Gregorio and the Muse (Short Story)

 

Gregorio and the Muse

 Felipe J. Garcia 

He was an artist who created paintings on the coast of Spain. Gregorio De La Paz was amicable and talented. But in his hometown, he was also known for his eccentric personality. 

Some thought he suffered from a personality disorder, others would say that was typical behavior to be expected from an artist. It had been rumored through the town of Málaga that Gregorio was gay because at the age of thirty-three, he wasn’t married, much less seen with a woman. Of course, the townspeople - in all their predilection for gossip, were correct. Gregorio was, in fact, gay. 

Gregorio studied in Beaux-Arts de Paris for seven years and at the University of Granada, Spain several years after returning from France. He was famous and recognized by artists like Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera. He was often seen gallivanting with them at parties; and political, artistic galas fueled by liquor, music and food. 

Like many artists, Gregorio wasn’t exempt from the challenges of maintaining a fresh artistic perspective and astuteness to his work. The demand to produce work that was over the top, fresh, new, invigorating, and on the leading edge - politically and socially, was his truest aim. He abhorred convention. Loathed reality. When studying Picasso’s Blue Period paintings, he would often remark, “I don’t understand what makes this so exciting. It’s not like Dalí. Now, that’s an artist who is pushing the limits!” 

Gregorio adored unconventional artists like Salvador Dalí. On one opportune rainy night, Gregorio met Dalí at La Bascule; a French restaurant in the 18th arrondissement. When Gregorio noticed Dalí on the opposite side of the restaurant, Gregorio gulped down his glass of red wine, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and with a definitive, uncanny confidence - aided by the liquor of course, marched towards his successor on the opposite side of the room. 

Although he had mustered up the confidence to approach Dalí, when he got to his table, his courage dwindled. “Sorry to… interrupt…I just saw you were...” 

Dalí was too infatuated with himself to take notice of Gregorio’s lack of confidence. “Yes, of course, I am the great Dalí!” Dalí said, using his larger than life hand gestures to achieve that pompous trait of his. 

“I am a painter from Málaga...I am visiting Paris, I’m in search of inspiration here in the city of light...I can’t believe it’s you…” 

“Believe it. You are now face to face with the great and only, Dalí!” Dalí proclaimed boisterously to the entire restaurant. Some people turned to look, but mostly, everybody was too focused on their meal. Gregorio was transfixed by Dalí’s presence. The presence of one of the greatest Avant Garde artists of all time. He couldn’t believe it. 

“It’s an honor.”

Gregorio believed Dalí was pushing the boundaries not just in the art world, but in life. He aspired to become just like him: a master. This added pressure made Gregorio work diligently and relentlessly. It was just as much of a curse as it was a blessing. 

To Gregorio, creating was a divine act; a ritual, an offering. He felt that he had to give something away from himself in order for the art to be good or for it to come alive. He felt that the work of the artist was to make the audience transcend through the pieces of his artwork. For this reason, he needed to maintain himself focused, clear-headed, and determined whenever he was in the process of creating another painting. 

***

On one opportune night, one of Gregorio’s neighbors - Estella, witnessed Gregorio stumbling out of his house just past midnight. He fumbled - almost tumbling down the front steps. He was drunk. Even the wind, although not too robust, was doing everything in its power to take him down. Estella studied his every move like a stalker, she saw him get into his car and start the engine. She didn’t know whether to approach him, stop him from driving, or follow him, so she decided on the latter. 

I better stop here, Gregorio thought to himself. He had been working listlessly. Tonight was night three. He was on one of those artistic creative benders that would make him lose touch with reality. When this would happen, there was no telling what he would do. It was as if reality and fantasy would merge and blur together, like some sort of unfocused, blurry picture, wanting - needing to find its focus. 

Gregorio considered this magical. He saw it as a quest. The quest for the missing painting. A painting that was already available - out there in the ethers. His only job was to take inspired action and bring it into his plane of existence, at least that’s what he believed. To reach such a state required total dedication and detachment. Nevertheless, it was an exhilarating experience. He honored these moments of transcendence, as if they were delivered straight from the creative gods themselves. 

