An Artistic Talent

An Artistic Talent

Comments: No more dance moves. This chapter is in the artists POV. Both main characters meet for the first time in this chapter. Furthermore I’m sorry about the long wait. I can’t remember what I said Aria’s hair color was in the last chapter but it’s red and since the artist is well an artist he knows colors so he elaborates on her color. I have nothing against Italian people, since I’m like one/third Italian. Aria isn’t an Irish name, but you’ll find out what I’m using it in this chapter.

Chapter Two

I yawned as I lifted my messenger bag to my shoulder and started up the steps into the arts building of the local community college. The end of the second semester was almost upon us and I still had to finish my portfolio for art. I had to find a model so I could complete it. The only problem was I couldn’t find a model that looked good enough for my type of artwork. Upon reaching the top step I headed into the darkened building past all the classrooms with students listening to their teachers drone on and on about the type of paints you should use for what type of project, bush techniques, and other uneventful art talk. Then there was the classroom, well dance studios with the students working on their ballet, ballroom dancing, etc. Pretty boring if you ask me. I was glad this is my last year of college. I paused as I was about to open the door to the art studio I was a loud to use. Music was drifting out of a dance studio diagonal from my own studio. I pushed the door open and dumped my bag inside. Instead of going in myself I went and looked through the open door into the dance studio. Two people, a male and female, were dancing separately. The male was working on some ballroom dancing, it looked like, while the female was working on what looked like Irish step.

“Typical.” I muttered to myself.

Her copper red hair was pulled back into a braid that moved against her back as she leapt and spun in circles her feet making thuds against the floor. I couldn’t see her eyes but at one moment, it seemed as if she could be the model. Her form was beautiful, she wasn’t to tall or to short, she was slim and slender. I’d have her as my model no matter what it takes. I had made up my mind and so I left heading back to my own studio to work on the last painting I had before I needed to start with my new model. I couldn’t help it but smirk as I took the half finished painting from my drawer. Now if only I could stop my family from visiting over the summer. I was lost in thought and in painting that I barely registered the sound of the studio door being opened. When I did register it I was surprised when I turned to see the Irish Step dancer leaning against the doorframe watching me. Behind silver framed glasses hid her flashing gray-green eyes. Her arms were crossed and her black messenger bag was at her feet. Black jeans and a green Dropkick Murphy’s shirt were the next thing I noticed. What she wore didn’t show her figure, not like the knee length skirt and tank top she had been wearing when she did Irish step.

“Can I help you?” I asked forcing my Italian accent out of my voice.

“I was just wondering if you liked watching my partner and I dance.” She said and her Irish accent came out in full.

“What?” I countered easily enough as I turned back to work on my painting.

“I saw you in the mirror you left.” She retorted and I heard her sigh. “If only I could dance as good as you paint.” I heard her move towards me, but instead of stopping she went to look at the paintings on the table. “Are these yours?” I nodded and she looked at them without touching. “If only I was half as pretty as these girls.”

“You are pretty, you just hide it behind those glasses and clothes.” I said cautiously and she laughed. “I’m not joking.” I told her frankly and she muttered something under her breath. “Say that again.” I turned towards her and she raised an eyebrow.

“Italian jackass.” She repeated as she moved past me, her movements nothing like a dancers. “Good luck with your portfolio.” She lifted her bag to her shoulder and left the studio with an air of impatience shutting the door behind her.

I frowned, the only thought in my mind was how did she know I was Italian. Unless she knew my name, which I don’t know how, there are no signatures on the paintings. Plus my accent was not showing. So she probably knew who I was. I sighed as I went back to finishing my painting. I’d figure her out sooner or later. Hopefully sooner then later. My portfolio was waiting for its new model. The painting was almost finished, it could be left for another night. I needed to find out her name. After placing all the paintings and sketches back into the portfolio and then into a drawer with the painting I had been working on, on top, I left the studio. I reached the door leading outside and stepped through scanning the courtyard between the arts, gym, science, and math buildings. She wasn’t anywhere around so I headed down the path between the science and math buildings and started towards the college gates. A group of boys were walking up ahead of us and I recognized a few of them as members of the basketball team.

