by J. J. Murray
“And once I do pull down the balloons and weight them with these”—Dylan pointed to a pile of heavy fishing weights—“they become much easier for them to work with.”
Good idea. “I smell cinnamon,” Hope said. “Have you all been baking cookies?”
“No,” Aniya said. “Dylan puts cinnamon in the bucket. Otherwise, it stinks real bad.”
“Have you done papier-mâché before, Aniya?” Hope asked.
She nodded. “I made a baseball bat, ball, and glove last time. They’re hanging up in my room.”
“I also add salt to the paste so it doesn’t mold,” Dylan said, “and this is liquid starch instead of flour and water. It leaves a nice, shiny glaze, and with liquid starch, the bugs don’t eat the art as fast.” He pointed at a stack of white paper. “That’s for the last layer. We might get there today if we’re lucky. We’re shooting for two layers of newspaper followed by one layer of white paper.”
This man knows his stuff, and he’s so organized. Why did I think he wouldn’t be? Oh, yes. He’s still a man.
“Okay, my young artists,” Dylan said, “my able assistant Hope is going to tell you everything there is to know about papier-mâché. Are you ready?”
“Yes!”
Wow, they’re loud!
“Take it away, Hope.” Dylan smiled.
No . . . way. Oh, right, I’ll only be doing art with them. He now expects me to teach them, and on my first day.
Hope slid the newspapers onto the tarp, knelt down, and sat back on her heels. Eight sets of blinking eyes, busy feet, and busier hands surrounded her, one little boy reaching for her hair. They are all so cute! “Today, we’re going to make papier-mâché. Does anyone know what ‘papier-mâché’ means?”
Eight cute shrugs.
“It means ‘chewed paper’ in French,” Hope said.
“Eww!”
They all use one voice. Good. I won’t have to call on anyone. I wish they had name tags. “But it’s not good to chew on paper, is it?”
“No!”
“Doing papier-mâché is very, very messy,” Hope said. I am going to miss my smock. “Are you all ready to make a mess?”
“Yes!”
I love this audience! “We first need to tear these newspapers into strips.” She opened a newspaper and pulled out a single large page. “Watch.” She tore several long, vertical strips and set them in a pile on the tarp. “Do you think you can do that?”
“Yes!”
Of course you can! “I’m going to hand each of you a newspaper.” She did. “Now, pull out the big pages, and tear them up!”
While the children essentially made newsprint confetti and Dylan continued to stir his concoction, Hope helped the younger children tear their newspapers while they sat on her lap. Once the children had created a pile threatening to bury Hope, Dylan pulled down balloons and attached the fishing weights to them, spacing them out and physically positioning each child in front of each balloon. He took one more balloon down and set it in front of Hope.
“Pour vous, mon amour,” he said.
Not in front of the children. Hope smiled. “And now, for the really messy part.”
“Yay!”
Dylan dunked handfuls of newspaper into the papier-mâché paste.
“Eww!”
“Oh, but it smells so good!” Dylan shouted. “I smell like cinnamon rolls.” He removed one hand and smelled his finger.
“Eww!”
He brought his finger close to his mouth. “But I’m so hungry,” he said.
“Eww!”
“But I will not eat the paste,” Dylan said. “Do not eat the paste. Okay?”
“Okay!”
“I am going to hand the chewed paper to Hope,” Dylan said, “and Hope will show you what to do.” He handed a particularly slimy strip to Hope.
Despite the texture, this is really fun and cinnamony. Is that a word? “First stretch out the paper very gently. You don’t want to tear it. And then place it on the balloon.” She wrapped the strip around the center of her balloon. “Smooth it down with your fingers until it sticks.” Wow, that stuck fast. “And then add another strip. We are going to make your balloon disappear.”
A little boy started to whimper.
Oops. “The balloon will still be there,” she told him.
“It will just be hiding, Ramón,” Dylan said.
Ramón nodded and sighed.
Ramón likes his balloons.
