Faceless Woman part 2

Chapter 9

“A faceless woman? Would you look at that! And who do you think this woman is?” the professor asks, glancing at Tim. “Tell me what you feel, Miss Ivy.”

“Uhmm...” Ivy, instead of defending her supposed painting, found herself staring at the painting beside her, which was Tim's. From afar, it looked like just a portrait of her, but closer inspection revealed the deep sadness in her eyes. How he was able to capture such intricate emotion in a painting was unbeknownst to her. Half of her face was smiling, while the other half was sad. It reminded her of herself. Side by side were the two paintings created by Tim; something told Ivy that the women in the paintings were her. Of course, the paintings were about her.

“A faceless woman,” Ivy begins. “I painted this because I do—I—”

“Did you paint this, Ivy?”

“Of course I did.”

“Then tell me about it.”

“It's a woman who doesn't have a face because she doesn't know who she is. At night, she puts on one face, and by day, another. She's in a state of dilemma; she doesn't know who she is—she's a faceless woman.”

“Literature would have suited you, 60. Next.”

“60? Sixty for this beautiful painting?”

“Yes, 60. Do you have a problem with it? If you do, maybe I should reduce it.”

Tim didn't know whether to be shocked or amazed. Shocked because, of course, that painting deserved more, and amazed because Ivy had talked back to someone who wasn't him. Wait—Ivy talked back? She never talks back. The Ivy he knew would accept life as it is or cry herself to sleep. Ivy talked back.

When the class was done, students packed their things and started to leave.

“Miss Queen, Mister Rumble, a minute please.”

“I have studied these paintings, and I'm no fool to tell that they were drawn by one person. The strokes, the concept, the woman... Academic theft is punishable, I hope you both know that. Nevertheless, I can't seem to pick which I like the most. So, I put two and two together. I'll change your marks and give you 70—70 each—if you tell me who drew this between the two of you.”

“Professor, we live together, we eat together, we think alike; we grew up together,” Ivy said, adding a little white lie. Tim and Ivy met at six and got separated at eight because Tim's family relocated.

“We didn't lie about who painted the drawings, ma'am,” Ivy said.

“Okay, then you leave me no choice.” The professor walked up to the paintings, tore them into pieces, and disposed of them in her waste bin.

“You can leave. You'll both have to redo the assignment this time, expressing how you feel and using different concepts, to be submitted by the end of the week,” she said.

“Yes, ma'am,” Tim grumbled.

As they were about to leave, the professor added, “Delivery.”

“Delivery?” Tim asked.

“Delivery. You gave a critique about the painting. Anybody that looked at it could do the same and conjure up a story—‘the faceless blah blah, she doesn't know who she is.’ Do you think any artist truly knows who they are? I want to know what you felt, what you're feeling, and what you feel.”

Tim and Ivy headed to a diner around campus to grab lunch.

“The nerve of that woman!” Ivy exclaimed.

“What do you want to eat?” Tim asked.

“I'll have soda and a sandwich.”

Tim got their orders and settled into his seat. “Thank you. Why are you so unbothered, Tim? I want to be like you.” Tim giggled.

“I don't know; it's a waste of time, truly.”

“What were you feeling?” Ivy said with her mouth full.

“Uhn?”

“What were you feeling when you were painting? Was it about me?”

“Too many questions, but to answer your question, it wasn't about you,” Tim lied. “And I felt... I don't remember what I felt, to be honest.”

“Seriously?” Ivy rolled her eyes.

Tim had already said what he was feeling earlier on, but he guessed it had just gone over her head, and she didn't realize.

“Tonight, we could watch a movie or something.”

“I’m busy; I have work,” Ivy said when they both heard a squeaky voice.

“Hi, guys! Is this seat taken?” Before they could reply, she sat down.

“I am Bella. We attend the same classes. I must say, your paintings—the two of you—I have a lot to learn! I don't know where to start. I was inspired by the paintings, to be sincere.” She turned to Ivy. “The faceless woman—do you think one day we could both draw a face for her?”

Abruptly, Ivy stood up. “I'm sorry, I have to get ready for work. I gotta go.”

“Wait, are you—”

“Bye.” Ivy cut Tim off as she took off.

“Bella, right? It's so nice to meet you. I have to go; here's a dollar. Get yourself a soda or something.”

Tim tried to catch up with Ivy, but this time he treads carefully; he wanted to know where exactly she had been going.

---

“What's got you all cranky today?” Ryan asked.

“Nothing,” Alex replied.

It wasn't nothing. Alex hadn't gotten laid in a while. Anytime he tried, a picture of Ivy came to his mind. He had met a girl he really liked this time at the club, with a perfect body; unfortunately, it was as if she had disappeared into thin air. But he was going to find her, or maybe he should focus on getting Ivy. Alex knew Ivy wasn't that kind of girl, so getting her would be hard.

“I want to know everything about this Ivy girl I met at one of Cynthia's parties.”

“What's her full name?”

“I have no freaking idea. I did see her ID once, but I didn't pay attention.”

“So you know nothing about her?”

“She has full blonde hair, about 5’4” or 5’5”. She goes to the School of Arts nearby, the one Cynthia went to.”

“Do you know how many Ivys with blonde hair are in the city?”

“Don't patronize me; look for her! I want to know everything about her. Check the cameras in my house; she was there.”

“You took a woman you know nothing about to your house?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“You never take a woman there!”

“Well, I did.”

“You are killing me,” Ryan sighed.

---

At the club, “Where the hell have you been? I called you like a hundred times!” Mama said. Actually, Pundy was the one who called like a hundred times.

“I'm sorry, I was busy,” Ivy replied.

“Well, everyone's busy. Pick your goddamned phone next time, okay? Dress up; we have a long night today.” Mama left the girls in the dressing room.

Ivy walked to the middle of the room, something she had never done in her life, but recent events made her realize life wouldn't be nice to her because she was nice. Not everyone was going to love her; hell, her sisters didn't like her either. But right now, she didn't give a damn who liked her or not. She'd do her best to be as friendly as possible; being a crybaby wouldn't work anymore. Nervously, Ivy walked to the middle of the room. No one was paying her any particular attention.

“Hi, everyone,” she said so low even she couldn't hear herself.

“Hello, everyone!” She tried again, gaining some of the girls' attention.

“Everyone!” Almost screaming at the top of her voice, she gained everyone's attention. “I know not everyone likes me here, and it has come to my attention that some of you feel I may have stolen some customers from you.”

“May? You did, bitch, and it ain't cool!” the girl called Queen B said.

“It wasn't my intention, whether you believe it or not. So I'll reduce the hours I dance on stage, which I'll inform Mama of.”

“It's okay, Tasha. I think some of us actually need to apologize to you for being envious when you're just like us,” Pundy said as she walked up to give Ivy a big hug.

“Well, can you do my makeup again? Make me look unrecognizable,” Ivy whispered to Pundy.

“You know I love doing your makeup!” Pundy replied.

---

“Mama, can I come in?” Ivy knocked as she said.

“Come in.”

“I would like to reduce the hours I’d be dancing on stage.”

“You won't be dancing on stage again, Natasha.”

“What?”

“I was about to come meet you. Someone paid to have you exclusively. You'd be paid three thousand every night.”

“If I dance on stage, I'd get more than that a night.”

“Do you want me to inform him that you'd like him to increase the price or that you're not interested?” Mama asked.

“Listen, this man is dangerous. You look like a good girl. If you do agree, I'd earn you to tread carefully. Wear your mask; he is in the VIP room.”

Ivy wore her mask and made her way to the VIP section.

“Welcome, Natasha. I've been waiting,” Ryan said.