Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Bess

R eaching the end of the hallway, we spilled inside a large art studio. Individual tables and easels were scattered across the space. Huge, panelled windows reached all the way to the high ceiling, framing an even more impressive mountain view than in the dining hall. Like a modern cathedral, I thought.

“It’s a nice view,” Charlie confirmed, and I realized I’d gasped out loud.

He led us to a table by the window wall, pulling out a seat for me.

I spied the other attendees, checking if they were going to sit or stand. There were only two other guys besides Charlie. One reminded me of George and the other one had a flamboyant vibe. His pink shirt and blue suspenders stood out against the sea of black like a clown outfit, but his expression didn’t seem particularly friendly. After a moment’s observing, I deduced he and the George lookalike were a couple, which led me to the frightening realization that Charlie was the only available, straight man in a room full of women.

It didn’t seem to take much longer for the said women to realize the same. They bombarded him with sideways looks and smiles, casting silent questions at me. I took a step away from him, hoping to signal we were just colleagues.

A voluptuous woman in bright red glasses and a matching kaftan stepped through the doorway, addressing the class with a bright smile. “Hello everyone! My name is Leonie Miller. I will be your facilitator this week. I’m here to make sure everything goes smoothly.” She gesticulated wildly with her bracelet-adorned hands. “You’re here to unlock your creativity. The first things we ask you to do when you enter the studio is to turn off that phone. Don’t use it unless you absolutely must. We believe in freedom, but we don’t believe reading work emails or browsing social media ever helps. You’re here to journey into your own mind. It’s the greatest adventure you’ll ever take!”

Charlie cast me a half-terrified glance, but turned off his phone, along with the rest of the class. I felt a bit left out since I didn’t have a phone to turn off. Mine had a terrible battery life and was currently charging in the cabin.

“I recommend you also try to turn off those work-related thoughts. You may have a creative problem that you’re actively trying to solve. You may feel stuck. You may feel like you need to keep at it, but trust me, you don’t. The only way you’re going to get anything out of this week is by immersing yourself in the activities and exercises we offer. Focus on what’s in front of you.”

Charlie angled himself to fully face me, smiling. So, he was going to focus on me? Not sure what to do with my eyes, I turned to face the table.

Leonie’s voice rose with excitement. “We have a couple of very exciting visiting teachers this week. You can check the schedule at the reception and on our website. Now, without further ado, let’s get onto the first exercise. Surprise!” She flicked her wrist at the door and a young man in a white apron carried in a huge stockpot, setting it on a table. He ran back and soon reappeared with a stack of paper plates and a ladle.

“Let’s thank Tag, our kitchen helper for his assistance.” She mimed applause, and the class clapped.

Tag cast a wild look at the pot, nodded and rushed off.

“Are we having soup?” Charlie raised his voice, grinning at the facilitator.

Leonie smiled back, unperturbed. “This should be mashed potato. Let’s have a look.” She removed the lid and peered inside. Her glasses fogged. “Oops. It’s still a bit warm, but I’m sure it’ll cool down soon.” She took the ladle and began filling plates with huge piles of mashed potato, passing them onto two of the closest ladies, who distributed to the rest of the class.

I lowered down to sniff at my plate. It smelled and looked like actual mashed potato, but there had to be a trick.

“What do you think it really is?” I whispered to Charlie, who scooped a bit onto his finger and into his mouth. “Stop,” I hissed. “What if it has glue in it or something? She didn’t tell us to eat it.”

“I can’t taste any glue,” Charlie mused, shoving another sample into his mouth.

“No glue!” Leonie confirmed. “Only fresh mashed potato we will use for sculpting. Don’t eat all of it.”

I stared at the pile on my plate, trying to swallow the lump that began swelling in my throat. So much food. Someone had made enough mashed potato to feed an army, and we were supposed to play with it? No wonder the kitchen helper had looked so pained.

“What are we supposed to make?” asked one of the ladies.

“Anything you want!” Leonie declared. “Don’t think too much. Let your fingers guide you. Ask the material what it wants to be and let it take you there. There is no failure. There are no limits, except you need to be done in ten minutes. Ready, set, go!”

