Art Therapy - Chapter 1 Exerpt

Hey, All! For those of you attending the Books & Booze event tonight at Goodbar, this is the exerpt that I will be reading. Hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 1 - Jayce

I’m hiding in the corner behind the curtain of huge cast-iron pipes that block this tiny nook off from the rest of the bar area. I know that it’s highly unlikely anyone will ever see my artwork back here, but I don’t care. I’m painting these for myself, not for anyone else. Besides, this is probably Pipe Person number three thousand, one hundred, fifty-four - or something like that, I’ve lost count of how many I’ve painted by this point - so there are plenty of other examples of my artwork strewn around the grounds of the Truman School if people care to look. I’m allowed to hide out and paint in mysterious nooks. That’s the beauty of my job. 

Also, I kind of like the idea of my quirky little paintings hiding out in places that the average guest wouldn’t even think to look. The intrepid, diligent few who find them someday will think themselves clever for having made their discovery. It’ll be like a private joke between us, even though I will probably never meet them.

Filling my brush with a bright royal blue from the selection of paints arrayed on my pallet, I finish outlining the jester cap I’ve painted on the upwardly slanting portion of the pipe. With a different brush I add a little blob of metallic gold, creating a jingle bell at the tip of one of the jester cap’s points. Below the cap, I’ve already painted a grinning jester face, taking advantage of the elbow joint of the pipe to create the optical illusion that the face is three dimensional. It’s a happy face, though, not one of those scary jester faces you see posted by Internet trolls these days. No, my jesters are all merry good fellows. I don’t do scary or angry. All my Pipe People are happy.

“G-g-good,” I declare, smiling at the royal blue jester, then moving over to the next pipe to begin painting his purple companion.

As usual, I get kind of caught up in my artwork and lose track of time. I’m really enjoying this series of paintings. My jester faces have become sillier the deeper into the little nook I get. The last couple appear very obviously tipsy. But that’s appropriate for people hiding out in the corners of bars, right? Caught up as I am in the haze of creation, though, I’m not paying attention to anything else around me. And I’m already on my sixth Pipe Person when I realize that I’m no longer alone in the bar.

“This, as you might have guessed, is the ‘Boiler Room Bar’,” Logan, the Assistant Manager of the hotel announces to the entourage of people who have followed them into the area. “And, in case it isn’t obvious, this is actually the original boiler room for the school. We’ve kept all the original piping and the big cast iron boiler over there, taking them apart where needed to clean them, and then reassembling everything so that the ambiance remains authentic. Of course, none of this equipment is still functional - we have a completely modern facilities plant in the basement - but we think the guests will like the quirkiness of this space.”

I shrink back deeper into my hidey-hole, so that none of the new arrivals will see me. I’m not exactly what you’d call ‘out-going’ on the best of days, and today hasn’t even been a mediocre day. Hence, the reason I’m hiding out, painting in a corner. I’m definitely not in the mood to converse with actual human beings, and I know better than to interrupt Logan’s tour group. I figure, if I just lay low for long enough, they’ll move on and I can go back to my solitary painting. 

“Wow! This is fantastic. I’ve never seen anything like it,” the elegantly dressed blond woman in the expertly tailored, emerald green silk pantsuit exclaims. “I love all the details. The railings made out of random pipe sections and steel radiator parts. All these old gauges. The clunky utilitarian light fixtures. It’s perfect. This is easily marketable. People will eat this kind of thing up.”

“Make sure to get lots of photos,” a tall man, whose back is towards me so that all I can see of him is the jacket of his designer-label suit, directs. 

Another guy toting an expensive-looking camera rushes off to obey this order and the Suit Guy makes another comment to Logan. I’ve already lost interest, though. With the hotel slated to open to the public in just over a month, there have been a lot of tours lately. This is the third one just today. I’ve already listened to Logan’s spiel way too many times to be at all interested in the hype they spin for the various investors and marketing people who’ve been trooping through here the past few weeks. I ignore them and go back to my painting while Logan points out the bar they imported from an old saloon on the east side of town, the brand new pool tables, and the vintage 50’s jukebox. Nobody comes close to my tiny hidden nook, so what do I care? 

I’m wiping off my brushes after finishing the last of my Pipe People when I notice the tour group heading up the stairs and out the door. Logan explains that they’re taking the group to the ‘Detention Bar’ next. The blonde woman laughs and makes a joke about the last time she was sent to detention back in high school. I’ve heard the same joke a half dozen times in the three months I’ve been working here. That’s part of the fun of renovating an historic elementary school into an offbeat, quirky hotel, I suppose. I’m sure the staff will hear that same joke at least a thousand times more in the coming months. 

I’m about to pack up my paint brushes and move on when I realize that a couple of stragglers have fallen behind the rest of the tour group. Peeking out from behind my screen of piping, I see the tall man in the designer suit and the photographer whispering together over by the far end of the bar. The man has turned around and I can finally see his face; he’s fucking gorgeous. Thick chestnut hair frames his square-jawed face. There’s one longer lock that falls over his brow, obscuring the dark eyes and causing him to flutter his long, thick lashes. He’s got what my art instructors would call an ‘aquiline’ nose, giving him a distinguished air. His crushed-cranberry lips are stretched widely in an almost predatory smile as he makes a comment to the photographer. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but judging by the way the attractive young photog is giggling I can guess the topic of conversation. 

With a jutting of his chiseled jaw, the big guy directs the photographer to turn around. The cameraman eagerly obeys, unstrapping his camera equipment from around his neck and abandoning it atop the bar, before leaning his torso against the wooden countertop with his back towards Suit Guy. Suit Guy has the sexiest smirk on his handsome face as he roughly pushes the Shutter Bug further forward until the smaller man’s face is almost smashed against the bar. I can’t really see what’s going on below the level of the bar, but I’ve got a good imagination...