Devon Hartford - Painless

“Wow, Christos,” Kamiko marveled, “these paintings are even better than the ones you sold at your solo show at Charboneau.”

“Thanks,” Christos said casually, leaning against the nude portrait of Jacqueline, which he’d pulled out of the drying rack. I’d met Jacqueline several times while Christos was painting her. She was nice.

I felt better now that Christos was far from the pool. There wasn’t anything he could really hurt himself on inside the studio. But I kept a close eye on him, just in case. I didn’t want him knocking over an easel by accident and ruining a painting or something.

“Yeah, Christos,” Romeo said, “these new paintings are awesome.”

Christos frowned seriously, “Even better than my painting of Tiffany with the mustache you added?”

Romeo laughed nervously. “Your painting of her was awesome, but you have to admit, the mustache made her look way better.”

The anger melted from Christos’ face and he smiled at Romeo, “Yeah, totally.”

Romeo heaved a sigh of relief. I think he still felt guilty about triggering Tiffany’s tirade on New Year’s Eve.

Madison rolled her eyes. “Tiffany was totally lameballs that night.”

I had to agree. What a trip that had been on Tiffany’s yacht. If I never saw that hot air ho-bag Tiffany again, it would be too soon.

Christos clinked his fresh beer against Romeo’s glass of wine, then gulped down several swallows.

I sighed to myself. How much was Christos going to drink? I’d resolved that as long as he wasn’t driving or diving, I wasn’t going to stop him. He was over twenty one. He could drink all he wanted. If he ended up passed out on a couch, so much the better. I wouldn’t have to worry about him breaking his neck. All I’d have to do was make sure he didn’t drown in puke.

Christos pushed the painting of Jacqueline back into the drying rack. Then he tried to pull out another one, but it seemed stuck.

I think the real problem was that Christos was too fumbly drunk to manage it himself.

“Let me help,” I said, stepping forward.

“I’ve got it,” he said, wrestling with it. Suddenly, it popped out of the drying rack. Because of how he’d been standing, he stumbled backward and threw his hands out to keep his balance, causing him to release the painting, which started tipping forward. At the same time, Christos bumped heavily into the table behind him which was covered with painting supplies. The table rocked and a glass jar sitting on the corner containing a bunch of brushes fell to the floor and shattered on the concrete. Wooden brushes clattered and danced.

I was laser focused on stopping the falling painting. I clenched my teeth, and lunged for it, but Kamiko was in the way, and I would’ve had to put my foot right through the middle of the canvas to reach the falling edge because it was so tall. There was nothing I could do to stop it.

I was expecting the worst, but the painting acted like a big sail. It was so light, it caught enough air to cushion its fall. It landed softly on the floor of the studio. Phew. Disaster averted.

“Whoops,” Christos slurred.

Romeo quickly bent to pick up the painting, a concerned look on his face.

“Don’t worry, it’s dry,” Christos reassured from where he now sat on the floor. I could tell he felt a bit stupid for his drunken clumsiness.

I helped Christos to his feet and he dusted off his ass.

“I’ll get a broom,” he said.

I squatted and started picking up paint brushes.

“Be careful of the glass,” Madison said.

Christos returned with a hand broom and dust pan, “I’ve got it.” He squatted and swept up the mess.

Trying to defuse the awkwardness of the situation, Kamiko said, “Err, ah, who are all the women in the paintings, Christos? They’re all so beautiful.”

“Brandon hired them,” Christos said as he shook the last of the glass out of the dustpan and into a wastebasket. “They’re all kind of bland, don’t you think?”

“Totally,” Romeo joked, also trying to lighten the mood. “Maybe you could paint some hot muscled guys with big dicks?”

“Dicks and fine art don’t go together,” Christos chuckled.

“That is so sexist,” Romeo growled. “I want more dicks in fine art! Dicks, dicks, dicks! I want to see them exploding all over the place like fire hoses!” Romeo was trying his hardest to make people laugh, but it wasn’t working. Discomfort still filled the air.

Kamiko said, “So, Christos, how many paintings do you still have to do for your upcoming show?”

“I don’t know,” he dismissed, “a bunch.”

“Who else are you going to paint?” Madison asked.

“More of Brandon’s models,” Christos said apathetically.

“Why don’t you paint Samantha?” Madison suggested.

“Because Brandon wants nudes. That’s what sells,” Christos said.

“I’ll pose nude for you,” Romeo said enthusiastically.

“Who would buy a nude painting of you?” Kamiko asked.

“I would!” he said. “I’d pay a million bucks for a painting of me.”

“Do you have a million dollars?” Kamiko asked.

“No,” he sighed.

“Exactly,” Kamiko frowned.

“Christos, I think you should paint Romeo,” I winked at Romeo. “He is super sexy. But with clothes on. That’s when he’s at his sexiest.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Romeo smiled at me, then glared spears and arrows at Kamiko. “At least someone around here has good taste,” he hissed.

Kamiko rolled her eyes.

Christos laughed, “I’ll keep it in mind, Romeo.”

At least no one was making a big deal out of how drunk Christos was.

A dog barked softly somewhere outside our bedroom the next morning. The winter sun was up, brightening the bedroom.

“Somebody shut that fucking dog up,” Christos moaned. “It sounds like it’s barking inside my head.” He slid his head under his pillow and pulled it tightly around his ears.

“Do you need some water?” I asked.

He peaked out from under the pillow. “Can you add some vodka to it?”

“No. The bar is closed. I’ll get you some cold water from the fridge.” I threw on my robe and padded downstairs to the kitchen. When I returned with the glass, Christos was sprawled out in bed face up with the pillow over his face, the blanket pushed down to his waist, revealing his rippled abs.

I considered resting the cold glass on his stomach, but that would be cruel. I sat next to him and rested my hand on his abs instead. Yum. Even hungover, he was ten times sexier than mortal men.

He sat up and drank the water thirstily.

“Thanks,” he sighed. “I could use five more of those.”

“Do you want me to get the pitcher for you?”

“No, thanks, I can get it. I might have to crawl, but I can do it,” he grinned.

“Christos, is everything okay?”

He blinked and looked at me seriously. “What do you mean?”

“Uh, um, you’ve kind of been drinking a lot lately.”

Christos’ brows drew together in a frown.

I winced, expecting an argument. Memories of short fused Damian Wolfram gnawed at the edges of my awareness. I reminded myself that Christos wasn’t a hothead. He might be drinking more than he should, but never once had he raised his voice at me, or shown a single sign of anger. That was one thing I loved about Christos. He never seemed to get angry. He knew how to handle his emotions like an adult. I hoped this discussion wouldn’t be the exception.

“Yeah,” he sighed and laid his forearm across his eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe later?”

At least he didn’t get angry at me for bringing it up. Maybe I should’ve waited until he wasn’t hung over.