That night, Gregorio’s intuition nudged him to drive to the coast, stand in the ocean, and bathe in the full moon’s light. I want to remember what silence feels like.  

As he opened the car door, he realized he had forgotten his notebook, but when he thought about climbing back up the stairs and going back inside to retrieve it, he dismissed the idea completely. I’ll just write it somewhere else, he thought to himself. Napkins. During moments like these, when the urge to create was so palpable, all his doubts would cease. The world was peaceful, still, filled with beauty, with the actual possibility that things could change. That goodness was stronger than hate, that love was greater than fear, that humanity would prevail over destruction, separation, violence and fear. It was vital for him to get to the ocean as soon as possible. Everything else would have to wait. 

Estella saw him pull out of his driveway and drive down the road. She turned on her car and followed. She was worried whether he should be driving or not, but mostly, deep down, she was curious and wondered where he was going and what he was planning to do at these late hours of the night. It’s true, she admired his work, his artistry. But she was also intrigued about the man behind the paintings. Surely, she thought the rumors the townspeople mumbled about Gregorio weren't true. Sadly though, that cloud of doubt still lingered. 

She stayed far enough from his tail lights to keep herself from being seen. Behind the wheel, she was mostly calm, until she saw his car swerving in front of her. It was nothing too noticeable to the commoner, but because her gaze was steadily on him, her heart seemed to skip a beat when she saw him swerving between the double yellow lines. 

After twenty minutes, he finally pulled onto the side of the road. Estella stopped thirty yards behind. Gregorio parked, turned off his lights, and turned off the engine. He didn’t get out of the car for what seemed like fifteen minutes. When he finally opened the door, a shadow figure stumbled out of it. He was barefoot and was making his way to the beach. Estella turned off her car, ran across the road, and followed him. 

Gregorio reached the shore and stripped down to his bare skin. The white glow from the full moon reflected on his bare back as he walked into the ocean. The water glimmered in front of him like the stars above. He walked into it; the frigid water engulfed his bare skin. 

Estella began to worry. She craned her head, searching in all directions, hoping to see somebody else around. Somebody who was witnessing this scene with her. Somebody who would make her feel less nervous, less helpless, less alone. She wanted somebody else to be there, just in case Gregorio needed the help. But there was no soul in sight. 

The only witnesses were the moon, the sea, and herself. The water began rising to his chest and creeping towards his neck. Estella looked away because she suddenly felt like she was the one who was starting to drown. Was this a suicide attempt? Was he trying to kill himself? Oh god! she thought, and dashed towards the ocean, towards Gregorio. 

Estella felt the numbing pain from the water; the feeling of ten-thousand needles puncturing her skin at the same time. She let out a gasp as she started swimming towards Gregorio. He was further out than what she had originally thought. When she could no longer touch the ocean’s floor, she started calling out to him, but a wave took her under. Saltwater filled her mouth, engulfing her lungs.  

“Gregorio!” she cried, as she paddled to keep herself from gulping another round of seawater and going under. 

Gregorio didn’t notice her. He was already in a deep meditative state - or perhaps drunk - or perhaps a combination of the two. His mental state of awareness was focused on his creative pursuit. Transfixed. For this specific piece he decided he was going to be baptizing himself. Over the past couple of days he had felt ungrounded. He felt the ocean would be the perfect conduit to help him reconnect back to the earth and all its elements. He had a notion that this would help him conjure the idea of the painting he was currently determined to create. He felt that the painting was somewhere deep in his subconscious mind, or somewhere in the ethers.  

When Gregorio finally heard somebody shouting his name, he turned and swam towards the body. He realized they were drowning. Estella felt the tug of his hand as he pulled her near. He couldn’t make out a face; until he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her head above the water. 

Just when he was going to ask who this woman was, a strong wave knocked Gregorio off his feet, tossing him and Estella’s body underneath the water; like two ragdolls, they toiled under the waves aggressively, the waves splitting them apart.  

When they finally arose to the surface, they both gasped for air. After his first gulp of oxygen, Gregorio quickly swam towards Estella and began swimming towards the shore. He held her tightly, making sure the waves wouldn’t separate them this time. 

