Unfinished Muse

by R. L. Naquin

  Neither of those things happened, since the bubbles drifted over his head and toward the roof before popping on the rain gutters.

  Mark ran his fingers through the hair over his eye, pushing it back. Without a word, he turned and walked into his apartment.

  I groaned in frustration and glanced back at my kitchen window. Phyllis’s branches were jerking in what I suspected were spasms of laughter. I gave her a dirty look and followed Mark into his house.

  This was not my first foray into the apartment of a single man. They all seemed to have the same underlying funk, like sweat socks and leftovers long past their expiration date. Not so in Mark’s house. It smelled like furniture polish and window cleaner. The living room still had a few newspapers on the table, and an empty pizza box sat on top of the kitchen trash can, so he wasn’t a neat freak. But he wasn’t a pig, either.

  I didn’t see him right away and searched down the hall to the bedroom. Even in there it smelled like clean laundry instead of gym shorts. Mark sat in a corner at a desk, sketching out a three-dimensional hexagon with the sides built up like we were looking down into it.

  I frowned. “I really wish you’d just tell me what we’re making.” Before he could slip away and go outside into the wind again, I blew a bubble at him from a foot away. It landed between his eyes with an audible plop.

  “I don’t have enough wood or paint for something this size.” He rose from his chair and nearly walked into me—not that either of us would feel it.

  I followed him through the apartment like a puppy. When he dropped his tool belt on the floor next to the door and grabbed his keys, I threw my arms in the air. “I give up. This is ridiculous. It’s as if they want me to fail.”

  He went out the door toward the parking lot, and I marched in the other direction, across the courtyard and into my apartment, scowling the entire way.

  “What happened?” Phyllis sounded as exasperated as I felt.

  I flapped my hand at her as I kicked off my shoes. “I think he went to the store to get more materials.”

  “Well, what’s he making?”

  My scowl deepened. “I haven’t the faintest idea.” I dug into my purse and pulled out the assignment to show her. “A hexagon. He’s making a damn hexagon.” I hit the button on my belt to become visible again, then unhooked the belt and hung it over the back of a kitchen chair. “It was going to be a square, but now it’s a hexagon, and he doesn’t have enough wood. Or nails. I don’t know.”

  I left the kitchen and flopped onto the sofa.

  The apartment wasn’t large. Phyllis could still see me from her perch on the windowsill. “You’re not giving up, are you?”

  I shook my head. “No. But I’m not about to try to ride in his truck with him while I’m invisible. That would be weird. I’ll try again when he comes back.”

  But he didn’t come back. Not until long after I’d fallen asleep on the couch in an uncomfortable position. Around two thirty in the morning, I unfolded myself and went to bed, irritated and with a cramp in my neck.

  Phyllis didn’t say anything. I suspected she was asleep, too, which surprised me. I hadn’t thought about it before, but she ate, drank, and breathed, in her fashion. I supposed she slept, too.

  I dozed off wondering if she’d always been a houseplant, or if she’d been put under a spell by an angry god. Gods loved doing that sort of thing.

  ~*~

  On Thursday morning, I stood in front of my desk and rubbed my eyes in disbelief. I glanced over my shoulder at Polly’s office, then back at my inbox.

  It was empty.

  I muttered a vague prayer of thanks to whatever god was listening and headed for the elevator. Maybe three was all they would assign me. Honestly, if I had another client, I’d probably snap. I had a full plate.

  The elevator doors opened to let me in, and there he was. Rick stood with his arms folded, eyes sparkling, and a grin making a dimple in his left cheek.

  He was dressed as a Roman gladiator.

  “Hey, New Girl. Coming to get some coffee?”

  I inhaled deeply and stepped into the elevator. He smelled ridiculously good. “Sure. I’ve been going every morning on my way out.” I paused. “Haven’t seen you for a few days.” I hoped I didn’t sound petulant and whiny.

  Or desperate.

  The doors closed, and my stomach dropped a little as we descended. I wasn’t entirely sure it was the elevator that had caused the sensation.

