The Art Show

Every morning, Lorraine Davis' alarm rang by 10 a.m, and every morning she hit the snooze button. But today was different. The alarm clock buzzed at 12:15 p.m., signalling a break from her routine. Lorraine, however, continued her pattern and snoozed it for the fourth time.

Today marked the first month since her heart-wrenching breakup with Shawn, but still, she found it hard to accept the realities of her failed engagement. Despite the countless romance novels and movies she had watched, nothing could have prepared her for her first heartbreak.

She sat up, and the sun's scorching rays sieved through the window, settling on her face. This was The Bay, an unusual place with unpredictable seasons. When it was hot, it was scorching and when cold, it was freezing. Looking out the window, Lorraine heaved a sigh. She was already tired of the day. Lately, her daily routine of binge-watching the old 90s rom-com she grew up on and crying herself to sleep was exhausting and sad.

Unlike in the movies, she didn't get her happy ending. She had walked in on her ex-fiance, Shawn and another woman a night before her wedding. She could try to convince herself that it was a cold feet mistake, but the lack of remorse in his eyes shattered that illusion.

She reached for her beeping phone and found seven missed calls from her parents and a text demanding that she return home. For the past five years, precisely the same amount of time her relationship with Shawn had lasted, her parents had been gracious enough to pay her rent and support her dreams of becoming a respected artist. But one failed engagement and several bills later, they decided their monthly one thousand dollars paycheck could be funded towards her brother’s hospital bills. At twenty-five, she was expected to foster her living.

Suddenly the locks on her bedroom door fidgeted and clicked open, and her best friend, Maia, walked in. Lorraine made a mental note to get her key back.

"Smells like sadness and devastation in here", Maia said, observing the atmosphere of the room. "I see we're still celebrating the heartbreak anniversary" She made her way towards the windows, swung open the curtains, and Lorraine shielded her face with the pillow beside her.

"What do you want, Maia?" Lorraine asked, averting her eyes angrily at her best friend

"Sorry to crash your pity party, love, but you're going to want to see this", Maia said, walking over to Lorraine with her phone. Lorraine squinted her eyes, reading the contents on the page and immediately gasped, feeling enraged - The annual D'Catylon Art Show with a $500,000 cash prize, and on the second entry line was her work: Hidden Disaster - "Dali Flumes" submitted and painted by Shawn Beckett. He had not just stolen and wrecked her heart but also her art and her shot at finally proving herself to her parents by winning the cash prize, one which she intended to fund her brother's chemotherapy treatment with.

The news was as gravitating as the consequences it bore, and Lorraine fell flat on her bed, trying to process the implications of Shawn's actions. Maia stopped her pacing, leaning against the wardrobe in a very relaxed manner, one that seemed out of place, given the circumstances.

"Now, come on" "don't do that", she said, and Lorraine sat up in annoyance,

"Do what, Maia? Be pissed that my ex-fiance has cheated me yet again?" "It's bad enough that I'm feeling this miserable, but to steal my work?" "I hate him and everything he is now?!",

"Everything he has been, love!" Maia interjected emphatically "But I know you don't hate him" she added

"What would you have me do, Maia? "Go out and pretend to forget the last five years of my life, the memories, moments and time with him?",

"Yes!" "Exactly that. You're never going to get over him being cooped up in your room all day, besides this is your first heartbreak, and I beg you to allow your best friend to revel in it with you", Maia pleaded

The idea of doing anything else but staying indoors and sulking sounded fun, and that was enough reason to convince Lorraine to join Maia in whatever she had planned.

"So what do you have in mind?" she asked, and Maia clapped excitedly.

"There's a local art show tonight, it's small, but it'll be fun". Maia said, handing Lorraine the squeezed paper. Something made Lorraine feel Maia's pep talk was a hatched plan to get her to go to this thing with her, but it was already too late to back out; she had already committed. "Damn you, Shawn Beckett", Lorraine muttered as she dressed and walked out. One thing was heavy on her mind - how she would afford her rent at the end of the month and her brother's chemotherapy treatment.

