The Commitment(47)

He texted me back right away.



No prob, sweets. See you then.



Then I texted Drake with the invitation to go to Katz's with my father and Elaine. I mentioned that Nathaniel was happy to let me use the studio to work on the canvas and that we could go by before lunch if we wanted.

He texted me back in a few minutes.



Katz's sounds good. Haven't been for a while. I can pick you up at around eleven to go to the studio. Will you be ready?



I let him know that would work fine and went to shower and get ready to go out.



Drake arrived at ten forty-five and texted me that he was on the street. I picked up my backpack with my sketchbook and pencils and left the apartment.

"So, where is this artist's hideaway?" he said when I got in the car. "Where do young artist-type pot-smoking hipsters hang out now? When I was in college, it was in Soho, but it's really expensive there now."

"In an old commercial building on West 36th and 7th Avenue. It's not too far from your place in Chelsea."

"That's some pretty expensive real estate."

"His dad is like Rockefeller-rich in the oil business and could probably afford to buy a whole city block in Chelsea," I said, remembering Nathaniel's description of his father's ranch, his collection of old cars, and his lizard-skin cowboy boots. Nathaniel was always drawn to New York City and couldn't wait to leave Texas.

We found a park & lock that was nearby the building. The door to the building was open so we went right in. We took the creaky old elevator to the studio, which was on the fourth floor and took up the east and north sides of the building so that it got day-long ambient light and early morning light. It would be a great place to work for a morning person like me.

From the elevator, we could already hear music blaring from the studio – some progressive rock that I didn't recognize. The door was down the hall to the north and was unlocked. I pushed the door open and the familiar scent of linseed oil, paints, and paint thinner filled my nose, taking me back two years to when I met Nathaniel and we spent time in the art studio at Columbia.

We went through the doorway and Drake stopped and took it in – the wide-open space of the room, which was as big as his apartment on 8th Avenue. There were large tables by the windows, a kitchen area with sinks, and a bathroom off to the side. The walls were splattered with paint, canvases of various sizes resting against them. Art work hung on the walls. Drafting tables sat off to one corner where Nathaniel sat, working on a piece. He did uber-realist paintings of the city and its people, collaged with photos from other media, including magazines, newspapers and books. He was an artist, while I was just a painter.

I went up behind him, Drake following in my wake, and tapped him on the shoulder.

He turned around and when he recognized me, his face broke into a huge smile. He reached over to the sound system and turned the music down.

"Hey, sug," he said. He craned his neck to check out Drake. Finally, he stood and gave me a hug, a sisterly hug – thankfully. I could feel Drake's eyes on us, and quickly broke the embrace.

Drake stood there a few feet away with a bemused expression on his face, his hands in his trouser pockets. He looked like a millionaire businessman and the difference between him and Nathaniel was striking. Nathaniel wore a toque with a marijuana plant emblazoned on it, his long blond hair peeking out beneath the bottom, a row of tiny silver hoops piercing his eyebrow. His t-shirt was black with Jamaican flag colors, a silkscreen print of Bob Marley on the front. Beneath the picture was the quote "Man is a universe within himself." His arms were both tattooed from his wrists to his shoulders. He wore low-slung jeans with a Jamaican-colored belt tied at his waist. He was lean and tall, his pale blue eyes always wide.

"This is Drake," I said, not really knowing how to introduce him. Drake stayed where he stood a few feet from the entry. He looked really out of place.

"Dude," Nathaniel said and waved his hand. "Come in, I don't bite unless I'm asked."

Drake forced a smile and stepped closer, glancing around at the space. Nathaniel turned to me. "You look as sweet as ever, Katie. I heard you won the thesis prize. Way to go."

I smiled and glanced at Drake, who regarded Nathaniel with obvious amusement. Nathaniel's southern twang was still quite pronounced despite living in Manhattan for half a decade.

"We're leaving in March to go live in Africa for a while."

"Africa? Cool," he said, eyeing me up and down. "So you’re going to get back into art? I've got lots of wood for frames, and tons of canvas. There's gesso and all the tools. If you need any help, let me know. We'll whip up a couple of canvases in no time."