The Muse (2 page)

            Or maybe not. 

            Or maybe the problem had nothing to do with his looks.  Maybe it was his attitude or his personality that was dragging him down.  Whatever the reason, he felt alone.

            There had been a time once where he wasn't alone.  It seemed like mere fantasy now to think that he had ever been in love.   

            Gibson tried not to think about losing Katherine.  He tried not to think about the way she broke his heart or the way it still hurt every time he thought about her. 

            He tried not to think about the bitter pill he had been forced to swallow when she left him.

            Still, it was hard not to mentally travel down any of those roads when everywhere he looked there seemed to be people in love.

            He went back to his little corner, thought about trying to work some more, then realized that his heart just wasn't in it.  Maybe going home would be the best answer today.  He needed to get his thoughts together, adjust his attitude, get a grip.   

            An empty apartment wasn't where he wanted to be either, yet he had no place else to go.  So home he went.   

Gibson lived in a squalid apartment not far from The Square.  The place looked like its architecture had been drawn from a model of poverty and disenfranchisement.  The buildings in this part of town seemed to lean on each other for support, nearly on the verge of collapse.  Some of them were crumbling, badly in need of repair.  Others just looked dingy and unattractive.  Gibson didn't care about the aesthetic of the place which was odd given the nature of his business.  All he cared about was the solitude which was also add given his disdain for loneliness.  He was a man built on contradiction, and while that should have made him mysterious to women, all it usually did was make him seem confusing. 

            There had been a time when he would have looked at the place where he lived and become depressed about his own meager existence.  But that time was long in the past.  His perspective had changed quite a bit since Katherine.  Status didn't matter much to him anymore.   

            He trudged home with his canvases, paints, and brushes in tow, hoping to avoid anyone who might want to engage him in conversation.  As he walked back to his apartment, he thought about ordering a pizza, finding a good movie on television, and relaxing as much as he could.  It was a bachelor's plan and a single man's itinerary.  He even managed to get himself somewhat excited about his plans for the evening.  Then, he actually made it to his building, and saw the obstacle that stood between him and the front door.  Luck wasn't on his side today.  Faith was sitting on the steps leading up to his building, thumbing through a fashion magazine.  As usual, she was dressed in a floral print sundress by some designer that Gibson couldn't pronounce.  Her blonde hair was pulled back with tortoiseshell combs.  She wore just enough makeup to be pretty yet not overdone.  She smiled at him, although Gibson couldn't tell if the smile was mocking or genuine.  He had never been able to tell.  Faith lived in the floor beneath his, and just seeing her there was reminder enough of how much he hated his life.  Gibson scowled, not wanting to talk to her.  Faith knew as much and enjoyed forcing him to speak when he didn't want to.  She got a kick out of it.   

            “Hey, Rembrandt,” she said.  “Paint anything good today?  Find any Mona Lisas out there to immortalize?”  Faith always called him by some famous painter's name, but never his own.  He wasn't even sure she knew his name.   

            “The usual,” he sighed.  “People in love.  And Da Vinci painted the Mona Lisa, not Rembrandt.”

            “Fair enough,” she said.  “You're the art guy, not me.  Just making conversation.  You mentioned people in love?”

            “Yes, they seem to multiply like rabbits around here.  Everywhere you look there's a Juliet for every Romeo.”

            “You say that as if it's a bad thing,” she said, pushing her blonde hair back over her ears.

            “Not a bad thing for them,” Gibson said.  “Or at least not initially.  It's never bad in the beginning.  That comes later.” 

            Faith studied him carefully.  “Spoken like a true jilted lover.  Why is their happiness such a bad thing for you?  I would think love would be good for business.”

            Gibson thought about ignoring the question, climbing the steps to the building, and going to his apartment.  Yet, there was a part of him that wanted to answer her.  Faith didn't understand how things worked.  She had money, privilege, and a completely different perspective on things than he did.  Gibson lived here because he had to.  Faith lived here because she chose to.  To her this was all some sort of experiment to “find herself,” whatever that meant.  At any point, she could go back to her affluent home, back to the dozens of suitors that would clamor for her, back to the fairy tale from whence she came.  Her worldview was completely different than his, and he wanted a chance to tell her so.

            “You really want to know?” he said.  “Honestly, it just seems like everywhere I turn the world is rubbing my nose in my pitiful excuse for a life.  Everybody seems happy.  Everybody has someone.”

            “Just because people seem happy doesn't mean they are.”

            “It doesn't mean they aren't either.”

            “Sounds like you're feeling sorry for yourself,” Faith said.

            “You don't know anything about me,” Gibson said, starting to get angry. 

            “You're right.  I don't know much about you.  But there are some things I do know.”

            “We're from completely different worlds,” Gibson said.  “You're a child of privilege.  I'm a child of circumstance.  There is a big difference where we're concerned.”

            “That doesn't matter when it comes to the heart,” Faith told him.  “You can't choose who you love, and love has very little to do with money or your station in life.  Look at all of the stories throughout history where a king falls in love with a peasant girl or a queen finds herself a pauper to marry.  The fact that you're lonely has nothing to do with your bank account.”

            “Spoken like a true socialite,” Gibson said.

            “Why do you dislike me so much?” Faith said.  “Anytime I try and strike up a conversation with you, it's like trying to shoot an arrow through a brick wall.  My words just bounce off of you and never really go anywhere.  I find you interesting, and I think it's possible that you might find me interesting too.  But you won't allow anyone to get through to you.  You just walk around all puffed up like an angry peacock, daring anyone to speak to you.  Do you ever think that might have something to do with why you're alone?”

