Art School, Part I-III - by Non Serviam (~BHM, ~BBW, Intrigue, ~MWG)

[Non Serviam]

~BHM, ~BBW, Intrigue, ~MWG - Milo has just started studying at Kentigern College of Art, but when he meets the charismatic Heath, he begins an education that includes far more than drawing technique.

Art School
Part I-III
By Non Serviam​

I met Heath on my first day of art college. In fact, it was the day before lessons started, when I was moving into my new room. I’d been told I was going to get a roommate, but we hadn’t actually met when I dragged my stuff up to our room in the student residence. It was on the first floor, for which I was thankful; there were no stairs, and some people’s room were right up in the attics. Even so, the wooden steps creaked as I hauled the boxes which contained my many worldly possessions to what the letter in my back pocket told me was Room 22.

After identifying it by the brass number on the door, I turned the handle and staggered in. Lying on his back on a single bed holding a book above his face was a thin young man in jeans and a tatty t-shirt. He was also barefoot, and waggled his toes as I entered, dropping my stuff heavily on the narrow bed by the opposite wall, making the springs groan.

“Hi,” he said, offering his hand but not getting up. I shook it, and he swung round to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m Heath.”

“Milo,” I told him, slightly bemused but liking him instantly. Heath gestured around at the bare wooden floorboards and whitewashed brick walls.

“They don’t spare much expense here, do they? Still, it seems like the sort of place artists should be living in. It’s probably to inspire us.” He pulled himself to his feet, and slipped them into a pair of sandals that were lying on the floor at the bottom of the bed. “Come on! Let’s go exploring.”

With Heath around, I soon discovered, there was a lot of “exploring”, a lot of adventures. Although he was as new as I was – in fact, he had lived farther away from Kentigern before coming to the college – he seemed to get to know people instantly. Physically he was lazy as sin, never lifting anything heavier than a paintbrush if he could help it, but he had what they call the gift of the gab. In the college cafeteria he would bolt down his food as quickly as possible, then spend the rest of the meal chatting. He liked talking to people, and people really liked talking to him. It’s something I’ve never been able to master, but it was great having him around. The two of us became good friends really quickly, and he had a brilliant knack of getting us both invited places.

One night, about a month after we had moved in, we were on our way home from a particularly excellent party a few streets away from the college, at the flat of the guitarist from “Spitlove”. This was a band whose drummer, Alex, was in the year above us, and liked to tell anyone who would listen how his band were on the verge of becoming big. The party had been amazing, and although we mostly abstained from any serious substance abuse, Heath and I were feeling slightly the worse for wear once we finally managed to get out the door at some time after three in the morning.

As we walked back to the residence, Heath and I were feeling a little nervous. Neither of us had been out in the city that late before, and although we wouldn’t have admitted it, we’d have quite liked to get home soon. Two skinny art students who weren’t exactly streetwise at the best of times would have been best advised sticking to the main roads in downtown Kentigern. Only just as we were about to turn into the street where the college campus was, Heath stopped, an expression on his face like that of a deer caught in truck headlights. I tried to see what he was staring at.

As it turned out, there was a gang of skinheads advancing down the road towards us. This might have been okay, as they were taking their time, but Heath had locked eyes with their leader. They began to move faster, now staring to run towards us, shouting unintelligibly. Heath was still rooted to the spot with terror, so I grabbed his arm and pulled him into the nearest alley, and we ran.

Eventually we managed to lose them by hiding in between two bins behind a pub. Slightly shaken, we started back for the residence, only to discover that we weren’t sure exactly where we were.


“I’m sure it’s this way,” said Heath, in a tone that suggested he was anything but, pointing down a row of grey concrete buildings I had never seen before in my life.

“I’m… not sure,” I replied, looking uncertainly at the building above me. I didn’t know how long it had been since our encounter with the skinheads. All I knew was that I was tired and I wanted to go to bed, but had the feeling that, if in fact we weren’t walking in circles, our convoluted path was only taking us further and further from the only place we knew in a strange city.

Heath peered over at the horizon. “I think I recognise that building over there,” he said. “Oh, no, it’s not. And look – the sun’s coming up.”

“Brilliant,” I moped, “we’ve been out all night! I’m going to be shattered tomorrow.”

“What was that?” said Heath.

“What was what?”

“That noise,” Heath said. I listened, and sure enough, I could hear someone shouting. It seemed to be coming from the next alley along. Heath ran to where the noise was before I could stop him, and so I felt I had to follow.

In the shadows, I could make out two large shapes over a smaller one – an old man cowering on the floor, yelling, “Please! This is all I’ve got, please just take it!” The two men over him were holding knives, which glinted in the pre-dawn glow.

“Ah dinna believe you!” snarled the bigger of the two muggers. “You pure look like you’re pure minted, wi yer suit an that! Hand over the rest of the cash!”