The waves were relentless and Gregorio was losing his energy, fast. Clouds of doubt filled his racing mind like the waves that kept trying to split Estella and him from each other. Just when Gregorio thought he was in the clear, another wave tore them apart. Estella swallowed a mouthful of water again before going under. 

After Gregorio rose to the surface, he looked for Estella, but all he could see was the whitewash foam of the tumultuous waves reflected by the full moon above. The sound of the waves drowned her cries for help. When he finally noticed a mound being tossed back and forth, he swam towards it. It was her. He wrapped his arm around her chest and pulled her towards the shore. 

Gregorio didn’t notice how tired he was until he reached the shore and felt gravity’s unconsolidated dead weight of Estella and his own body. He placed her on the sand and proceeded to give her CPR. His drunkenness had long ago dissipated after being tossed underneath the water the first time by the waves. After multiple compressions, Estella finally regurgitated the water and regained consciousness. 

“What happened?” She said, after coughing and regaining her sense of self. 

“You were drowning!”

“It's so cold,” she uttered as she started to shiver.

“What are you doing here? Who are you? Do I know you from somewhere?” Gregorio asked as he held her in his arms, the sound of the waves splashed behind them. “I followed you. My name is Estella, I live near you.”

“How did you know I was here? I mean, what are you doing here?” Gregorio asked.

“I saw you getting into your car and I thought you were in danger…you looked like you were drunk. I followed you here. By the time you got here and I saw you going into the ocean, I didn’t know what to think. I thought you were going to drown yourself.” 

“Wait. What? Drown myself? Why would I do that? Wait. What’s your name?”

“Estella.”

“So you followed me here?” 

“I know it sounds weird. I’m sorry. I love your paintings and your books. You are one of my favorite artists!” 

Upon hearing Estella confess this to Gregorio, Gregorio felt unsettled. 

“Thank you,” he said, quizzically, as he stared down at her as she continued to shiver. 

His night of creative pursuit was nullified. “We should get out of here before we both get hypothermia,” he said. 

They walked towards their cars and when he noticed her still shaking, Gregorio wrapped his long sleeve shirt around her back until she took hold of the sleeves to keep it from slipping.    

“Do you want me to drive you home? You said you live near me, and it’s the least I can do since you came all the way over here,” Gregorio said. 

“Thank you. Thank you for saving me. I was the one that was supposed to be saving you, by the way.” She said and let out a chuckle and a smirk that revealed the single dimple on her right cheek. It was dark, but with the glow from the full moon, Gregorio managed to see it. Secretly, he thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.  

“I guess that’s true,” he smiled. 

“I’ll drive home, it’s the least I can do for intruding and interrupting you,” Estella said as she kept her gaze on her sandy wet feet.  

“Does your car have a heater?” Gregorio asked. 

“Of course.” 

Estella turned on the car, the heater, and drove towards Málaga. It took five minutes before their body temperature started to normalize - largely thanks to the heater. Except for the blowing sound from the car’s heater, and the background jazz music, the drive home was relatively silent. Luckily, it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, it was tranquil, perhaps reflective. Or maybe they were still too cold to speak. Estella pulled onto the curb next to Gregorio’s house and turned off the car. 

            “Thank you,” Gregorio said as he reached for the door handle. 

            “I should be thanking you for saving me,” she said as she proceeded to unwrap Gregorio’s long sleeve t-shirt from her neck, and handed it back to him. 

            “Keep it. I’ve already warmed up. Your heater actually made me a little hot,” he said with one leg out of the door. “Hey, I don’t know if it would be too informal to ask, but then again, this night has been the epitome of that so… would you like to come in and have a cup of coffee or some tea? It’s the least I can do,” Gregorio said.

            Estella wanted to shout yes. But she was also apprehensive because she liked Gregorio so much that she was intimidated by the thought of having coffee with him - especially in his house. She pushed those feelings of insecurity and apprehension aside. “Coffee does sound good right about now,” she said.  

She took off her seatbelt and followed Gregorio as he led them up the flight of stairs. 

“You can shower and get out of those wet clothes so you don’t get sick. I have a large t-shirt and some shorts. You can borrow a coat if you want to use it,” he said as they made their way inside.

