Ivory by Steve Merrifield

his brain. With
caution fallen like a ruin and forgotten his words fell over
themselves with excitement. “Tell me.”
    “ I saw her around. She was so unusual looking. Like you say
she has a beauty about her that is almost disturbing. I might be
gay, but I could always appreciate what was attractive in a woman.
Sexuality doesn’t affect your recognition of whether things are
beautiful or not. Ivory was different. I had feelings for her that
I couldn’t escape. They haunted me. I had wrestled with issues
about my sexuality in my early teens, before even then. Yet she
made me question things. Things that made me wonder about what my
Dad had said about phases and confusion. But, deep down I knew it
was her that created the confusion. It was just about her. Her
alone.
    “ I moved my hustling plot nearer to her route. I followed her
around, to and from her home. She started coming out in my art but
whatever I created just did not live up to her likeness.” Richard
turned his attention from the road and back to Martin, his dark
eyes soulful and lost.
    “ I don’t remember ever seeing them,” Martin demonstrated
incredulously.
    “ I kept them to myself. I was ashamed of what it said about
me. How it made my overt confidence about my sexuality somehow
hypocritical. Made me a sham.” Richard reached into his fitted
jeans and drew out a packet of cigarettes. “Step out? I need a
fag.”
    Martin nodded
somewhat reluctantly, and they moved to the tables and chairs
outside, leaving their consumables behind them. It was bitterly
cold and the four lane road was busy and noisy with rush-hour
traffic.
    “ Did you ever… talk to her or…” A knot of dread tightened his
stomach, at the possibility of Richard having any kind of
relationship with Ivory.
    Richard’s
fingers trembled as he fingered the cigarette packet open. “No. I
was always terrified of what would happen if I actually spoke to
her. I thought that I would be lost if I did that. I would have no
escape then.” His lips pursed around and a cigarette and he lit it
and took a deep draw.
    “ What happened?”
    Richard
exhaled a steady stream of ghostly blue smoke. “I spoilt several
relationships because of my doubts about myself and I lost some
good friends clumsily trying to reaffirm my sexuality and prove
something to myself. I thought I was losing it. So I made the
decision to be free of her. I adapted my routine so it wouldn’t
clash with hers. Avoided places where I had seen her. Found a new
patch further away. Some days I didn’t leave the flat. Weeks if I
am being honest.
    “ Beyond a counsellor you’re the first real person I have told
about this. I was worried I would sound melodramatic, but I can see
the same look in your eyes that haunted mine back then. So I am
glad I have told you. Maybe it will spare you the same
anguish.”
    “ Where are your pictures?”
    “ I destroyed them. Burnt the lot. It was the only way to cast
her out of my life. I couldn’t trust myself to paint. That is why I
changed to sculpture.” A little anger reinforced his voice as he
finally explained the true reasons for his change of art, maybe
bitterness for Martin’s rejection of him. “I did it to escape the
subtlety of paint, I was afraid that the chance of creating beauty
would posses my hand back to trying to recreate her on canvas. She
destroyed my art.
    “ Whatever your interest in Ivory, I would suggest leaving it.
Maybe it was just me she had this affect on. Maybe not. I saw the
way other people looked at her. People would stop dead in the
street to look at her. I think I was lucky to escape myself and my
obsession. I am not going to lecture you, but you have a wife and
kids. Don’t let this take over. Don’t let it destroy
you.”

Chapter Eight

    Ordinarily
Martin would have considered Richard’s warning to be dramatic, but
taken in context with recent events it unnerved him. So much so
that he had felt the need to divert his thoughts from Ivory