ARTGIRL 18: young at heart 

  "Love is either in your heart or on its way. Don't you know that it's worth every treasure on earth to be young at heart. For as rich as you are, it's much better by far to be young at heart," Frank Sinatra. Listen to the song at least once, it'll make your heart all soft. 

Nicolas Bear Forrest

IT WAS ALL too good to be true.

From her confession that she thought I was hers, to the kisses. These were the moments I'd been hoping for since the moment I'd seen her again. In fact, from the first time I'd seen her, I was hoping to have moments like this. Where peaceful love could take its place. Everything with her was pure, raw and more real than anything I'd ever experienced.

I couldn't have gotten that lucky—luck and I hadn't been partners for a long time. Then, she came back in my life. Everything was falling into place. Too well, too perfectly. I felt on the edge of something great, but also something terrifying. Because life had never been kind to me; with every beautiful thing, I got misery. Soon, I'd started associating beauty with misery and maybe that was why I saw the beauty in heartbroken people.

I think you're meant to be mine.

God. She could've tried to understand for days, but she still wouldn't have felt the joy I had. The sense of tranquility, that the one great love I had loved me back. I'd read books, watched movies and sang songs about heartbreak so many times that I started believing that happiness only existed in those forms of art, that reciprocated love was a thing of magic.

As wonderful as falling in love with someone was, nothing could match the feeling of knowing that they could love you back. Then, a safety net is all around you, a hammock of "as long as we have this love, all will be well". Ours was unstable, it was slow and it bred bruises. When I looked at her, I got lost. In love, in admiration, in appreciation, but mostly, in the fear of losing her again.

Italy, she had said, when I asked her where she'd want to go. She liked the idea of being in a city where wine and beauty reigned everywhere.

A part of me silently promised her a trip there someday. If I had the money, I'd take her anywhere in the world. I'd take her to Italy and spend time in nice hotel rooms, watch her paint every sunset and sunrise, because she'd say: "every one is different." I'd spend every second making her happy, but real life was cruel.

Real life meant people slipping through your fingers as soon as they slipped into your arms. It meant me taking extra shifts and the café to afford dates, now. It meant dedicating time to helping her find the same love for paint that I had for music; the same love I felt for her.

That love—God, it was the best feeling in the world. It was the love that deserved to be written about, because she was everything artists used as a muse.

I looked at the closed pack of cigarettes in my hand and shoved them back in my pocket. She'd notice, if I smoked. So far, Adrian and I's no-smoking-in-the-flat rule was well-enforced, because if either of us needed a smoke, we'd go on the roof or outside. But if sixteen year old Zoey hated smoking, she probably still hated it now.

"Nico," she walked out of her store, hair tucked into a small ponytail. "What you doing out here? Why didn't you come in?"

"Getting some fresh air," I smiled and greeted her with a hasty hug. "You look nice."

She tightened her ponytail, "thank you. It took me half an hour to get all of my hair in. I love my hair like this, but I might grow it out."

"Hm," I kissed her cheek, "well, it looks nice both ways. How're you feeling?"

"Good." We stood outside the store. Neither one of us wanted to go in. "I feel a lot better."

"Happy to hear that, love."

I earned a big eye roll. "I swear to God," she mumbled. "That damn love."

"What?"

"Nothing," shaking her head, she let a small blush appear on her cheeks. "Let's go in, Jess is waiting."

"Adrian didn't come?"

"No, he's working."

The store's lights were dimmer than usual. If anything, Jessie's excitement was the only source of light in the room. Her hair was disheveled as always, but she was sitting at the counter in front of a laptop, with glasses and a look that was set on destroying whatever got in her way. A big cup of steaming coffee was beside her; I doubted she got much sleep.

"Okay, so this is the current situation," Zoey sat beside Jessie and in front for me. "We're going to call NASH and make a deal with Georges Nass."

"Nass?"

Jessie nodded. "Nass sounded better than Nash. I came up with it."

"Damn right you did," Zoey high-fived her. "Let's call him."

The phone rang for a few seconds before a robotic female vice answered. Zoey cracked her neck and put the call on speaker. "Me first," mouthed Jessie.

"Hello, this is Jessie Curtis, calling for Georges Nass."

The woman seemed confused. "Mr. Nash, you mean? Do you have an appointment?"

"For a call? No, darling. Transfer him to us, please."

"I'm sorry, miss Curtis. Mr. Nash is a very busy man."

"Listen, we're from Elisa, the antique store he wants to buy. I'm sure he can make time for us. Unless you want us to pop by and tell him that you've come in the way of him making a deal?"

Her voice got jittery. "Just a moment."