Estella thought it was a good idea. She was wet and cold, and she knew that if she didn’t get out of her wet clothes, she would probably end up getting sick. 

“Thank you so much.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Gregorio said. This made Estella smirk and innocently shrug her shoulders before taking the towel Gregorio had grabbed on his way back from his bedroom. He pointed her towards the bathroom as he made his way to the kitchen to boil up some water. “I’ll make us some coffee.” 

As soon as he heard Estella lock the bathroom door, he grabbed a wine glass and poured himself some merlot. He set the kettle on the stove and turned up the fire on high to heat up the water. As he walked towards the living room, he began ruminating about the random woman who was currently showering in his bathroom.

Viewing it from her perspective, there was no denying that maybe he did need the saving. And the more he mulled over the fact that this woman had jumped into the freezing water to save him, despite the fact that she didn’t know him, made him feel - for perhaps the very first time, that he was worthy of saving, which for him, was a feeling he had never quite felt. 

Estella was an alluring woman. She had high cheekbones, and the kind of skin that’s smooth and flawless, the kind any woman or any man would envy. It almost seemed unreal how perfect it was, and how perfectly curled her eyelashes and the way her honey brown eyes sparkled. He swirled his wine glass, before taking a swig and finishing it in one large gulp.  

She was exquisitely beautiful, and now that this realization had clearly solidified in his mind, it muddled him. The thought of her coming out of the bathroom and facing her made him get up and pour himself another glass of wine. He thought this would subdue his nerves. 

When the kettle finally started hissing, he quickly turned it off. Soon after, she walked out the bathroom wrapped in the yellow towel Gregorio had given her. 

“Hey, you said you had some clothes I could borrow?” she shouted from down the hallway. 

“Yes! I’m sorry I forgot to give them to you, let me grab them, give me a second,” he said, rushing back to his bedroom and pulling out a long sleeve white t-shirt and a pair of shorts. He grabbed a large fur coat too. One he rarely wore, except when he was invited to an art gallery party or gala.

“I”m sorry about that,” he said as he handed her the t-shirt and shorts, averting his gaze and extending the clothes towards her. “I’ll leave the coat on the couch just in case you’re still feeling cold. I don’t know why my heater decided to break just as soon as winter started. I’ll grab some logs, and start a fire,” he rambled on. 

Thankfully, she let out a gentle chuckle and stopped him by saying, “Thanks. That sounds good. I’m going to change now.” She closed the door. 

He walked into the living room after grabbing some chopped up wood from the kitchen. He was still mulling over the events. And the more he thought about it, the more he began to realize that maybe the reason why he went to the ocean tonight was not to get baptized, but to get ‘saved.’ By Estella. Or perhaps, he was meant to meet her. Maybe she was the muse he was searching for all along and not the lonesome ocean. 

His rambling thoughts vanished like a puff of white smoke when she came out of the bathroom wearing the long sleeve t-shirt. She grabbed the fur coat he had left on the couch and placed it around her shoulders. He noticed she wasn’t wearing the shorts. The shirt was long enough to cover the lower half of her body, or at least part of her thighs. 

“The coffee’s ready,” he said.

“Great,” she said.  

Gregorio grabbed his mug filled with wine (he had switched it with his wine glass.) He handed her a cup of hot coffee. 

“Do you want sugar or creamer… or do you take it like that?” 

“It’s good like this,” she said as she blew into the searing mug. 

“I was thinking and searching for something tonight… that was the reason - if you were wondering - why I was out there in the ocean. I wasn’t planning on ending my life. Although, now I can see how that might have been the way things could have looked like, from your angle. I’ve just been having a hard time finding something significant and of interest and value to paint, but then this happened and now I’m not sure, I feel like it’s got something to do with you… with meeting you.” 

   “Me? What do you mean?” She asked, blowing into her hot cup of coffee before taking a sip.

“The whole reason for tonight was so I could meet you and paint you!” Gregorio said as he ushered her to sit down on the couch in front of the fire. It was slowly starting to catch ablaze.

“Me?” She asked, taken aback. 

