Intaglio Dragons All The Way Down

chapter 19: Blacking the Plate



Ava scowled at the zinc plate; one-tenth of the surface was pitted with the fine-toothed grain of the mezzotint rocker, but the rest of the image was perfectly visible. Her arm burned; she was never going to get this done.

“Goddamn motherf*cker,” Ava growled, massaging her bicep.

Cole snickered, glancing up from his seat across the table from her, writing in his notebook for Marta. It was late, and the studio was empty, except for the two of them. Cole’s eighth plate had been finished since yesterday while Ava was struggling to make up the missed time from earlier this week. It might be Friday night, but they wouldn’t be going out to The Crown with Suzanne and Chim.

“You want some help?” Cole asked, dropping his pen.

Ava grimaced.

“I don’t want to waste your time,” she mumbled. “You have stuff to get done too.”

“True...” Cole admitted, his eyes devious, “but you could always make it worth my while.”

Ava snorted in response.

“As fun as a little ‘quick and dirty’ in the print lab sounds, I’m going to say no...”

Cole set down his book, leaning across the table. His wolfish grin left Ava fighting the urge to giggle (or run).

“You know,” Cole murmured, “they don’t have cameras in the studios, so, uh...”

A barking laugh rose from her chest in an explosion of sound. She cackled again, covering her mouth with her hand. When the giggles subsided, she pointed the rocker at him.

“Look, if I’m not done with this plate, then I have to finish my essay for Wilkins. It’s due on Monday and I haven’t even started yet.”

“Shit!” Cole hissed. “I almost forgot...” He rummaged through his backpack, pulling out a pile of crumpled papers.

“What?” Ava asked, peering at his hands.

“Wilkins asked me to give you this. I totally forgot,” he answered, unfolding and flattening a glossy brochure with his hands. “There’s some kind of curatorial program being offered next year. Graduate level. He thought you might be interested.”

Ava sneered in disbelief.

“Really...? Me?”

She waited for the punchline that never came.

“Yeah, really,” Cole said with a grin. “He likes the way you think. Called it ‘unique.’ Wilkins said to get in contact with him if you want. It actually sounds kind of cool.”

Ava gave the brochure a sceptical once-over.

“Huh. Didn’t see that coming.”

Cole shrugged.

“I think I might apply.”

Again, Ava grinned and waited for the rest of the joke, but it never came. The two of them had argued endlessly about the flaws of the gallery system. She’d never imagined Cole going into that line of work.

“Yeah.” Cole said, winking at her as he picked up his book and pen.

Ava put her palms on the table, her hips against the side as she leaned in. Cole’s eyes flickered to her face, then down to her breasts, before going back to the notebook. She smirked.

‘Cole Thomas has a very one-track mind...’

“You don’t think that’s going over to the dark side?” Ava teased. “Becoming a curator...”

Ava hummed a few bars of the Emperor’s Theme from Star Wars. Cole chuckled, and again there was the flicker of eye movement. Face. Breasts.

“I prefer to think of myself as a revolutionary,” Cole said.

Ava raised an eyebrow.

“Uh-huh...” She grinned, leaning forward to give him a better view down her shirt. Cole reached out, trying to grab her hand, but she pulled it back out of reach.

“Yeah,” Cole said, lifting his chin, “trying to change the system from within.”

Ava paused, imagining the changes Cole could make if he actually became a curator. It was a very political move in the art community, but Cole was already an artist, and that was a good start. He really could make a difference.

“Honestly? That’s pretty cool.”

His smiled grew hungry. He dropped his voice to a purr.

“I could get you a show,” he said, eyes moving up and down, “for a price.”

Ava harrumphed, standing back up again, the distance returning.

“Yup,” she said dryly. “I see where this is going.”

Cole laughed and Ava turned back to the zinc plate. She leaned into the motion and began blacking the surface once more. For another twenty minutes, they worked in silence only broken by the dull grind of the rocker and Cole’s pen. Shifting the plate sideways, Ava hissed. Her arm pulsed with fatigue once more.

“C’mere,” Cole said, smiling patiently. “Give that thing to me... You can owe me one later.”

Ava eyed him with uncertainty.

“You serious? I could really use the help here.” She worried the inside of her lip, undecided.

Cole tapped the edge of the table with his pen.

“Let’s pretend that this is Warhol’s Factory and I’m the cheap labour.”

A smile tugged up at her mouth.

“Which makes me…?”

“Oh, you’re the brains behind the whole thing.” He put out his hand. “C’mon. Give it over. This is a limited time offer, y’know.”

She giggled, sliding the plate across the table, checking him out.

“Well, you do have the arms for it.”

Cole coughed.

“Thanks.”

She leaned forward and passed him the mezzotint rocker.

“This sounds like a pretty good deal for me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re Warhol,” Cole said, winking.

“And you’re the eye candy,” she teased. “I’m imagining you as Edie Sedgwick.”

Cole laughed, reaching out to snag her wrist, tugging her toward him. Ava squealed as her hips hit the edge of the table and she slid forward.

“A socialite!” Cole scoffed. “I’m hurt!”

Ava roared with laughter as he grabbed her other arm, pulling her closer. Halfway across, she knocked his bag to the floor, pens and art history books scattering. Her cackle echoed through the room.

“At least let me be Basquiat,” Cole argued. “Badass rule-breaker. Counter-cultural free thinker!”