  He gave me a sheepish look. “Not all my assignments are…human. I wouldn’t want you to see me looking like a giant lizard or a monster covered in fur.”

  I frowned and looked him up and down, then felt my cheeks grow hot when I realized I was blatantly eyeballing his bare chest. I looked away as the doors opened and let us out on the second floor. “I’m not sure I follow. Why don’t you just take off the costume?”

  We walked together to the cafeteria, and he held the door open for me. His smile had disappeared. “It’s not that simple. Let me get us settled and I’ll explain. Do you have time to talk today?”

  I shrugged. “Apparently, nobody is keeping tabs on me here. I can take all the time I want.”

  His grin was instantaneous, and this time it formed a second dimple. “Good. Have a seat. I’ll get our drinks.”

  I opened my mouth to object, but he’d already spun around and started ordering. Nothing made me feel more awkward than having somebody I didn’t know well pay for my order. If I objected, was I being rude? If I let it happen, was I thoughtless? Something about this guy made my insides go mushy and the neurons in my brain misfire.

  Not sure what else to do, I found us a table and settled in to wait.

  A few minutes later he slid into the booth across from me, bearing two large cups filled with steaming, cinnamony goodness. He set them down, then readjusted his bare legs against the vinyl seat.

  I pulled my cup closer. “Thanks for the coffee.” I took a sip and sighed in appreciation. “Will you let me get the next round?”

  He shook his head. “Absolutely not. I’m being a delightful host right now.” He shifted and winced as he peeled his leg free to move it. “Aren’t I delightful host?”

  I smiled. “You are a delightful host.” I tipped my cup at him. “Thank you again for the coffee.”

  He squirmed a bit, then settled. “So, how’s the Muse gig? Are you finding your footing?”

  I grimaced. “I’m doing my best. Are all the departments so reluctant to train their new hires?”

  “You’re not getting training?” He took the plastic lid off his cup and blew into it to cool the liquid.

  I shook my head. “One day. Since then, I’ve been completely on my own. No one will even talk to me. I just keep finding new assignments in my inbox.”

  His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Damn. So you’re, like, flailing around by yourself?”

  “Something like that. But I’m figuring it out.” I paused. “Sort of.”

  “So, how many clients do you have, now? You’ve only been there a week.”

  I scowled. “Less than a week. I have three clients. I think I can do this, as long as they don’t throw any more at me.”

  He put his coffee down. “Wow. Baptism by fire, I guess.”

  I nodded. “I have two of them under control, but the third one is stuck, and I have no idea what he’s even supposed to be doing.” I glanced around to see if anyone was watching—I had no idea if this would break any rules no one had told me about—and pulled the assignments out of my purse. The night before, I’d scrounged an old folder with Lisa Frank unicorns and rainbows all over it. The folder might not be dignified, but at least it kept my assignments together without causing further wrinkles. And it fit in my bag.

  Rick smirked at the brightly colored sticker of a purple and white panda. “Nice.”

  “Do not make fun of my stickers. These are vintage.” I flipped the folder open and pulled out the three pages, fanned them across the table, and pointed at the one
on the left. “See how Mark’s description is left blank? What the hell is urban development? How am I supposed to help him if I don’t know what he’s making?”

  The frustration in me had built worse than I’d realized. As I spoke, my voice was louder than I’d intended. And a little more shrill. A couple of women wearing white, feathered wings glanced in our direction, and I slammed my mouth shut.

  Rick reached out and took my hand. His fingers were warm and the middle finger had a callous on the side of the top knuckle. Interesting. He was left-handed, too.

  “Look,” he said. His fingers stroked the inside of my wrist and made me shiver. “You’re doing the best you can. And according to this, you’ve got a whole month to get him sorted out. Don’t worry. You can do this.”

  He pulled his hand away, and my disappointment was almost physical.

  “Thanks.” I looked away so he wouldn’t see how much I wanted contact with him again.

  Rick glanced at his phone. “My shift is done, so I need to go get out of this ridiculous get up.” He peeled the backs of his legs free and slid out of the booth.

