Faceless Woman part 1

Chapter 8

Mama makes her way to the girls' dressing room as soon as possible. Mr. Donatello is not someone anyone wants to annoy. Most people don't know it, but he owns the nightclub—hell, he owns the whole city.

“Where is Natasha?” Everyone looks around for a bit, but it's clear she isn't here.

“Pundy, I need Natasha right this moment.”

“I have to get home, Mama. Natasha left minutes ago; she's probably home by now. What do you need Natasha for? I can help with it.”

“I said I need Natasha! Look for her right now! Call her! If she's halfway home, tell her to turn back right this instant!”

The girls look at each other, questioning what is going on. They had never seen Mama this frantic over any girl before.

“She isn't picking up, Mama. What should I do?”

“She must be around. Look for her.”

“Okay, Mama.” Pundy lazily stands up to look for Ivy.

After Ivy is done cleaning the makeup off her face, she puts on her clothes, which make her feel covered up—unlike the bikinis at the club. It's like she got back into her shell of shyness. She makes her way to her little apartment. She can't believe it; she made $5,000 in just one night! What if she stayed for a month? She could save this money up at least and buy some textbooks and utensils she needs for school. Speaking of school... she totally forgot she had an assignment due tomorrow, and it was a painting. The professor had told them to paint anything they were feeling at the moment.

She rushes up the stairs. When she gets to her apartment building, fumbling with the keys, she finally opens the door. It is pitch black. Looking for the switch, she turns on the light and turns around.

“Aahh!” Only to find Tim inches away from her, as if he had been standing there waiting for her.

“The hell! You scared me!”

“Where have you been?”

“Somewhere.”

“This is quarter after 3 in the morning! You have a test by 8 a.m. this morning and an assignment due by 2!”

Ivy palms her head. “Shit! I totally forgot about the test! Do you have materials I can use?”

“Ivy, what is going on? You can tell me anything, right? We are best friends.”

Ivy makes her way to the kitchen, which is joined with the little sitting room they share. “Yeah, yeah, of course. I got a job at an eatery and I have night shifts—that's it. There's nothing; I'm just so busy.”

“Are you hungry? I cooked; I could warm it up for you,” Tim says as she gulps a glass of water.

“No, I'm exhausted. I'll take a nap for an hour, use probably an hour to study, and another hour to do my homework.”

“Okay then. Good night, Ivy.”

After dancing for hours, Ivy's body wasn't just exhausted; it lacked sleep.

7:30 a.m.

Tim taps Ivy on the shoulder. It looks like she tried to study, but she slept off in an uncomfortable position on the couch. Ivy jerks up awake.

“Hmm, what time is it?” she yawns.

“7:30. You have 30 minutes to get ready!” Wide-eyed upon hearing this.

“What? Tim, why didn't you wake me up sooner?”

“You were tired; you needed rest.”

“Rest? Rest? How could—oh my gosh, what am I going to do?”

“What you're going to do is get ready for class, ace that test, and submit your assignment with my help.”

“What?” Tim goes into his room, picks up a large sheet of paper on a drawing board, and brings it out to show Ivy. “I did your assignment,” Tim says. “Look!”

“Ugh, what? How? Oh my…” She runs to give Tim a big hug. “Thank you, thank you so much!”

“So hurry up or we will soon be late for class.” Ivy takes another look at the drawing and the intricate design on it. It is a drawing of a faceless woman. That is the least of her worries right now. She thought Tim couldn’t draw to save his life. I mean, Tim couldn’t draw, right?

Years Ago

At the young age of seven, Tim and Ivy were in class. The other day, the teacher had given the class an assignment to draw what their respective families looked like. Sitting at the back end of the corner was Ivy, alone with her drawing in hand, while the other students interacted with each other—joking, laughing, and mocking each other's drawings. The teacher wanted them to have a little fun while looking at each other's drawings, but she noticed no one was looking at Ivy's, and she didn't make an effort to look at others.

Miss Mia, knowing Ivy was only close with Tim—he was the only child she had seen Ivy communicate with in class—told Tim, who was mocking Leon's drawing, to check on Ivy. Tim walks over to Ivy.

“Can I see yours?” Tim asked.

Little Ivy shook her head negatively. “You’ll laugh at it.”

“No, I won’t. I will show you mine too.”

They exchanged drawings. Tim stared hard at the drawing, probably in shock because he didn't move or talk; he just stared.

He couldn't fathom what he, as a child, was looking at, made by another child of the same age. The teacher moved over to them, noticing the little exchange and his response, and what Miss Mia saw left her in awe. This couldn't classify anymore as a drawing; it was art. It was a portrait of Ivy, her mom, her dad, and her two older sisters.

Snatching the paper from Tim's hands, Miss Mia asked, “Did you draw this, Ivy?”

Ivy nodded affirmatively. “Alone, with no help.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ivy smiled at Tim because Tim's little drawing, though shabby, brought joy to Ivy. In the drawing, at the corner, Tim's dad, mom, and Tim himself were in the middle of the portrait, while she was at the corner with their family dog, Lucky. How did she know it was she at the corner of the drawing, though? The drawing looked nothing like her; they were sticks on top of each other with a circle acting as a head, but each circle was named, and she knew she was the only Ivy in his life.

“I need to show this to the principal right now. Come with me, Ivy.”

---

Maybe he finally somehow got to learn how to draw.

On their way to class, Ivy asked, “Why won't you show me yours? I'm so curious to see what you're submitting.”

“It's a surprise; you'll see it when we show it to the professor.”

“Oh, come on!”

Ivy's whining made Tim chuckle.

“When did you get to do this for me? I don't recall you having this. I don't even recall you knowing how to draw or paint.”

“Oh yeah, I did it this morning around 4 a.m. while you were asleep.”

“I'm sorry, Tim; I must have disturbed your sleep.”

“Who said I slept?” Dumbfounded. “You didn’t sleep?”

They had gotten to class.

“Settle down, settle down. Pick a board, grab a brush, and paint what is in front of you with the technique I taught last week. You have 30 minutes.”

After a successful test and class where paintings were criticized, it was time to submit the homework. Unbeknownst to Ivy, they were all to defend their drawings one by one to the entire class.

“I drew this fish, looking at my fish tank and thinking about *Finding Nemo*. Truly, we all are somewhat like Nemo—”

“That's okay, Joshua; you can go back to your seat. I instructed drawing something you were feeling. All you drew was a fish, and you come to my class to justify drawing a goldfish. For the effort: 40/100. Next on my list here is Tim. Tim Rumble.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Tim stands and moves to the front of the class with his drawing. He places it on the board and turns it for the class to see.

Ivy, seeing the painting in front of her, shakes her head and palms her face. “You've gotta be kidding me!”

The professor moves closer to have a better look. “It looks like one of my students,” she tells Tim.

“It IS one of your students,” Tim says and points at Ivy.

“Why would you do that?” Ivy says, trying to hide her face. The professor goes to where Ivy is seated to take a look at her. After studying her for about a minute, which of course made Ivy nervous, she goes to the front of the class.

“Tell us about your drawing, Tim.”

“The assignment was to draw what I was feeling. I named the art *Ivy* because I feel whatever Ivy's feeling—feeling trapped and sad,” Tim says while looking at Ivy.

“Well, does Ivy know she's trapped?” The students giggle, to which Tim didn't respond.

“Okay then, Tim Rumble: 65.” Tim wanted to carry his drawing with him. “No, leave it; I like it. Ivy Queen, let's see what you got.”

Ivy walks up to display hers. “A faceless woman?”