Chapter Text
Carol’s pencil glides over the paper as the laugh track from “Golden Girls” fills the nearly silent room. Carol’s living space is well lived-in. Pictures cover the walls, quilts cover the furniture, and various drawings of Carol’s litter the floor, either crumpled or scribbled all over. Carol doesn’t feel very confident about her art, but she loves it much more than her writing. Her writing makes her blood boil, yet the general public can’t get enough of it. “Romantasy.” It’s such bullshit, but it pays the bills. A sudden knock at the door drags Carol out of her focus. She bites the end of her pencil before standing up and swinging open the door. It’s Val, her former book agent, now a friend. Her only friend.
“Hey, Val,” Carol says, turning around and heading back to the couch, leaving the door open.
“Hey, yourself,” Val says, entering the home. She looks around and sees the drawings sprawled across the floor. She also sees various take-out containers covering the tables. Some appear to be quite old. “Working hard, huh?” Val raises her eyebrows, hoping to come across light. She smiles.
“Yup,” Carol answers curtly. She looks around, seeing that the living room looks like a tornado ripped through it. “It’s dirty, I know. I told Teresa not to come this week. I didn’t want my flow to be interrupted.”
“Oh, your flow? Gotcha,” Val says, de-cluttering a chair so she could sit down. “So, are you excited about the art gala tonight? Should be a pretty good crowd.”
“I’m not going,” Carol says, not looking at Val.
Val stares at her, waiting to see if she has more to say about it. A few seconds pass. “Not. Going?” Val drags out her words, trying to catch Carol’s eye. “May I ask why not?”
Carol looks across the room at a picture on the wall. It’s a wedding picture. The light from outside lights up her face, her blue eyes brimming with moisture. Val pretends not to notice. “I just- I just don’t feel like I’m ready,” Carol sighs. She gets up from the couch and paces around as she gathers her thoughts. “I- uh- I don’t want to go out there and show something shitty. I mean, people know me. People know my name and I don’t want to make my ‘comeback,’” Carol says, air quoting for effect, “with something that’s just as shitty as my shitty books.” She plops down on the couch, putting her head into her hands. She looks up at Val. “I…” Emotion fills her voice. She clears her throat and sniffs. “I don’t think I can do this without her.” Carol has more to say, but she can’t find the words.
Val sighs, getting up and sitting next to Carol. “I know this is hard. I miss her too, you know.” Val puts an arm around Carol, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “She would be so proud of you. She loved your art and she loved seeing how passionate you are about your art. You never had the same passion for your books. She knew that, I know that. It’s time to do what makes you happy, kiddo.”
Carol takes in a deep breath, absorbing Val’s words.
“There is an open bar, you know,” Val says, giving Carol a smile.
“Well, you could’ve started with that. Then we wouldn’t have had to go through this boo hoo-ey shit.” Val laughs and Carol cracks a smile.
⋆˚꩜｡
Carol swirls her glass of wine nervously, sitting in front of her art. The gallery is at a bar, one or two steps up from a dive bar, where Carol would normally find herself. She feels out of place. She’s wearing pleated, wide-legged pants, a silky V-neck, loafers, and a blazer. Her blonde hair is curled and her lips are crimson red. She feels too dressed up. She feels vulnerable. And exposed.
The blonde stands, gulping her drink and immediately looking for another one. She flags down an employee. “Yeah, could I get another drink please? Or, actually, make it two please.
“Yes, ma’am,” the waiter says.
“The wine selection here could use a little work. No big deal, but just something to think about. And don’t call me ma’am.”
The waiter nods. Carol clears her throat, drumming her fingers on the countertop. She glances at the wall and sees that it’s only been 45 minutes.
“Ugh, kill me now,” she whispers to herself. She turns around and looks at her art, studying it.
“Ooh, I like this piece.”
Carol turns towards the voice and sees a woman. She’s tall, brunette, and has olive-toned skin. She’s dressed in jeans and a spaghetti strap tanktop. Oh, and no bra. Carol’s heart rate picks up, either from the compliment about her art or from the beautiful woman standing beside her. She’s unsure which.
“Uh– yeah, so do I,” Carol says, stumbling over her words. “Or, um– thank you, I mean.” She clears her throat.
“Oh, did you paint it?” The mysterious brunette asks, eyeing Carol up and down.
“I did.” A couple seconds pass. Carol becomes increasingly nervous. Just as Carol is gearing up to say something else, the employee interrupts them, two large drinks in hand.
“Here you are, miss,” the employee says, thrusting the drinks towards Carol.