“Yes, you! I was hoping to find inspiration somewhere out there in the ocean tonight, but then you came along. I don’t doubt this is the reason why I was called to drive out there. Everything happens for a reason. Right? And maybe you were the reason. The reason why I had to drive out there tonight was because you were going to show up. If I hadn’t, we would have never met,” he said, not knowing if it was the wine talking, the inspiration, or the combination of the two. “Don’t you?” 

Estella chuckled, turned to look at him, just to make sure this wasn’t a joke. And when she saw the serious expression on his face, and the way his soft eyes peered into hers, she knew he wasn’t joking. She didn’t know whether to be flattered, or bewildered, but one thing she surely was; she was confused.   

“I know, it’s weird. But think about it, why were you there? Saving me? I was the one who ended up saving you. Were you the one who needed the saving? Or was it me? Who was the one that was really drowning?” he rambled. 

“I followed you because I was worried. You stumbled and walked towards your car. I wasn’t sure if you were able to drive. You were drunk.” 

“But you saw me park my car. I was obviously okay.” 

“I just wasn’t sure what you were planning to do. I wanted to make sure you were going to be okay.” 

“And you were curious? About what I was planning to do…” he said, grinning. 

“Maybe a little. I just wanted to make sure you were going to be okay. I mean, not many people take off to the ocean…in the middle of the night...” 

“Well, as you can probably tell, I’m not many people,” he said and took the last gulp of his mug of wine. 

“I’ll do it,” She said as she gazed towards the chimney. The fire was blazing and crackling now. It warmed her skin so much that she took off the fur coat. 

“What?” 

“Yeah, of course. I mean, I do like your paintings and maybe you’re right. Maybe I was supposed to see you stumbling to your car tonight. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here tonight, sitting in front of you, like you said.” 

Bemused, Gregorio faced her; baffled like a child. In those unexplainable moments that make up life, he was bewildered. All he could manage to do was smile and let out a sigh of relief or perhaps, triumph. 

“Let me get my paints,” he said excitedly, before rushing off towards his studio. 

“Right now?” she scoffed and grinned. 

“Yes!” he said as he made his way to the kitchen, pouring himself more red wine before walking into his studio and grabbing the bin full of acrylic paints and brushes. 

“You were the missing piece to the painting!” he shouted from his studio. “Now I understand!”  

“What do you mean?” Estella said as she walked towards the hallway, waiting for him to return. “You’re crazy!” 

“I thought I was supposed to do something with the ocean, the full moon. I thought that I was going to paint something related to that, but I was wrong. You were the missing piece. If I place you at the center of the painting, the ocean behind you, and the moon above, I think that will solve everything. Yeah, that will make it complete. You were what I was searching for, but I didn’t know it,” he shouted as he walked back into the living room, feeling more certain than ever that this was the reason why they had crossed paths. 

“That does sound logical,” she admitted.

“I know this might be a little forward, but would it be too much to ask if you only wear the fur coat? Of course, you wouldn’t be exposed completely,” he explained. 

“Oh” she replied as her eyes drifted towards the fire. “I’ve never done anything like that before,” she replied as she turned to face him. 

“If you don’t feel comfortable it’s okay. I respect your decision.” he said. “I just think you’re so beautiful and I would love to capture that…in my painting.” 

She bit her lower lip as she mulled over the idea. Estella was reserved. She wasn’t the kind of person to do anything like this, especially with a stranger. Yes, it was true that she admired Gregorio and his artwork, but she still didn’t know who the man behind the artwork was. 

Estella had been raised with conservative and religious parents. She certainly wasn’t a woman who would strip down in front of a man - regardless if he was an artist or not. But she also understood the opportunity she was being offered. It wasn’t every day a famous artist asked her to be part of their painting. 

In her current life, Estella felt caged in, trapped, bored and despondent by life. She realized that perhaps this too was life presenting her with an opportunity to try something new, to step outside of her comfort zone, to be somebody bold, brash, and free. 

“Let’s do it, why not?” She said. 

“Really?” Gregorio asked surprisingly. 

“Yes, why not? I mean, I don’t know if I’ll ever get the opportunity to pose for another famous painter, right?” She replied. 