As they arrived at the event, Maia immediately abandoned Lorraine, leaving her to explore the fine worlds of art displayed at the gallery. Among the various pieces on display, Lorraine found an interesting piece, one that caught her eye and reminded her of her youthful days as a struggling artist. Although still facing some challenges akin to a struggling artist, she had gotten better at her painting skills. Suddenly a voice startled her from her musings.

"I think his work lacks a touch of blue over there", the man said, and Lorraine turned to look at him. Tall, dark and undeniably handsome, he exuded an aura of brilliance uncommon to most of the men in The Bay. Despite his outfit choice, a suit somewhat inappropriate for the occasion, Lorraine gladly welcomed it with admiration. She looked like she had stumbled on a famous model, star-struck by his presence.

"And what would you know about an artist's expression to decide where there should be more blue, Mr...?",

"Winston", "Clay Winston", the man replied, gazing at her

"It's not only about how he communicates those expressions. It's also about how bold he is to claim them as his, and the patches around that edge, tells of a man who is uncertain of what he feels, therefore, needing more blue," he articulated his words, and Lorraine smiled. He was right, she thought. He needed more blue.

"Why are you here?" she asked looking at his thousand dollar blazer, discerning that this was not his usual scene.

"I'm an admirer of good art", Clay replied

"Why are you here?" he asked, reading her sullen expression,

"Cause I'm grieving Mr Winston", Lorraine replied absentmindedly,

"What exactly are you grieving, miss...?",

"My failed marriage, my brother, my life. Take your pick", Lorraine replied, appalled by her willingness to open up to a stranger she had just met. Clay paused for a moment and then asked,

"What about your brother?",

"Oh, he's not dead, but he soon might be if I cannot afford his chemotherapy bills or at least contribute to it. My apology of an ex-fiance made sure of that", Lorraine replied, her focus shifting to the art piece before her. She refused to look at the man; she could not bear to be drawn into his hazel green eyes and could not fathom enjoying anything that looked that handsome, that tempting, not whilst she was still recovering from her heartbreak.

"How much would save your brother's life?" Clay asked, and Lorraine finally turned her gaze at him. Sheepishly she answered, "Five hundred thousand dollars",

"Okay," Clay replied. He reached into his suit pocket and brought out a cheque, signed and addressed it to Lorraine. He handed it to her, and she stared at it, puzzled and bewildered,

"It is yours if you want it" "But you'll have to marry me", the man said sharply without emotion. His last sentence resounded in Lorraine's head. She gawked at him, appalled and skeptical of the outrageous scheme. But then, she thought about her brother's treatment and her living situation and believed she needed to take a chance, even if it was one so absurd and crazy.

"Okay", she replied, looking at the cheque in her hand in disbelief. She wondered who the mysterious man could be.

"Alright, it's settled" "We'll meet tomorrow at 10a.m at the city hall to get our marriage license" "Do not be late!" He instructed and left.

"Lorraine... Lorraine Davis", Lorraine called, and Clay stopped, remembering she had not disclosed her name.

Lorraine remained uncannily quiet for a moment before she let out a chuckle; she could not believe what had just happened and how impulsive she had been. She felt like she had stepped into the starring role of her rom-com, and the thought excited her.

A blue Toyota sedan pulled over in front of the gallery, the driver circled, opened the backseat, and Clay entered. He took off his suit and threw it carelessly on the seat,

"Good evening, Mr Winston?" Mark, Clay's assistant, asked, driving away from the gallery,

"Eventful", Clay replied. He reached over and poured himself a bottle of scotch into a glass and took a swig of it, feeling the sharp burn travel down his throat, making his stomach churn

"Find out who this person is. I want to know everything about her before dawn if she's going to be my wife", Clay said, setting down the glass.

"Your wife, sir?" Mark politely replied, expressing his concern

"Do you think the family elders will be happy about that?" he added.

"To hell with the elders!" Clay raged,

"If I'm to marry at all, I will marry someone of my choice", "I refuse to be coerced into an arranged marriage", "The Newmans and the elders can disapprove all they like, but this is going to happen".