‘A watercolourist, yes.’
‘Oh, no. We are looking forrealart.’ And with a condescending wave towards the door, she practically ushered Stella from the premises.
It was a tauntingly familiar echo from her past. Domitia’s face and her sinew-drawn limbs faded to nothingness and in her place stood Andrew. Stella had learned enough over the past year and a half that her work was indeedart, and worthy of praise and admiration. Marcella thought it. Vincent and Marco agreed. And this stick insect wasn’t about to prove her otherwise.
‘Actually,’ Stella began, stepping forward, closing the space between them. ‘Watercolourisreal art. It’s a fine, meticulous skill of patience and time. It takes the gentlest, most passionate hands to draw life from colour-tinted water.’
Domitia was growing impatient. ‘We are done.Arrivederci.’
Stella turned, ready to accept the invitation to leave. ‘I’ll go. But remember, the only paper that really matters is the one we create on. Not a university transcript. Artistic talent can’t be signed-off by a faculty.’
Stepping onto the street, Stella wobbled for a moment. She wasn’t sure if her feet had inadvertently found a loose cobblestone or if it was her jelly-filled legs, but she strode ahead all the same.
Proud of herself for standing up for her work and her art, she inhaled deeply. The breath was steeling and restorative. Her inner monologue fed her all the retorts she wished she could have added in the moment, but none of that mattered now.
She would never have been a good match for a gallery like that in any case. This was the consolation that kept her company on the walk home. Well, thatplusthe fact that she had finally voiced some of the rebuttals she wished she’d had the courage to serve Andrew.
She sighed and turned the corner onto Piazza Colonna.
‘Can I have a hug?’ Stella didn’t even wait for a reply before slumping against Marcella.
Dropping her stack of cooking magazines to the floor, Marcella welcomed Stella into her arms. ‘Certo! Tell me everything.’
Stella, acutely aware of the close proximity of her face to Marcella’s breasts, pulled away from their cuddle and sat next to her on the couch. ‘I always forget that your hugs come with an airbag safety system.’
Marcella cackled and gave her bosom a sideways squeeze. ‘Protection, built in!’
Smiling, Stella said, ‘Another email rejection came through today. Then I visited a gallery in person and was pushed away.’
‘Stella, something will happen. I know it will.’ She gave her chin a caress. ‘Ci credo.’
‘Thanks. I know I just need to keep at it, but the constant rejection just . . . sucks.’
Marcella’s eyes brightened slightly, and her hands gave Stella’s thigh a reassuring rub. ‘Can I cheer you up?’
‘Of course.’
‘Today, I was looking through last year’s diary trying to find some old paperwork from a supplier.Allora, the paperwork,poof, I don’t know where that went!’ She waved her hand nonchalantly through the air. ‘But, I did see something that I think might interest you.’ She walked to the dining table and collected the diary. Passing it to Stella, she said, ‘Guarda. . .’
‘Arriva la cangura,’ Stella read. ‘The kangaroo arrives?’ The two locked eyes. ‘What?’
‘That’syou. When you arrived. I wrote it in my diary.’
‘And you thought of me as a kangaroo?’
‘L’Australiana. You know? Well . . .’ Her red lips curled in a devilish grin. ‘I thought we could have a party for your Romaversary. One year in Roma.’
Stella rose from the couch. ‘Oh, no. No, no. Marcella, there’s no need.’ She thrust the diary back into Marcella’s hands.
‘Zitta!’ she snapped, miming zipping her lips.
‘It’s like two and a half months away. What are you even thinking?’
‘I’m thinking that you need something exciting to look forward to.Una festa! Stella,dai! You’ve come back from Melbourne very worried and stressed. This is not you,cara. Please. I want to do this for you.’
Stella wanted to push back, but she didn’t have the stamina. She didn’t have ideas for the mural. She didn’t have a job, or any prospects. What she did have was rejections and excuses.
And Marcella.