  “You never told me why you were dressed that way.” I wanted him to stay. Maybe if I stalled him, I’d get a few more minutes.

  He drained his cup and tossed it in the trash. “That will have to wait, I’m afraid. But I’m off tomorrow. Can I convince you to play hooky?”

  “My first week?”

  He shrugged. “Nobody’s keeping an eye on you. You could check in first thing in the morning, then meet me.”

  I bit my lip while I considered. He was right. Nobody was keeping an eye on me, and I could keep the belt and bubbles and check on my clients over the weekend. Who would know? Who would care? “I could meet you here, I guess.”

  “Great! I look forward to it.” He grinned at me, then spun around to walk out the door, leaving me with a memory of bare chest, the smell of leather, and smiling green eyes.

  Wait. Green? I’d have sworn they were blue the last time I’d seen him.

  Chapter 13

  To my surprise, both Missy and Alex needed no help with their projects when I looked in on them.

  Alex had assembled the basic structure of two separate sections of the outside of the house. Presumably, once he was done, they’d fold together to form the whole or swing open to show the detailed inside. He was building a dollhouse, of sorts.

  I didn’t hang around long. He whistled to himself as he glued, and I sat on a box nearby to watch. After some initial hesitation, Oscar hopped up next to me for head scratches and cocked his floppy ears toward me every time I made a comment.

  The Beastie Dust hung unused on my belt. If there was some terrible consequence of not keeping a client’s pet unconscious while I worked, then someone should have damn well told me what it was. Leaving me to my own devices to figure out my job meant I made my own rules. Screw it. Oscar wouldn’t rat me out.

  I gave him a squeeze. “Gotta go, buddy. Your human is doing fine without my help. I’ll check in on you two in a few days.”

  Oscar gave his tail a quick shake, then hopped off the box to go lie in his bed next to Alex. Alex never paused, his face tense with focus. He’d be perfectly fine on his own. I left, feeling confident.

  When I stepped through the door into Missy’s apartment, I didn’t see her right away. I followed her voice down the hallway into Cassie’s room and found mother and baby giggling together while Missy changed Cassie’s diaper. Missy tickled the baby’s belly and kissed her toes, then finished getting Cassie dressed. I leaned against the wall and watched, amazed at how carefree and relaxed my client was.

  She put her little one in the crib and flipped the switch on a musical mobile that dangled snowflakes. Music from the movie Frozen played while the snowflakes rotated above the baby, just out of reach.

  I followed Missy out of the room, both of us humming “Do You Want to Build a Snowman” with the mobile in the baby’s room.

  In the living room, Missy made a circuit, putting away toys, picking up tiny bits of paper from a shredded magazine Cassie must have gotten ahold of, and collecting dirty glasses and an empty baby bottle. I trailed behind and watched her throw away the trash and set the empties in the sink.

  She puttered around for a few more minutes, then turned on the television.

  “Oh, hell no.” I fumbled to unhook the bottle on my belt. “Enough with the screwing around. It’s time to get to work.” I opened my bottle of Thought Bubbles and dunked my wand.

  Before I had a chance to blow, Missy plopped on the floor in front of the coffee table and pulled out her box of supplies. She placed what she needed on the table, chose a fresh page and a photo, and got to work.

  I stood with my arm bent, dripping bubble juice on the carpet. “Well, okay then.” I felt sort of useless, fully prepared to inspire only to find I wasn’t needed. “I must be better at this than I thought.”

  Taking a day off on my first week had seemed irresponsible. But now it seemed like no big deal. If at least two-thirds of my clients didn’t need me, what was the point? In fact, maybe the entire point of my job was to get people started. I was the queen of getting stuff started. Maybe I wasn’t so great at finishing, but these people seemed to be.

  I’d continue checking on them in the weeks to come, but it seemed I’d already done what I’d been assigned to do.

  Mission accomplished.

  Watching someone cut paper and glue it in place was about as mind numbing as watching someone glue toothpicks together on a bed of wax paper. I didn’t stay much longer at Missy’s than I had at Alex’s.

