Clara's Eyes

By Paul Kater

Ron Brooks is a painter from a small town in Virginia. When he's contacted by a large art corporation in Manhattan, his life makes a big turn into what promises to be a fantastic direction. Even an exhibition lies in his future. While he works on making a living and a name for himself, strange things happen in his personal life as well. A painting that proves to be more than just a painting is the start of more twists and turns than Ron could have imagined. Welcome to the world of painting and big money while you look into Clara's Eyes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Kater
• Release date: Jun 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311982186

Paul Kater

Paul Kater was born in the Netherlands in 1960. He quickly developed a feel for books and languages but ended up in the IT business despite that. Books and languages never ceased to fascinate him, so since 2003 he's been actively writing, encouraged by friends on the internet. The internet is the reason why most of his work is in English. A friend asking for writing help is why some of his writing is now also in Dutch. Paul currently lives in Cuijk, the Netherlands, with his books, possibly with cats, and the many characters he's developed in the past years, who claim he is a figment of their imagination.

Book preview

Clara's Eyes

by

Paul Kater

Published by the author as a member of the

Alexandria Publishing Group

Smashwords Edition

Clara's Eyes - © Copyright 2014, Paul Kater

Cover art by: The Cover Counts - Renée Barratt - www.thecovercounts.com

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from author.

Warning: The unauthorised reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorised electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

This is a work of fiction, and as a work of fiction, any resemblance to people, places or things is entirely accidental. The creation of certain buildings and locations is entirely the work of the author to avoid conflict and comparison with existing structures

License Notes - Smashwords

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the site where it was purchased and buy your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Jump to table of contents...

1. Eyes

Ron looked at the two big eyes in the incomplete, sketched face. They stared back at him without expression. In a whim he took a pencil and a minute later the not nearly finished face looked at him cross-eyed. Much better, the painter said to the image of someone's sister, it would suit you in real life. Eyes were important, he knew that. The proverb 'eyes are the portal to the soul' could have been created solely for him, he sometimes thought. The crossed eyes unfortunately had to go. John's sister wasn't cross-eyed. Ron turned back to the canvas where he was working on the actual portrait of the woman. She wasn't there, lived too far away, so he had to work from a number of photographs. Dangerous photographs too, as most of them were old, and the only two shots that showed her real, current face were blurry. John had told him to do what he could and he then would comment on the work for the adjustments. Ron wasn't certain that the painting would come to bloom that way, though. It would more be an image of how John saw his sister., but he wanted it made for her fiftieth birthday, he paid for it, and so John was calling the shots.

A few hours, lots of glasses of water and some progress later, Ron put down the brushes. He had to get out, stretch and get some fresh air. Painting was wonderful, but this kind of work was only for the money, and that didn't have his heart. He wanted to capture essences, things that lived inside people, and the way into those people's souls was, indeed, through their eyes.

The afternoon sun hung over the area of Midlothian, Virginia. It had been there the previous days as well, but today the heat wasn't beating down so much. Ron asked himself what he would do. He could go for a walk, he could head over to Salisbury Lake for a swim, or he could simply do nothing. He decided on two followed by three, and if he was still aware of the world after that he might continue working on John's sister. As Ron reached the lake, he regretted his decision. It was crowded like crazy, and people with loud motorboats made swimming in most parts impossible. After a few attempts, the painter shook his head and went back home. This was not a way to relax, so he parked his modest Nissan behind the house, went inside for a beer and after emerging again he flung himself in the hammock that hung partly in his neighbour's garden. Their tree was just the right distance from the one in his own garden and they didn't mind as long as their kid could use the hammock as well. That was a pretty good deal for Ron.

As he swung between the trees, he thought of his life and the future. Somehow he had to do something, because this town where he was born, raised and had never left wasn't going to give him the big break he was looking for. He'd have to go where the big people were, the big galleries. Places like Los Angeles or Miami. Or New York. New York would be super, but he knew there were far too many artists there already, and most of them as broke as a bad joke. Maybe, he mused, he should go to France where his idol Vincent van Gogh had lived. Working in the countryside, creating many fabulous paintings, and then making it big in Paris. Now that was an idea. He grinned at it, imagining how agents would then come running to him, begging him to come to New York for a major exhibition at a place like Hauser & Wirth, or the Gagosian Gallery. Such a change from the one exhibition he'd once had here in Midlothian's local community centre. Somehow Ron had drifted off into a snooze, because when his sister Shelley woke him up he almost tumbled from the hammock. Jesus, Shell, careful!

