Art Girls Are Easy

by Julie Klausner

  She strode leisurely to the Beat cabin, taking the scenic route along the shady pebble path that looped around massive oak trees and past the cabins named after Marxist thinkers and Pre-Raphaelite painters she’d stayed in during past summers. There was the swing set, and the entrance to the steps that led up to the Esther Williams Pool. And wherever there were clearings, massive outdoor sculptures rested atop pristine grass.

  She noticed a new addition on the lawn glinting in the sunlight, and immediately recognized it as one of Jeff Koons’s famous pieces from his “Celebration” series. The sculpture was a massive diamond, the kind you’d find on a ring, made of chromium steel and coated in a vibrant royal-blue patina. It had to be part of the Silver Springs Professional Art Lending program, in which select professionals and collectors would lend their famous works to camp each summer, to educate and inspire future artists. Indy had seen a similar Koons piece—a giant yellow balloon animal—on the Met rooftop garden back in New York. So this was awesome.

  Indy finally arrived at Ferlinghetti—a Dutch colonial cottage with decoupaged rocking chairs and flowerpots scattered on the front porch. As she stood there, trying to adjust to the serene atmosphere of the perfect Massachusettsness of the campus on a beautiful summer day, her mind crept back to Eleanor’s rumor. It was clearly bullshit. Nick was here: she’d seen him with her own eyes, and Indy was pretty sure Nick had seen her, too. Reliving the moment caused a bolt of excitement to shiver down Indy’s spine like a Slinky down a flight of stairs. She couldn’t wait to get into the studio and start channeling some of this nervous energy into her work. It felt like every cell in her body was buzzing with activity.

  Indigo slid her key card into the front-door slot and made her way down the hallway, which was adorned with black-and-white photos of the suite’s namesake in his heyday. There was one of Lawrence Ferlinghetti outside his bookshop in San Francisco, another of him reading a poem onstage, and a shot of him drinking coffee with Allen Ginsberg. She passed suites one and two and wound up in the corner double, where she found her luggage next to three Chanel trunks and two Louis Vuitton rolling suitcases.

  The room itself was like a boutique hotel’s. The beds were already made with Silver Springs–issued five-hundred-thread-count Egyptian sheets, and the walls and bedding were draped in fresh shades of ochre and chartreuse. Two dressers, two nightstands, overhead lighting, and generous closet space filled out suite three. It was actually quite cozy and chic. Indigo took advantage of being the first girl in the room by claiming the bed she wanted. She began to unpack her bags.

  A shrill voice broke the silence.

  “Hey, Slut.” It could be only one person. Of course, Indy thought. She turned around to greet her new bunkmate: Eleanor Dash. It was a cruel joke that they would be forced to spend so much time together in the next month.

  “Welcome, Roomie,” Indigo said, with sarcastic overenthusiasm.

  Eleanor slammed the bedroom door behind her, leaving the two of them alone in their suite.

  “I can’t believe Nick is here,” Eleanor hissed, tossing her fuchsia Coach purse on top of the dresser. She bounded over to her bed and spread out on the floral-print cotton comforter. “Who does Lillian think she works for? Our parents pay her effing salary!”

  Indigo began to refold her clothes and put them into her dresser, pretending to listen. She was good at tuning out superfluous noises, a skill that came in handy in New York and around yentas like Eleanor.

  “I mean, it’s not like there aren’t other art teachers that could use the salary he makes,” Eleanor continued, unzipping one of her Chanel trunks full of expensive dance clothes. “What does Lillian pay him? Five figures for eight weeks? There are homeless people who sell homemade rubber stamps in McCarren Park who would smother their grandparents for one-sixteenth of that!”

  “Are you thinking of hipsters or homeless people, Eleanor?” Indy asked, rolling her eyes. “And since when have you even been to McCarren Park? Isn’t that in Brooklyn?”

  “I was seeing a guy who lived there last year. His dad is in a band, his mother makes artisanal cheese in their loft space. I got over him once I found out he didn’t smoke or drink. Don’t change the subject, Indy,” Eleanor snapped. “This Nick stuff is bullshit, and you know as well as I do that he doesn’t belong back at Silver Springs, considering what he did. I mean, you in particular!”