A moment later, we heard: "Georges Nash speaking. You're the owners of Elisa, correct?" He sounded like he'd been making fun of them.

"Correct," Zoey said, just as Jessie was shoving her middle finger onto the phone. "We want to talk to you about a deal."

"A deal?" He laughed, "The only deal I would like to talk about is the one where you sell your store to me, for a great price."

"Well, your deal was refused. We're making a new one. It's the only one you're getting."

"You're not asking for more money, I hope? I didn't know greed was a part of your values, Miss Hunter."

"Well, Georges. It isn't. One of my values, though, is Elisa. And I'm guessing one of yours is money. Paying us to give you the store won't work. How about a challenge instead?"

Georges hummed, amused. "A challenge? I thought that I was dealing with adults and not children?"

Zoey clenched her fist and gave the phone on the counter a glare. Jessie whispered: "We thought we were dealing with an adult and not an arse, but we were both wrong."

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Zoey smiled. "Listen to us. Since you think that our store isn't worth having around, we're proposing this. If Elisa makes more than NASH in the next month, you leave us alone. From March 1st until April 1st."

He stayed silent for a moment, then followed the girls' train of thought."And if Elisa wins, I leave you alone? And my business gets run over just because of your little deal, correct?"

"When Elisa wins," corrected Zoey, "Your business can be discussed with the store on the other side. The chocolate store, Cocoa's. Offer your money to them, because we don't want or need it. You have nothing to lose, offering us this deal. Your restaurant's doing fine, isn't it?"

Her friend cocked an eyebrow at that, because technically, they did need the money. The fight to win would be hard, but it would be worth it. Zoey understood that as well, but she was fully focused on convincing Nass of her deal.

"Absolutely, Miss Hunter. I have time to lose, though. I'm a busy man, and I don't have the time for these childish deals. How much money do you want?"

"None," her voice was piercing, "I guess our store will have nothing to do with you. At least with our suggestion, you had a chance of getting our store. Unfortunately, your mistrust in your restaurant's abilities came back to bite you in the ass. The procedures to get the store would have taken the same amount of time that the challenge would have. But—I digress. You're afraid of losing, and I'd try to understand that, but I have faith in my store. Thanks for your time—"

"I am not afraid of losing," the humor was gone; replaced by annoyance.

"Okay then. Accept the deal."

"No."

"You keep contradicting yourself."

And if I had to see Georges Nash's face at the moment, I imagined it as an old man with fumes coming out of his ears. "I am not."

"Then, accept the deal."

"I will."

A grin appeared on Jessie's face, and I saw the gratitude she felt towards having Zoey around. I recognized it, because that was how I felt everyday.

"Perfect," she smiled.

"Come by the restaurant to discuss the details of this deal tomorrow, 10 a.m. I don't like tardiness."

Zoey nodded. "Neither do I, Georges. Goodbye."

He hung up without another word, but we didn't need anything to know that Elisa had just won its first fight against NASH, one of many.

She didn't even consider him saying no, because even the impossible could be reached, with her.

-

Moon Café, 7:30 p.m.

Somehow—I ended up being completely right.

The world doesn't give without taking. I got the girl, my social life was finally right, my heart didn't ache as much anymore, but that didn't make the world happy. I had, of course, to suffer somewhere else, somewhere I didn't need to.

I absolutely didn't want to get fired, but more than that, I didn't need to get fired.

Being a college student meant that any income helped, even if it was a pound. Everything helped, to bring food home, to pay off tuition. My dad helped and so did living with someone who wasn't in college, but I still needed to feel stable on my feet.

The manager didn't seem to care, while delivering me the news. He sat me down and calmly explained that they didn't need me anymore. The other waiters and waitress, coincidentally his kids, wanted more hours. His wife had also retired from her job as a teacher, so she was willing to take care of the café. He was prepared to pay me a little more than usual just to sing on certain nights, but "my services as a waiter were no longer needed." Even that money wouldn't help out, but I couldn't say no.

I was meant to perform right after that conversation. All I wanted to do was break a chair over that stage, but instead—I stuck to doing what I needed to do. So, I sat on the stool. Waited for the lights to become dim, for the clients to settle into the arms of their friends and lovers. Smiled at my friends.

Despite my habit to play classics or covers of all-time known songs, I changed the set list to my favorite old songs. Almost as a goodbye to the café, almost to calm the bitterness that was tingling in my fingers.

Little did I know how much fonder I'd get of the people in front of me. There was something about Elvis Presley and Frank Sinatra that shut me out of the world and brought me to love all that deserved to be loved.

