“How do you like it?”

I jumped, nearly spilling my wine. A tan woman with large brown eyes laughed at my reaction.

“I apologize. Didn’t mean to creep up on you.”

She wasn’t American, but I couldn’t quite place her accent. I guessed French, but there was another exotic note to her voice. Her hair was dark black and silky, glossy beneath the gallery lights. Her smile was pleasant enough, but I thought she was amused by me. I didn’t like the idea of being the butt of a joke.

She raised her eyebrows and jutted her chin towards the painting behind me. I turned and took it in again.

The painting was crimson with black curvy lines that intersected every which way. A black circle penetrated a red circle on the right side of the painting. A warm pink surrounded the scene, and drops of paint dripped down, just touching the shapes below. Truly I wasn’t that into modern art but there was something about the painting that drew me in. The sign next to it provided its title: “Afterglow”. It had caught my attention the very moment I entered the gallery with my boring date.

Realizing I still hadn’t answered her, I spoke in an awkward rush. “It’s really pretty,” I said.

Her smile widened. “Really? Pretty?” Her brown eyes slanted back towards the painting. “That’s not the adjective I’d use.”

“Maybe erotic is better,” I decided, shocking myself. I hadn’t meant to speak that aloud.

The woman, however, was unsurprised at my answer. “Considering it’s called ‘Afterglow’ I think you’re on to something.”

She adjusted the green strap of her dress. Everything was so elegant and refined about her. There was a wistfulness settling deeply in my chest; she was the kind of woman I’d always wanted to be like. Beautiful clothes, perfect hair, with a classic sophistication that seemed effortless.

Instead I was the kind of woman who spilled wine on my white dress, whose hair had decided to free itself from the bun I’d wrapped it in, and I was quite sure I had lipstick on my teeth.

“I don’t know much about abstract art.” I licked my lips, hoping the pinot noir hadn’t made them purple. “I like this one, though. There’s something ... edgy but comfortable about it. Unfamiliar, but soothing.”

She sipped at her champagne, her eyes never leaving mine. When she finished, she licked her lips, too. Something buzzed between us—a not-yet-known connection that made me want to reach out and touch her. Maybe it was just the alcohol. I certainly hoped that was all it was.

“I’m Olivia,” she said. Her hand reached out and took my own, hanging by my side. Her hand was warm and super soft. I felt silly knowing she could see my chipped nails that so desperately needed a manicure.

“Elizabeth. Nice to meet you.” I forced a smile and fiddled with my wine glass.

“Do you come to the gallery often?” Her accent was beautiful. Every word she said rolled off her tongue.

I snorted. “No. I’m on a date. I don’t think he knew what to do with me.”

She laughed, eyes twinkling. “So you’re not an artist?”

“No, not at all. I’m a lawyer. I can’t even draw a smiley face.”

Olivia lifted her glass to her lips. “Sometimes that’s all it takes.”

I glanced around the gallery. “I do wish I had the talent.”

“Well, then tell me, Elizabeth. If you could paint one thing in this room, what would it be?”

I giggled and then realized she was serious. Definitely an odd question, but the intensity in her eyes made it impossible to refuse. So I took stock of what was around us.

I saw people talking passionately about the art hanging from the walls. Too boring. I saw my date, Robert, engaged in a debate with someone I didn’t recognize. How dull. Then I saw all the abandoned wine and champagne glasses—some still half full—and ashtrays with mountains of lonely ashes and cigarette butts left behind. What excess. What a waste of decadence. It was depressing and beautiful, and for some bizarre reason I thought maybe this stranger would appreciate it.

“The ashtrays. The deserted glasses with lipstick smudges still on them.”