“What is up with you?”
“You,” she said. Then in a mocking tone she repeated what I’d said earlier. “Are we gonna be, like, rich?”
“Hey it’s a legit question.”
Her eyes were wide. “It is.”
We both giggled a little, but neither of us said anything more on the subject of money.
We spent the next few hours combing through the orders, talking with our freelancers, and ordering more materials. Sophie called Tommy, who said he would be able to find us more people to help assemble the jewelry.
While Sophie was finishing up with email, I texted Lee to explain what was happening and tell him I would have to reschedule our movie plans for tonight. I started hauling boxes of materials up from my basement and began spreading all of the jewelry-making supplies out on my living room floor.
“I think we can actually get a little bit done today,” I called out to Sophie in the kitchen.
“What?”
“Well, I thought we might as well work on filling some of the orders. Every little bit helps, right?”
She appeared in the doorway, pale-faced again. “You want me to make jewelry?”
“Yeah.” I smiled. “It’ll be fun.”
She looked frozen. “I haven’t done anything artsy since, like, fingerpainting in kindergarten.”
“Come on.” I patted the floor beside me. “I’ll show you what to do. It’s easy. I have templates for every product—that’s what the freelancers use, you know?”
Of course Sophie’s so smart, she picked it up right away. I didn’t want to overwhelm her, so I had her start with the basics—stringing beads and tying on clasps. I did all of the wirework and anything more complicated. In typical Sophie fashion, she was an anal-retentive perfectionist.
At first she would show me what she was working on and ask, “Is this ok?” every forty seconds. Then she got more comfortable and only needed to be reassured she was doing it right about every two minutes.
It started to get dark out and my stomach was growling. I was sitting cross-legged on my living room floor, with my back against the couch, adding decorative stitching to an infinity scarf. Sophie lay stomach down, with her knees bent, feet in the air and her ankles crossed, as she strung tiny blue sea glass beads onto a silver cord. I designed that for our first collection and it was still a big seller.
I don’t remember if it was me or if it was Sophie who had said the sea glass looked like rock candy. “It does look yummy,” one of us had said. And somehow we’d landed on “Candy Blue” for the name of our company.
Back when I was waitressing and living with Clint, I used shopping as a pastime. Sometimes Clint and I were fighting and I needed to get out of our apartment. Sometimes I just felt smothered and wanted to get away.
I quickly got bored looking at clothes and shoes and home decor—I was never that fashionable. So I usually ended up in the bookstore. One day they had a big bin of crafting kits on sale. I remember thinking, bitterly, as I sifted through the pile of friendship bracelet and soap-making and cartoon-drawing kits, that this is what becomes of art majors after graduation.
The colorful beads in the jewelry making kit looked interesting. I bought it (it was only four bucks) with no intention of making jewelry. I had a vague idea about using some of the materials in a sculpture I’d sketched out months ago but never started.
Then a few days later, I had almost forgotten Sophie’s birthday. It was after work, 1a.m., and nothing was open. We had brunch plans for the next day and I didn’t want to show up empty-handed. I thought about giving her the jewelry-making-kit, but the big red and yellow “SALE $3.99!” sticker didn’t exactly scream, “I’m super-glad you were born.”
I decided a homemade necklace and bracelet set would have to do, so I opened the kit and got to work. The designs the kit suggested were hideous, so I just used the materials to make what I wanted.
Sophie loved the jewelry. She wore it every day for a while. And the more compliments she received, the more she pestered me to “do something,” with my apparent jewelry-making magic.
“You have an art degree and you’re not even using it,” she’d said. “And it’s not even about the degree—it’s about this talent you have.”
“Nobody actually uses an art degree,” I said. “It’s just a way to avoid growing up. And to rack up a lifetime’s worth of debt.”
Eventually I gave in and slapped together some earrings and a couple more necklaces from the kit, thinking that would get Sophie off my back.
The next day, she called me from her work in the marketing department of a natural gas company.
