by Mr. David R. Dorrycott

Chapter Four

When Hearts Burn

Sara stepped back from her latest canvas, casting a critical eye on the image she was creating. It was the fifth time she’d started over. Now she felt like she had something. This time the image honestly felt right. Setting aside her pallet she absently tapped her teeth with the end of her brush. Yes, that was Amanda. Amanda as she wanted to be, not as she was. Tossing her brush into a waiting jar of thinner Sara walked away from the canvas. It would be a day or two before it dried enough to cover. Until then she’d enjoy it.

Picking up her mail from the cracked linoleum floor Sara glanced through it. Several bills, easily taken care of this month with her commission checks. A half dozen or so thick packets of manuscripts wanting cover art, and a letter from her brother in Germany. Dropping everything but the letter she almost threw herself into the rooms only chair. Letters from her brother were rare, they were to be enjoyed. Slipping her nail under a fold Sara deftly slipped opened the flap then returned to her sketch table.

Although the letter wasn’t long she took her time reading about her brothers misadventures. He’d joined the Army to get away from home. Not their parents, but the growing gang problems. Now.. She stopped, re-reading a line. Married? She thought. Her bother had married, and a German girl at that. She giggled, oh that was going to cause an explosion at home. It was bad enough she had no interest in boys, but for her brother to marry a German, the same race their father had fought against in his youth. “I gotta watch the fireworks when this comes out” she laughed. Finally sitting her brothers letter aside she let her eyes wander her studio apartment. Her brother married, and her in love with a dying woman. A long sigh escaped her lips. If only... A fragment of pottery on the desk caught her eye, words written on it bringing a smile back to her face, as it sent her memories back to last winter.

“That’s it then” Sara decided, stepping away from her drawing board. “You can move now.”

“Don’t think so” Amanda replied from her position at a mannequins feet. “I think he likes me. Besides” she moaned softly, “It’s so cold in here I think my muscles have solidified. Some help here please?”

Sara looked up from her drawing table and laughed. “What’s wrong oh great and professional model? A few hours in one position too tough for you?” She shook her head, causing night black hair to flutter from under her scarf. “Hang on. I’ll get a warm blanket for you, right after I release your hands.” She kneeled down next to the prone girl, carefully unwrapping a soft rope from around her friends wrists, then removed a brightly colored scarf that was under the rope. “There you go. One captured, enslaved maiden, released from her evil furless simian’s captors chains.” She patted the mannequins right leg as she dropped the scarf at its feet.. “At least Old Bill here doesn’t complain about the work” she laughed, standing to retrieve a waiting blanket.

Sara knew that Amanda was right to complain. It was dead of winter, and to save money Sara had the heat turned so low both women could see their breath. Only the tiny area Sara was painting in was heated, and that semi-enclosed space was kept warm by a tiny electric unit, surrounded by old sheets so the heat didn’t escape. Though Sara could stand the cold, her paints didn’t like it, and paint was a big expense in her world.

“A swimsuit in winter” Amanda complained. “And a two piece at that. If mom ever saw me in this she’d beat my behind with a stick.” Carefully stretching her body to work out a few cramps, Amanda gently pushed the pile of rope aside. “Wouldn’t it be better” she asked “If you used a real chain? I recall that the writer specifically described some kind of thick chain. He’s gonna be real upset to see rope on his book cover.” She accepted the blanket Sara offered, wrapping it around her shivering body even as her friend started rearranging her mannequin. “And a male model. Couldn’t you find a male model? Trying to look frightened of a twenty year old dented store display is hard.”

“Think of him as Mr. Ricestine” Sara suggested. “If he’s like he was when I went to school, that ought to be enough for your imagination.”

“That old lecher?” Amanda asked. “I don’t think he’s changed any. At least not after hearing you describe him.” She bundled herself deeper into her blanket, grateful of the warmth, temporary though it might be. “Two more poses right? Then we eat?”

“I think we ought to eat now, your looking awful tired Amanda” the black furred artist admitted. “I can do the rest some other day. Let me finish moving Old Bill here, then I’ll warm up some tomato soup for us.”