As the man felt in all his pockets again, Heath slowly crept up behind the attackers. Terrified, I tried to attract his attention, but failed, and so I crept after him. He had taken up a discarded glass bottle from where it sat just beside a rubbish bin, which I, unable to think of anything else to do, moved behind to await the worst.

The man on the ground, unable to do anything, was covering his eyes and protesting in an ever-weakening voice, “Please…don’t…” Just as they were about to move in on him, Heath raised the bottle above his head and brought it down with a crash on the head of the larger mugger, who dropped to the floor, howling in pain. The other turned and, screaming obscenities at Heath, ran for him.

An instinct I’d never known I had kicked in, prompting me to push the bin with all my might, causing the mugger to trip over his fallen comrade and knock his head hard on the ground. Before they could disentangle themselves and get up, heath and I grabbed the old man and pelted back the way we had come, fleeing for the second time that night.

Once we were round the corner, Heath phoned the police on his mobile and turned to the old man. He must have been at least seventy, was completely bald, and wore a blue suit which seemed, until recently, to have been of quite good quality. “Are you all right?”

He patted himself down. “Well, yes, I think I am, thanks to you two!” He shook me warmly by the hand and Heath by his free one, even while he was on the phone. “I was just on the way home. Stupid of me to have been out in the dark, I suppose, but I hadn’t thought I might get mugged at five o’clock in the morning!”

“Is that really the time?” I said. “We’ve been lost for hours, you see…”

“Oh!” said the man. “That’s lucky for me, but you must be starving.” He looked up at Heath, who was off the phone by now. “Would you boys like some breakfast?”


The man’s name was Thomas Valentine, and as we discovered, he was the owner of a restaurant. “Valentine’s” was only a couple of streets away, and though Tom (as he encouraged us to call him) usually opened at seven for breakfast, he happily opened up early for us.

It was bigger than either of us has expected. Heath raised his eyebrows and smiled as we sat down at a table near the kitchen. In the middle of the room was a massive horseshoe-shaped counter, which, though now empty, had spaces for all sorts of food. In the middle of the horseshoe was another large table with cake-stands on it which made me think it must be for the desserts. The cook, a very large, very friendly man called Esteban, told us about the place when he brought us each our meal, a huge plate of fried bread, sausages, bacon, eggs and beans. It was, it turned out, an all-you-can-eat buffet place – that was what the counters were for – which opened at seven and stayed open until midnight most nights.

Tom had started it as a more traditional diner in a much smaller location forty years ago, but he had done so well he’d moved into bigger premises and adopted the “all-you-can-eat” format to draw even more crowds. Judging by the size of the place, he’d been successful. Esteban also delighted in telling us stories about Tom. When told what had happened with the muggers, and we mentioned where we had first seen him, Esteban chuckled.

“Ah! He’ll probably have been visiting Rita!” he grinned, winking. “Probably why he was out so late, stupid old man. His wife doesn’t know about her, see?” he explained, laughing even more. “He still get about, does old Tom! I hope I’m that active when I’m his age!”

We were truly famished after the night we’d had, and Esteban didn’t hesitate to bring us seconds and then third helpings when he saw how quickly we’d eaten – I was so hungry I ate mine just as fast as Heath did. As we were eating, more of the staff started to arrive. One we noticed in particular was a gorgeous, dark-haired girl called Andrea, who came to talk to us while we were finishing the last of our food. She was new, she told us; this was her first week. She was quite tall and slim, and though the skirt she wore wasn’t that short, it showed off a lot of very long leg.

Eventually, as the customers started to arrive, we said goodbye to everyone and left, though not before Tom had told us: “Come back any time” It’s the least I can do – you’ll always eat here for free!”


The residence turned out to but just round the corner; we had been going in circles after all. Though we were now no longer hungry, Heath and I were both very tired, so we went back to our room and slept well into the afternoon. At dinner in the cafeteria that evening, everyone asked where we’d been, and so Heath told them. They were seriously impressed, but as I picked at my unappetising plate of sad, undercooked spaghetti and watery bolognaise, I thought about Tom’s offer.

“We should go back there, you know,” I told Heath, after the meal. I hadn’t eaten much, and though Heath usually ate so quickly he never stopped to taste it, even he had left more than half of his dinner.

“Good idea,” said Heath. “I’m still famished.” He made for the door, but I hesitated. I hadn’t meant right then, but thinking of it, why not? It was free, after all. It was just that I thought Tom probably hadn’t been expecting us back so soon.

As it happened, he had. As soon as Heath and I walked in, he came over in a fresh suit, looking right as rain, and led us personally to a table. A different waitress – Andrea only worked the morning shift – came over with our plates, inviting us to go over and help ourselves. It was impossible to decide what to have, so we loaded our plates with a bit of everything and went back to the table.

