I'm sorry I've slipped off the planned update schedule. I've been working non-stop, every day, ten or more hours to get this particular project here in the Caribbean finished.
Hell, my hotel is a block from the ocean and I haven't been to the beach even once yet.
I've been plugging away, and have had no energy or time to do any writing. I've tried to snatch a few minutes in the morning before work, or an hour after dinner, but so far I've only managed a few paragraphs.
I have my fingers crossed that I'll wrap everything up on Monday and have Tuesday free before my fourteen hour journey bak home on Wednesday.
That might mean I'll get a chance to write some the day after tomorrow, if I'm not too tired and wiped out by then.
Anyhow, I'm sorry for the delay, but I simply haven't managed to write anything since I left California.
Since RR requires a minimum of 500 words for a chapter post, here's an excerpt from a previous chapter:
“Um, anyway,” Luisa said, “I’ve got some stuff for you guys to look at. Some of my art, I mean, if you have a few minutes.”
“I can take a break,” I said. “Em?”
“I can, too,” she agreed. “Let us see what you have to show us, Luisa. I am very looking forward to seeing it.”
Following Luisa upstairs, it occurred to me that she was wearing a uniform of a sort- it certainly wasn’t just normal casual wear. She had on a pair of dark pants, a white button-front shirt and a vest that matched the pants- almost like two out of the three pieces of a suit.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
I didn’t comment on it, just filing it away as maybe what she thought was appropriate work attire for her new job.
She had set up the spare apartment as a sort of gallery, with maybe a dozen canvasses leaning against the walls, and a big portfolio binder on the little kitchen table. I’m not sure what I’d expected as far as Luisa’s art was concerned, but this was definitely not it. The paintings were really old-fashioned in the sense that they were realistic portraits- not photo realistic, but not far off. They were very detailed, and the lighting and shadows were perfect examples of what Mrs Rubias in high school would have called chiaroscuro.
“Wow- these are amazing,” I said, looking around.
“You are very talented, Luisa,” agreed Emmy.
“Thanks,” Luisa said, self-consciously.
“Have you displayed your works in any galleries?” Emmy asked.
“Nobody is interested in this kind of thing these days,” Luisa sighed. “This type of painting is so out of fashion nobody wants to touch it with a ten foot pole. I’ve done a handful of commissioned pieces, and sold a few others at art fairs, but really, I just mostly do it for myself, you know?”
“Well, what do you think?” Emmy asked me.
“I think it’s amazing. The detail work is incredible.”
“That is not what I meant, but I do agree with you. I meant about posing.”
“Um, Luisa, I don’t see any figure studies, much less nudes,” I said, looking around.
“I’ve only done a couple of nudes,” she admitted. “And those got sold. I do have some photos I took of the pieces, though,” she said, opening up the binder.
Emmy and I leafed through the binder, which was mostly pencil sketches with a few pen and ink drawings. At the back were photos of all of Luisa’s completed works, including a fair number that weren’t on display in that room.
The three nude figure studies were all of men, and two of them were posed in ‘implied nude’ poses, such that no goodies were on display. The third, which was full frontal, had the figure’s arm blocking the view of the guy’s face, so the model’s identity was hidden.
“I would not like that,” Emmy said, looking at the three laid out on the table. “I would want to see Leah’s face, and not have anything be hidden.”
“Well, I mean, that’s up to the model, you know?” Luisa protested.
“I will commission you to paint Leah,” Emmy announced. “But I get to choose the pose.”
“Um, O.K.,” Luisa said.
“Hey, don’t I get a say in this?” I demanded.
“No,” Emmy replied, with a smug look on her face. “This is my present to me,” leaving me with a sinking feeling that I was going to be experiencing maybe more than just a tiny bit of mortification.