  One stop left for the day, and I’d have a three-day weekend. Sort of.

  Since nobody had said anything to me about taking my belt home before, I had no intention of going back to the office after I checked on Mark to drop it off. I wasn’t done working for the day, but I was home for good.

  I popped my head into the kitchen. “Hey. Is he doing anything new?”

  I’d left Phyllis in the window to keep watch for me. Since Mark was proving to be my most difficult client, having a second set of eyes on him throughout the day couldn’t hurt. Or whatever it was Phyllis used for looking at things. Magic of the gods, maybe. I didn’t want to think about it.

  “He went out once to get the mail. That’s all I’ve seen him do until he left in a huff about an hour ago.” She dropped her voice to a near whisper. “Terwilliger was banging on our door. You might want to check. She’s on another crusade and left a note. Mark had his crumpled in his hand when he went out.”

  I groaned and whispered back, as if the landlady might be standing outside with an empty water glass pressed against the wall and her ear. “Is she still out there?” I crept through the kitchen and eased the door open. Sure enough. A bright green slip of folded paper was taped to the chipped paint. I detached it and ducked back inside.

  “What is it?” Phyllis shivered her branches in my direction. “Read it.”

  I unfolded the paper and cleared my throat. “Hear ye, hear ye…”

  “She didn’t!” Phyllis sounded scandalized.

  I laughed. “No. I added that myself.” I skimmed the page, then read it for my houseplant. “Management has received several complaints of people working on personal projects in the courtyard public area. Please refrain from using the courtyard in ways that will inconvenience other residents, cause excessive noise, or leave behind leftover materials or damage to the property. This includes but is not limited to: hammering, sawing, spray painting, and screwing.” I giggled, then slapped my hand over my mouth.

  Phyllis snorted. “Screwing? Did she really prohibit screwing in the courtyard?”

  I nodded, dropping my hand. “Number one, she’s hilariously stupid. Number two, that bitch! This is directed at Mark. People have been using that courtyard for projects for years. Remember when the McGinleys brought all that IKEA furniture outside so they’d have room to put it together?”

  Phyllis’s leaves lifted in what
looked like a shrug. “I watched them screw up that bookcase. If I could have talked back then, I’d have sent you out there to tell them how to fix it. They had the side panel on upside down.”

  I smirked. “When did you get so wise about putting together furniture?”

  “Sweetheart, I’ve been watching the world for a very long time. My roots go surprisingly deep. You’d do well to pay better attention to my advice.”

  “You’re right.” I folded the paper in half and tossed it in the trash. “And at the moment, you’re the only one in the world who’s got my back.”

  ~*~

  With nothing better to do while I waited for Mark to come home from wherever he’d gone, I pressed the button on my belt and headed over to his empty apartment. Maybe he’d left some drawings on his desk or something.

  I was well aware I was in sketchy territory, spying on him while he was gone. But I was a Muse. That should give me immunity, right? I was trying to help.

  The kitchen was tidy. Three ceramic jars in graduated sizes lined the counter, their lids secured with metal clips. There was nothing else on the counter but a toaster, coffee maker, and a single clean glass drying upside down on a dishtowel.

  I ran my finger over the cheap, laminate countertop. It came away without any stickiness or grease, like it might at my house. Impressed, I concentrated hard enough to interact with my surroundings and peeked inside a cupboard. All the dishes and glasses were neatly stacked on clean, striped contact paper. The next cupboard was filled with food: jars of rice, honey, granola, olive, and coconut oil. Everything he had seemed to be either outright healthy or at least not bad for you. And it was so tidy.

  I made a face and checked his fridge. “Holy crap.” I stood in the light of the refrigerator, shocked. “How can any one person eat so many vegetables?”

  It was like looking into my mother’s kitchen. I took a look in the lower cabinet next to the sink, knowing what I’d find. I squatted for a better view. Sure enough. A big, shiny juicer shared space with one of those mini blenders that makes a single smoothie right in the cup.