Shelley laughed, her blue eyes sparkling. Hey, you're the one almost falling, not me.

He scrambled from his resting place. Lost your keys again?

Why? Shelley looked hurt, even though she was famous for misplacing not only her keys.

That was why you came over the last three times, Ron reminded her with a wink. Can I get you something cold? He picked up his beer; the can was still half full and warm.

Yes, please. Shelley followed her brother into the small house. Is that John's sister? she asked as she saw the canvas.

You can actually tell? Ron asked as he opened the fridge. That was a positive thing. Beer? Lemonade?

Lemonade please.

Oh. None left, he noticed as he pulled the cold, empty bottle from the machine. Sorry. I do have some coke.

Shelley settled for that. I'm here to remind you of Mom's birthday.

I know about that, Ron pouted, it's next week Sunday.

It's day after tomorrow, Shelley corrected him. See, that's why I'm here.

You could have sent a text.

Since when do you read those? Shelley snorted. You have an artist's mind, brother, not one for technology. She was right. Ron and technical things were a lethal combination, usually devastating for the tech part. Still looking for the big break? his sister then asked, noticing the newspaper on the kitchen table. It was open on the page with ads. Ron had circled some of them and scratched out others.

Always, Ron commented as he opened another beer.

You just lack in the finding department though, huh?

Always, Ron admitted. Day after tomorrow... He found a calendar and wrote Mum's Birthday on it.

Won't help, Shelly commented, you have too many calendars.

Yes. They all have great paintings on them! Ron defended his choice.

Shelley chuckled. I'll come and pick you up in two days, or you'll miss her birthday again.

Thanks. Ron didn't object. He had forgotten birthdays before. I appreciate that.

Shelley looked over the page with advertisements. Oh, look at that! Sale at Wortings! I should head over there!

Ron groaned.

~~~

You're good, Ron. That actually looks more like my sister than my sister does! John was excited as he saw the painting. I wonder what a talent like you is doing in a place like this.

I live and paint, Ron shrugged. He did that and a lot of chores for people who paid him a bit, which actually was how he got by mainly. He gathered all the pictures John had given him and handed them back. Some have paint splatters, sorry about that. He then wrapped the painting in a piece of linen. Here you go. I hope she likes it, John.

His friend carefully stored the painting in his car and paid Ron what they had agreed on, plus an extra twenty. You should charge more, man. You can't survive on giving stuff away, John warned the painter. I'll be seeing you! Then John drove off, leaving Ron standing in a cloud of dust. It was time for some rain. Ron looked at the banknotes in his hand. Nice, very nice, but nicer still was that John was happy. Back inside he tossed the money in the tin box that had once contained cookies and now functioned as his vault. Then Ron went to his old computer, one of the few bits of technology that refused to succumb under his hands. He'd made a few photos of John's painting, maybe he could put one of those on-line next to the other paintings he had there. It took him a while. His computer wasn't the speediest, nor was he with all things internet, but in the end it was done.

Oh, right. E-mail, he then reminded himself. His sister had set him up with that and once every few weeks he remembered to actually look at it. Page after page with garbage passed by. Ron diligently deleted all the spam messages, as his mind pictured half open cans with e-mail messages pouring out of them. There might be a painting in that! As he scanned the next page, one e-mail seemed to beg for his attention. It was called Invitation. Ron clicked the message.

"Dear Mr Brooks,

I am writing to you on behalf of an organisation that is looking for promising talent. One of our executives discovered your painting 'Solar Flare' on the internet and we are interested in that particular kind of work. Could you please send us a reply e-mail if you are interested in meeting with us in New York?

Regards,

Terrence Ostring"

Ron read the message a few more times. This was impossible. Solar Flares wasn't even that good, and someone in New York liked it? He looked at the text beneath the e-mail. That had a New York address and phone number in it. New York. It sounded too good. Maybe it was, but maybe it was his ticket to fame. He clicked the reply button and composed a decent answer to Terrence Ostring, stating that he was certainly willing to come to New York to talk about options. After a few rereads and plenty of changes to the text he sent the thing off. They'd probably get a million of those mails, but it didn't hurt to try. Then Ron went back to erasing more junk-mail until all that was cleared out and he could put his computer back to rest.