Heath inhaled his food as usual and headed back for more well before I did. By the time I came back with my second plate, he was eating his fourth, and showed no signs of stopping. I had never seen him eat like that, and said so.

“I know,” said Heath thickly through a mouthful of pasta, “but it’s so good! I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

He was right about that. I could feel myself getting full, but I didn’t want to stop eating. Each plateful didn’t seem like a full course, though there was more than enough food for it to be one; it just seemed like taking more at the dinner table. When I was eating my third course, Heath started to move on to dessert, which looked amazing, so the next time I went up that was what I had. Chocolate cake, cheesecake, apple pie, ice cream and jelly – which slid down my throat so that I didn’t notice how much of it I was eating.

When I was finally finished after my third plate of dessert, I sat back and rested my hands on my tender stomach. I had eaten six platefuls – three times as much as a large meal would be, which was more than I was used to eating anyway. Heath, however, was another matter. He had finished at about the same time as I had, but he had had to undo the button on his usually baggy jeans, because to his usually slim frame he had added a slightly bulging stomach, noticeable even under his t-shirt.

We thanked Tom and left. On the way back to the college, I asked Heath, “How many plates did you have, anyway?”

He smiled. “Fourteen,” he said.

“Fourteen? How did you eat that much?” I asked him, astonished.

“Well, thirteen would have been unlucky.”


The next day, Heath and I went back for breakfast. I couldn’t see myself ever making another trip to the college cafeteria again. Andrea was there, and whenever she had a spare moment she would find an excuse to come over to our table and chat to us, eating from each of our plates as she did so – though not without scolding herself.

“I’m going to get so fat if I keep working here!” she complained, putting a hand on her flat stomach.

“What about us?” Heath put in. “We’re eating here free. I don’t think we’ll be this skinny for long.”

That wasn’t something I’d thought about. I’d always had quite a good metabolism, and never had a problem with weight before. Mind you, before I came to college I’d lived with my parents, who were great, but neither of them really cooked much at home. Food had not featured majorly in my life, but now… Huge quantities of high-quality fare, all for nothing. It seemed inevitable that I was going to be chubby. I should just sit back and enjoy it.

Four full-fat English breakfasts later, Heath and I left once more, though we knew we’d be back in a few hours’ time for lunch. As we settled into the studio in the meantime, I asked him, “Hey – Heath? What do you think of Andrea?”

“She’s nice,” Heath said thoughtfully, squinting at his canvas. “Maybe I’ll paint her some time.”

“Hmm,” I said.

Heath looked sideways at me. “What is it?” he asked. “Do you like her?”

“Yeah, she’s lovely,” I said casually, mixing the paint in my palette furiously to avoid catching Heath’s eye.

“You know what I mean. Do you like her like her?”

I was blushing now. “I don’t know. I mean, you know… I don’t know. Mm. I think so.”

Heath laughed, though not unkindly. I still felt like an idiot. “I think that’s a ‘yes’, Milo. Say no more, my man: I’ll back off.”

“Thanks,” I said gruffly, and went back to my painting.


Not everyone would have been as decent as Heath was then, nor as patient, because it took him two and a half months to say to me, “Okay, what do you think you’re doing?”

We were sitting in Valentine’s, having breakfast. Andrea had just walked away, her behind swaying in a way it hadn’t done on that first morning. Her prediction had come true; she’d put on quite a bit of weight. Her long legs were now plumper and a little belly poked over the waistband of her skirt. If you ask me, that made her sexier than ever, but I still hadn’t asked her out. That, in fact, was Heath’s problem.

“I told you I’d back off,” he hissed, “but I took from that that you were going to do something! You haven’t even asked her to go for coffee.”

He gave me a withering look, and took three huge forkfuls from his plate in lighting-quick succession before continuing, “If you don’t make your move soon, I will.”

“I’m just taking my time,” I said defensively. “Besides, it’s not like there’s a shortage of girls.” In the last couple of months, Heath had had a series of companions, some the sort of eccentric girl from the art college who stuck paintbrushes in her hair and made her own jewellery, some the plump girls who were regulars at the restaurant. More than a few nights I’d had to ask another friend to come along or else eat alone, because Heath had taken someone elsewhere. He seemed to go through them as quickly as he did his food; every week there’d be a new one, hanging on his arm and fussing around him.

They never lasted, though. After they were finished with – and I never knew how this happened, because Heath never went into specifics – they stayed away. The restaurant girls gave our table a wide berth, and the college co-eds positioned their easels so that they’d never make eye contact with him. I didn’t want him to alienate Andrea.

“Fine then,” I said. “Just give me time to plan it.”

Heath snorted, and went up to get his next plate of food.

