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YA Fiction - Serial Novels - The Sunshine Time

The Sunshine Time Season 1 Episode 12

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Lea and her friend Yvon go on a painting trip with the famous artist Kuno Belvedeer. They get into an altercation with N.S.A.P. supporters. Billy turns up to spice things further.

Yvon tapped her shoe on the gleaming floor of the lobby, glanced again at her wristwatch, adjusted the strap of her shoulder bag, and told me that she was going to try again. She did. She rang the doorbell for the sixth time. And now there was a response. The glossy, dark-brown door opened with a violent yank and a large figure glared out at us and demanded to know what we meant by disturbing honest folks at such an ungawdly hour, why couldn’t we just leave the bloody milk and GO?

“Because we didn’t bring the milk, we came for the tea,” said Yvon, cheerfully, and told me, “This is Kuno,” and told him, “Kuno, this is Lea.”

“Hello,” I said, nervously.

Kuno Belvedeer, the great artist, continued glaring at us. He did not look debonair like he did in his tabloid photos. He was wearing only blue pajama bottoms, with a fine expanse of muscular, hairy chest on display. His dark hair was all askew, his face was stubbly, and his eyes were bleary. A gleam of comprehension suddenly appeared in them.

“Oh gawd, no,” he said, by way of greeting, and withdrew from the doorway, leaving us to follow him inside into a dim hall with a polished floor and tall windows that showed the dawn sky and a few twinkling stars. There were huge paintings on the walls that I would have liked to have examined in a brighter light.

“You did say you wanted to come along, Kuno,” said Yvon.

“It slipped my mind,” he said, going through a dark doorway and flipping on a light switch to reveal a gleaming kitchen. “I was out late.” He scratched his chest and yawned and opened the fridge and looked inside. “Frigging stupid birthday party. Birthday boy turned 31. Should have stopped celebrating after the seventh one. Silly chump. I don’t know why I even went. Total waste of time. The highlight was a girl jumping out of a frigging cake. I said I’m not eating that. I mean, would you? After someone in the buff’s been in there? Anyway, I didn’t get back until 2 am... What time is it now? Oh, good grief, 6.30 am! Bloody hell, I haven’t slept a wink!”

“Well,” said Yvon, “then you should have let me know...”

“At 2 am?” he asked. “The last time I called at that hour, that caveman you keep around threatened to sandbag my skull.”

“A message would have done,” she said, ignoring the insult to her darling husband Rubens.

“Didn’t think of it,” he said, and drank orange juice straight from the carton, not offering us anything. He didn’t even ask us to sit down. Yvon grimaced at me and reminded him that we had only turned up because he had insisted he wanted to come out painting with us. He peered into the depths of the fridge and wondered aloud why the hell there wasn’t something more substantial in there for his bloody hangover. He seemed to notice me all of a sudden.

“Who the hell is this?”

“Lea,” said Yvon. “I told you, didn’t I? My friend and neighbor. The first year art student. Your greatest fan.”

She nudged me and I stammered, “Yes, I love your work.”

He snorted so rudely it was a wonder the orange juice didn’t squirt out from his nose, and said, “What the hell do you even know about it? First year art student, huh? What the hell do you know about anything?”

It was off-putting to say the least. He gave me a dismissive look-over, clearly pleased to have jarred me like that.

“Kuno!” an imperious female voice called from somewhere in the apartment.

He muttered an expletive, slammed shut the fridge door, and asked us how the hell he was going to get rid of the Princess in there?

Yvon said, deadpan, “Not the cake jumper?”

Kuno showed a momentary spark of charm, then his grin vanished and he clutched his head. “I don’t need a scene,” he said, half to himself.

“It’s okay,” said Yvon. “You don’t have to come along.”

“Like hell I don’t. I said I would, didn’t I? Been a bloody long time since I got any decent work done... Hold a sec.”

“Kuno?” A girl, a completely nude girl, appeared in the doorway and the next thing I knew Yvon had clapped her hand over my eyes, but not before I’d recognized who it was. There was a gasp and a curse. By the time I had pushed off Yvon’s hand, we were the only two people in the kitchen.

“You didn’t see that,” Yvon said to me.“Even if you did, pretend you didn’t. What will Salila say? She’ll say I’ve been corrupting you.”

“Idiot,” I said, but I was too startled to be really cross. Was that really? OH MY GAWD. “Dallas Caraindon!” I said in a horrified whisper to Yvon. “I don’t believe ┬áthis. What’s she doing here? And like that?”

Yvon touched her nose and murmured, “Ahm, contributing to art perhaps. Either that or trying out the second bathroom. Kuno was saying he hardly ever gets around to using it himself...”

I glanced at her and shoved an elbow into her ribs. “Shut up!”

The sound of a heated argument reached us. Dallas was, unsurprisingly, furious. In her place, I wouldn’t have known how to even begin dealing with the sheer embarrassment. In her place, I thought, I wouldn’t even have been here. I couldn’t believe this. How could she do this? What was wrong with her?

“She’s cheating on her boyfriend,” I said to Yvon.

“Hush,” said Yvon.

“She is. She’s got the most marvelous boyfriend in the entire world, and she’s cheating on him.”

“Shhh. It’s none of our business.”

“I know him...”

“Piers Paul?”

“No. Arlen Shaughnessy. She’s seeing him. I met him on the train. He’s the nicest person there is...”

The angry voices grew louder, then footsteps passed beyond the kitchen, and, a moment later, the front door banged shut. Kuno came back, looking harassed, and my indignation transferred to him.

“She already has a boyfriend!” I said.

“What?” he said. “Who? Her? Yeah? So?”

“What do you mean so?”

“Shut up!” said Yvon, pinching me and shoving me towards the doorway. “C’mon, we’re out of here. Kuno, I’m really sorry. We didn’t mean to...”

“No, no,” he said. “That spoiled madam was starting to get on my nerves anyway. I don’t know who the hell she thinks she is. Just because you’re born into privilege doesn’t mean you’ve to be so absolutely rotten. It’s not even like I asked her over. It was entirely her idea... What the hell are you glaring at me for?” he demanded of me.

Yvon gave me another shove forward. “Never mind. We’re going.”

“What do you mean you’re going? Hang on, I’m coming along. Let me change.”

He went off and Yvon told me, in no uncertain terms, to hold my tongue. What other people did in their personal lives was no concern of mine. No, not even if I had met one of their boyfriends on the train, alright?

“I can’t believe how you can take this so lightly,” I said.

“It’s none of my business,” she said. “Or yours.”

“Arlen doesn’t deserve this, I bet he’ll be crushed if he ever found out.”

“Now, please, don’t tell me you’re going to be rushing over to tell him.”

“If I knew how to contact him, you bet I would. I don’t like these sort of underhand things. It’s not just a total lack of morals, it also signifies a total lack of ethics. How would you like it if Rubens cheated on you?”

“Please,” she said. “Shut up.”

I glared at her and said, “Exactly.”

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