Earlier chapters

by Mike Schwarcz, text and art

Deep down stirrings were shaking, awakening Miguel's creative spirits. Painting the Sara series became an act of preservation, his soul creating something that would prevent time from stealing her memory. He monologued with Sara as he painted. A running rehash of fond recollections, ancient guilts and regrets regarding their life together. In the end he had decided he could forgive her faults. Knowing he had plenty of his own, he was hopeful she would do the same. If she could.

Now, he was presented with a new subject, also important in his life.
Aisha was important. She was actively changing his life. Altered it more than anyone aside from, possibly, his parents bringing him to America. Certainly more than Sara, who didn't change his life, she just kind of rode along with it. On top of that, he thought they shared something meaningful, although he wasn't sure what that amounted to.
As he was preparing canvases, he considered questions he wanted to ask her, aware that aside from one dinner, a lunch, and those few days in the Hamptons, he hardly knew her. Yet when she wasn't around, he missed her, and when she was near, he felt a nervousness reminding him of his youth.
Cece, planning to avoid the office during Aisha's stay, mainly wanting to avoid her finding out she was seeing Roger. Too soon for that. Instead, she informed Miguel, she would spend some of her free time with her dad and brother, time never wasted.

Miguel dug into Sara's photography equipment, loading it all onto a work table. Strobes, camera, tripod, light stands, and reflective umbrellas, he rolled it over to a corner where he could have complete control over the lighting. For what he was planning, he wanted to try several lighting set-ups before deciding. This was where it got interesting for him: the lighting effect he had in mind would offer noir sensibilities to complement the Sfumato techniques he wanted to use on her portrait. Smoky and somewhat mysterious, like his subject, was going for.

After her first day's meetings, Aisha returned to Cece's office in the studio. Hearing music, she went looking for Miguel.
Seeing the equipment, Aisha walked in, tapping him on the shoulder. "Are we taking photos?"
Miguel, startled, turned to face her. "Whoa! You scared me!"
"Sorry, music's so loud, I guess you didn't hear the door," she said.
Miguel smiled sheepishly, putting down a strobe he was mounting. He noticed his hand quiver had returned.
"So how are your meetings going?"
"Pretty good. We found a sewer contractor, but the cafe opening may be delayed because he's backed up. Otherwise, the gallery and your studio are on schedule and should be completed on time. I feel good about it."
"The sewer contractor is backed up?" Miguel smiled.
"Very funny."
"So, no backups to worry about, that means you're free for the weekend?"
"I'm free, as long as you're sure you're ready for this?"
He wasn't sure at all. He had serious concerns about whether he could hold a brush steady near her. I thought I was too old for this.
"Meet here Saturday morning?" he asked.
"I'll bring sandwiches for lunch, how's that?" She nodded.
"Can't wait."

Saturday morning, an October cold front put a chill in the morning air. Miguel caught a whiff of pumpkin latte passing the local Starbucks, forcing him to stop and get two to go.
He was early to the studio, turning the heat to high, hoping to force the chill out. Aisha arrived and hoisted two bags. "Sandwiches, and a bottle of wine, you have a wine fridge, right?"
"No, still on the wish list, but there's plenty of room in the regular fridge."
"Perfect. It's not really wine weather right now anyway, is it?"
"This ought to do the trick," he said, handing her the coffee he had bought.
"Thanks"
"The heat is on, we'll be feeling it soon. I want you relaxed, no goosebumps. Have a seat, I've got a preliminary lighting setup, but I need you to sit while I tune it all in."
Aisha took her seat, and Miguel turned on two background 7,000-kelvin LED lamps. He then set about positioning the strobes.
"I'm going to fire the strobes a couple of times, look up and to the left a little. Little more—Great." The strobes fired, and Miguel viewed the results on the camera's screen.
"Hold it there. Again," More flashes after a minor key-light adjustment, and raising the tripod height.
"Want to see?" he brought the camera over to where she was seated and showed her the screen.
"Classic Rembrandt," she remarked.
"I think it has to be. The pose, attire, and background will tell the story. The lighting accents it. What do you think?"
"I think you should paint it the way you see it. Paint it for yourself," she declared.
"If you insist— Get undressed."
She shot him a look he couldn't decipher, and it threw him off a little.
"Joking."
Aisha smiled. Her instincts told her that he was interested.
He caught the smile. "That's the smile, right there." Show me that look three-quarters, over the shoulder, sultry."
Miguel looked through the viewfinder at her pose, and then at the screen. His vision of her stared back at him.
"Okay, good enough for now, Stage II after lunch."
"But, it's only eleven."
"No rush, we have time." Miguel led her to the Barcelona chairs in the reception/waiting area. He was enjoying this time alone with her.
"Are you warm yet?"
"I'm warm, but a half hour in that chair is bloody torture on the bum."
"Sorry, I'll fix that.
"Let's eat, I'm hungry." Miguel got up to fetch the lunch sack out of the refrigerator.
"There's roast beef, and tuna, with chips, and pickles, courtesy of Whole Foods Deli." Aisha said.
"Pick one, I'm okay with either," Miguel held out the open sack, confident she would pick the tuna. She opted for roast beef.
"Wine?" With her nod, he poured two glasses.