My eyes couldn't leave Zoey even if they needed to."With each word your tenderness grows. Tearin' my fear apart. And that laugh," and somehow, I felt if her smile was a song, it would be as eternally soft as these songs, "wrinkles your nose. Touches my foolish heart."

The performance passed by like a breeze, I was soon sitting with Jessie, Camilla, Adrian and Zoey at a window-side table. The café offered us one last meal on the house, considering the fact that I'd gotten fired. Zoey was the one who'd gotten the most angry.

"They can't do that!" She almost choked on her sandwich, and with a piece of lettuce stuck between her teeth, she added: "You can only fire someone with a solid reason, not because you don't need them. That's absolute and total bullshit."

"Hm, that's true, babe," Jessie nodded, with a very serious face. "It's also true that you've got lettuce between your teeth, but no one's complaining about that." We all laughed, but Adrian just managed a weak chuckle.

Zoey shut her lips and tried to clean it off with her tongue, but then turned to me and flashed her teeth. "So?"

"Still there."

"Fuck. I'll go clean it off in the bathroom then. But hey," she grinned, "you still like me like this?"

"I don't," said Adrian, who had, until then, been quietly sipping on his drink.

I expected some kind of reaction from Jessie, but she just glanced at him and asked Camilla a question about the food. I'd have to ask him about the rotten mood later.

Zoey's face was still near mine, so I just laughed. "Always, love."

"Eh, sounds good to me," she shrugged. She got up, "just for your information, though, if it was you, I would have said a very solid no."

"That's a lie and we both know it."

After a small pause of realizing I was right, she went to the bathroom. The rest of the girls followed her; they suddenly had a craving for the chocolate—peanut butter-coffee flavored milkshakes the café sold.

Adrian didn't look up from his empty plate. It was then that I noticed the bags under his eyes, the lack of hair care on his head and the messed-up collar of his shirt. If Adrian loved three things, they were Jessie, his job and looking good. If one of these three was in trouble, all fell apart.

"You doing all right, mate?"

He shook his head, and the sadness in his eyes was enough. "I think she doesn't love me anymore. We've been fighting for the past two weeks over stupid shit. I fucked up. I mentioned that I'd like to marry her someday I think, I was pissed and half-asleep. She's been picking fights with me ever since. I'm not this guy, the guy who says shit like that when I'm half-asleep. I'm Casanova Adrian, the guy who broke hearts. But I think she's breaking mine. Soon. Don't say anything."

We sat there for a moment, as I took in his words. The pain he felt hit me, I'd known him for so long that I understood how messed up he must have felt. He was a flirt, a Romeo to too many Juliets, but he wasn't used to being rejected.

"I won't."

"Your turn," he said.

"I'm doing great."

He rolled his eyes, "don't give me that. Spit it out before they come back."

"I want to punch my ex-manager in the eye. I actually loved this job, but I don't know how I'm going to manage without it. I need it. I can't pay rent without this job."

"Don't worry about that, I'll cover this month's rent. My Christmas bonus was unbelievable."

"I'll get another job soon."

"Don't worry about it."

Zoey slid back in the chair next to me, very happily drinking her milkshake. She noticed me looking at her, and said: "You want some?"

"No, it's fine," I wasn't about to tell her that I just liked looking at her. "Really."

"Okay," she took a second straw out and put it in the drink. She pushed the drink in front of me and waited a few seconds. "Don't drink more than half of it."

I drank more than half of it and she gave a whole speech about how she doesn't share food with anyone, and that I should have respected the rules and the privilege she gave me. With a completely straight face. Consecutively, she laughed for a whole minute at herself and mumbled: "I'm so weird."

Camilla's eyes caught mine, and I remembered her words on that December night. I think that's what it is with you and her. If it's meant to be, you'll end up together. Her head was a little tilted and she gave me a subtle thumbs up on the table.

"Thank you," I mouthed. She nodded in response, taking a large sip of her drink.

"Guys!" Zoey chirped up, "and ladies! We should do a toast. For Nico's great performance tonight and the deal that we got for Elisa!"

Our glasses went up, and everyone was looking at Jessie and Zoey to speak. "Okay," Jessie took the lead. "This is to our young Elvis Presley slash softie slash talent filled singer. And to two wonderful, great, strong women who are about to crush Nass! Cheers to all of us."

I accepted the title she gave me, and continued drinking the glass of water I had. Zoey nudged me, and what remained of her milkshake was mine. "Here you go, love. You need it," she whispered. "Hm. I see the appeal of using love. It makes me warm, so it does the same for you. You've got little goose bumps on your arm."

Damn her.