“Oh, I didn’t order both of these,” Carol says with an awkward laugh, trying to be nonchalant.
“Well, I’m fairly sure you did, miss,” the employee says. “Remember how you said the wine selection could use some work?”
Carol laughs heartily, shaking her head. “Okay, I’ll take both, I guess,” she says with a shrug.
“I can take the other one,” the brunette says smoothly. “If you don’t want it, that is?”
Carol gulps and hands her the drink, unable to form a coherent sentence. Oh my god, get it together, Carol. “So, uh, what do you like about the piece?”
The tall brunette thinks for a moment, cocking her head. Carol finds this cute. “I like that it’s somewhat abstract, although I do recognize the location. I like to hike up there. It’s a beautiful area.”
“Yeah, it is a nice area,” Carol says. “I know it well.” Carol detects a slight accent, but she can’t place it.
“Mhmm.” A moment passes as the taller woman analyzes the painting. “However,” she starts.
Carol raises her eyebrows, studying the brunette. “However, what?”
“I do think you’re playing it a little too safe. I mean, where's the vulnerability? In the way you paint, I can tell you’re not formally trained.” Carol scoffs at this. “No, I don’t mean that in a bad way. I like it. I just wish there were more of you in the painting. Who are you?” The woman looks at the name beside the art. “Carol,” she says. The blonde likes the way her name rolls off her lips. “Who are you, Carol?”
Carol is stunned and doesn’t know what to say, so she laughs bitterly. “I should be asking you that. I mean, who are you and what do you know about art?” Carol steps back from the woman, trying to reestablish some semblance of personal confidence.
“I’m Zosia,” the woman says. “And I grew up in the art world. My mom is an artist. I’m not sure if you know her work. Her name is Izabella Ciszek."
“Your mom is Izabella Ciszek? The Izabella Ciszek? The Polish artist?” Her accent is Polish. Huh.
“Yes, she is,” Zosia says. “I didn’t follow in her footsteps, but she taught me a lot about art.”
“Oh, so you’re not an artist, just your mom?” Carol asks pointedly.
“I suppose you could say that, yes,” Zosia responds.
“But you want to criticize my work?” Carol asks.
“Well, that’s the point of a gallery, isn’t it?” Zosia takes a step back, crossing her arms.
Carol sucks her teeth, saying nothing. Just then, Val walks up, a big grin on her face.
“Well, hello,” Val says, extending her hand Zosia’s way. “I’m Val, Carol’s friend.” Val shakes Zosia’s hand, giving Carol a smirk. “Thank you so much for coming and appreciating local art! This is Carol’s first art show. Don’t you love her work?”
Zosia looks at Carol. “Yes, I was just telling Carol I appreciate her work.”
“Oh, is that what you were trying to say?” Carol asks, bitterness laced throughout her words.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Carol,” Zosia offers.
“I’m not upset. Does it seem like I’m upset? No, I appreciate your insight. You know, as the daughter of an artist. I appreciate it, thanks.” Carol grabs her drink and sucks it down.
“Okay,” Zosia says with a thin smile. “I hope you two have a good night. Goodbye, Carol. Val.” Zosia nods her goodbye and leaves the bar, Carol watching after her.
⋆˚꩜｡
Val drives through the dark streets of Albuquerque, Carol sitting beside her in steely silence. Val can just about feel the cold radiating from the blonde. She definitely can smell the wine seeping from her skin.
“So, do you want to talk about whatever happened back there or keep up this weird silence?”
If eyes could shoot daggers, Carol’s would have at that remark. “I’m pissed,” the blonde says.
“About?”
“This whole fucking night! You were the one who told me to come out to this stupid gallery and show off my artwork.” Carol’s hands fly around erratically as she talks. Her speech is slurred and her speech discordant. “You wanted me to meet people and put myself out there and the only person that talked to me was a stuck-up nepo baby of the one and only Izabella Ciszek. Like, what are the fucking odds of that?!”
“What exactly did she say to you?”
“She said that my art isn’t ‘vulnerable’ and that she can’t figure out who I am. She might as well have called me a fucking robot. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. I’m not ‘formally trained’ or whatever, but I know my art is good. It’s bullshit what she said.” Carol blows raspberry to finish off her sentence.
“You’re exactly right, you are good! That’s what I wanna hear. That’s the point of this whole thing. I want you to believe in yourself and your art. You’ve got talent. Forget what Miss Nepo said, that shit doesn’t even matter.”
“And you know what the worst part is, Val?” Carol asks, turning towards Val, her eyes barely able to focus on her friend. She hiccups.
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“She was kinda hot.”