Can I ask you a question, I want to understand? I already—"
"Feel we have a connection?" She finished his sentence with her own question.
"Well, the immigration thing. Yeah."
"How old were you?" She asked.
"Five."
"I was 12."
"Yeah, so the age difference, east coast, west coast, it's not exactly the same."
"No."
"We do have good disguises in common though." Miguel said.
"True, incognito immigrants, you could say."
"Yeah."
"So you probably fit right in, knowing the language and all."
"Well the Queen's English in the Bronx, isn't exactly fitting in."
Miguel laughed at that. She smiled and went on.
"My accent always gives me away."
"Pure class to an American, I love your accent. In fact as a kid I thought that one day I'd have an English girlfriend."
"Really, what brought that on?"
"Emma Peel from The Avengers. I saw the show once on late night TV when I was about thirteen. Her Lotus, the catsuit, and the accent, in my eyes she was the complete package"
"You said you're an only child, right?" Miguel continued his questioning.
"Yes, unfortunately."
"Why would you say that?"
"No siblings meant my father directed all of his energies towards me."
"No brothers or sisters to cover for you when you snuck out huh?"
"Something like that. My father saw education as the only path to success for an immigrant. He had most of my life planned out for me by the time I was born. I became a lawyer at his insistence."
"What did you want to be? Or better yet what would you want to be now, given what you know today?"
"That's a tough one." She pondered for a moment. "When I was kid, it was everything ‘Baywatch'. Loved ‘Baywatch', loved Mitch."
"Funny, they filmed that show a few miles north of Venice."
"Seems, we both have an attraction to people and things that are completely foreign and intriguing?" Aisha suggested.
"Seems that way. Again, you said it better than I could have."
"Okay, my turn, I have a few questions," Aisha said.
"Shoot."
"You don't seem to care much about success," she said.
Miguel shrugs. "I guess it depends on what you call success, most people measure it in money. I don't."
"How so?" Aisha took her feet off the table and scooted to the edge of her chair, anxious to hear his response.
"Money isn't a part of my formula for happiness. I mean real money, like Hampton's money, means responsibilities, first getting it, then keeping it, investing it, always worrying about it, that takes up a lot of time. Then you have to worry about losing it."
"So if it's not money, what then?"
"Lifestyle. At a very young age, I decided I was going to live at the beach."
"Because?"
"I grew up in the suburbs, where every morning the cars rolled down the driveways. Guys in suits, with their briefcases on the seat beside them. Spending their days under fluorescent lights, earning a buck so they can afford a better suit to impress their boss, who will probably, upon seeing the new suit, decide they're overpaid. Very rewarding."
"What's the alternative?"
"All I knew was I didn't want that. I wanted onshore breezes, bikinis, sun, surf, fishing, sailing. Who wouldn't?"
"Takes money."
Miguel shrugged. "Not much really, if you play it right. But I did get lucky. And, I was just lucky enough to realize it."
"Go on."
"My curiosity led me to the thing that allowed me to have the life I'd always wanted. When that opportunity arose, luckily, I was prepared. "
"No years pursuing the dream?" Aisha asked.
"No, a simple newspaper ad. It read; Studio Space on Boardwalk. For some reason I can't remember, maybe the boat was feeling cramped. In any case since the address was in the ad, which I thought odd, I decided to go have a look, curious" Miguel paused to refill his wine glass.
"Interesting, you lived on a boat?"
"I did, I was single. Our dock was the biggest party dock in the marina
"I believe that, back to the story, the studio?"
"When I saw it, I wanted it. Immediately, I had a vision for it."
"It was a gallery?"
"A rich woman living in New York built two studios. One for herself, and next door, another for her, then, boyfriend. It was across from Muscle Beach. It had a kitchen and bath, two car garage, and a rooftop deck. The owner insisted on renting only an artist or gallery. I could live there, but also use it to generate income. My parents had owned a gallery, I knew enough art speak to close the owner, Jackie, on renting it to me. I borrowed the money from my folks, and was on my way. After I signed the lease, I never saw her again. I just kept mailing her the checks, and she kept cashing them."
"So you pulled it off on a wing and a prayer, so to speak."
"Exactly, and it worked. How could it not when you have fifty thousand visitors on a summer weekend? It worked for a long time."
"A California bohemian." Aisha said finally.
"Yeah, it takes a real genius to turn your childhood into a career." Miguel grins.
"But you went to college?"
"Yeah, I managed to get a business degree, while skiing, and taking gap years. I was afraid of having to hear people telling me I should have gone to college for the rest of my life."
"Why?"
"A lifetime of being reminded of what could have been my biggest mistake, no thanks." Miguel shook his head.
"But Aisha, you should be proud of yourself, your accomplishments. Don't give your dad all the credit. What you've achieved, that's a reflection of your dedication. I'll say this, you have my total respect."

Aisha felt her truth hurt, a youth abandoned to fulfill her father's dream. And now the same pattern was repeating itself. Her time now committed to protecting an unappreciative boss from his worst instincts, leaving her little reward beyond money.
Miguel could understand her desire to seek a life she could call her own; after all, that was all he had ever done. But he also knew his hedonist's lifestyle was the past, and would not serve him well at his present age.
The wine bottle was empty, and their confessions hung in the air. Neither of them found it necessary to add another comment.

Questionnaire on the story

To be continued

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