THE LILY OF THE VALLEY..

“Happy Birthday, Liesel Dear!’

Liesel West stared down at the brochure clenched between her white - knuckled fingers. Estella was still chattering away, her clipped accent echoing through the cheap cordless phone that Liesel tucked between her shoulder and ear.

“Stella…’

“Don’t you love it? The colour scheme may be a little off, but that can be changed. I’ve got an interested buyer -”

“NO.” She stared at the scattered pieces of the large envelope spread over the laminated countertop without seeing them.

“I don’t mean to be a nag about this, but I know you need the money. I don’t understand why you won’t sell this series. Nicky can’t be the sole provider of a fledgling relationship …”

“And I don’t understand why you keep showing them when you know I won’t sell.” Liesel dropped the brochure to join its traitorous envelope and tracked it as it slipped to the floor.

“I own a gallery, sweetie, showing and selling art is what I do, if you don’t want to sell them, then why paint them in the first place?” Estella huffed. “You don’t keep them for your own enjoyment. You obsess over each one and then get them out of your sight as soon as they’re finished.’

“I don’t obsess…”

“Nonsense. You barely ate or slept while you painted those. You lost weight and got dark circles under your eyes. By the time each of those paintings were finished you looked like hell, Kid.” Estella’s voice softened. “They’re your best work, Liesel, brilliant even. But what’s the point if you won’t share?”

“I’m not selling,” Liesel hissed.

“There’s a lot of interest in them. They’re paintings. For you, that makes this series a rarity. Rarities sell.”

“NO.” Liesel rolled her eyes.

“You’ve never used a model on anything else. And you won’t even tell me who he is.”

“Because it doesn’t matter. I haven’t seen him in years,” Liesel hesitated, “and I won’t ever see him again.”

“Oh, honey, was it a love affair gone bad?”

“It’s not important.”

“Why else would you keep painting the same man over and over again?”

“Drop it, Estella.”

Her mentor finally fell ceased chattering and Liesel listened to the silence on the other end of the phone. The paintings were just gathering dust anyway. If someone really thought they were that good, then why not?” …You said you have a buyer?”

Estella’s enthusiasm rang through. “Yes. A young man from Mount Currie. He said his fiancée found them online and loved them. He thinks they’ll make a good wedding present.”

Liesel felt her throat go dry. “Mount Currie?”

“Mmmm-hmmm. Hey … isn’t that your home town? What a coincidence! The familiar landscapes must have been influential. Small world, Huh, Kid?”

“Very small.” Without another word, Liesel hung up the phone. Estella Myburgh had always come across as a nosy woman who loved to hear herself talk, and more often than not her ramblings touched a nerve.

It wasn’t an obsession. But how else could she explain the compulsion she’d had to paint those portraits? She would go for months and everything would be fine. Then suddenly she’d be driven from her bed in the middle of the night with an image that she had to get down on paper. She could sleep a bit after the initial sketch was done. But the next night would find her finishing the sketch and priming the canvas, and in the following weeks and months, the portrait would take shape.

To her mortification, she found that water colours or acrylics wouldn’t do. The initial sketches in pencil were fine. But the portrait had to be done in oils. They were so hard to work with, but oil paints had a depth of colour and a richness that the other mediums couldn’t touch.

“Estella giving you a hard time again?” Francis words shook Liesel out of her reverie.

Liesel glared at her intimidating friend and went back to rubbing the turpentine soaked rag over her fingers. “Doesn’t she always? Why does she always sound like she’s speaking to us in italics?’

Francis snorted at Liesel’s failed imitation of their mutual friend. “You’d better not let her know that you’re finished another one.” She leaned back in and gestured toward the wet painting across the room. “The guy’s gorgeous, I’ll give you that. Not my type, of course, I prefer them dark. But all in all, he’s got potential.”

Liesel smiled faintly. “You think all men have potential.”

“Of course. I’m an artist, too.”