“I didn’t sell it, but I could have,” she said.
“What are you talking about?”
“Marsha, in the office across the hall, loves this lariat necklace you made me. She wants to buy it!”
At that time, things with Clint were in a full spiral. A breakup wouldn’t just mean I’d have to find a new place to live; I’d need a new job away from The Stone Cupboard if I was really going to try living a Clint-free life.
So I asked Sophie, “How much will she pay for it?”
Before long, I had a small catalog of designs. We found a place to order supplies in bulk for cheap.
“Our markup is kind of obscene,” Sophie had said.
“Pfftt, you can’t put a price on talent like mine,” I’d told her, rolling my eyes. “Whatever. It’s not our fault that some people have more money than common sense.”
We had cleaned up at couple of small craft shows. Soon after Sophie launched Candy Blue’s website, things got serious.
We’d had some spurts and growing pains. I quit my job first—after about three months—and then a couple months later Sophie quit her day job too. It had been less than year when we realized I couldn’t keep up with production and we decided to hire the freelancers. But getting so many orders that we crashed the server—this was a new one.
Sophie put her beads down and stretched out on my floor. We decided to call and order pizza and pop. Within three minutes, there was a light knock at the door. We looked at each other in disbelief. Franklin gave a sharp “red-alert” howl.
I opened the door. There was Lee, holding a bag of groceries in one arm and a 12-pack of beer in the other. His smile was as twinkly as ever.
“Hey!” I said, my voice full of unbridled enthusiasm that I knew Sophie would give me hell for later. I couldn’t help it, though. His perfect teeth and lips had that effect on me. Plus I was happy that Lee and Sophie would get to meet each other.
“Good timing,” I said as I tried to reign in the volume and pitch of my voice. “We just ordered pizza.”
“Yeah, sorry to show up unannounced,” Lee said. “I thought I would just bring you some junk food, maybe see if you guys need anything. I won’t stay.”
“You can stay,” I said. I leaned in for a hug. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I never leave the house in pajamas,” Sophie said to Lee.
“Nice to meet you?” Lee said. “You must be Sophie.”
“Oh, sorry. Hello,” Sophie said. She took the groceries from him and I grabbed the beer.
I tried to see if Sophie was as dazzled by Lee’s smile as I was, but I think mostly she was still flustered over the pjs thing. There were a few minutes of awkward social-worlds-colliding chitchat, but then the pizza arrived, and Sophie busted out her favorite embarrassing story of me getting left at the dinosaur museum during our sixth grade field trip.
When she got to the part about the teacher finding me in the gift shop, totally unaware that I’d been left behind, Lee threw his head back and laughed. Sophie took the opportunity to give me an approving smile while tilting her head sideways toward Lee.
“Can I do anything to help? I don’t want to eat and run,” Lee asked. “Plus I feel kind of bad for hogging up all that pizza.”
“You should feel bad,” Sophie said. “I guarantee Morgan was hoping she’d have leftovers for breakfast.”
“Keeping fresh milk in the house when you live by yourself is difficult!” I said, faking deep offense.
Sophie headed back toward the living room. “Come on Lee, if I can figure this crafty stuff out, anyone can.”
She took her place on the floor and he sat beside her.
“You don’t have to make jewelry for us,” I told him.
“It’s fine,” he smiled up at me. “It’ll be fun. Plus, I’m a Ph.D. student so I’m used to doing menial tasks for no pay.”
Sophie found the template for a simple wrap bracelet. She gathered the supplies and showed Lee what to do. She used a patient voice that I didn’t hear out of her very often. I got back to work on a wire-wrapped jade pendant.
We put a comedy movie on TV, but most of the time we just talked.
“So does this mean you guys are, like big time?” Lee asked.
“We’re not supposed to talk about that,” I said. “Soph forbade it.”
“I did not,” she said. “I’m superstitious, that’s all. I’ll admit it’s a good thing.”