Charlie rolled his sleeves, peering at his potato plate. “What do you want to be?”

Leonie walked around the room, passing us tools—palette knives, funny looking plastic scalpels, and larger gear I imagined masons would use. I grabbed one blunt knife and began shaping the pile of potato. Maybe if I respected the natural hill-shape on the plate, I would end up with something that was still edible after the exercise.

“What are you doing?” Charlie voice brought me back to the room.

I looked around and noticed most people had abandoned the tools and were working with their hands, shaping and molding the potato like it was clay. I saw phallic towers, busts and one perfect sphere. Charlie’s pile had turned into an abstract, gravity-defying shape I couldn’t make any sense of.

“I… I don’t know,” I muttered, staring at the anthill on my plate. It was still a pile of mashed potato, just tidier.

“Time!” Leonie approached us. “Drop your tools and step away from the table. It’s time to walk around the room and see everyone’s creations.”

I dropped the knife, my stomach in knots. There was no failure, yet I’d managed to fail. I hadn’t thought outside the box, not even a little. I trailed behind Charlie as we wandered around the room, viewing each other’s creations like we were visiting a prestigious art gallery. Nobody said anything about my boring anthill, but I could feel the judgment in the air. Leonie made appreciative noises on every out-breath, thoughtfully commenting on each potato sculpture. It was incredible how quickly we’d all fallen in line with the new dynamic—grown up professionals vying for praise for completing a ten-minute kindergarten activity.

No one received more praise than Charlie. He’d pushed his potatoes to the limit, creating a sculpture that resembled a cat-like animal in motion. “If only there was a way to preserve this,” Leonie exhaled, her eyes filled with reverence.

When she got to me, she took a beat to compose herself. “It’s very… tidy. Maybe don’t worry so much about making a mess next time?”

She pivoted on her heels and returned to the front of the class, talking animatedly about creativity and risk-taking, mentioning Charlie by name at least three times. She must have known him since nobody was wearing a name tag. I could tell the other ladies were storing the information.

Dwelling on my failure, I missed the beginning of Leonie’s next exercise. It had something to do with paint, or pain. Probably pain.

I spent the rest of the morning trying to emulate Charlie’s approach to dealing with anything thrown at us—dried flowers, paper plates, Jenga blocks and glue… I didn’t shine, but I blended in. As time went on, Leonie’s enthused voice grew a tad wary, even if she tried to offer me some encouragement. She had her pet student in Charlie, which was fine with me. All I wanted was to hide in my corner and not be noticed for the rest of the day, or however many days I had to stay here to not anger my boss.

When Leonie announced it was lunch time, I tidied up our tools and materials, eager to get out. I could feel Charlie’s eyes on me.

“Are you okay?” He cornered me, stepping so close that I instinctively shifted further away. He kept advancing until my back was against the window. “You seem… distressed. No. Anxious.”

“Thanks for the psychoanalysis, but I’m hungry. Can we go to lunch?” I pasted on a smile to satisfy his concerns.

Charlie narrowed his eyes, staring at me for an unnervingly long time. “So, what did you think of the exercises?”

“They were fine. Lots of variety. You?”

“I lost the sense of time. I must have been in a state of flow.”

“Sounds great.” I could have sworn the morning had already lasted about 24 hours.

“It happens when you are working on something that you’re skilled at but that’s almost too hard. Did you feel like it was too easy or too hard, maybe?” He studied my face like I was a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

My insides swirled with a hint of nausea. “It was hard, I guess. Especially the potato one. I have a hard time playing with food. I mean, I’ve been teaching my daughter the opposite for years.” I attempted to smile.

His jaw dropped. “Huh.”

“Can we go to lunch now?” I asked again. My stomach growled. “Otherwise, I’ll eat my potato sculpture.”

Charlie’s laugh sounded embarrassed. “Of course.”

Leaving my pile of worthless sketches on the table, I let him escort me towards the doorway. I noticed one of the ladies had also stayed back and joined us at the door.