  “What are you talking about?” Indy asked, as nonchalantly as she could. Did Eleanor know she had a crush on Nick?

  Her new roommate took a deep breath and sat up on her bed, like she had the weight of the world on her bony shoulders.

  “Well,” she continued deliberately, “there’s something you may not know about your art instructor.” Eleanor reached over for her purse and removed a photo of an emaciated model from her wallet, then tacked it up over her bedside mirror with her gum.

  “I heard he was fired because there were indiscretions,” Eleanor said. “With campers. Specifically, your pal Lucy.” Done with her Thinspo interior design project, Eleanor tucked a phantom strand of blond hair behind her ear and sat down on the bed again while Indy puttered on her side of the room. “I heard Nick took her virginity in his cabin, by the pool, last summer.”

  There was a pause then, as Indy put down a pile of her sketchbooks and slowly absorbed what she had just heard. She finally turned her head and looked Eleanor right in the eyes.

  “What?” Indy said, with as little emotion as she could.

  Eleanor smirked. “I mean, I assumed you knew when Lucy lost her virginity because you guys are so close. She didn’t tell you? Or isn’t that what best friends are for?” Eleanor stood up, slunk over to the full-length mirror, and began to examine her posture in ballet positions one through five. She looked like a stick bug trying to do yoga. It was nauseating.

  Indigo stood by her bed with her arms at her sides, deciding when and how exactly she was going to tell Eleanor to shut the hell up. But Eleanor took her reaction as a cue to keep talking. She was enjoying this.

  “What’s more,” Eleanor said, sneering, “Lucy was dumb enough to leave herself logged in to her Gmail on one of the iPads in the computer lab.” She began to stretch her body into another unflattering shape. “And Nick e-mailed her a very raunchy message.”

  Indigo’s heart felt like it had dropped into her stomach. Nick had e-mailed Lucy, too? This was the first thing that Eleanor had said that seemed plausible. “Really?” she heard herself ask. “What did it say?”

  “Oh, the usual,” Eleanor continued casually. “‘Thanks for last night, I’ll never forget it. I’m so glad I was your first, hope I didn’t get you preggers.’ That kind of thing. I can’t remember it by heart, but I have a copy of it somewhere.”

  “Why do you have a copy of it?” Indy was suddenly invigorated by the challenge Eleanor seemed to present. She felt baited, but nobody could argue with black-and-white evidence. That is, if the e-mail even existed. Indy tried desperately to maintain a calm exterior.

  “I printed it out,” Eleanor replied. “It was right there, out in the open. It’s almost like Lucy wanted to get caught.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Indy shot back.

  “I swear!”

  Indy extended her palm. “Let me see it, then.”

  “Well, I don’t have it here.”

  Indigo began to relax. There was no way this story could be true. She and Lucy may have not seen each other in the last year, but they were best friends—Indy still would have been the first one to know if she’d lost her virginity. Plus, there was no way that Lucy would have ever hooked up with Nick, knowing Indy’s feelings for him. Not a chance. But despite all of this, a tiny seed of doubt had been planted in Indy’s mind. Just because Eleanor didn’t have the actual e-mail in her possession didn’t mean that Nick hadn’t sent Lucy a flirty message, too. Or that he hadn’t e-mailed anyone else at camp, for that matter. Indy felt a bit sick.

  She had to get out of there. Now.

  �
��I’m going to take my stuff to the bathroom,” Indigo announced, reaching into her suitcase to get a transparent cosmetics case stuffed to its creases with organic skin products and battery-powered tooth care.

  “I’m sure this is hard for you.…” Eleanor began, but Indy made her swift exit.

  Not as hard as it’s going to be for you if you don’t keep your mouth shut this summer, thought Indy. Eleanor really knew how to set her off.

  The shared Ferlinghetti bathroom boasted state-of-the-art modern Kohler sinks that were mounted in a tidy row onto gleaming, pearl-colored tiled walls. Above the sinks, a giant immaculate mirror reflected the ten shower stalls, each one housed in its own cloudy glass tower with teak bathmats in front of them, like little welcome mats in front of phone booths. Around the corner were toilets and bidets, which were appointed to the girls in the upper-hill bunks (the lower-hill campers tended to fill water balloons in them), and an assortment of cubbies and hooks for the campers’ massive selection of creams, pills, cleansers, toners, makeup, hair care, and everything else it took to keep the Ferlinghetti girls looking and feeling exactly as they were accustomed.