“Duncan,” someone shouted from behind me, a girl with an Irish accent, “give me back my car keys.” One of the basketball players turned around and looked past throwing a pair of keys into the air. “Duncan, do you want me to tell athair.”

“You wouldn’t dare, “Said Duncan as he moved forward a few steps while his friends laughed.

“Wouldn’t I?” She was coaxing him. “I will tell him.” Well more like she was threatening him. “Well?” I didn’t turn to see who the girl was because I already knew.

“Aria,” he paused trying to find something to say, “would you like me to tell athair about your nightly escapades.” He was threatening her back.

“That would work if he didn’t already know.” She retorted and Duncan glared at her. “My keys, I don’t think you want athair on your tail.” He threw her the keys and then went back to his friends, a few people whom were calling Aria a whore and other terms under their breath as they walked past me.

As she walked past me digging someone thing out of her messenger bag I grabbed her arm and pulled her towards me. She gasped and put her hands out to catch herself. She landed against my chest and looked up at me as I smiled. A frown filtered across her face before she pushed herself away from me. She turned to leave but I grabbed her arm again and took her messenger bag from her and slung it over my shoulder. She reached to take it back but I moved away and she growled.

“What’s the big idea?” She hissed as she moved to intercept me.

“I have something to ask you and I won’t give your bag back until you give me the answer I want,” I told her and she glared at me, emotions moving across her eyes like a movie. “Will you be my model?” The glare dropped from her face and in its place sat disbelieve.

“Are you joking? Don’t you know who I am?” She exclaimed and I shook my head.

“I don’t care. So are you going to say yes or what?”

“You don’t want me as a model. Look at me, I’m ….”

I cut her off before she could say whatever she was going to say, “You’re not ugly, the clothes you wear and those glasses make you look like you don’t want to be noticed, so you aren’t noticed.”

“Do you know my last name Velario?” she asked and her Irish accent came out stronger.

“No and I don’t really care.” I said frankly and she mumbled something. “What?”


“My last name you idiot is O’Reilly.” She hissed and I shrugged.

“So what?” I blinked and then said something else, “if your Irish why is your first name Italian?”

“Máiréad is my real my first name but I changed it because then people would be able to call me by my first name.” She told me.

“I don’t get it though, why would I not like you just because your last name is O’Reilly?” I asked very confused and she gave a little sigh.

“If I had a gun I’d shoot you Velario,” she muttered and stepped back. “Fine I’ll model for you on one condition you don’t tell anyone who the person in the paintings is.”

“Agreed. Come to my apartment tonight at five. Wear something you’d wear when you dance.” I told her and she huffed.

“When was the last time you looked at your watch?” She asked me and I looked at her confused. “It’s five thirty.” She told me and I smiled.

“Well then we’ll just have to go to work now.” I took her arm and lead her towards the parking lot. “Which is your car?” She didn’t say anything and I looked at her. “Well?” She still didn’t say anything and I saw a strange turmoil in her eyes. “Just meet me at the apartments on Priscilla Ave.” I let her arm go and handed her, her bag before walking towards my Kawasaki Eliminator 125.

I could feel her eyes practically boring holes in my back and I had to smirk as I got on my bike and started it up with one hand as I drew my helmet on with the other. I watched Aria as she went over to a black Toyota Camry and got inside looking over her shoulder at me as she did so. A strange look was on her face and from here I could see her pick her up her cell phone and dial a number. I kicked up the kickstand and roared off out f the parking lot to my apartment. Surprisingly my parent’s let my live alone even though a good friend of theirs lived down the hall from me. It’s not fun being the son and heir to the Italian Mafia. That’s probably how Aria knew me because of my last name. O’Reilly is a common Irish last name. It didn’t faze me that she shared a last name with the Irish Mob. There is no way a girl like her would be part of the mob. She didn’t seem tough enough nor did it seem like she had the guts to hold a gun and fight someone. Twenty minutes later, which it would usually take ten, I was parking in the garage. Each apartment has their own garage, for one car and space for storage. I walked out and towards the front of the apartment building to see Aria pull into a parking spot. I walked towards her car and opened the door for her as grabbed her bag.

“Stop being such a gentleman, she said as she got out and shut the door herself. “So lead the way Velario.”

“You could call me by my first name you know,” I retorted and she rolled her eyes.

