
They shook hands. Dorian wondered what to do next. He liked this girl and wanted to know more about her, but he hesitated to ask. He always found it difficult, opening up to people..
Tearing the picture from the artist’s pad, she beckoned to an empty stool. Dorian was surprised. “Please sit,” she said.
Like an obedient puppy, he did!
He watched, fascinated, savouring the way her slender hand drew the pastels across the parchment, caressing the paper. Wish she was caressing me like that.
“There,” she said. “For you.” She handed him the portrait. Their hands touched. She blushed.
“Want to get a coffee?” Dorian asked nervously. “My treat. The drawing is lovely.”
“Sounds good,” she said. She was already packing up her materials.
Swinging her folder over her shoulder, Jenny set off across the square. Dorian fell into step. They talked. Jenny pointed to her favourite landmarks, sometimes touching his arm with an unexpected intimacy that warmed him.
The London streets were a traffic nightmare.
It was hard for Dorian to keep up. “Hang on a minute,” he shouted, trying to follow. This girl scared him. Watching her dodge between cars coming from all directions made Him feel uneasy. He’d never been one for taking risks.
Every so often she would stop, perch on a bench or curb, grab her pad, and draw a quick sketch.
While she did, Dorian took the opportunity to study his portrait. ‘This girl’s good,’ he thought, tracing the outline with his fingers. ‘We’d make a good team, an artist and a writer’.
Don’t be so foolish, you’ve only just met the girl.
Pulling a London A to Z from her pocket she took Dorian’s hand and pointed to one of the streets on the map.
“I’m so hungry I could eat a horse,” she said, playfully, digging Dorian in the ribs. “How about you Dor? Fancy eating a horse?”
“Well, maybe not a horse, but I might manage a small foal,” he replied, in an attempt to match joke with joke. Jenny chuckled, which pleased Dorian who threw an arm around her shoulder. They fell about in a pretend tussle.
Drawing apart and breathless, they looked at each other, something unspoken passing between them. A speeding car made them jump for the pavement. Neither realised they were in the middle of the street.
“That was close,” said Dorian, looking around, but Jenny just continued dodging and laughing. They managed to reach the other side without incident.
The old-fashioned cafe smelled of burnt oak, coffee and cigars. Signed photographs of stage and screen celebrities hung on the stone walls. They found a table near the window.
A young student type came over, cloth in hand. “What can I get you guys?”
“A Latte for me'” said Dorian, “What do you fancy, Jen?” He noticed the twinkle in Jenny’s eyes as she looked up at the waiter. “Well,” she said, pretending to read the menu, “there are several things I fancy here, but I think I’ll have to settle for a Mocha.”
She leaned back in the bentwood chair, balancing on the back legs, trying not to topple over. Dorian felt the blue eyes studying him.
“What’s your line of work then?” she asked. “Or maybe you have a benefactor who keeps you in Lattes and makes sure you don’t fall under the influence of strange girls.”
“No such luck! Besides, I don’t know any strange girls.” They laughed.
Resuming an upright position, Jenny leaned across the table to wipe away a glob of cream from Dorian’s upper lip. For a moment, Dorian wanted to take the fingers in his mouth, and tease them, but drew back. Mmmm. Maybe later.
“I’m a writer,” he said, fiddling with the menu holder. “I’ve had two novels published so I suppose, to be technical, I’m an author.”
Rocking back in her chair again and running her hand through her hair, Jenny said, “Wow!” I’ve always wanted to meet somebody famous!” Dorian felt a foot rub against his ankle. It stayed there too long for it not to have been deliberate.
“Hardly famous, Jen, with just a few stories to my name. I guess you could call me a jobbing writer. Several books, lots of magazine stuff, newspaper articles, nothing special. How about you, what you doing?”
“I’m in my second year at art college. My parents are both in the theatre. Father does set design, Mother does wardrobe. I would love to be a full-time artist but it’s hard to make a living until you become established.”
“Maybe it’s you who needs a sugar daddy then.”
They laughed.
A young couple at the next table turned and smiled.
The sound of Adele from Jenny’s cell phone echoed around the small room. “Sorry, Dor, got to get this.” She turned her back to him.
“Hi, Jeff,” she answered, “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just taking a break before heading back.” She listened intently, eyes sparkling. “See you soon. Ciao!”
Who’s Jeff?
Dorian didn’t want to ask, out loud, and appear jealous.
“I got to split. Things to take care of at home. I’m glad we met. We should get together again sometime.”
A pit formed in his stomach. “Yeah, that would be good,” he dragged his chair from the table and pulled out a note. “Let me get this.”
While he paid the bill at the register, Jenny chatted with the young waiter whose hand rested on her shoulder.
Jeff came to mind, and sudden jealousy rose.
“Got to be going then Jenny,” He surprised himself with his loud tone of voice, smacking of the green-eyed monster..
The waiter looked at him and made a quick exit back into the kitchen.
Jenny went outside. Dorian followed.
The atmosphere between the two changed. Once brimming with potential, it now fell flat and edgy.
“Everything all right?”
“Fine.” Her gaze remained trained on the sidewalk.
They swapped ‘phone numbers but their friendly banter had vanished. They kissed each other, politely, on the cheek.
Dorian watched her leave. I’ll never see her again.
He shook his head as she jaunted across the street, expertly dodging traffic, her hair flying loose in the wind. He wanted to run after her, apologise, and put things back to the way they were.
No, I made too much out of nothing.
He stood complacent and watched his new friend disappear.
*******
A scream.
Screech of brakes.
Cries from spectators : “Oh my God!…Call an ambulance!”
He rushed around the bend and pushed through the crowd. “No!”
Jenny lay in the middle of the road, a distraught man bent over her, blood and splintered glass everywhere.
This can’t be! Dorian rushed near.
“She just dashed across the road,” a middle-aged woman said. “Wasn’t paying attention.”
A voice screamed in Dorian’s brain. Please God, let her be alive!
He elbowed aside the onlookers and knelt over the body, smoothing the golden hair. There was no movement, not a flicker of life in the ashen face.
The ambulance screeched to a standstill. Doors were flung open.
“Do you know her?” asked one of the paramedics.
“I…I do,” he stammered
“She’s an artist. I should stay with her.”
They placed Jenny on a stretcher. Dorian climbed aboard the ambulance and sat watching over her like a worried lover would.
*******
Jenny looked up from the hospital bed.. “Oh…It’s you. Fancy seeing you here?”
“Yes. It’s me. If it hadn’t been for my stupid attitude, this wouldn’t have happened. I should have gone with you. I’m sorry I didn’t. Promise me you won’t take risks in the future.
“Well,” she said, with a mischievous smile. “I think one more risk won’t hurt. I think we should meet up soon. How about we visit Nelson again and you sit for another portrait?”
Dorian said there was nothing he’d like better.
“And, by the way,” she whispered, “Jeff’s my brother.”
Becoming Writer 2016 Anniversary Contest 