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She’s got a point. Seriously, what is wrong with me? Why am I being so fussy? She is trying to hand me a sugar daddy like she has, and all I can do is grumble like a teenager?
“You know what, I’m just tired,” I finally admit. “My words are not coming out right. So tell me about you. Did you have a nice time? Did your sugar daddy give you some sugar or whatever?”
Her eyes brighten as her arm shoots out to one side like a slightly asymmetrical cheerleader. A droopy band of glittering gems crawls slowly up her arm toward her elbow.
“Yes! Just look!” she exclaims. “I’m going to have to change my entire wardrobe! Aren’t they justupper right?”
“The upper rightest,” I agree, squinting at the gaudy jewels on her arm.
The shades of fuchsia and lavender are not Seattle’s usual colors. I wonder what possessed him.
Still though, that is certainly more juice than usual. The thought flickers through my mind that maybe he intended those for me, but I push it away. I am not comfortable with Ansel’s patronage at all. I’m just not.
And I realize that it is part of classic art to acquire a patron and produce work for them. It’s a sign of affirmation, a sign that you are done being a student and are now a serious artist.
Maybe I’m just naïve, but I can’t believe that every patron would be so… gross? Is that the word I’m looking for?
Because it is seriously the only word that’s coming to mind right now.
“Yes, he thinks I am on the verge of something,” she continues, her voice dreamy and transported at the thought of the compliment that he gave her. “He says he could feel it… my imminence. He said I am like a storm front.”
“I cannot disagree.”
“Like a tornado or something,” she sniffs, as though the air around her has suddenly become ionized.
“I was always partial to dust devils,” I blurt out for no reason.
She scowls, annoyed that I interrupted her vision of her future self. “Pardon me?”
“Oh, I mean the weather… Dust devils, you know? Meteorological events? Tiny tornadoes that whip up in the middle of nowhere, knock a bunch of shit over, disappear without a trace?”
Her eyes narrow. “What is your point?”
I hear my words reflected back to me, and see where I might have gone wrong.
“You know what? Never mind. I think I need a nap or something.”
“Hmm. Maybe.”
“Yeah… I should do that.”
Carefully removing my laundry to the top of my dresser, I lie down on my bed. Instantly the fatigue hits me, turning my limbs to silly putty that sinks slowly into the comforter.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing that I remember I am buzzing, startled and cringing like I keep touching one of those novelty handshake things. The feeling knocks me right off my lily pad, right into a…
Buzz. It’s my phone.
Completely disoriented, I yank it out from where it is wedged underneath my waist and try to force my eyes to focus on it in the darkness of my dorm room. Seattle is nowhere to be found, though her turquoise cocoon still lays person-less, discarded across her entire bed.
“Hello?” I say into the phone, still barely sure this is real life.
“Lindy? That’s you? It’s Spencer.”
For a second, I don’t even remember who he is. But then I see him, standing naked at the back of the platform, his muscles backlit and thick, his gaze intense.
“Oh… my God, Spencer. You’re calling me?”
“Yes. I’m sorry to bother you. Your number was in the student directory. It’s important.”