Camilla spoke up, the smile on her face seemingly permanent. "So, what's next for you? What's next for the plan?"

"We're doing a whole ton of publicity for Elisa. Posters, art teaching classes. The goal is to get people to know about Elisa, in order to fight for it," Jessie explained. "Nico's gonna put up posters in some parts of his uni, to let the art-lovers know about the place. College students are really passionate about everything, so we thought why not get them passionate about our shop?"

"I can give you a shout out," added Adrian. "On my radio show. I'll pull some strings and get one of our guests to visit. It'll be a major hit."

His girlfriend's face turned sour. "You don't have to."

"I want to."

"Yeah, Jess! It sounds great," Zoey noticed the curly-haired change of attitude and tried to get rid of the awkwardness seeping through. "Thanks, Adrian. That would help a lot."

Camilla pushed her chair away. "Well, I better go. I've got an essay to write."

"Really?" a grimace came from Jessie, "it's only ten thirty."

"I've told you, my dad gets mad if I'm not home before eleven on weekdays," she chuckled shyly, "he's strict and honestly, I'm not in the mood for a speech. I'll see you later."

Adrian stood up as well, "I'm tired. I think I'm going home too." His eyes flickered towards Jessie, almost expecting her to say that she'd be coming too. "Jess?"

She toyed with a loose strand of her hair. "Yeah?"

"Nevermind." He pecked her cheek hastily, "I'll call you later."

"Sure." As soon as he walked out, she cursed out loud.

Zoey was about to confront her about the weird way she talked to him, but she decided to do it later. Talking to her in front of me wasn't the best choice, considering the fact that Jessie thought that I'd tell him everything. She wouldn't be wrong either; I would. He was like a brother to me.

"I know," Jessie said. She absently chewed on her straw. "Things have been a little tough, that's all. Don't look at me like that."

"I wasn't."

"You were."

"You were," I agreed with Jessie.

"Nicolas! I wasn't."

"You were."

Jessie chuckled. "You were, babe."

"Okay. I was."

-

Disregarding my dislike for the chilly, freezing weather that London suffered of this February, Zoey piled on two winter coats, gave me a thick blanket and dragged me onto her roof. The weather's bipolar weather caused the ice to have melted, but a thin layer of snow was on the ground. I had to look around the roof for a few minutes to check for ice, but lucky for us—everything was set up for a good night.

"Remind me again, why the hell are we up here? It's cold."

"Cry baby," she opened her arms and went by railing. "Because London is beautiful. Do you feel the snow? It's so lovely."

My hands caught hers and the blanket covered both of us. "Debatable. Cities aren't as beautiful as people."

"No," she shifted towards me a little. "Places are a lot kinder than people. They just do their own thing, without caring. People walk through them and mess everything up. Can you imagine cities without the harm they've suffered because of people?"

"No. But can you imagine Paris without the Eiffel tower, or Italy without Pisa? People can make cities better."

A heavy sigh. "Yeah, I guess. I'm just saying, I love how cities just shine. The lights go off and on, but their beauty remains."

"Aren't people the same?"

"Hm," she shrugged, "not in the same way."

"Why don't you?"

"Me what?"

She faced me now, intrigued. "Do your own thing; not let the lights bother you."

"Oh," her lips were a little purple, but she didn't seem cold. A little laugh came out. "Obscure, deep words that just mean why aren't you painting, huh?"

I didn't answer. She put her injured hand in my face. "I'm scared."

"Well," I held up her other hand, "people learn how to be ambidextrous. Try with the other hand. Just try it slower. Take your time, there's no rush."

"There kind of is, though. My hand helps with the money."

"Your talent does. Your hands just help that out."

Her eyes were big and curious. "You think that could work?"

I broke apart from her. The pocket-sized sketch book Jessie secretly gave me an hour earlier was in her hands now. I gave her a sharpened pencil. Her hesitation was palpable, but I gave a slight nod.

"Okay, I'm doing this. I need a chair. I'll go—"

Opening the rooftop door, I dragged a folded chair out. She gave me a look of disbelief. "How? I was right beside you all along."

"Jessie," I said. "I had a little faith that you'd give it a shot."

She sat down, but not before giving me a soft kiss. Today's worries were gone, for now. She was so wonderful that it was hard to feel anything but that. The pencil in her left hand was shaking, but she still softened its edge by harshly scrubbing it on a corner of the page. I stood by the railing, in hopes to give her the time she needed to begin.

"Nicolas. I don't know what to draw."

"The sky?"

"No, it's too dark for the clouds to be apparent enough," she tapped her pencil on the paper. "Would you mind—"

"If you drew me? Of course not. Look at me," I gave her a sheepish smile. That earned a laugh out of her. "I'm an artistic gold mine."