Then Dylan, Hope, and the children became papier-mâché machines. Dylan handed a dripping strip to Hope, Hope handed it to a child, and the child slapped it on the balloon. In less than an hour, each balloon hovered lower, covered by two layers of newspaper and one layer of white paper.
Because they’re floating, Hope thought, they’ll dry quicker overnight and they won’t stick to anything. Dylan is a genius.
But I have goo under every one of my nails. And in my hair. And on my cheek. She looked down. And on my shirt, and on my pants, and on my stomach. How’d that get there?
While Mei corralled the children so they could clean up in their washroom, Dylan wrote the children’s initials on their balloons with a Sharpie and then rinsed out the paste bucket in a janitor’s closet.
Aniya returned wearing a puffy blue coat. “I’m leaving, Dylan.” She looked up at him. “You’re a mess.” She hugged his leg. She approached Hope. “You’re not as bad.” She gave Hope a proper hug. “Dylan says we’re going to make two masks. What kind of masks will you make, Hope?”
I don’t want Dylan to know I’m coming back tomorrow yet. “I won’t know until I start to play with it tomorrow,” Hope whispered. She twisted her own balloon slowly. “Tomorrow I will see two faces staring out at me.”
“You will?” Aniya whispered.
“Yes,” Hope whispered. “I hope they’re not too scary. What are you going to make?”
“I don’t know,” Aniya whispered, “but whatever they are, they are going to have lots of hair. Bye!” She trotted off.
Dylan pulled Hope to her feet and directed her to the janitor’s closet. “What were you two whispering about?”
“Girl talk,” Hope said.
“You were sensational,” he whispered. “They were so quiet today.”
They were quiet? I’d hate to hear what a loud day sounds like. “I will smell like salty cinnamon for days,” she said, running hot water over her hands and picking dried paste from her nails. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I expected chaos in there today.”
“We have controlled chaos here,” Dylan said. “Wait a minute. You thought that I would let them run amok?”
“I didn’t know what to expect,” she said, flicking some paste off her forearm. “You looked like a mad scientist when I walked in. The helium balloon trick was clutch, though. It’s such a pain to lay the strips and hold onto the balloon at the same time.”
“And they were all red balloons,” he said. “Did you notice? I made the mistake of using a number of different colored balloons my first year. They literally fought for the only purple balloon. Very ugly.”
“What kind of masks are you going to make?” Hope asked.
“I think one will be . . . a mad scientist.” He smiled and reached his hands into the stream of hot water. “You’re taking too long.”
“I’m not done.” She felt his hip pressing into her sexy derriere. “And I won’t be done if you do that.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to be done,” he said, scrubbing the backs of his hands.
“What about the other mask?” Hope asked.
“It will be a surprise,” he said. He stared at his hands. “I should really use sandpaper.” He kissed her neck. “Did you have fun?”
“Yes.” Please do that again.
“I had fun watching you,” he said, “and I’m going to have even more fun watching you eat some hot dogs. Let’s go!”
A few blocks away on Bergen Street, they sat on metal stools at a long wooden table drinking butterscotch milks
hakes and eating two Bark Dogs, hot dogs basted with homemade smoked lard butter and smothered with sweet pepper relish, mustard, and onions.
“Don’t stare,” Hope said.
“I can’t help it,” Dylan said.
“I’m not that kind of garrl,” Hope said.
“You don’t have to be,” Dylan said.
“I could be.” She took another sensuous bite. “Is it a fantasy of yours?”
“You’re my fantasy,” Dylan said.
That’s sweet, but I don’t believe it. “Uh-huh,” Hope said. “I’ll bet you have all sorts of fantasies.”
“No more than the average guy,” he said. “You could say I have a healthy appetite.”
I’m glad he does. Do I ask Kiki’s question now? Not yet. “Tell me one of your fantasies.”
“Only if you promise to tell me one of yours,” Dylan said.
Hmm. I still have a few of those. I’ll have to pick the safest. “You go first.”
Dylan looked around and leaned closer. “You promise not to think I’m a freak?”
“I make no promises.” How freaky is this going to be? Is anyone listening in?
