“It’s a Syl-tini. My own invention. It’s good, right?”
“Well, it’ll definitely make me forget about everything.”
Gloria grinned. “Perfect! Then you can relax and have fun.”
“I’m already having fun.” Iola sipped her own Syl-tini and smacked her lips appreciatively. “So far, it’s the best drawing class I’ve ever been to.”
I took another sip of my Syl-tini, and it slipped down a little easier. Now that I was here, I was glad Carlotta had made me come. Nothing like spending time with a group of friends to help a woman ease her heartache.
“Let’s start the class,” said Gloria. “Does everyone have a drink? Now choose an easel.”
“What will we be drawing?” asked Iola.
Right on queue, the door opened and Beatrice Abernathy sauntered in. She was around eighty or so, with a shock of wild gray hair. I’d seen her playing strip poker with Dad, topless apart from her giant bra. But now she was wearing a leopard print dressing gown, and I could tell by the way her enormous breasts swung like weighted pendulums that she was no longer wearing her bra.
“I’ll take a cocktail,” she announced, heading to the makeshift bar.
Gloria shook her head. “Beatrice, you can’t drink and model for us at the same time.”
“The hell I can’t! I worked as a nude model for years. I was doing it before you were born.” She managed to shrug off her dressing gown while she emptied the mixture still in the blender into a glass. Her dressing gown pooled on the floor, and she picked up the glass and struck a pose, dramatically extending the arm that wasn’t holding her cocktail.
Naked, her breasts were even more eye-poppingly impressive than they’d been in just her bra—a bra which I now realized deserved an award for exceptional achievement under stress. And her untamed shock of gray pubic hair reminded me of Edward Lennox’s eyebrows.
“Then I guess we’re starting,” Gloria said cheerfully, moving to one of the easels. “Everyone ready? We’ll begin with quick, five minute poses to warm up.”
The rest of us stood frozen, drinks in hand, exchanging bewildered looks. But Iola and Gloria both moved to their easels as though drawing naked women was something they did every day. Picking up their sticks of charcoal, they started sketching.
Carlotta bit her lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. I felt a manic giggle rise in my own throat, but covered it by selecting an easel.
Looking sideways at Beatrice, I made some experimental marks on the paper. Mom had tried to teach me to draw, but I’d preferred to spend my time reading. Still, her lessons came back to me as I studied Beatrice’s negative spaces and observed the shape of her body. A job that would probably be easier if Beatrice wasn’t moving her arm and head every time she sipped her martini.
And if she wasn’t staring back at me.
It was hard to concentrate on squeezing all her ample body parts onto one piece of paper when Beatrice was studying my face.
Taking bold sweeps with the charcoal, I tried to capture the spirit of Beatrice’s pose. The curve in her spine. The way her arm bent as she drained her cocktail. The plumpness of her belly. Her penetrating gaze.
“I used to pose for your mother, Natalie,” Beatrice said suddenly.
I lowered my charcoal. “You did? When?”
“Oh, years ago.” Beatrice waved a hand, shifting her weight so her breasts flopped to the other side, and probably messing up everyone’s drawings. “She was a good artist. Lots of natural talent.”
I sketched the outline of her shoulder. “Mom wanted to be a professional artist.”
“Yes.” Beatrice sighed. “If only she’d had more confidence.”
My drawing hand froze. “Um. What?’
Beatrice lowered her voice as though sharing a secret. “She told me she felt like a fraud.”
“A fraud?” I repeated dumbly, thinking of what Dad had told me. “Why would she say that?”
“You don’t think your mother was hard on herself?” Beatrice sipped her cocktail while I thought back, trying to figure out if I’d been wrong about who my mother really was.
Had I been so blind, I hadn’t seen such an essential thing about Mom? The only thing she’d ever seemed passionate about was her dislike of the café. And why had she complained about working there if it had been her own choice?
“Don’t get me wrong,” added Beatrice. “I liked your mother a lot. I just thought it was a shame she thought so little of her own paintings when they were so good.”
“I blamed Dad,” I said, feeling stupid. “I thought he was the reason she didn’t pursue a career in art.”
“Families are difficult. My son’s a perfect example. I’ll never get a grandchild out of that one.” She drained the last of her drink and grinned at Sylvie. “Time for a refill.”
“Okay, a quick break, then we’ll get back to it.” Gloria said, putting down her charcoal.
“Are you okay, Nat?” Carlotta asked, walking over to my easel. “Hey, I really like your drawing.”
My head was spinning, and I wasn’t sure if it was just from the Syl-tini. I blinked at her, then squinted at my picture. The proportions weren’t bad, but the lines were too messy.
Emmy stepped over as well. “Great drawing,” she agreed. “You’re a natural.”
“Really?” I tried to look objectively at what I’d drawn, but all I could see were the mistakes I’d made and the lines that didn’t look right.
Emmy tilted her head to the side, studying me with her perceptive gaze. “Is Kade coming back?” she asked in her direct way. “Or did you two break up for good?”
I took a deep breath. Surprisingly, I found myself ready to talk about it. Maybe it was the strong cocktail I was still sipping, or maybe it was being around friends. Whatever the reason, I didn’t feel like I’d burst into tears if I mentioned Kade’s name, and that had to be progress.
“Kade’s not coming back,” I said with a sigh. “He