Amanda blew into her chilled hands, warming herself. “Could be next weekend before I can spend a day again girlfriend” she warned. “Let me warm up and we can do the rest. At least the rough sketches.” She struggled to her feet, using a strategically placed hatrack left by her hostess to support her. “We both may consider Mr. Ricestone a disaster as an adult role model, but he is the best art teacher in school, and I need to stay on his good side. So I can make my private models.”

“Speaking of which” Sara asked from her small kitchen, “Did you bring that new pot shard you were working on?”

Amanda hobbled over to the pile of her clothing, reaching into the huge bag she seriously called a purse. “Yep, just like you asked” she answered, pulling out two large tissue paper wrapped lumps. “See if you can tell which one I made, and which one I borrowed from the school library.”

Sara poured two cans of tomato concentrate into a pot, following them with two cans of milk while Amanda made her way, barefoot, across nearly ice cold oaken floorboards to her. While the younger woman carefully unwrapped her prizes Sara used an old whisk to stir their ‘meal’ as it heated. Soon two dark red objects lay on her cutting board. Picking up the closer one Sara put her trained artist’s eye to it, carefully turning the shard to allow different light on its surfaces. Just as carefully setting it back where Amanda had originally placed it, she repeated the process with the second piece.

“Girl, your getting too good” Sara finally admitted. “They look exactly alike, other than the left ones cleaner than the right one. As a guess, it’s the right one.”

“Annaaah” Amanda answered, making a sound somewhat like a game show buzzer. “Wrong, it’s the left one. I couldn’t get the dirt tones right. Couldn’t fool Mr. Ricestone either, but he watched me make it, so I guess he had a better chance. His opinion was to bury it deep in the ground a couple of years and let momma nature finish the detail work. It got me an ‘A’ though, so I must be doing something right.”

Picking up the indicated shard again Sara studied it closer. “How did you get that fracture right?” she asked curiously. “I’d have painted it on, or cut it with a blade. This looks almost exactly like the original.”

“About a dozen tries” Amanda admitted as she retrieved two bowls from Sara’s cupboard. “I tried hitting it, dropping it, pushing on it with wood. Turned out the best way was to stick it in a thin layer of sand and just step on it. Carefully, it was green. When it came out of the kiln that crack was almost perfect, but I had to protect it from the paint or it’d have soaked in too deep. I can’t figure out why people forge works of art though. Its awfully hard work, and then its not even your own work.” She took the pottery shard from Sara’s hand, flipping it over. “I need to scratch the date into this so no ones ever fooled. Got an old screwdriver?”

“There’s an artist marker on my table” Sara answered, taking the bowls from Amanda’s other handbefore she dropped them. Her friend was intelligent, talented, and with a memory better than any she had met before. Not to forget that she was about as useful in a kitchen as a wild warthog with a hangover. “Just write with it, on that rough surface, it’ll soak in to deep to clean completely.”

“Thanks” Amanda said as she turned towards Sara’s drawing table, the bowls already forgotten.

Sara finished warming their soup while Amanda wrote, having served it equally into both bowls before her friend returned. “Its hot and your not dressed, so don’t spill it” she warned. “ You’ll get burned and your dad’ll kill me.”

“Nah. He’ll just cut your tail off and beat you with it a while” Amanda laughed. “Like your mannequin there. What kind of mind creates something as ugly as that?”

“Brighton, MD” Sara answered as she sat the bowls on her kitchen table. “Claims there’s intelligent life on other planets. Thing is...” She pulled her chair out, waiting for Amanda to join her, “We don’t even know there are other planets. Other than the eight in our system.”

“It is Science Fiction” Amanda agreed, letting her blanket drop before sitting. “‘course none of the churches agree.” She dipped her spoon in her bowl, swirling it around. Truth was she wasn’t that hungry, but Sara would force feed her if she didn’t eat every drop. “What do you think?”

Sara swallowed, using her napkin to dab at a touch of soup that had stuck to her lips. “I’m open” she admitted. “Diana doesn’t say one way or another. It’s up to me to determine what’s right or wrong.” A frown flickered across her lips. “It’d be horrible if we were the only intelligent life in the universe. There’s so many stars out there. I don’t want to be that lonely.”

“Neither do I” her friend admitted. “Neither do I.”