“Well, it involves you,” he whispered. “Obviously. And we’re walking back to your place, and when we get to a dark alley, I take you into the alley and take you.”
Wow. “In public?”
“Standing up against the wall, yes,” Dylan whispered. “My back will be against the wall, of course, and you’ll be facing me.”
Wow. “And then we just continue home?”
“I haven’t gotten that far in the fantasy yet,” Dylan said. “I guess so. We may be in that alley for a long time.”
His back is going to have brick dust on it.
“Your turn,” he said.
I doubt if I can top that one. Should I even try? “I’ve always had this fantasy of making love in the ocean.”
“Am I there?” he asked.
“Oh, of course,” Hope said.
“And are we alone?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
“And is the water warm?”
Hope nodded.
“And are the stars out?”
“Yes, there’s a gazillion stars in the sky.” He is improving so much on my fantasy!
“And is there a full moon?” he asked.
Hope bit her lip. “There are two. Yours and mine.”
Dylan smiled. “And then we just continue home?”
Hope sighed. “Yes, we continue home to my beach house.”
Dylan collected his trash. “Sounds doable.” He checked his watch. “We have to hustle if we’re going to get to Thrifty before they close.”
Oh yeah. We have to pay for and pick up the orders. “But I’m not allowed to run, right?”
“We’ll walk fast,” Dylan said. “Come on.”
They arrived at Thrifty at 5:58 PM, and Kiki already had her coat on, Justin waiting at the door with the deposit bag.
“Was it fun?” Kiki asked.
“Very,” Hope said, showing Kiki her nails.
“You were doing sculpture?” Kiki asked.
“Chewed paper,” Dylan said.
“I’ll explain later,” Hope said.
After Dylan paid for and collected nine bags of cards, Hope smiled at Justin. Oh, you poor man. You’re going to have to stay late to revise your numbers, aren’t you? It’s about time you had to stay late.
Then Dylan and Hope sauntered to Hope’s apartment, Hope eyeing every alley and Dylan saying, “That one looks sufficiently dark and mysterious.”
“Stop it,” Hope said, but in her mind, she saw them moving as one in the darkness against every alley wall. “What are we doing in art tomorrow?”
“We? You can be there?” Dylan asked.
“I will be there every day until my vacation and sick days run out,” Hope said.
“How long will that be?” Dylan asked.
“Until I run out,” Hope said. “At least through Christmas.”
“That’s wonderful,” Dylan said. “That’s . . .” He stopped and hugged her. “Thank you.”
“You need the help,” Hope said. “You needed my expertise today. So, what’s the next step? Besides popping the balloons.”
“That’s the best part!” he yelled.
Hope blinked.
“Well, it is.” He laughed. “You and I will cut the ‘eggs’ in half to give them two masks to make, we’ll line up their eyes, noses, and mouths as best we can and cut holes, and then we’ll start painting them.”
“How long will that take?” Hope asked.
“Two or three days. We will then be sewing simple costumes to go with them.”
“Making the whole ensemble,” Hope said. “Clever.”
“And thrifty,” Dylan said. “You know what Halloween costumes cost these days? They all look the same, too. These kids will be like no other kid on their blocks.”
They reached her apartment entrance. “So you’re going to be seeing me every day, but I’m worried that you’ll get tired of seeing me.”
“I will never get tired of seeing you,” Dylan said. “I see you in an alley right now. I even see your full moon.”
She grabbed his arm. “What about the ocean?”
“Oh, we’ll have to go to the ocean after the alley to cool off,” he said.
“Was that your freakiest fantasy?” Hope asked.
“No,” Dylan said. “But I don’t want to tell you about it. I want to do it.”
“Now?” Please? Upstairs?
He sighed. “We can’t. I don’t have all the props.”
“Props?” How involved is this fantasy?
“See, I’ve already told you more than I should have.” He kissed her quickly. “I am so happy that I get to see you every day.”
“And all day Saturdays,” Hope said, “all the way through Christmas.”
“Really?”
Hope nodded.
Dylan lifted her into the air. “Fantastique! Surprenant! Magnifique!”
“You have been learning more French,” Hope said. I like the view up here.