  Around the cubby area, Yvonne the aspiring stand-up comedian was unpacking a sprawling array of scrubs, creams, and devices around one of the sinks in the bathroom. She dropped a chubby armful of various cuticle nippers onto the floor in theatrical panic when Indy came in, and Indigo half smiled, knowing Yvonne was amping up her shtick for the attention.

  “Hi, Yvonne. How was your school year?”

  “Oh, not bad, thanks!” Yvonne stammered. “My love life is nothing to speak of, but I’m on a new seafood diet. Basically, I eat a ton of shrimp!” She chuckled at her own joke, then waited for Indy to do the same.

  Indigo smiled generously, and Yvonne brightened. She had given up on fitting in long ago, and lived for any kind of positive response to her jokes—even mercy laughs. The joy she got from being well received disappeared as quickly as it came. But at least at Silver Springs, Yvonne wasn’t picked on the way she was at home. It was lucky that her defense mechanism had blossomed into a skill—something she could be passionate about. She was actually pretty funny, in small doses.

  “How are you?” Yvonne asked awkwardly. She tried hard to be normal, but when she was friendly without joking, the effect was sweaty with effort. “I remember reading online about that fellowship you won. Was that the piece you were finishing up last summer? The installation?”

  “Yeah.” Indy nodded, unpacking her cleansers and acne stuff. “Jon Benet Descending a Staircase. I ended up building the whole thing out of sculpting clay, and those flippers? You know those teeth that beauty-pageant girls wear?”

  “Totally! Oh, God. I have a whole bit about Toddlers & Tiaras in my act.” Yvonne grinned. She had clearly missed being around other creative nerds as much as Indy had.

  “So I built the stairs by stacking a bunch of those nasty fake teeth. It was supposed to be about how exploitative pageant culture is, and how it’s really just a microcosm of the entire beauty and entertainment industry, even for adults.”

  “Whoa,” Yvonne murmured. “That’s impressive. My take on that whole show basically has more to do with how jealous I am of those little kids! I wish I’d gotten lipo for my fifth birthday instead of that stupid tricycle!” Yvonne laughed awkwardly.

  Puja Nair, a petite Indian American hipster girl, came out of the shower with wet hair and wearing a towel, a pair of flip-flops, and her Woody Allen glasses, to join Yvonne and Indy at the sinks.

  “Hey!” Puja could be a little intense, but she was, for the most part, a sweet girl—and an insanely talented writer.

  “How was your school year?” Indy asked.

  “Oh, you know! It was pretty lackluster. I tried to do a table-read of my last script with some kids from the drama club, and it was subpar. I’m just so relieved it’s summer now. I can finally get some real work done, you know?”

  “Definitely,” Indy replied, realizing she was the alpha girl by default. Puja and Yvonne stared at her like she was in charge of the conversation. “Are you guys psyched for the workshops?” she asked.

  “I can’t wait for the Judy Tenuta intensive!” Yvonne yelped. One of her favorite comediennes was scheduled to come teach a stand-up comedy workshop in August.

  “I hope I get a good adviser,” Puja said, starting to floss.

  “Who did you work with last year?” Indy asked.

  “Jen Rant,” Puja answered, mid-floss.

  “Oh,” Yvonne snarked. “You mean Debbie Downer? That girl’s got less sunshine up her ass than a miner trapped underground during a Scandinavian winter.” She paused for a beat. “Too soon for trapped-miner jokes? Is that still a thing?”

  “She’s not that bad.” Puja giggled. “She helped me take a play I wrote and turn it into a feature script. It ended up being terrible, but that’s my own fault for not realizing that a helicopter landing onstage is really not that big of a deal when you’re aiming to shoot it instead of stage it.”

  Puja used to write a Vietnam War–themed play each week, after spending her Christmas break two years ago in San Francisco on a food tour and seeing lots of homeless Vietnam vets on the street. She implored her parents, a food critic and a Bollywood actress, to rent Apocalypse Now so she could figure out what “made the bums tick,” and, even though Puja was only eight at the time, the Nairs relented, knowing they had a precocious auteur-to-be on their hands.

