Chapter 20: Art for art's sake

"Great news!"

"What?" Doug wanted to know.

A few days later, she'd come bursting in while he was seated at the computer in his study.

"Susan's swung a job for me!"

"Selling sexy boots?"

"Nah! Not in HER store. In another one, at the same mall. There was an opening, and she put in a good word for me."

"What kind of store?"

"Ladies fashion. We get a commission on sales, so the money's not too bad. And best of all, I can tell that god-dammed cleaning company to go fuck themselves! No more coming home all sweaty and stinky!"

"Just so long as you don't spend major chunks of your working day sneaking off to gossip and swap enslavement tips."

"I'm not blowing this opportunity. At last I can make a lil' money, and look good doin' it!"

"What are you worried about money for? I got money."

"This way, I get money AND my self-respect."

"I've said all along that I'll still respect you in the morning," he quipped with a chuckle.

"Stop it! I'm being sincere. Besides, if I ever want YOUR respect, I can get it with forty strokes of the lash!"

"Of what - your eye-lash?"

Her steely glance told him he should drop the levity for the time being. He leaned over and pecked her on the cheek.

"No really, I'm glad for you. You should have quit that cleaning job a long time ago. Don't know why you stuck it out for so long."

"I hadda do something, or by now I'd be sleeping under a bridge somewhere."

This gave him pause to think.

He'd got so used to having her around, to having her in his life on at least a semi-fulltime basis, that it was easy to forget what fate might have had in store for her otherwise.

The knife-edge her life had been balanced on, not so very long ago.

The grit and determination she'd shown to get off drugs, to swallow her pride and accept the help of family, rather than continue her slide into the abyss.

It was something he could never fully appreciate without going there himself, but he knew enough to get a fair idea.

Little victories.

Getting a job in a shop in a mall did not seem like such a big deal to him, but he regretted his teasing her and making light of it now.

To her, this would definitely be another little victory.

From then on, her daily routine was different. Sometimes she'd do two half-day shifts rather than a single full day, which left a morning or afternoon free, and would then work into the evening.

It gave her chunks of time off during the day, and Doug soon observed that she seemed to be using this time productively. One day he came home to find her sitting down at the dining room table with a pile of books out of the City Library.

He stood beside her and leafed through a couple of them. Art history. Famous artists and their works. Techniques for drawing and sketching. How to paint in oils.

"What's up?" he enquired.

Janelle looked up from the book of Monet she had opened out in front of her.

"It's all your fault."

"Huh?"

"Don't you remember? Christine's exhibition? You told me that I should try it if I think it's so easy."

"What have you got in mind?"

"Don't know yet. I'll try some drawing and painting, to see how I get on. Mind you, it's going to cost. I had a look in an art-and-craft store and I gotta tell ya, that stuff ain't cheap!"

He thought for a moment. And saw how engrossed she was in it all.

"If you're serious about it, I can help you there."

"Thanks, honey."

She squeezed his left buttock in appreciation.

But she had to find out what sort of stuff she needed first.

Well, a pad and pencil might suffice, at least for a start. And lets face it, back in the 'hood the main medium for expression of artistic talent was a subway wall and a shoplifted can of spray-paint.

She, on the other hand, wanted to do this properly. Though she didn't want to blow money needlessly.

But who to ask about it?

Who else but Christine.

Next day, Janelle dialled the cellphone number she still had scribbled-down in her purse.

"Hello."

"Christine, it's me."

"Janelle!" the older woman cooed in honeyed tones.

"Can I come and see you, to talk art and stuff?"

"Whatever. Whenever. Feel free!"

Janelle dressed down for this one. Jeans. A loose sweatshirt top, although her boobs were difficult to conceal at the best of times. She wanted Christine to be talking some sense today, and not be getting unduly distracted.

The loft apartment door swung open and Christine, almost a head taller than petite Janelle, bent down to brush lips against her glossy dark cheek.

Christine had dressed up, not down. Smart skirt and slightly-translucent silk blouse, through which her bra was faintly visible. Jewelry, and a touch of make-up. Mind you, she was a person who probably dressed up just to go to the bathroom.

"It's good to see you again! Come in, get comfortable!"

They sat at opposite ends of a big leather sofa.

"How's the statue with the big tits coming along?"

"Oh, it's done. I've sent it out to the kiln to be fired."

Janelle bit her tongue from asking how those clay breasts, the precise form for which Christine claimed to be lost for inspiration, had eventually turned out. Judging by the copious licking her own bust had received from Christine's very active tongue during her last visit here, she reckoned she had a pretty good idea what template had been used in the end.

She changed the subject.

"I want to get some art materials together, to get myself started. What should I purchase?"

"What medium?"

"Sketching, and oils."

"Okay, I can make you a list that will cover the basics. There's other stuff you can add later, but don't need right away."

They spent the next while going over brush types, colour tints, canvasses, easels, and so on.

"I mean, you can just paint straight onto a block of wood if you really want," Christine finished up. "That's what Beryl Cook did, and look how famous she got!"

Janelle nodded gravely, in a manner calculated to suggest that she knew who Beryl Cook was. She scanned down the notepad sheet of items Christine had written out for her.

"Coffee? I got donuts, too."

Christine bustled off and brought everything across to a low table in front of them. She sat again, much closer to Janelle this time, and poured.

Passing across a cup and saucer, her warm arm brushed slightly longer than necessary against Janelle's.

"So, how's Julie?" Janelle asked pointedly.

"As if you care," Christine riposted.

Janelle shrugged at that, then asked "Are you the woman she left Doug for?"

"The "scarlet woman"? No, that was someone else. Who then couldn't handle her contrary ways. It fell to me to make a decent lesbian out of her."

"And how did you do that, exactly?"

"There's a sub side to her that needed to be explored, before either she or I could feel fulfilled."

"I wonder if Doug ever had any inkling."

"I doubt it. Typical man, would always rather look right past the obvious."

"Doug's doin' okay!" Janelle blurted defensively.

"Yes, you've done rather a good job on him. How did you manage it?"

"I never discuss my sex life. Though I'm always happy to discuss other peoples' sex lives."

This killed the conversation for a moment.

Christine filled the silence by turning and raising her feet up onto the sofa. Her outstretched legs now reached across to Janelle, and she tucked her stockinged toes under the younger girl's denim-clad thigh.

Janelle attempted to divert attention away from this body contact, by asking "Are those real stockings?"

By way of answer, Christine swept her black skirt up and put her stocking tops, suspenders and creamy dimpled thighs on display.

She left them like that, as if to say "There you are!"

"Christine..."

"Yes, sweetie?"

"You can put your legs away now."

"I thought you might want to run your hands up them."