“This morning you didn’t seem to think it was a good thing,” I said. “I thought you were gonna poop your pants!”
Lee did the adorable thing where he grins and laughs a really loud, “Ha!”
“Well excuse me for getting overwhelmed,” Sophie said.
“You are absolutely not excused,” I said. “Sophie Maslow never gets overwhelmed.”
“If we handle this wrong, it could be really bad news,” she said. “Once a business gets criticized on social media, sometimes it can never recover. The thought of hundreds of late or missing orders was making me sick.”
“So to answer your question, Lee, yes. We are big time. In the morning I’m having my roof measured for a chopper pad,” I said.
“And I’m getting a purse-dog,” Sophie said.
“Oh yeah, you can’t be a proper rich person without dog in your purse,” Lee said in a duh, everyone knows that tone.
Around nine, Sophie started gathering up some beads and cords and clasps, placing them in a shoebox. “I better get home,” she said. “I’m gonna take some of this stuff, maybe work on it a little more before bed.”
“Don’t go crazy and stay up all night working,” I said. “I think we got this under control.”
“Well.” That was Sophie-code for ‘I don’t feel like arguing with you, but I am going to do what I want.’
“Or you could leave the stuff here and just come back in the morning?”
“Nah,” she said looking at me slyly over her glasses. “What if you want to sleep in?”
I knew what she meant. I gave her my super-serious you-better-cut-it-out face.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” I said. “Franklin probably wants out, anyway.”
Sophie and I made plans to get together at lunchtime tomorrow to continue sorting out the avalanche of orders. After we said goodbye, I wandered around the front yard with Franklin on his leash. It was almost Halloween and the neighbors had their homes and porches decorated with skeletons, pumpkins, cornstalks, straw bales, and orange twinkle lights.
I had forgotten to turn off the lights in my studio. The side porch was throwing bright squares of light onto that part of the yard and the small walkway between my house and the neighbor’s.
Franklin and I wandered that way. The natural light in that room was perfect for artwork, so I’d never put up curtains. I peeked inside. Some of my paintings made me cringe. A long time ago I’d learned to accept that I would never love my own artwork. A couple sculptures were interesting—fun to look at. But the studio itself seemed lonely, hollow. Something about it just didn’t seem as lively, as full of creative energy as other studios, studios like Micah’s
I scanned the folding table I’d set up at the far end of the room. That’s where I kept new pieces for my portfolio. There were three things on it, only one of which was finished. I tried to calculate how I would get everything done by the application deadline. If Candy Blue weren’t in crisis mode, I’d be cutting it close. Now that I needed to focus more on the business, I couldn’t see how I would be able to get everything done.
I’d have to figure that out another day. I was starting to shiver, so we went inside. I hoped I would remember to turn those lights off before bed.
When I got back inside, Lee looked up and smiled at me, then returned his focus to another wrap bracelet he was working on. I looked over at my impromptu workstation on the floor by the couch, but I couldn’t make myself get back to work. My neck felt tired and my fingertips were sore from handling the tiny beads and molding the wire.
I picked up the TV remote and lay on the floor beside Lee. He put down the bracelet he was working on and reached over to rub my back.
His touch was light, at first just grazing my shirt. I gave up trying to find something on TV and leaned closer to him. His cologne smelled masculine and light.
“Come closer,” he whispered.
I leaned in and kissed him. His mouth was soft but assertive.
“Closer,” he whispered again, guiding my hips onto his lap. We were kissing harder now. I knew what I wanted to do. I started to pull up on his shirt. He stopped kissing me just long enough to give me a smile and take his shirt off over his head. I took my shirt off too. Then he rocked us back, with one hand in my hair and one on the small of my back, until he was on the floor and I was on top of him, my hands on his chest and shoulders. His skin was smooth and warm.
14.
My MFA application was due in five weeks. I needed to write a statement of purpose, statement of goals and a biography. And I supposed those documents should be different from each other.