Heath, since he ate more and faster than I did, was putting on rather more weight. By now, even when he hadn’t just been stuffing himself he had a stomach that bulged over his waistband and a noticeably rounder face. I was softer, but the pounds were coming slower on me. I’d weighed myself a few days ago and had come in at 70 kilos, which meant I’d put on eleven since summer. Heath had put on twice that at least, by my best estimate. He had always worn loose clothes, and they still fit him – more or less. He was probably putting off buying new ones.

As we left Valentine’s, Andrea came up to us and smiled widely. “Bye, guys!” she said cheerfully. “See you later!”

“See you,” I mumbled, as she saw in the next batch of diners. Heath dug me in the ribs and glared. Sighing, he pushed past me, and beckoned Andrea back over.

“Andrea,” he said brightly. “Milo here would like to take you out on Friday.”

Andrea giggled nervously, glancing from Heath to me then back to Heath again. “Sure,” she said finally. “I’d love to. Pick me up at seven?”

“Sure,” I said, mortified. She smiled again, looked at me uncertainly, then went back to work.

“Don’t ever say,” said Heath, as we left, “that I’m not good to you.”


I took Andrea out to dinner. I hadn’t been to a single restaurant since I’d moved to the city apart from Valentine’s, but Heath had recommended an Italian place called La Bellezza, so I called and booked a table in advance, it being so near Christmas. Andrea lived on Calgacus Street, which was not too far from Valentine’s either. I walked up to press the buzzer, then stopped. I did not know which buzzer to press.

I could have kicked myself. She’d given me her address, but not the flat number! How could I have been such an idiot? Trying not to panic, I studied the labels. They each gave a first initial and surname, but there were two it might have been: A. Donnelly and A. Stevenson. I took a deep breath, and pressed the one marked “A. Donnelly”.

A woman’s voice answered, but she had a strong Irish accent. “Yes?” she said.

“Uh, sorry,” I said, starting to blush, even though she couldn’t possibly see me. “I think I’ve pressed the wrong bell. I was looking for Andrea.”

“Oh, she’s just getting ready. You’ll be Milo, then. Andrea, he’s here.”

I heard Andrea say something, then the Irish woman said, “She’ll be right down. Don’t have her out too late now!”

She laughed, and I sighed with relief.

Andrea appeared a couple of minutes later, looking brilliant as usual. She was wearing her hair up and smiled brightly at me as she came out the building. “Ready to go?”


La Bellezza turned out to be a small, quite classy restaurant in Quinn’s Arcade, an out-of-the way collection of offbeat shops and unique eateries which people like my classmates adored, and I had heard them talk about it before. We walked through an arch into a cobbled square, where, in warmer months, people might have eaten outdoors. As it was, Andrea and I were led to a table by the window. Our waiter came over and lit the candle, then took our orders.

“D’you mind if we skip the starter?” Andrea asked. “I’m famished. I think I’ll have the lasagne.” I said I’d have that as well, and the waiter left.

I was so nervous I could hardly think straight. Of course, I was grateful to Heath – I hadn’t been able to stop smiling all week. I just wished he hadn’t thrown me in the deep end so suddenly. Making an effort, I asked Andrea about her friend at the flat.

“Oh, that’s Ann,” she explained. “It’s her name on the bell, I’m her roommate. She’s a medical student at St Luke’s.” She grinned bashfully. “I’m nothing like as smart as she is. We used to be in the same class at school, but she’s always done much better than me.”

“Didn’t you say you were at Kentigern Uni?” I asked.

“Well, yeah,” she replied, “but it’s not really the same. I always wanted to study medicine. I had an interview for St Luke’s, but I didn’t get in. So I’m doing Psychology instead. I mean, I love it, but…” She trailed off wistfully, then shook her head. “Hey. Never mind. So, art school – what that like?”

After that initial blip, the rest of the evening went really well. We found we liked a lot of the same books and films, though we had a bit of a friendly disagreement about certain bands. By the time we’d finished our lasagne, I was no longer nervous.

When the waiter came to take our plates away, he asked, “Would you like anything for dessert?”

“Um,” said Andrea, examining the menu, “actually, I think I could go for another main course. How about you, Milo?”

A little surprised, but finding I was still hungry, I nodded. We ended up ordering a pizza each, then sharing a third before we got to the desserts. We both ate quite large quantities of ice cream before we left as well.

As we strolled together down the street, Andrea put a hand on her stomach. “Oh, I’m getting so fat!” she groaned. “They give me a free breakfast at Valentine’s, you know. And Ann’s such a good cook. I’m turning into such a pig.”

“I think you look great,” I told her. “And besides, I’ve put on weight too.”

“Well, I think you look great,” she giggled, patting my belly playfully. “The more the better.”

On an impulse, I put my arms around her. “We should kiss,” I said.

She looked up at me, a funny little crease between her eyebrows.

“Really,” I said. “I think that would work well.”

“Okay,” said Andrea, smiling, so I did.

 

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