~~~

Ron had forgotten all about the invitation and Terrence Ostring by the time he was ready to put a few more paintings on-line. Several weeks had passed, he'd spent many nights outside to capture the night sky over the lake, and some of those paintings had come out surprisingly well. After battling the photo upload and coming out the victor, he remembered to erase his spam e-mail, and great was his surprise to find a reply to the message he'd sent to New York. Again it was from Terrence Ostring.

"Dear Mr Brooks,

Thank you for responding to my previous e-mail. We would gladly receive you in New York at a time that is convenient for you. If you could inform us about the time that you would be available. We can arrange transport for you and a few of your choice works. Of course we will also see to proper accommodation during your stay.

Kindly respond at your convenience.

Regards,

Terrence Ostring"

The painter stared at the computer screen. This had to be a joke. He was invited to come to New York? The Big Apple? He was half tempted to pick up his phone and call the number, just to make certain he was in a prank, but something inside him decided against that. Instead he called his sister and told her what had happened.

Ron, I'm at work now, I have no time for jokes, Shelley whispered.

This is not a joke, Shell. This is what I see on my screen now. I need someone sensible to tell me if I should go for it. Ron had never seen himself as a person of reason, he always relied on the input from his sister. So far he had not regretted that.

You're serious, are you? Okay, forward the mail to me, I'll have a look at it during my break and see if I can find out something about that place. She had to talk him through the forwarding. Okay. Got it here. I'll call you back when I know something, Ron.

Thanks, Shell. I owe you one.

You owe me a warehouse full of them, she grinned. Ron put down his phone and switched off the computer. Enough technology for one day, it was time for something serious. He found a clean sheet of paper, clipped that to his portable drawing board, and with a handful of pencils he sat himself outside, facing the forest on the other side of the road, and started drawing a few eyes.

2. Terrence Ostring

That night Ron dreamt of eyes. He awoke several times, and each time it was because of the same eyes. At first he thought he was imagining things, but after the third time he sat up and rubbed his face. The clock with its big, bright, red digits informed him from the night stand that it was 2:22 in the morning. Drowsily Ron got up and went downstairs. Those eyes were haunting him and he knew he'd seen them before. Blinking his eyes as he switched on the living room lights, he saw the eyes again. They were the ones he'd drawn that afternoon. Big, expressive, grey-blue eyes. Ron fetched a glass of water and sat down at the table. At least you're with me all the time, he told the drawing. Shell forgot all about that call. Some sister. Immediately he felt bad; Shelley was the best sister he could wish for.