  “God, I remember that!” Yvonne squawked, rubbing a foam cleanser onto her slablike cheeks. “Remember how my parents walked out of that one play you did? What’s That Sound?”

  “And all of the younger girls started screaming during the amputee scene?” Indy chimed in, recalling how hilarious it had been, despite the serious subject matter.

  “What can I say?” Puja shrugged. “I love making a splash!”

  “Hey, hookers.” Eleanor waltzed into the bathroom with the eerie calm of somebody who shouldn’t have been as angry as she was moments before.

  Puja and Yvonne instinctively averted their eyes to the tiled floor in the presence of a high-status bully. Eleanor kept talking as she unpacked.

  “So, P.S.?” she hissed into the mirror, though she had said nothing to justify a postscript. “It’s already five-forty-five, which means we have to be at the dinner hall in fifteeeeeeeen.”

  Grateful for the excuse, Puja and Yvonne darted to their room to change, muttering “Thanks” to the notorious skeleton Medusa as they left.

  “Are you going to dinner?” Eleanor asked Indy as she pulled out a pair of pointy tweezers and began to pluck her already sparse brows.

  “I was planning on it,” Indigo replied flatly.

  “Ehhh, I don’t think I’m going to go,” Eleanor decided, in between plucks. “I’ll see you at the campfire after, yeah?”

  She had an infuriating affectation of saying “Yeah?” like a question at the end of her conversations, like a poseur Emma Watson or something. And Indy wasn’t really surprised Eleanor was avoiding the public consumption of food.

  “Later.” She left Eleanor at the sink to arrange her own palette of diet pills and department-store creams. Back in their bedroom, Indy grabbed her tinted cherry ChapStick and dabbed some onto her lips. It was a tradition at Silver Springs for all of the campers to wear white during the Welcome Dinner and campfire activities, so she slid on a brand-new pair of white jeans over her newly massive-seeming hips and butt. She traded her sunflower baby-doll dress for a white tank top, which clung to her small waist, then pulled on a big white hoodie sweatshirt.

  Indy slid her feet into white flip-flops so her purple pedicure showed, and took a moment to check herself out in the full-length mirror that hung behind the chaise longue in the suite, which was still messy with their unpacked stuff.

  Here we go, she thought. She used the soothing inner voice her shrink recommended when it became tempting to recede into darker thoughts.

  But she wasn’t even going there
. Her secret crush was safe, and it was in a place nobody could see. Indy decided to believe that Lucy and Nick never had anything between them. There was no way. She renewed the goal of putting her feelings—even the dark ones—on paper and into her work this summer. If anything, it was bound to make her art more meaningful.

  Indigo kissed her own fingertips, getting them waxy, then pressed them to her own mirror reflection. She hit the lights and left the Beat cabin, head held high, into the peach-and-mauve-drenched dusk that settled into the lush campgrounds just outside the door.

  4

  On the first night of camp, the girls ate dinner with campers of all ages for the purposes of avoiding, for one evening, the cliqueishness that went along with the social workings of Silver Springs. Last year Indy had been forced to sit next to Lily Nagel, an eight-year-old aspiring film director. Lily had insisted on asking her trivia questions from the American Film Institute’s top 100 films throughout the entire meal, like whether or not Sunset Boulevard is in the top ten (it’s not). Every time Indy got a question wrong, Lily would laugh and make a game-show buzzer noise. Having to eat with girls half your age was totally humiliating in its own right, but getting berated by one was just surreal. That said, there were certain perks to being the oldest at camp, and one of them was that this year, Indigo got to spend her last official Welcome Dinner with the Ferlinghetti girls.

  Indy entered the dining hall, which was closer to a four-star restaurant than a school cafeteria. Each table was decorated with a tasteful centerpiece made up of peonies and snapdragons, the colors of which popped among the sea of white outfits worn by the Silver Springs campers. Indy noticed Puja sitting next to Yvonne, who waved enthusiastically from a round table in the corner. Eleanor was, true to her word, mercifully absent.

  As Indigo walked toward her table, she caught Lucy’s eye. She was wearing a gauzy white sundress with a flattering scoop neckline and sat with the staffers, laughing and tossing back her glossy hair. Indy felt a little pang of jealousy but gave Lucy a friendly half-wave and continued on.