Chapter Twenty-Five
November 19th, 1913
New York City, New York
Iris left her house shortly after the sun had gone to sleep. Iris had been struck with inspiration. Ever since she had gone out on that date with Jack, she stewed constantly over what he had told her. And every day, the words made more and more sense. Iris felt it was time to climb out of her comfort zone, do what she wants to do, and not worry about what anyone else thought. Jack's speech had inspired Iris to continue drawing flowers, but now, she was determined to create a background, a landscape, so she could be somewhat like her brother. She had an idea of dandelions beside a park bench, but upon sitting down to draw, she realized she had forgotten her charcoal pencils at the studio.
Iris waited until after dinner and until she was able to set the radio up for her mom, so she wouldn't miss the next episode of her show, before departing for the studio. It was a nippy night. Iris hunched her shoulders and dug her hands into her yellow peacoat as she began up the street. As she crossed the road, she hoped Jack wasn't asleep. She really wanted to see him, hang out with him, alone. Iris thought something was growing between the two of them. She had her hopes high that maybe she was finally getting somewhere with Jack. That she had been persistent enough that he felt like he could bring the walls down, once and for all.
As the studio grew into sight, Iris picked up her pace. Partly due to the weather, partly because she wanted her pencils, but also partly because she was anxious to see what Jack was up to. It wasn't late by his standards. She figured he was still awake doing something. Iris tried to push the door open, but realized it was locked. She fumbled for her keys and let herself in, quietly closing the door behind her. The studio was pitch black. Jack must have turned in for the night. Iris held in a disappointed sigh as she flicked the lights on and slowly, they began to buzz and glow dimly.
Iris went directly to the communal table where she had last seen her pencils. Sure enough, the box was sitting on top and she grabbed it, sighing that she finally had them again. She wasn't tired in the least and figured she'd stay up late in her room drawing. A thumping noise drew her attention away from her pencils, however. It sounded faint. Maybe the studio was shifting? Iris creeped towards the stairwell leading to Jack's room. She thought maybe Jack was making the noise. When she glanced up the staircase, she noticed the faintest candlelight was shimmering just under the crack in his door. And she could hear the noise more distinctly. Was he making art?
Iris looked around at the studio that was slowly growing more illuminated as the lights warmed up. She slid her shoes off to her stockings, wincing at the cold concrete floor. Then quietly, she began on the stairs, being sure to lay her foot flat, silently, as she took a step. She grew closer to Jack's room, but still, the noise wasn't quite distinguishable. Iris stopped just three short steps from the door, as suddenly a chill came over her. She felt her face flush as finally, she heard something she could distinguish.
The faint voice of a woman. Saying Jack's name over and over again. A rhythmic noise made Iris' cheeks heat up as she comprehended what the noise really was. Iris was nearly trembling, her eyes glued to the door as a breathy, "Jack!" made it to her ears again. Iris back pedaled hurrily, nearing falling down the stairs. Her foot thunked heavily and she bit her tongue, hoping they didn't hear, but still the rhymic noise continued without protest.
Iris had tears brimming her eyes as she clumsily stumbled into her shoes. She flicked the lights off in the studio and closed the door quietly behind her. She left without her charcoal pencils.
...
November 20th, 1913
New York City, New York
The next morning, Frenchie had to coax Iris to come to the studio. She had claimed she didn't feel like drawing, but Frenchie declared it absurd. Eventually her mother got involved, telling her she needed to go. Iris finally gave in. She walked beside Frenchie in silence, looking to the damp cement from the morning's rain. Frenchie glanced to his sister and heaved a sigh.
"What's wrong, Iris?"
"Nothing," Iris replied, almost too quickly.
"Don't say that," Frenchie gave her a look, "Something's eating you up, I can tell."
"Really, it's nothing," Iris told him, her insides twisting up. She felt like she had so much to say, but she couldn't bring herself to. A small piece of her was even too embarrassed.
When they made it to the studio, Jack was at the communal table pouring some pools of paint into his pallette so he could work on a requested painting for Frenchie. He lowered his cup of coffee, licking his lips, as he poured some green onto a section of the board. He glanced up when he saw the door open and smiled.
"Hey, good morning," Jack greeted them, "I was just gettin' ready to start Mrs. Greene's painting for you, Frenchie. I finished the base yesterday evening."
Is that all you were doing yesterday evening? Iris thought glumly, dawdling as she walked towards the communal table. She kept her eyes down as she set her portfolio beside her forgotten charcoal pencils. She hadn't gotten any drawings done last night. Instead she was curled up in the chair by her bedroom window absolutely lost in her mind.
"That's fantastic, thank you, Jack," Frenchie replied. He crossed to look at the painting, putting his hands on his hips, "That means I should get started on Mr. Nimmitz's painting this morning."
"Sounds like a plan," Jack said, returning to his coffee and pallette.
Frenchie clapped his hands together and went to the backroom to collect his supplies for the job and to put his painting smock on. Iris glanced to where he had left and then returned her eyes to her portfolio, which was open to a fresh blank page. She curiously peered to Jack beneath her bangs, but he was distracted with his task at hand, absent mindedly holding his coffee in one hand. Her eyes darted back down and she tapped her pencil to the paper, chewing on her lip.