Gregorio was taken aback by the compliment. Whenever he heard things like this, he felt like an impostor. He understood people saw him as an artist, but he never considered himself or thought of himself as somebody “famous.” To him, artists like Dalí, Frida, and Diego were the ones who he saw and thought of as famous, not him. He was a nobody, but to Estella, he was somebody she viewed with pure admiration. 

“Do you mind if we work on the balcony? I want to get the lighting from the moon just right. You’ll be wearing the coat of course. I have whiskey too if you want some. It’ll help keep you warm,” he said. 

   “I could use a smoke,” she said. She didn’t smoke often, only on occasion when she found herself really nervous, borderline anxious. She didn’t want him to see her get that way. 

   “I have some lying around somewhere. I’ll grab those too.” 

Gregorio walked back into the kitchen, grabbed his pack of cigarettes from the pantry and the bottle of whiskey. He also didn’t smoke often, but every now and then, he’d light one up. He poured himself another glass of wine before walking back onto the balcony. 

   “Here you go,” he said and handed her the cigarette. He pulled out his lighter and gave her a light. He grabbed one for himself and lit it as well. 

He set the bottle of whiskey on the blue banister, set the canvas on the easel, and began to pour his paints onto his palette. She grabbed the bottle of whiskey and poured some into her coffee. She took a large gulp before she started taking off his long t-shirt and shorts. He was glad he didn’t have to instruct her to do it. She stood bare naked for a quick second before grabbing the coat and putting it on, but like a gentleman, Gregorio turned away, giving her privacy.   

   “I’m sorry it’s cold,” Gregorio said. 

“It’s okay. The whiskey should warm me up. This coat is so warm and beautiful.” 

Gregorio walked inside, grabbed a high chair from the kitchen and asked her to lean on it. He directed her body. Her gaze. He opened her coat, revealing half of her left breast. He turned her body, ever so slightly until only half of it faced him and the other half faced the opposite side. He grabbed her hair and draped it over her shoulder, her long dark brown hair fumbled a messy disheveled look that he marveled after. It was still wet.   

   “Let the fur coat sit on your hips and cover your inner thighs” he directed, as the ashes from her cigarette fluttered around them. The night had grown windy. She adjusted the fur coat as she finished smoking her cigarette.

   “Like this?” She asked. 

He approached her and adjusted the fur coat to his liking. 

   “Yes. Perfect,” he replied, absentmindedly. He was stunned by her beauty, her figure, and her elegant grace.

He noticed her body shaking, he knew she was still cold. 

  “Would you like tea or more coffee? I know it’s cold tonight.”

   “It is, but I’ll get used to it,” she said as she grabbed her mug and took a final gulp of the whiskey. 

   “If I may say, you are stunningly beautiful.” 

Estella blushed and smiled. “Thank you. You must say that to all of your models.” 

“No. Believe it or not, you’re the first person I’ve ever done this with.” 

She looked at him, a little uncanny. Judging from his gaze, she could tell he was telling the truth. 

Hours passed, the wind began to die down, until it didn’t. Gregorio continued painting as they both sat in utter silence. She occasionally smiled and tried looking into Gregorio’s eyes, trying to decipher what he was thinking. She studied him just as he was studying her. She didn’t know why people talked about him. She could tell he was a very smart man, and very caring. Maybe he was just misunderstood. 

To common people, he was just a crazy artist, but there was a depth to him, a certain kind of warmth one could never experience if one wasn't truly present and in the moment. He made her feel like he could stop time. As if the moment they were experiencing was the everlasting moment that was the epitome of existence itself. 

While most people ran around with countless thoughts in their heads throughout their everyday lives, it would seem natural that there wouldn’t be an opportunity to question reality or existence itself. She began to recognize that being in the presence of Gregorio was unfurling something within her. A buried thought. Or some sort of forgotten truth. 

She didn’t have any factual proof but in the pit of her stomach, she knew that he knew things. Deep things. Things nobody else seemed to know, think or fathom about. Things nobody talked about. 