Sophie had promised to help me, but I didn’t want to ask anything of her right now. She was still wading through the swamp of backorders from the day Hannah’s sorority had tweeted about us.
After about a week, we were able to reopen the site for new orders. That caused another spike in sales. Things had tapered down only slightly and Sophie was expecting another big bump soon when it was time for holiday shopping. She had ordered extra supplies and hired more freelancers. Now she was researching distributors and other methods for getting larger volumes of product out quickly.
Meanwhile, my portfolio was still in shambles. I still needed one last letter of recommendation, and I had these ridiculous documents to write. I was starting with my biography. I figured this would be the easiest because I had some actual facts that I could write about. Micah said she just told little stories about her education and why she’s into art.
I had a little bit of material on that topic. When my parents first split up, my dad began seeing me faithfully every other weekend. I don’t know if most people have detailed memories from when they were five years old, but I do. I couldn’t articulate concepts like “awkward” or “uncomfortable,” but I knew that I felt a lurking unease whenever it was time to go with Dad.
At first, I remember telling my mom, every other Friday afternoon or even Thursday night, that I had a “tummy ache.” I knew that wasn’t quite it, but tummy was one of the few anatomical regions I knew about. My dad and I had never spent any time alone together before that. My mom had always been more of my world. Dad was mostly just a presence, sometimes even an intimidating presence, like a heavy cloud, in that world.
Then he became my sole caregiver for 48 hours straight two times a month. Our first evening of the weekend was always a little rough. I was probably cranky from being pulled out of the safety and warmth of my home, my full-time home. Dad was probably exhausted from a week of work. It was like we had to reintroduce ourselves every two weeks.
For a five year old, two weeks is a long time. It’s the difference between needing someone to make you breakfast and being able to pour your own bowl of cereal… if the milk jug was at least half empty and not too heavy. It was the difference between needing help sometimes with shoes and zippers versus
being able to do those things independently.
At first he took me to playgrounds and McDonalds and even the toy store. But when you have an entire weekend to fill, those outings are never long enough. Then we moved on to museums. Dad bought us family passes to all the Carnegie museums, so we could go as many times as we wanted.
After a few months, the employees seemed familiar with us and I had memorized all the exhibits in the children’s museum. It took me a long time to stop being enthralled with the glass globe that held a blue lightning bolt that followed my finger. I always expected it to feel warm, but it felt like nothing, just the smooth glass that was sometimes smeared and greasy from the other little hands that had come before mine.
Then my dad tried taking me to the natural history museum, but that didn’t go very well. When he showed me the rocks and minerals, I announced that I didn’t like jewelry. In the dinosaur fossil exhibit, I kept my eyes on my feet. It wasn’t the massive skeletons’ sharp teeth or snaky tails that scared me, it was the eye sockets. Huge and hollow and overwhelming the entire face, those dinosaur eye sockets followed me into my dreams for a long time.
Finally Dad took me to the art museum. Art museums aren’t always a good idea for kindergarteners, but for me, it worked. I walked up and down the Hall of Sculpture, weaving my footsteps around the marble sculptures on pedestals in a room so big it didn’t even feel like I was inside. It was like being in a town square at dusk.
In the contemporary wing there were artworks that looked like elaborate neon signs from an amusement park or shopping mall. There were piles of wires on the ground that just looked like a maintenance worker might have dropped them, but my dad assured me it was really art.
“When you look at it, when you see the lines and the colors and the shadows, does it give you a special feeling in your heart?” he had asked me.
I nodded. It did give me a feeling. There weren’t words for the feeling, but it was real.
“Then it’s art,” he said. “That’s how you know.”
Sometimes he held my hand. Sometimes he sat on a bench in the center of the room while I walked and walked.
It wasn’t until a later visit, maybe our third time, that he showed me one of the Van Goghs, “Wheat Fields After Rain.” That was the first time I stopped walking and just stood, only a five year old, and looked at the painting.
Designing Morgan Page 10