All of her hair was tucked into her jackets, so her head was very similar to an egg's. If anything, it just made her features hit the dim light more. "Shut up, Nicolas. I'm going to draw you anyway."

"Like one of your French girls?"

"Exactly!" She exclaimed, but then in a more hushed voice, she said: "Now, don't talk. I need to concentrate."

A few minutes of silence later, she was staring at the page. She had only sketched a little, but she was biting her lip. The stress on her shoulders was floating in the air, and somehow, it was colder than the weather itself. I felt horrible, suddenly. Like I'd pressured her too much. She needed more time, maybe.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she exhaled. "Can you talk, please? I need music to concentrate, but I guess your voice will have to do." A shadow of a smile was on her face, and the attempt to lift her own spirits was evident.

"About what? Is there anything specific?"

"No—well, anything you love. It lights up people's faces. Kinda helps to make the portrait come to life."

"Okay, then. Uh, well. You don't really know this about me, but as a kid, I was crazy about space. Not physical space, but actual space. I had all the constellations written down on the wall beside my bed, my mum had a fit when she saw them, and I'd force my mum to tell me a story about each one. I had a mini telescope and everything. I had the crazy idea that different creatures lived on each planet. Like Mars, there were Martians. Venus had very beautiful mermaids. Jupiter, I think, had giants. I did my research at school, but my mum would spend at least an hour per day reading about each planet to tell me more. I don't remember a lot more, I just know that I still look up at the stars and feel like a kid. Bit more helpless, less passionate."

"But you still love it?" she was taken aback, but focused. Her strokes went from calculated to careless, but I saw it. I saw the fire in her again.

"The space?"

"Mhm."

"Always."

She didn't say much after that. I kept talking, and the time passed. I told her about each planet, and what creature it had. It was all silly and I expected her to start laughing, but she grew fonder of her drawing with each fleeting moment.

Sooner than later, she put the pencil behind her ear and looked at the drawing. "Look," she said. "Look at it."

"It's perfect," I didn't have to think about it. I didn't know much about art, but I recognized myself in the drawing. It wasn't as powerful as her other portraits, but it still was tainted with passion.

"It's not," she cracked her finger. "I still have to work on getting some things right. But it's done. Oh my God," the sketchbook fell from her hands and onto the ground. Her hands were unsteady, but a big smile took over her face. "I can draw! I mean, it's not what it was, but I freaking like it! I'll start practicing tomorrow, I'll make time for it. I could have an entire new set of them done by the end of Elisa's deal with NASH, and preview them in the store. Oh my God, Nicolas! I can draw."

She threw herself onto me, arms around my neck. She stuffed her face in my shoulder. I knew she was crying, but it was out of happiness. Her heart wasn't much of a burden for her to carry around anymore. She kissed me over and over, saying "thank you" in between each kiss.

"Couldn't have done this without you," shouted Zoey, a little too loudly, in my ear. "I made it! I can draw!"

"And I never doubted you," I answered.

She backed away, but I still held her. "Your pants just vibrated."

"It's probably just a drunken text from Adrian."

"Hm," her jackets seemed to swallow her. "I'm hot. Not bothered, but just hot. And tired. And happy. Wow," she stared at the sketch on the ground. "I did it."

We retreated back to her flat, where she went to sleep as soon as her head hit the pillows and I sat out on the couch. Sleep was never a friend of mine. So, I watched recordings of an American show that she loved and looked through my phone. It had turned out that Adrian's drunken text was actually an e-mail from Klein & Co, which was one of the firms I applied for an internship in.

Klein & Co, an architecture firm, was my top choice for an internship. And they had just offered me an interview sometime in March for their program. The joy I felt was instant, as an internship with them could be the road to a career with them as well.

There was only problem, because everything had been too good to be true.

Their office was in New York.
-
SORRY IF ANYTHING'S MESSY OR WHATEVER, BUT HEYO! cliffhangers are back!!

h a

you thought they'd be happy for long. nico's chapters are always tough to write, but this one's finished! as zoey's chaps are always a breeze to write, the next one should be up this weekend/Monday/Tuesday.

who thinks that:

-he won't go to the interview?

-he'll go but get refused, so yay zico!?

-he'll go, get accepted, and it'll be mailboy 2.0?

-he won't even tell zoey about it at all, because again, once a leaver always a leaver?

-anything else?

(it's probably none of these. hahaha, sorry.)

also, I love you lots! reminder: you're doing great, and you probably deserve 100% of a better day than your day was or will be today. 

love, yas