   “Maybe we should take a break. I’ll get us another cigarette,” he said, and walked back inside. He asked her to join him in the living room so she could warm up in front of the fire. It wasn’t blazing anymore, but a few embers were still burning. It was enough to keep them warm. He walked back into the living room with two cigarettes, handed one to her, and sat on the couch adjacent to her. 

   “You’re so good at this. Are you sure you haven’t done this before?” he asked. 

   “No. Never. I don’t do things like this.”

   “Well, you’re good at it,” he said. 

He lit up her cigarette before lighting his. They enjoyed the sound of the cracking fire as they exhaled their first drag. Gregorio was on his fourth cup of wine when she asked, “Could I ask you a question?” 

   It took him by surprise, he sat up on the couch. “Well, not if it’s going to be a serious question,” he joked, and took another drag from his cigarette. 

   “It’s not…well, at least I don’t think so,” she said before she continued. “It’s just, a lot of people think you’re ...” she started to say before he interrupted her. “A crazy lunatic?” he said as he got off the couch. “A fag?” 

   “Yes. I mean, I didn’t believe it. I love your work. There is pure truth in your art and it speaks to me. It’s honest and true. I don’t believe what they say. Plus, what do they know? They don’t know you. They don’t know your life. And if you are, it’s nobody’s business.” 

   “Yes, but people always think it is. I think that’s the hardest part of creating art. It’s not even about the art itself, but about the criticism that comes with it.”  

   “I know I’ve only known you for a few hours, but I’ve learned so much about you. I don’t think you’re a crazy lunatic. I think art needs to be a little crazy, in this crazy world. And if you are gay, so what?” 

   “Yes, this world is…to say the least, a little crazy.” 

He took another drag from his cigarette and sat down on the white divan. 

   “People think they know me, but they don’t know the real me. Nowadays, a lot of people assume, talk, and think they know who I am, based on my artwork, but in reality, they only know what they see, and honestly, it’s probably my fault for acting so eccentric. I don’t blame them for talking about me and assuming I’m a crazy artist. It’s what I’ve fed them, and to be utterly blunt, I don’t care what they think. I don’t give a damn. I create what I must. My art is my legacy.”

   “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like, I’m not saying that you’re crazy…it’s just, you know? People talk…and…” she said apologetically. 

   “You know what Estella? I’m going to finish this painting and I’m going to give it to you. Do what you want with it. Share it with the world if you want, sell it if you must, or keep it to yourself. I don’t care. I don’t do this for money or prestige or fame. Art is not for that. I’m not that kind of artist. I create because that’s the way I can distort this system, this god awful reality.” 

   “Wait, what?! You can’t possibly…” She echoed anxiously as she put her cigarette out on the ashtray. 

   “I’m serious. You’ve taught me so many things tonight. I want to do this for you.” 

   “Gregorio...I can’t possibly…take…I mean, it’s your work.” 

   “It’s what I do, but it’s not who I am. Maybe you can tell all those townspeople, who always talk about me, who I really am. I don’t care in fact, but it’ll be something for them to talk about. You can tell them who I really am. Tell them everything.” 

Estella stood up, but no words came...he wasn’t speaking anymore, but she knew he was waiting for a response. 

   “I’ll keep the painting Gregorio - if it’s what you want. And believe it or not, I’ve learned so much tonight too. Apart from learning that you’re a great artist, I’ve learned that you’re a great person. Good people are hard to find these days. They’re like great artists too; a rarity,” she said, smiling.  

Gregorio stared into the fire that was now growing cold and dim. 

   “Through the years, I’ve learned some things. I’ve been fortunate enough to be lucky, for the universe to take care of me and show me a love that’s unconditional. Tonight is one of those nights. I’m sure of it. That’s why we met. It had to be, you were the muse,” he said. 

Estella didn’t know what to say, but she too felt utterly grateful to be there with him.    

“You don’t have to say anything. I just want to say thank you.” 

Estella felt comfortable and even though the fire was almost out, she still felt warm. Maybe the whiskey had done the trick. All that she could think about was the way the night had played out. She smiled to herself, content embodied her being, it was as if she was set free from her shackles, her fears; she felt her soul become liberated from the mundane trivialities of existence; all thanks to Gregorio. 

   “So, should we finish that painting?” she said and stood up.