A Masterpiece

Claire sat alone at the bar, finishing her drink and doodling on a cocktail napkin. Monae, in typical fashion, had swung in, ordered a drink, and within minutes had rushed off to tend to her husband and a diaper crisis at home. Just as well, Claire stood to leave when something across the room stole her attention.

She cocked her head to the left, then right. She stepped back, one finger tapping her lips. Hmm. Maybe. If she were able to…

A man in a suit entered and blocked her view. He was good looking, broad shouldered and strong. He smiled his knowing smile, recited the lines that always worked. Light jazz drifted beneath the conversations.

Claire paid the suit no mind. She’d already worked with stone, in college, chipping away but never able to get it right. Stone had been fun, albeit rigid. And while sometimes she missed those long, endless days of freedom and exploration, life came calling.

Monae had suggested more malleable materials. And as Claire gazed across the room, she thought her friend and her husband and their baby girl. Maybe it was time to work with something she could form, round the edges, bend to her will. She laughed, thinking about Monae’s husband struggling with a diaper change. As the saying went, a work of art is never finished, merely abandoned.

Claire had abandoned and been abandoned. She’d never gotten it just right.

She was in no mood to chisel. She let the suit down easy. She finished her glass of wine. Across the room she caught his eye. A moment later she introduced herself.

His name was Clay, and Claire smiled broadly. Clay was there with friends, but not for long. They found a table and Claire took it from there.

A few days later, Clay arrived to take her to dinner. Claire found it cute how he was so nervous. She noticed he’d missed a few buttons on his shirt. She smiled, fixed the buttons, pat his chest and continued to the car.

Clay was in IT Architecture, whatever that was. He brewed his own beer. Claire learned a lot about yeast on their first date. She set her hand on his arm and asked what he knew about grapes. There was a vineyard not far away.

The next week she bought Clay a new shirt. She kissed him when he wore it to the vineyard. They sipped wine, sampled cheeses. No beer. Claire smiled.

After a month, Clay asked Claire if she’d like to come over for dinner. He cooked spaghetti and meatballs. She asked if he’d been to Florence. He presented two bottles of wine, asked which she’d like.

The house was spacious. It had potential. It was clear Clay had not spent a lot of time around women. Clay had been to a lot of professional wrestling events. Claire bet that was fun.

She brought him to a poetry reading, where she introduced Clay to a couple of her author friends. They celebrated three months together with a trip to the beach. Clay’s hair had grown out, and he mentioned getting it cut. Claire ran her hands through his hair. He canceled the appointment.

On their one-year anniversary they returned to the bar. No sign of Florence yet but there was time. Light jazz played. Clay sipped wine. He seemed jumpy. Claire sat back. She cocked her head and looked him over. She smiled to herself then covertly glanced at her freshly manicured left hand, savoring the moment.

Clay reached into his pocket. A hush came over the bar. Claire’s eyes moistened as he turned to her. Claire held her breath. He pulled out two tickets to WrestleMania. Next weekend.

Claire blinked, smiled then ordered another glass of wine.

A work of art is never finished.