Liesel scoffed and threw the rag at the brown-haired green-eyed monster draped over her couch and turned back to the painting. “No, you’re a connoisseur.”

“Hey.”

She looked up, surprised to see Francis’s perfect face almost an inch or so above her own.

“C’mon, Liesel. What’s wrong?’

She frowned. “You make me feel awfully small.” She pushed on her chest. “Step back.”

“You are small.” Francis chuckled, but obliged. “But I make everyone feel small.”

That brought her smile back. “I don’t even know why I told you about it.”

“You told me because I’m your best friend, your trusted confidante,” Francis laughed, “and because you were totally upset and you spilled your guts. I know all your dirty little secrets.”

“It was the first time I’d ever been drunk,” Liesel smiled, abashed. “And the last time.”

“Coward,” Francis grinned.

Liesel laughed. “No, I just learned my lesson.”

“So, what’s the real reason you won’t sell them?” Francis steered the conversation back to the paintings.

“I can’t,” Liesel said, turning to look at the painting.

“Liesel, you’ve finally gotten yourself engaged to a nice guy who’ll whisk you away to the suburbs and give you the obligatory two-point-five children and one annoying, large, slobbery dog. Your old high school flame should’ve burned out.”

“Yes, I’ve found my nice guy,” Liesel agreed, “But I don’t have a crush on him.” She gestured back to the painting. “I never did.”

“Keep telling yourself that and maybe someday you’ll believe it. Nicky’s got some competition.”

“No he doesn’t. I don’t meet many people and I don’t see you introducing me to any other nice guys.”

“I don’t know any guys,” Francis narrowed her eyes. “And I don’t know any nice guys at all. What do you call this Canvas-portrait?” gesturing with her eyes towards the painting. “I named it the Lily of the Valley, The Rose of Sharon.” Liesel’s eyes brightened as the words left her mouth.

The two friends opened a bottle of Chardonnay, relaxed on the beige sofa. Liesel was so determined not to tell Francis about her escapades with the “Lily of the Valley.” How she was in love with him. That he meant the world to her at one point in her life.

The brochure that Estella had sent, caught Liesel’s attention as it lay on the floor. “Nicky could do with some help. It won’t hurt to sell a few paintings. I wonder who the buyer is.” Liesel downed the glass of Chardonnay and tapped a dozing Francis on the shoulder to let her know she is going ahead with the sale. “Hello, Estella, I have changed my mind about the series. You could notify your buyer that he could procure three or four paintings only. May I ask who the buyer is?”

“Of course my dear, a certain Mr. Negan. He seemed to have been admiring your work a long time. What do I tell him the selling price is?” Estella sounded very excited over the phone. Liesel was unsure on how to answer Estella.

“Tell her she should negotiate a good price for you.” Francis echoed from the kitchen, glass in the right hand, cigarette in the left hand.

“Estella you are the curator of the Bluff Gallery, you should negotiate a price not forgetting your commission love. Just tell Mr. Negan the series is based on the “Lily of the Valley” or “Return to Happiness”. For me it’s the “Pious Celebration of Life series. Memories that I will cherish for a life time.”

Francis came skipping towards the lounge area where Liesel was seated with the galleries brochure in her hand. She nodded towards her best friend letting her know she was making the right decision of selling a few portraits. As Estella had brought to Liesel’s attention that her fiancé could need the extra help financially with their upcoming wedding. Nicky was the love of her life now.

Liesel made her way to the laminated countertop to replace the brochure that she refused to look at earlier. Francis made a suggestion to change the colours to Gold and Black as these colours could enunciate her portraits, making the character traits of the “Lily of the Valley” stand out further, showing the love she once shared with this person.

“It’s a Happy Birthday to me then. Let’s celebrate Francis.” Liesel fetched the chocolate and vanilla cupcakes from the kitchen island, lit a white birthday candle, and made a wish before she blew the white candle out.

oooooOOOOOooooo

Please find attached my short story title LILY OF THE VALLEY - NOT PUBLISHED...MY WORDS