            “I didn't ask for your advice,” Gibson fumed.  “As far as I can tell, you aren't surrounded by suitors either.  Seems to me that you might want to take a look in the mirror when giving that kind of speech.”

            “Boy, someone really did a number on you at some point in your life, didn't they?”
            Gibson averted his eyes, focusing at some point beneath his shoes.  “That's really none of your business.”

            “You're right,” Faith agreed.  “I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have asked.”

            “Why do you want to talk to me?” Gibson asked.  “I'm not like you.”

            “Did you ever think that's maybe one of the reasons why?  Opposites attract...or something like that.”

            “You're attracted to me now?” he asked, laughing.  Faith's face turned red.  At first it looked like an innocent blush.  Then, the color seemed to have some heat to it that spread to her neck and ears.

            “Of course not,” she said quickly.  “Or at least not in that way.  Don't be ridiculous.  You just seem like an interesting guy.  That's all.  I'm lonely.  You seem lonely too.  I just thought a little conversation might be nice.  You know what they say?  Conversation rules the nation.”

            “The Lonely Hearts Club, eh?” Gibson said.

            “Guess so,” Faith added.  “Anyway, just forget all of what I said.”

            “Already done,” Gibson said with a laugh.  “It would be crazy to think that me and you might...”

            He paused and saw the disappointment on her face.  Faith was obviously hurt by something he said.  Was it possible that she was interested in him and he had called her out on it?  The thought had never occurred to him.  He shrugged.  “Look, I'm sorry.  I don't mean to be rude.  It's just been a rough day.  That's all.  I didn't mean to be such a jerk.  You didn't deserve the way I talked to you.”

            Faith wiped a tear away from her cheek and nodded.  “It's ok.”

            Gibson sat down beside her for a moment, feeling guilty.  Crying women always got to him.  He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped her tears away.  “I'm really sorry,” he said, meaning it.  “Please don't hate me.”

            “Don't be silly,” Faith said.  “I don't hate you.  Do you think I sit on these steps all day long for my health?”

            “Don't tell me you sit there waiting for me,” Gibson said, a little surprised.

            “Sometimes I hope I run into you,” Faith said.  “You seem like an interesting guy.  I can tell you aren't like everyone else.”

            “How do you know that?”

            “Because it's obvious that your emotions run deep.  You aren't just another shallow guy trying to be macho to impress girls.  You're sensitive.  You have to be.  Your art demands it.”

            “Art is about finding new ways to touch the soul.  Painting is the method I use.”

            “And when two souls are intertwined?  What then?”

            “I immortalize their love in brush strokes of color.  That's what happens.”           

            Faith studied him carefully and smiled.  “All day long you're around people in love.  Haven't you ever been in love yourself?  Don't you understand how wonderful they're feeling?  Please understand, I'm not prying here.  It's just a general question.  You don't even have to answer it out loud.  Think of it as food for thought.”

            Gibson shook his head.  “I was in love once, and she broke my heart.  Since then, I've always been a loner, although not necessarily by choice.  Maybe I've become jaded and bitter.  Maybe I've built a wall between me and the rest of the world.  Maybe I'm just scared of being crushed again.  Maybe all of those things are the reason why I'm alone.  I'm not a bad guy though.  Someone came and shattered me into a million pieces once before, and no one has ever tried putting the pieces of me back together.   Sometimes, it's just hard watching everyone else have what you wish you had.  You can't understand that though.  You can have whatever you want whenever you want it.  I'm sure that's always been the case.”

            Faith nodded.  “I know you will probably find this hard to believe, but I understand that more than you know.  All I've ever wanted is a normal life, and that's not something you can buy.  I don't want to be surrounded by phony people who are with you only for your money.  That's one of the reasons I moved here.  This is real.  This is how people actually live.  People here have hopes and dreams and work hard every day to reach them.  People here see the stars at night and fall in love beneath them.  Where I'm from, the stars are manufactured, and people see what they want to in the glow.”

            “You make this seem like paradise,” Gibson said.  “This place isn't paradise.  It's not even close to perfect.”

            “I suppose that all depends on your perspective,” Faith said.  “From this vantage point, I like what I see.  I see a chance for a life without all of the pretension.”

            “Oh, there is plenty of pretension here,” Gibson said.  “The pretensions here are just dirtier and hungrier than they are where you come from.  People where you come from have ulterior motives but they hide them behind facades that have seen a plastic surgeon one too many times.  People where I come from have ulterior motives, but they don't bother trying to hide them.”

            “It's a totally different world here,” Faith said.  “People do what they do here out of necessity.  People act the way they do where I come from out of a sense of entitlement.  They think the world owes them something.”

            “I'm sure people in your circle have hopes and dreams and fall in love and live normally like they do here.  Things are just easier where you come from.”

            Faith considered this for a moment.  “In some ways, I suppose they are.  In other ways, not so much.  Where I come from, I can't date anyone without wondering what they hope to get out of being with me.  My father runs in very influential circles.  I've dated guys who used me in order to get to him.  I've dated guys who were attracted to my family's money.  I've dated guys who used me as a status symbol to elevate their social standing.  Everyone has a motive for being with me, and none of those motives involve me.  All they care about is what I can do for them, not how they feel when they're with me.  I've never met anybody that was totally into me for me.  It's one of the reasons why I moved here.  People here don't know me, and I can interact with the world around me without looking over my shoulder to see who's moving in to take advantage of me.”