Iris heard the clattering of Frenchie. He reappeared into the work space, hauling a few buckets at his side, filled with brushes, chisels, and a variety of stained pallettes. As Frenchie past his sister, he looked over her shoulder to see her idling with no marks on the page. He paused at the end of the table and she slowly lifted her eyes, already biting her tongue, willing in her mind for her brother to stay silent. Stop bugging me, she kept repeating in her mind, hoping the message was coming straight out of her pupils, piercing her brother's brain.
"Jack," Frenchie looked to his assistant. Jack arched his eyebrows and lifted his eyes, "something has been bugging Iris all morning. It seems to have chased away her inspiration. Talk to her, please? You're very wise."
Jack smirked and looked to Iris, "What's up, Iris?"
Her eyes fell over to Jack and he could tell she was waning and waxing between hurt and anger. Jack couldn't recall he'd ever seen Iris look so upset. He furrowed his brow now as he suspected something was going on. He set his coffee down and pressed his palm flat to the table, "Hey, are you alright?"
"Fine," She answered rather coldly, looking down at her hand fiddling with her pencil, "Really, guys, just stop," Iris looked between the two perplexed men.
"We can't make art in an angry environment," Frenchie shook his head, "You'll infect the art."
"You're the one who forced me to come," Iris looked straight at her brother, "I told you I was going to take the day."
"Well, if you're not feelin' it, maybe you should head out," Jack told her, "Go for a walk. Get some lunch. Visit the library or something."
"No," Frenchie looked to Jack, "I'm not sending her out there like this. She needs to talk to us, Jack!"
"Well," Jack shrugged, "then just say it. Get it out there."
"Jack," Iris sighed exasperatedly. He looked to her expectantly, "why didn't you tell us you were seeing somebody?"
A silence filled the studio. Jack straightened up now, his body coming down with a chill. Pensively, he licked his lips and looked between a rather stunned Frenchie and a pointedly direct Iris. Jack gripped the edge of the communal table before finally saying, "What are you talking about?"
"Playing dumb again," Iris scoffed, shaking her head, "You haven't been honest with us since the art show, Jack. You're withholding information. You said nothing happened, but something did."
"What happened, then?" Jack asked cooly, well aware of Frenchie's eyes on the side of his face.
"Last night," Iris took in a curt breath, "I came back to get my charcoal pencils because I had forgotten them. I... I heard things when I came in," Jack's heart rate began to spike in his chest, "I heard someone calling your name over and over again."
"Jack- is this true?" Frenchie was obviously floored.
Jack pursed his lips, running his tongue along his front teeth. He lowered his eyes, feeling as if he had been caught red-handed. He couldn't help but feel rather foolish, as if it was ludicrous he could have actively kept his personal life from these people who were apart of it just as much. Finally, Jack nodded, glancing to Frenchie, before looking to Iris silently. He knew her feelings were hurt. He knew she wanted justification of his actions. He knew she wanted to know why and who. But still, he said nothing, and only returned the gaze to Iris.
"Who is she?" Iris asked now.
Jack's eyes fluttered to the dirty communal table before he croaked, "It's... Rose," He looked to Iris, "You were right. You probably did see her that day at the cafe. Because I saw her at the art show."
A silence came between the trio. Jack nearly felt breathless as he looked to the communal table. His heart beat horrendously in his chest. Iris laid her pencils down now and sat up straight, her eyes locked on Jack. All those months ago, she had felt like a massive fool, and all along, she had been right. Iris closed her portfolio and began gathering her art supplies into her arms.
"Iris," Jack called after her, but she didn't pause or give a fleeting look over her shoulder. She continued for the door. Jack came around Frenchie, watching her go, "Iris!" His voice resounded off all the walls, but she slammed the door shut behind her. He sighed and rubbed the nape of his neck, sheepishly shifting the weight between his feet. Jack looked to Frenchie who seemed to be stewing in his mind, "Look- I had every intention of telling you guys, but it only just happened and-"
"How could you?" Frenchie asked, still not turning towards Jack, "You knew she liked you."
"Frenchie, what did I tell you all those months ago?" Jack felt a wave of heat wash over his body, "I told you I didn't want to break her heart."
"But you still did."
"I was honest the entire time!" Jack's voice rose unsteadily as he stared at the back of Frenchie, "That 'date' we had, I was upfront the entire time about my feelings! I just wanted someone to hang out with for once. I didn't lead her on, she set herself up for a big fall."
"She finally met someone she felt comfortable giving her heart to," Frenchie now turned to Jack, "And you shattered it."
Jack bit down on his tongue so hard, he began to taste copper. His nostrils flared for a moment before he turned away from Frenchie and began towards the door. He grabbed his coat, wrangling it over his shoulders hurriedly. He glanced once more towards Frenchie who was simply watching him go. Jack opened his mouth, but no words came out, so he promptly snapped it shut. He turned around and made sure to slam the door extra hard behind him.