Suddenly she was in his arms, her body half-sitting, half-laying on the tabletop. Cole’s mouth dropped to Ava's grin. They were stretched out across the tall printing table, his hand on the back of her neck. His tongue moved over the crease of her lips, teasing, then invading her mouth, tasting her. The edge of the table dug into Ava’s hips, but she didn’t care; her entire focus was on the play of his mouth on hers.

After a long moment, Cole pulled back and Ava ducked out of his grasp, demurely picking up her Art History book as she slid back down.

“I’ve thought about it and I get to be Basquiat too,” she said archly. “I’m the graffiti artist after all. Not you.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Cole dropped the mezzotint rocker, then stood up and walked around the table. Ava squeaked as he picked her up, setting her on the edge.

“What ARE you doing?!” she shrieked.

Ava was giggling so hard she could hardly breathe as Cole positioned himself between her knees. His hands tugged at the bottom of her shirt, mouth sucking and nipping his way to her collarbone.

“Stop. STOP!” Ava laughed.

His hands slid under her shirt, reaching her breasts.

“Not a chance,” Cole growled in her ear. “If you’re claiming you’re the badass rule-breaker, then I want some f*cking proof.”

Ava shivered at the sound, dropping her fingers to the buttons of his jeans.

“You’ve got it.”

: : : : : : : : : :

By Saturday, the Spring weather had warmed. Nina and Frank drove into the city to see the show, and the four of them met at the university gallery. Ava’s oil painting was the first they looked at as they walked through the Student Show and she was gratified to hear both of Cole’s parents compliment it. Frank had grumbled his way past the most controversial pieces, confused as anything by Suzanne’s container sculptures.

Ava almost burst into laughter as he commented on her contribution.

“Now this is my kind of artwork.”

Next to him, Nina nodded appreciatively.

“And some other time, dear,” she said, catching Ava's eyes, “we’d like to see the rest of your artwork, too.”

Ava beamed, feeling a warm wave of acceptance. She really liked the Thomases.

They continued toward the alcove housing Cole’s sculpture. Ava was nervous of her own reaction to the piece, but standing with Cole and his family, her anxiety wore away, and she found herself enjoying the moment. Her dream of the storm and winged death seemed far away when they were all together. Now she was almost able to appreciate the skill it took for Cole to create this. Almost...

The limbs were smooth planes, Modernist in approach. Cole had carved exaggerated angles which hinted at musculature rather than perfectly mimicking it. It wasn’t something she’d put in her living room, but she recognized the beauty inherent in the piece.

“This is just lovely,” Nina said. “You’ve really come a long way.”

“Thanks.”

He shifted uncomfortably under his stepmother’s praise.

“Cole’s quite a perfectionist when it came to getting things right,” Ava added with a smile. “I had to pose for this thing for almost a week straight.”

Cole smirked.

“Yeah, well, I made that up to you. I think I posed longer, actually.”

Nina looked at them in surprise.

“Oh, did you paint Cole? I'd love to see it sometime,” she said with a wide grin.

Embarrassment painted Ava scarlet from chest to cheeks.

“Uh, yeah... sometime.”

Cole laughed at her discomfort and Ava dropped her eyes. ‘That WON’T be happening any time soon,’ she thought with chagrin.

“Proud of you, Cole,” Frank said, placing a heavy hand on Cole’s shoulder.

Ava glanced over to see Cole watching his father... face tense and wary. His hesitancy made her heart tighten in grief.

“Uh... thanks, Dad.”

“Hell of a lot of work to get this much detail and… and… life, out of stone,” Frank said, dropping his hand and stepping forward. “Must’ve taken you ages.”

Cole nodded. Father and son were side-by-side, but not touching. A small smile framed Ava's mouth. They were trying... both of them. Marta’s advice was obviously helping.

“The way you’ve caught the bird… or woman… in flight. The detail… that’s just amazing,” Frank said, nodding to the wings. “Don’t know where you get the talent from.”

Cole smiled at him, uneasy but clearly happy.

“I’m guessing Cole got it from you,” Ava said, drawing both of their attentions.

Frank frowned.

“Oh no, I don’t—”

“But I’ve seen your photographs,” Ava insisted. “The ones in the den and library. I guessed – from pictures of Angela and your children – it must’ve been you taking them.”

Frank’s expression shimmered, his eyes moving almost too fast to be seen from Ava to Nina, and back again. If she hadn’t been watching, she might have missed it… an emotion akin to guilt.

“Yes, dear,” Nina said, clearing her throat. “I’ve always thought that myself. Frank does take lovely photos.”

Ava turned to her, wondering at the unease she’d sensed from Frank.

“There’s one of you on the landing, Nina,” Ava said. “You’re sitting on a chair on the porch. The sunlight’s just gorgeous.”

Frank seemed to relax at that.

“Yes, well,” he muttered. “It’s easy if your subject’s as beautiful as Nina here.”

Nina preened, brushing her fingers through her hair, eyelashes fluttering in amusement.

“Oh Frank,” she said with a laugh, “you do know how to sweet talk, don’t you?”

“Now, what do you say we all grab something to eat?” Ava suggested. “We could have supper before you leave. It’s nearly five now.”

“I'd rather just grab something on the way out of town.” Cole’s father groused.

Nina laughed ruefully.

“Frank’s not one for fine dining, Ava,” she said. “I swear he’d eat macaroni and cheese every night of his life if I let him... straight out of the pot it was cooked in, at that.”

Frank ducked his chin.

“Less dishes,” he muttered.

Ava laughed gleefully. The logic made sense to her.

“Then I have the perfect place!” she announced, nodding to Cole.

He winked as he answered.

“Crown and Sceptre?”