Chapter 3

Portrait Of My Desire
by Rhonda Findling

(Page 5 of 11)

"These are excellent sketches, Sharon. You've made a lot of progress in the few weeks you've been here," her art instructor at the Art Students League commented, while scrupulously examining her drawings.

"Thanks Sam," Sharon responded enthusiastically, knowing that Sam's reputation for honest criticism could border on bluntness. His hoop earrings, shaved head and tall stature was exactly how Sharon envisioned a male New York artist to look. He was middle aged, Black, and said to be known in Paris for his outstanding abstract art. Rumor had it that he was married to an opera singer, who was famous throughout Europe.

" I hope you're sketching a lot outside of class, because the more you practice the better you'll get," he added, still looking at her work.

"I've been sketching a lot at museums."

"Good," he said in a very serious tone. " Because I'm going to be on your case." He walked over to another student who was working furiously on his drawing.

Thrilled by Sam's positive feedback, she barely noticed that the class was breaking up. She looked at her watch. It was almost noon. Nina was expecting her at 12:30. After packing up her art supplies, she quickly left the building.

It was a beautiful, brisk, sunny January afternoon, so she decided to walk uptown to Nina's apartment instead of taking the bus. Looking at the the monstrous, tall buildings precisely lined up for blocks on end, still gave her goose bumps. Sharon couldn't imagine ever getting tired of noisy, turbulent, crowded, dizzily energetic, New York City. She literally breathed in the sight of all the bustling stores and fabulous restaurants, filled with people from all over the world.. Everything about New York was amazing. She just wished she had come here sooner.

She knew how incredibly lucky she was to find an apartment in Manhattan so quickly. A friend of Ned's was a journalist, who had just got a year long assignment in Europe, so he sublet his Greenwich Village apartment to Sharon. The apartment was perfect since she was able to convert the small bedroom into a studio, and sleep on the couch in the living room that opened up to a bed.

Nina was on the phone when she got to her apartment. Helping herself to a cup of tea, Sharon admired the homey kitchen with old-fashioned cabinets freshly painted white, filled with hand painted ceramic coffee mugs. The window sill was covered with a whole array of colorful plants at different states of blooming, giving the room an exotic flair.

Nina hung up the phone. "That was Ned. He's been representing a modeling agency and the owners are giving a party tonight, so we have to go. There's going to be skinny models there so I should probably start dieting immediately," Nina said, getting out cream cheese and lox from the refrigerator.

"What are you worried about? Ned loves you. He'd never leave you for a model," Sharon reassured her, putting out fresh bagels she bought in a bakery on the way over.

"I know but I've gained almost twenty pounds since we've been married." Nina sat down at her small colonial kitchen table sighing loudly. "I've got to lose some weight."

"You always look fantastic," Sharon responded, layering her bagel with lox.

"Thanks, but I'd do anything to be like you. Eat anything I want and never gain weight," Nina replied, pouring skim milk from a container into her coffee.

"Well I'd rather be taller. I'd do anything to have longer legs."

"I'd give up the four inches I have on you to not have to diet," Nina answered smearing a thin layer of cream cheese on a cinnamon bagel. "So what's going on with your search for daddy?"

"Can you believe I've gone to every return address from the cards and talked to all of the supers and landlords? No one's ever heard of him. I think I may have to get a part time job so I can hire a private investigator."

"Shoot, I almost forgot," Nina reached for her purse on the floor. "Mother called this morning and told me she remembered that one of daddy's cousins lived in Westchester County. She's a second cousin, and we met her one time when we were little kids. I have her name and address here somewhere," Nina explained, fumbling through her purse.

Sharon could feel the hurt that was still fresh from their parting words, at the mere mention of her mother. "I didn't think daddy had any relatives who were still alive."

"Well, all mother remembered was that she use to live in Wisconsin, and moved with her husband to New York around twenty years ago. I found it," Nina said handing Sharon the paper with the information.

"Did she ask about me?"

"Just if I see you and then she changed the subject."

"She always has to be so in control," Sharon commented, while staring at the paper. "Ethel O'Reilly. I don't think I remember her."

"Either do I," Nina responded. "But try it anyway."

Sharon called information. "It's listed!" Sharon shrieked, when the operator immediately gave her a phone number. She dialed the phone number but no one answered. "I'll keep calling and send her a letter. I can't believe mother gave me this lead."

"Mother still loves you, even if she did act like a jerk. At least she's trying to help."

"That's true."

"Hey, what are you doing tonight?" Nina asked, refilling their tea with hot water. "Working on my portraits. One of my art instructors complimented my work today. He told me I've already made progress."

"Why don't you take a break and come to the party with us tonight."

"The party for the modeling agency? Isn't that a lawyer kind of thing?"

"No, it's just a regular cocktail party. They'll be lots of interesting of people there. Maybe even celebrities!"

"I don't know if I'll fit in."

"Sharon, remember you wanted to come to New York to meet interesting new people? Maybe a man. I think this could be a great opportunity for you." The memory of all the lonely, depressing nights she sat in her bedroom in Wisconsin sketching men from magazines and her imagination flashed threw her mind.

"Okay, but help me figure out what to where so no one can figure out I'm from some little hick town in the Midwest."

After stepping out of the shower, Sharon brushed her shoulder length, stick straight, brown hair, and wondered why she never did anything special with her hair like Nina did. Her sister always had different hairstyles and even changed the color once in awhile. She searched through her wardrobe, finally settling on a black wool skirt to go with the pink angora sweater that Nina lent her.

When Sharon arrived at the address where the party was being held, she was taken aback by the towering, high-rise building. Two doormen watched over the lavish lobby, decorated with a fountain and crystal chandeliers.

When the elevators doors opened at the penthouse, she could hear music and loud chatter coming from the only apartment on the floor. The door was slightly open, so she walked into a humongous room, crammed with glamorous looking people, mingling and drinking cocktails.

While searching for Nina and Ned, Sharon wandered into a less crowded, dimly lit room. There was a pianist dressed in a tuxedo at a baby grand, next to sliding glass doors leading to the terrace. She walked over to a bar at the other end of the room and ordered a white wine Spritzer from a bartender. She turned her attention to the pianist singing Frankie Vali's "Swearin To God."

While scanning the room looking for Nina, she saw a strikingly handsome man who resembled the type of man she drew from her imagination all these years. He had dark, Mediterranean coloring, blown back black hair, and a mustache. His blue, pin stripe, three peice suit, emphasized his tall, well built physique. He looked like he just stepped out of GQ magazine. Sharon wondered if he was a famous model or actor. He was speaking to two women at once, and seemed to exude an air of confidence mixed with a hint of arrogance.

Through the people standing between them, Sharon strained to examine two women who appeared to be staring at him with open adoration, competing for his attention. One was a statuesque blonde wearing a mini skirt and the other had a white, clingy dress that looked like a slip. They were beautiful, so Sharon figured they must be models from the agency Ned was representing. Now, they were laughing as he spoke.

About the Author

www.rhondafindling.com
Rhonda Findling, M.A.,C.R.C. is the author of "Don't Call That Man! A Survival Guide To Letting Go" (Hyperion), "The Commitment Cure" (Adams Media) and "The Dating Cure" (Adams Media) and her debut novel "Portrait of My Desire". She is a dating coach and psychotherapist. She has been in private practice in New York for the past 20 years and consults (by telephone) with clients all over the world.