He eased her to the ground. “There is so much we can do.”
“Involving . . . props?” she asked.
He laughed. “I never should have used that word. Is my French improving?”
“Oui,” Hope said. “Can you teach me any Irish words?”
“A few,” Dylan said. “I didn’t hear many growing up in Brownsville. Not ones you can repeat anyway.”
Hope pulled him closer. “Could you teach me upstairs? I’m cold.” She looked at the door.
He took her hands. “Hope, I would love to. Really. But I have to prep these orders, print labels, stuff envelopes, get up at five to make an updated printout for you to run—”
Hope put a finger to his lips. “I get it. It’s okay. You’re a busy man.” She sighed. “I could help you do all that, you know. We’re partners. We could work on them here.”
“Ah, but if we worked on them here, my álainn milis cailín, I would give you no time to be creative,” Dylan said. “I would also keep you up all night, and you need to rest and sleep.”
“What did you call me?” Hope asked.
“I called you my beautiful girl who is sweet to the taste,” Dylan said. “You’re my cailín, my colleen, my girl.”
Colleen. Such a pretty name. “Am I really sweet to the taste?” Hope asked.
“Every morsel of your body is delicious, some morsels tastier than others,” he said. He lifted her chin with his hand. “And I intend to taste every square inch of you this weekend.”
“Every square millimeter,” Hope said.
He laughed. “Every square millimeter. If you’ll have me.”
“I’ll have you,” Hope said, “provided you let me help you at the post office on Saturday morning.”
“But you can’t,” Dylan said. “You will burn off too many calories.”
She pushed him away, or at least she tried to push him
. Dylan didn’t move, and Hope fell back two steps. I am such a lightweight. “So I have to say good-bye to you like this five days a week.”
“Hey now,” he said. “I have to say good-bye to you like this, too. This isn’t easy for me either.”
Hope shuffled back into his arms. “You’re right. I’m sorry. This weekend was so . . .” There are too many words to describe it.
“Magical?” he said.
“Yes. Très magique. And I’m going through withdrawal.”
“So am I.” He kissed her forehead, her nose, and her lips. “And this coming weekend will be très magique, and we will both get our fix.”
She hugged him tightly. “I’m missing you already.” She turned toward the door.
Dylan swatted her gently on her sexy derriere. “Go eat some ice cream.”
Hope stopped. “You just spanked me, Mr. Healy.”
“It felt nice, Miss Warren,” Dylan said, “and I didn’t really spank you. It was a love tap.”
A love tap. “Do it again.”
Dylan stepped close and tapped her sexy derriere again.
I like love taps. “Good night, Dylan.”
“Good night, my álainn milis cailín.”
Hope ran up the stairs to the second-floor landing and looked out the window, watching a man walking up Washington Avenue carrying nine bags of greeting cards.
And her heart.
OCTOBER 20
Only 65 more shopping days until Christmas . . .
Chapter 18
Hope fell with Dylan into a comfortable but passionately frustrating weekday routine of Frosted S’Mores Pop-Tarts, Prospect Perk Café coffee, toast smothered with Crofter’s strawberry jam, and kisses; of working fast-food lunches with Kiki and art with the children; of dinners with Dylan, collecting bags of cards, and long walks to her apartment that ended with sighs, a cold platform bed covered with cat hair, and at least half a pint of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream.
Hope continued to gain weight while she waited. She conserved her calories and ambled more than walked to work each day. She did as much nothing as possible every evening, sometimes reading, sometimes sketching, but always falling asleep to the droning of the TV after a healthy ice cream high. She also ate well as she and Dylan branched out to other restaurants around Flatbush Avenue for dinner. They went to Sugarcane for jerk chicken wings and Flatbush Farm for chipotle cheddar grits and pastrami sandwiches. They ate poulet à l’estragon—smoked jerk chicken breast with goat cheese, tarragon, and honey sauce—and coconut rice and sautéed vegetables at Kaz An Nou, and gorgonzola walnut ravioli with wilted arugula in brown butter sage sauce at Alchemy.