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“True. He is quite a looker. Anyhow, I’m so sorry, but I can’t do the shoot with you tonight. I haven’t even been triaged yet, and this place is packed. I swear, if one more kid pukes, I’m going to ask for a healthy dip into a vat of sanitizer. I could be here all night.”
I sigh. “It’s okay, Wolfie. Don’t worry about it. Get your hand fixed, and I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Sorry. Maybe we can do it after I get out of here? Not sure when that might be, but I hate letting you down.”
“No. Don’t worry about it. You take care, and don’t apologize. Accidents happen.”
“Thanks.”
Ending the call, I stare at the phone. What happened to Wolfgang is horrible, and life is totally going to suck for him in the coming week. As an artist, working with an injured hand is a huge disadvantage, and I hope he heals quickly.
Then, my reality settles in. Friday is less than forty-eight hours away. A huge project is due, and I have no backup plan to speak of. I was counting on Wolfgang.
Taking the risk of going downtown by myself is a possibility, but it would not be smart or safe. Wolfgang was kind of a one-shot deal. Chandra is busy, and it’s too late to really call anyone else. I’m sure most of my other friends are buried in their studio work at this time.
I could take on a new subject, which would basically be starting over and doing two weeks of work in twenty-four hours. I could always resign to turning in my existing shots. It is not my best work, and it doesn’t meet my full potential, but it would at least be something.
All these options suck huge dick.
I toss my phone onto the desk where it spins round and round. Pushing the chair away from the counter, I rest my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands.
“Is everything all right?” Foster asks hesitantly.
“Yeah,” I mumble into my palms. “No. Shit. Yes. No one is dead, so that’s a plus.”
“Okay…” He edges himself closer to me. “Did someone get hurt?”
I tilt my head to find us closer than I expected, discovering that the shade of his blue eyes are more cobalt than cerulean at this range.
I inch backward a bit. “My friend sliced his hand while trying to show off his pineapple ninja skills on a date.”
“That’s certainly a unique tactic for impressing someone. Is he going to be all right?”
“Yeah. He just has a mild case of drunken klutz and needs to get stitches. Should be good as new.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” He purses his lips. “Are you two really close?”
“Yeah. We have some classes together.”
“Are you going to be okay? Do you need to leave early? I can cover the rest of the shift.”
“Huh?” I ask, confused by the random offer.
“You seem pretty upset. If it’s too much to deal with, you can go, and I’ll close up for the night by myself.”
“What? No, I’m okay. He’ll be fine, and he has someone with him.” I shimmy my seat closer to the desk, placing my palms on the hardwood surface. “He was supposed to help me with a project tonight after work, and now, he can’t. I understand why, but...” I frustratingly kick the inside of the desk, causing a bellowing boom to echo through the entire room. “Shit,” I hiss. “Fuck.”
“That bad, huh?”
I groan, placing my face back into my palms, and mumble, “You have no idea. It’s thirty percent of our grade, and I have shit to present. I’ll never be able to recover. My GPA is going to tank, and I might as well say good-bye to grad school. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Was he going to be a nude model for you?” Foster asks, totally oblivious.
“No.” I half-laugh. “Is that what you think all artists do? Look at nudes all day?”
He shrugs. “That’s how they’re portrayed in movies. I figured they were into it for the real-life porn.”
I crack up. “You must think we’re all a bunch of horny bastards. If that were true, don’t you think that every guy in a fraternity would be an art major?”