“Hi! Charlie, is it? I was really impressed with your work this morning. I’m Miranda, from Wave Collective.” She offered him her hand, tossing a strand of expertly colored honey blond hair over her shoulder.

“Great to meet you.” Charlie gave her a quick handshake and gestured for her to go ahead of us. Instead, she parked herself at the doorway, blocking our way with her giant handbag.

“I’m so glad to bump into you, to be honest. We’ve been following Wilde Creative for a while, and I’m so impressed with your work. That cheesecake campaign… Inspired! I’d love to talk to you about it.”

My stomach grumbled even louder at the mention of cheesecake. Charlie laughed. “That’s great. I appreciate it. Let’s have a chat later.”

She lowered her voice, a wicked smile making her eyes glint. “You know about the hot tub under the stars, right? I heard it’s incredible. I’m going tonight and wouldn’t mind seeing you there.” She winked at him.

She was probably in her forties and looked immaculate.

Charlie turned to me with an exaggerated grin. “Did you hear that, honey? A hot tub under the stars! This is going to be the best anniversary.”

I stared at him, stunned silent.

“She’s so excited she can’t even process it,” he explained to Miranda.

Her flirty smile gradually faded into disbelief, then genuine surprise as she witnessed Charlie slipping his arm around me. “Babe, I told you this was a five-star place, didn’t I?” He turned to Miranda, who was now only hanging around out of sheer politeness, her focus on the phone she’d unearthed from the giant bag. “She was so disappointed when she found out our cabin didn’t have a bathtub.”

“Uh-huh. I hope you enjoy!” Miranda flashed us a forced smile and stepped into the hallway, waving her hand.

As soon as she was out of earshot, I turned to Charlie, my insides flaming. “What was that ?”

“I’m so sorry. I can’t take these women. Not this week. Please, help me. Please!” He pressed his palms together, those blue eyes begging for… what, exactly?

“What do you want from me?”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just, don’t correct them. Let them assume we’re together, and they’ll leave me alone.”

I drew a breath. “First of all, there are plenty of women who couldn’t care less about your relationship status. They’ll see it as a fun challenge. Second, they might ask questions. What do you expect me to tell them?”

Charlie blinked, confused. “Why would they ask questions? What kind of questions?”

I had to raise my voice to talk over my gurgling stomach. “Questions like ‘how did you two meet?’ or ‘how long have you been together?’”

“That’s easy. We met through work, and we’ve been together for two years. This is our two-year anniversary.”

“So, basically from the day I started at Wilde Creative?”

Charlie laughed. “What can I say? You caught my eye.”

He’d called me Becca for the first two days, until I’d corrected him.

“Okay.” I sighed. “I’ll try to keep my facts straight.” I was here to assist Charlie, in any way I could, and nobody could say I didn’t go the extra mile.

“Don’t worry. We can iron out the details in the hot tub.”

That’s right. I didn’t have a choice. He’d introduced me as a devoted hot tub enthusiast. It didn’t matter that I’d packed an awful, fraying swimsuit I’d only planned on using alone, in the dark.

“I didn’t pack a swimsuit,” I lied. “I didn’t realize there was a hot tub.”

“Really? There’s a huge picture on the website.”

“I must have missed it. Sorry.” I bit my lip.

I had to get out of this. No other human with eyes was allowed to see that two-piece.

“That’s okay. We’ll go shopping in Cozy Creek!”

I swallowed. I’d sidestepped one horror, only to land into another. I imagined myself posing in various bikinis as Charlie voiced his opinions. No way in hell.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Charlie corrected, seeing my horrified expression. “I’d drive you there and hand you a credit card.”

I nodded, feeling a little better. “Lunch?”

“Okay, let’s go before you pass out.”

He placed his hand on my lower back and guided me to the hallway. I tried to ignore the sensation, but the full body tingling only intensified, zeroing in between my legs. I couldn’t control the reaction any more than I could control my rapid breathing. I’d been alone for so long that my body had its own ideas by now, completely independent from my brain. Oh, dear God. This gig was getting harder by the minute.