18 - There dwells a spirit, waiting to be released

With his meal a thing of recent history, Merlyn leaned back in his chair, putting one foot on the vacant seat next to him as he enjoyed the Irish coffee he’d ordered. A warm breeze smelling of the ocean, combined with a clear view of the bay on one side and the interior of the club on the other, had him more relaxed than he had been in he didn’t remember how long.

Closing his eyes he let the music wash over him, tapping his foot in time its beat.

“It’s a wonderful evening for… anything.” Merlyn’s opened his eyes slowly. The man standing beside him smiled. “It is you know. An evening ripe with possibilities.”

It was the same young man Merlyn had admired earlier on the dance floor. His dark, sun-streaked hair was moist with perspiration and his tight T-shirt clung to well-defined muscles. Again Merlyn had the vague feeling he had seen him somewhere before. Possibly, he thought, at the dance club he and Alton had visited a few weeks ago. A shadow crossed his face at that thought.

“If I’m bothering you I’ll leave,” the young man said with a tinge of lost hope.

Shaking off the brief flash of melancholy Merlyn said, “No, stay.” Taking his foot off the chair he nodded for the young man to sit.

When he had, draping the jacket he’d had slung over his shoulder onto the back of the chair, he introduced himself. “I’m Alan. Well actually Ailín, if you want to get technical, but everyone calls me Alan.”

“Ailín? It sounds Irish. I’m Merlyn.”

“Irish-Gaelic. A family name I’ve been told from eons ago.” He glanced into the club for a moment before saying, “Merlin, like the magician?”

“Yes, but with a ‘y’ not an ‘i’. My mother wanted me to be different from the rest of the herd so to speak.” Merlyn chuckled. “She got her wish in spades.”

“I like it, it makes you sound mystical.” Alan leaned back, a grin lighting his face. “So, the usual pick-up line, what brings you to a place like this?”

“The food mostly, I was starving and wanted to get out of the house. You on the other hand don’t have to tell me why you’re here, you like to dance.”

Alan’s grin widened. “Big time. Don’t you?”

Merlyn shrugged. “I’m not terribly good at it so I watch and enjoy and sketch if I find a worthy subject.”

“You’re an artist?”

“I’m a sculptor,” Merlyn replied in answer to Alan’s question. “I work mainly in marble, thought sometimes I do smaller pieces in clay.”

“This sounds conceited but did you do any sketches of me?” Alan looked both hopeful and shy when he asked.

“A couple.” Taking the pad from his pocket Merlyn showed the young man what he’d drawn.

“You’re good!”

“I had a good subject.”

“Could you… do you..?” Alan’s face reddened. “I’m being pushy, I’m sorry. We don’t even know each other.”

Merlyn smiled in amusement. “Take it from an old man, you’ll never get what you want if you don’t ask.”

“You’re not old. Maybe,” Alan studied him, “twenty-nine, thirty?”

“Not a bad guess for a kid.”

“I’ll have you know I’m twenty-four and counting, thank you very much.”

“As I said, a kid.” Merlyn patted Alan’s thigh without thinking and quickly pulled his hand back. “So what was you were trying to ask me?”

“Nothing. It was just a silly idea.”

“Alan,” Merlyn said sternly, “spit it out.”

“Okay, do you ever use models or do you just work from sketches?” The words came tumbling out in a rush.

“From sketches and imagination. After all I don’t think anyone would want to pose for days or weeks at a time while I tried to capture their image in a huge block of marble.”

“But you’d draw me if you thought I’d make a good subject?”

“I have already.” Merlyn tapped the sketchpad.

“Oh, yeah. Could you do a full drawing of me, not just a sketch? I’ll pay you for it.”

Merlyn looked at him and laughed. “Alan you probably couldn’t afford my prices but,” he continued when the young man’s face fell, “I’ll make you a deal. We go inside and you teach me to dance, or try to because I have two left feet, and I’ll do a full-blown drawing in exchange.”