“I could also shoot you, but since I don’t have a gun with me, this will have to do,” she said and not even a second later her fist hit my stomach.

I blinked and she only smiled at me as she grabbed the keys from my hand and looked at the key to my apartment. A smile of satisfaction on her face she started off towards the building and I followed after her, pain still moving through my stomach. I definitely wouldn’t be able to eat anything for awhile. I passed her and walked through the open door and started towards the stairs. She would probably complain the whole way to the fifth floor, but I don’t care, I hate the elevator. Surprisingly enough she didn’t complain once and stayed right behind me as we went up to the fifth floor. She only stopped once to tie her sneakers again. When we reached the fifth floor I retrieved my keys from her and led her down the hall to my apartment. Two bedrooms, an office, living room, dining, kitchen, and one and half baths. It was perfect for me. Just enough space. I unlocked and pushed the door open stepping inside. I didn’t wait for Aria to follow me, instead I just headed for the second bedroom and opened the door. I heard a gasp and looked behind me to see Aria looking at a picture.

“Is something wrong?” I asked as I went back towards her. “Oh, that’s my father and Aiden O’Reilly.”

“I know who they are. You father is the head of the Italian Mafia and Aiden is the head of the Irish Mob,” there was a confused look on her face. “When was this picture taken? I thought both sides hated each other.”

“The feud is off and on. This picture was taken during when both sides were at peace with each other. The first time of peace was when Aiden O’Reilly’s wife was pregnant with their son, the second time was when I was born and lasted three years through when The O’Reilly’s second child was born. I can’t remember if it was a girl or a boy.” I explained and she looked at me with a thoughtful look in her green-gray eyes.

“It was a girl,” She told me and frowned. “Her mother died giving birth to her.”

“Yes, I heard about that. How do you know so much?” I asked her and she rolled her eyes.

“I’m Irish, born and breed,” she replied with a smile. “Plus Aiden is my father.”

I stepped back and she looked at me. We didn’t say anything for the longest time. I had moved over to the couch and sat down while she had just stayed where she was near the door. Her bag was still over her shoulder and she was staring at the picture with an intense look on her face. She picked it up and frowned and then looked over at me. I had no clue what I was going to do. If my family found out they’d think she was trying to turn me against them. I heard the picture being set down and looked up as she sat down across from me on the other couch. The intense feeling and look were gone, replaced by a smile and a strange twinkle in her eye.

“You liked those times that everything was fine. I remember one of them, your cousin got married and we were at peace for almost a year,” she mused and I just nodded. “I have an idea, you don’t need to hear it or comply with it if you don’t want to.”

“Just tell me, I’ll decide later,” I hissed surprised at myself.

“We’ll try to bring peace to both sides. The Russians are trying to eliminate both sides,” She said.

I cut her off, “are you trying to suggest that we try to get our respective sides to work together against the Russians?” I didn’t even wait for an answer before rushing on. “They’d never by it. Once we get rid of the Russian Mafia we’ll be going against each other again.”

“Ye of little faith,” she muttered under her breath. “Just think about it, I’ll give you a week and in the meantime how about we work on finishing your portfolio.” She suggested and I rolled my eyes.

“Alright, I don’t why I still want you as my model,” I mused mostly to myself and she laughed. “Come on, the bathroom is over there,” I pointed, “why don’t you change into those clothes you wearing for dance. I just need to do an outline, sketch first.”

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This chapter was a little shorter and far faster then the last chapter and for that I’m sorry. I kinda typed this very fast and didn’t really pay much attention to how much I was changing the plot. But I think I like this way, that I’m going now, far better then the old way.

Once again sorry for any mistake I may have made while typing this. I don’t reread my work all the time because I know if I reread it I’ll want to erase the whole thing and rewrite it all. So I’m not going to edit these chapters until after I finish the story. The next chapter might take longer then this one to get out since I’m moving this Saturday. I’m going from Kamakura Japan to Manhattan New York. I get to live with my mom again. Joy. So I’ll busy for like a few weeks visiting friends, looking for an apartment that my husband and I can afford, and looking for a job. So bare with me, I’m also pregnant so you bet all this is going to take forever, plus I need to find a new doctor. I’ll stop annoying you, but I just wanted you all to know this.

DarkDragon