Driven to Distraction (Silhouette Desire S.) by Sheri Whitefeather, Dixie Browning Read Free Book Online Page B

up on the easel so that it faced the class. She applauded. A few others picked it up, but Silver waved his hand and the applause quickly faded.
    â€œNow, using my feeble attempt as an example, let’s all see what we can come up with. Quickly, quickly—let the medium know who’s boss.”
    Let the medium know who was boss? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Ben glanced over his shoulder and happened to catch Maggie’s eye. She shrugged. He shook his head. At least this time they were in agreement. A regular meeting of the minds. He could think of several other areas where he wouldn’t mind meeting her.
    â€œYou have thirty minutes,” Silver said. “Impressions only, we’ll get to details later in the week.”
    Charlie, on the far end of Ben’s table, asked if there were any chairs. Perry lifted his eyebrows, but Charlie, a high school biology teacher a year away from retirement, was not intimidated. “In my classroom Istand,” he stated. “On vacation, I sit unless I’ve got a golf club in my hand.”
    Ben wondered what the hell the older man was doing here when he could be outside in the fresh air beating the stuffing out of a little white ball?
    â€œIs anyone else unable to stand for more than fifteen minutes? If so, you might want to consider dropping out now.” Adjusting his beret, the instructor surveyed the room as if daring anyone to take the challenge.
    â€œDo I get a refund if I drop out?” Charlie asked.
    â€œI believe the terms were clearly stated in your application.”
    â€œI guess that means no.”
    Sounds of disapproval moved through the room on the pollen-laden breeze, drawing a variety of responses. Janie uncovered what she called a watercolor block—a stack of rough pages glued together on the edges. She leaned past Ben to smile at Charlie.
    Ignoring a few murmurs of discontent, Silver pointed out first one area and then another in his landscape, over which he had quickly taped a white mat, as if to lend it legitimacy. “Note the contrasts,” he instructed. “Dark against light, light against dark.”
    Hard to get one without the other, Ben thought, but then he wasn’t feeling particularly charitable.
    â€œGradation, there’s your sense of depth. Note the sharpest areas—in other words, the greatest contrast—falls near the center of interest, while everything else seems to soften. Blended washes. Do we see this?”
    â€œWith or without my trifocals?” someone asked, to the accompaniment of a few snickers.
    And then, Lord bless her, Maggie spoke up. “Which part wasn’t working…sir? If you don’t mind my asking.”
    Janie bit her lip. Charlie said something about his feet not working, plus a few other parts he could mention, but wouldn’t. Georgia dipped a brush that could easily be used for window trim into her plastic pail and dragged it over a pan of colors that looked as if it had been caught in the middle of a paint war.
    By the time they broke for a glass of sweetened iced tea, everyone had committed their thirty minutes’ worth of art. Ben had done his share of cursing, but fell silent after the first remonstrative look from Georgia. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m trying to break the habit, but the damn paper—darned paper keeps puckering.”
    Charlie offered a few euphemisms, several of which were biological terms which, translated to street parlance, wouldn’t pass muster. Janie called him a dirty old man, but grinned when she said it. She handed Ben a couple of clothespins and showed him how to use them to control the swelling of wet paper. All three of his tablemates commented freely, the comments for the most part flying over Ben’s head.
    Washes, bleeds, drybrush? Hell, he couldn’t even manage the lingo. How the devil was he supposed to learn how to paint a picture?
    Answer? He wasn’t. No point in