He looked at the eyes again. He'd drawn and painted hundreds of eyes, maybe more, but these were compelling in a way he'd never managed before. Hardly surprising they kept him from sleeping. I'll strike you a deal, he told the sheet of paper, you're coming upstairs with me. Maybe you'll let me sleep then. With the drawing in hand he went back to his bedroom, laid the drawing on a chair and went to bed. He dreamt about the eyes a few more times, but now at least he slept on until the morning.

~~~

Ron was still having breakfast when the phone rang. Ron Brooks, he answered.

Hey, painter-brother. I told you I'd call back.

Hi Shell!

This place in New York could be real. They're a legitimate company, and this Terrence Ostring is employed there. I had a look at his LinkedIn profile. If you go there, bring him back for me. He's a cutie, I'll have some uses for him.

If he's cute and in New York, he's probably gay, sis.

Shelley said she'd convert him if that were the case. First get in touch with them and talk to them. See what they want, Ron. And don't make any decisions without consulting your little sister.

Ron thanked her. After breakfast he looked at his computer, but before switching it on he went to his bedroom and brought the eyes down with him. With the latest e-mail from Terrence Ostring on the screen, Ron dialled the number at the bottom. First he talked to a lady who asked him to wait a moment. Less than a minute later, Terrence Ostring answered the phone. To Ron's surprise the man seemed to know who he was. After some introductory chatting, Ron asked if the man from New York could explain what they were looking for, and how they had decided that he would be good for that.

Terrence explained that they had a programme to give hidden talent a chance, that they had a few people who 'patrolled' the internet seeking people like Ron. Your work has a touch, Mr Brooks, a touch that the world needs. That is why we want to meet you and see your latest work, to see how your touch has improved. Something deep inside Ron tried to warn him that something might be off here, but that feeling was overruled by the rush that he felt after hearing this kind of praise from someone he didn't even know. We are aware that you are a busy man, Mr Brooks, but would you be able to join us in two weeks? We have your e-mail address on file, we can send you the details within a few days.

And you're going to pay for all that, did I get that right? Ron was proud of himself to make sure of that.

Absolutely. You will fly in - and back of course, and we'll arrange the transfer to and stay in a hotel. You'll be our honoured guest.

Ron frowned. He should talk to Shelley about this, but on the other hand, this sounded like a free trip with no strings attached. If you can send me the details, that would be great. I am sure that I have time in two weeks, Ron decided to take the gamble.

That is wonderful, Mr Brooks, said Terrence, you'll have our information within a day or three. We are already looking forward to your visit!

Ron laid down the phone and congratulated himself. The eyes on the sheet of paper regarded him, though. What are you looking at? he asked the drawing. A chance for a big break is not something to be treated lightly. He poured himself some more coffee and then called Shelley. I can still cancel, he said as she told him he'd been the impulsive one she knew.

As if you're going to, Shelley commented. I know you too well for that, big brother. Just make sure you take your cell phone with you, and don't forget to stay in touch, okay?

Sure, Shell. I'll stay in touch.

You're in luck that I gave myself access to your calendar on-line. I'll put reminders in it so your phone will nag at you every day.

I have a calendar on-line? Ron scratched his head and winked at the two eyes that kept observing him. There was something in those eyes. He decided he had to find out what it was, and because he was so preoccupied with the eyes, he missed Shelley's answer. Thanks, Shell.

Ron... try to listen when we talk, please? I told you to keep me informed on what happens with New York.

Oh, sure, will do. Promise, Shell, and thanks again. Ron picked up the sheet with the eyes. How on earth had he managed those? They needed to be bigger, on a real canvas, and perhaps there would be a real face around them too someday. He found a new canvas, set that up on his easel and carefully copied the eyes onto it. It took him most of the morning to get them done as far as they were on the paper. He hadn't even coloured them yet, but the main thing was that they were there, looking at him.

The afternoon was fully planned. He was going to help someone mow the lawn, he had to clean a pool and after that Ron had agreed to help at the local school, where several classrooms were in need of a new layer of paint. He looked forward to that, as one wall had to be decorated with imagery, and that was something he was very good at.

~~~

Ron sat outside, after a shower and a good dinner. Next to him stood the easel, on it the drawing of the two eyes. He stared at them; it almost felt as if he stared into them. That of course was baloney. They were lines on canvas. He could easily wipe them out and paint a house instead. But he didn't. He knew he wouldn't, couldn't, because there was something about those eyes that enticed and puzzled him.

What would be the name of the person behind those eyes? he asked himself. The eyes were definitely those of a woman, so it would be woman's name. Alexis, he tried. No, that didn't fit. Alexis was too vibrant, and those eyes were calm, peaceful, almost serene. Wilma? Are you a Wilma? That name didn't sound right either.

By the third beer he had almost depleted his entire arsenal of female names and still the eyes were anonymous. You must be a... Betty. No, already had that. Carla? That felt remarkably close, but not right yet. Wait, I got it. Clara. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he spoke the name. The eyes belonged to Clara, and he would put money on that. Tomorrow, he knew, he'd put the colour in her eyes, that special grey-blue they had to be. Clara. You have beautiful eyes, girl. He smiled to himself. The rest of the evening he spent looking at Clara's eyes, imagining a face around them and wondering what colour hair she might have.

3. The eyes of Clara

The next day Ron started by checking his e-mails. Two times in a week was a personal best, but now he had a reason, and he discovered a response from Terrence Ostring. It contained a complete itinerary for the journey to New York, including departure and arrival times, and where he could pick up the tickets he'd need. For safety he pinched himself, and while his arm hurt the information was still there. Shell, I have a full trip planned for New York, he told his sister on the phone.

Shelley was impressed after listening to the list. I'm impressed. I know you paint nice stuff, Ron, but this is really not what I would have expected.

Neither had I, but it's here.

And it really states a return trip, right? Shelley went for the details.

