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The Art League looked more like a nursery school than an artist colony, but that was largely because of the quality of the work hanging on the walls. A handprint turkey? Really?
“Oh, my God,” a man said, approaching Colleen. He wore a winter coat, despite the warm May evening, and had orangey teeth. His breath enveloped her in a toxic cloud. “Wow! I never expected to see someone like you at a thing like this! I would love to take you home and have sex.”
“Your game needs work, pal. And a little oral hygiene wouldn’t hurt,” she said.
“And after that, we can hook up?”
“Nope.”
“How about some dry humping?”
“Oh, my dear God,” Mom said. “Colleen! Do something!”
“Like what, Ma? Shall I castrate him?”
“If you don’t, I will.”
The man continued to stare. “I don’t want to be castrated,” he said, raising a tousled eyebrow.
“Then back off, buddy. My mother’s menopausal. You never know what might happen.”
“I had to try.”
“Nope, that’s fine. But you’ve failed.” She granted him a smile.
“Is this what dating is like?” Mom asked in horror.
Kind of, yes,Colleen thought. “No! I’m sure we’ll meet someone great for you, Ma.”
Paulie was just coming in, dressed in white leggings (who knew they made them?), a black tank top that showed off her muscular pectorals and a pink Thneed. It was almost cute,almostbeing the key word.
“What happened to that red sundress we picked out?” Colleen asked. Pauliehadnice enough clothes; she just didn’t wear them.
“It gave me a rash,” Paulie said.
“It was cotton.”
“I know. Nerves. I had to go for comfort. Sorry, Coll. Besides, check out the sweater. You like the way I wrapped it?”
Colleen suppressed a Catholic sigh. “I do. You look great.” Too late for honesty, and Paulie needed the confidence.
Another man, this one dressed in black pants and a yellow turtleneck, approached. He was very pale.
“Ladies, good evening.” Based on the accent, Colleen would have to guess that he was Count Dracula.
“Hi,” Colleen said. Mom remained silent, clutching her arm in a python grip. “I’m Colleen, this is my mother, Jeanette, and this is my friend Paulie.”
“Jeanette, Colleen, Paulie, yes, yes, hello. I am so pleased to meet you.” He pushed back his hair, revealing a sharp widow’s peak. “You and Jeanette are mother and daughter? And both so luffly. I am Droog Dragul.”
The bizarre name sounded familiar. “Have you ever been to O’Rourke’s Tavern?” she asked.
“No, I heff not had pleasure. I teach at college. You are student, perhaps? Shall we heff date?”
“Oh, wait! I think you went out with a friend of mine. Honor Holland?”
“Yes! Honor, she is so luffly! And now marrying Tom, my friend! You are going to wedding? We can go as couple, yes?”
“No,” Colleen said. “But thank you.”