It does. I just need to get to Richmond International, and there they have the tickets. Ron waited while Shelley was silent, she clearly was thinking.

Okay. I think it's safe to do that then. Pack your plastic bag and go to New York, big brother.

Thanks for helping, Shelley. I appreciate it. I'll let you know how things go, but it's still two weeks from now. After the call Ron grinned. He was going to New York, all expenses paid. Not even the jab of his sister about the plastic bag could make that any less great.

As he had no plans for the day he went out into the countryside to experience nature. It was one of the things he loved to do, and it never failed to inspire him for a new painting. He imagined Vincent van Gogh sitting out there in nature as well, looking at everything, trying to get into the soul of the world and the universe, and then attempting to put onto a canvas what impressions remained. It was hard enough to show the world the thin remnants of what he had seen, and even then he never felt adequate enough. Trying to put the real deal into colours and brush strokes would be sheer impossible.

No wonder Vincent went mad at times, Ron sighed as he sat down in the sand and let the sunshine that reached down through the treetops warm him. With his eyes closed he raised his face to the light. For several long moments he was entirely at peace. Then he stared into Clara's eyes. The change was so acute that it startled him. His eyes flew open and he looked around himself, but no one was there. Of course not. Calm down, buddy, Ron told himself. Vincent was genius, no hurry in getting as mad as he was until you've made it in N.Y.C. Despite that, his heart was still pounding, so he got up and slowly walked down the trail to the creek that ran along the edge of the forest. Following that he'd get back to where his car was. It cut his visit to the countryside short, but seeing Clara's eyes like that was a sign for him that he at least had to colour her eyes.

~~~

After accepting the offer to go to New York, Ron's life threw a switch. So many people asked him for paintings that he had to turn most of them down. A local paper asked him for an interview, which had never happened before. It felt as if all of Midlothian and wide surroundings was set on keeping him here after he had finally gotten this opportunity for a big break in the big city. Time took a running leap, and all of a sudden it was just a few more days until the trip to New York. It hit Ron as a surprise all over again; with all the business of the last weeks it had entirely escaped him. The day before leaving he found himself in his bedroom, putting the things he wanted to take with him in a borrowed suitcase. On the chair near the bed stood Clara's eyes. They looked at him almost accusingly. He caught a glimpse of the look and sighed as he sat down on the bed. I'm sorry, Clara. I know I have neglected you, he said. Things were very busy, you know. I could have done more on you; you could have a face now. Ron got up and took the canvas from the chair. I promise I'll personally come back for you when I make it in the city, he said with a smile that was meant to be convincing. And otherwise I'll come back anyway, just for you. With another sigh he put the painting down. As he turned to continue packing, it was as if the eyes burnt in his back.

The rest of the day Ron tried to avoid the pair of eyes. Each time he looked at them he felt guilty and that spooked him. He had never felt such strong emotion with a painting as with this one, and it only had eyes, nothing more. Thinking about it, it nearly scared him realising how strong the emotion might be once it was finished. In the end he found a sheet and put that over the canvas. I'm really sorry, he said in all honesty, but I can't bear it when you look at me like that.

Ron went to see his parents and his sister that evening. They all were proud of him, no one from the family had ever been offered something special like a trip to New York for a skill. Ron promised to stay in touch, to call at least a few times per week if not more. Shelley assured their parents that she'd remind him of his promise if he were to slack in that, which made all of them laugh. It was harder than Ron thought to say goodbye to his parents. They wouldn't come along to the airport, that was all too much fuss and too busy for them. The idea that for a while he wouldn't be able to visit them at least once a week was rough.

Shelley had promised she'd drive him to the airport so he could leave his trusty, rusty car at home, and on the big day she was there, very early. Ron was already waiting though, so they arrived at the airport more than an hour early. The tickets were all in order, and the lady at the desk wished him a pleasant journey. She also offered to take care of the six paintings Ron planned to take with him, something he gladly accepted. Ron treated Shelley to a coffee, so she would stick around for a while longer.

Be careful there, Ron, Shelley said. It's a big place, you hear all kinds of funny things about it. Remember, I only have one big brother and I'd like to keep it like that.

Ron grinned. Mum and Dad won't fix you up with a younger one any more, trust me. The slap he got was deserved of course.

You know what I mean, asshole, she growled.

"I'll be careful. Promise, cross my heart and