The stuffed bear was wearing a Phantom of the Opera mask and cape, and held a little rose. It rested atop the cork-and-linen divider of a cube labeled “Rashid Beatts/Lucy Serrano.” Indy opened the mercifully unlocked aluminum door and pushed one of the two folding chairs in the carpeted space up to the corner where the stuffed animal sat. She stood on the chair for support and grabbed the suspiciously heavy bear, then stashed it in her bag, which now bulged with the weight of her and Eleanor’s entire failed scheme.
By the time she had snuck out of the rehearsal studios unseen, more and more campers were walking along the paths. Her timing must have been perfect—breakfast was over by now, and the girls were just now racing to their home bases—studios, rehearsal spaces, and music halls—for a last-minute round of line-cramming, scale-practicing, and crash-dieting that proceeded the upcoming festivities.
As Indigo headed back toward the art studio, she noticed Jen Rant in the distance. Jen looked up from her purple messenger bag, which she held like a nursing infant, saw Indy, and shook her head before looking away. Before she resumed her journey, Indigo waited for Jen to disappear.
It was a good thing she’d gotten an early start on the day. Right after Indy arrived back at the painting studio, it became overrun with other art majors. Suzie McLandish was hunched over a drafting table, furiously inking a twenty-five-page graphic novel about a super-heroine she’d created called Breast Implant Girl. The lead character looked sort of like a super-pretty version of Suzie, and it was clearly meant to be some kind of postfeminist commentary on the plastic surgery her parents bought her. Megan was putting the finishing touches on her colorful mural—she had only to add detail to the part of her Stein family history that depicted her aunt’s adoption of a Chinese baby girl after her fertility treatments didn’t take.
Indigo tried not to think about what everybody in the room looked like naked now that she had T.M.I. from last night’s swim, and also tried not to psych herself out by looking too intently at the beautiful work everybody in the studio was making. Instead, she set herself up in the only corner of the studio that was empty—the part that had been taped off since the infamous blowtorch incident. She’d be like a phoenix rising from her own ashes.
Indy ripped the masking tape off the paint-splattered, slightly charred wooden floorboards. She cleared off the surface of the worktable next to the blowtorch station and dumped out all the contents of her purse—nanny cams, teddy bear, and hammer, along with a tube of ChapStick, a tiny sketchbook, tampons, tissues, wallet, and everything else. She unwrapped Eleanor’s blouse from around her waist and dumped that on the table as well.
Inspired and focused, she reached into the cabinet where Nick kept the goggles and removed the tarp from the blowtorch, which hung on the wall in the corner. But this time she would be creating, not destroying.
Indy put on Nick’s goggles and fired up the torch. Soon the smell of melting plastic and metal replaced Nick’s distinctive sweat-and-soap scent on his goggles. The nanny cams morphed into something shiny and globby and otherworldly and beautiful once the fire got to them. Their plastic exteriors disappeared under the heat to reveal multicolored wires that looked like futuristic rainbows. As the lens and the microchip insides warped and shifted shape under the glare of her thumb-sized torch flame, Indy thought about how great it would be if all of her deeds against Lucy were destroyed alongside the video she torched.
Soon she had three cow patty–sized piles of warped plastic, glass, and metal in front of her. The remnants of the three nanny cams sat there in their twisted beauty, the lenses still positioned to the center of each like the jam dots in homemade thumbprint cookies. Indigo marveled at the effect. They were like pretty robot eyes, or precious stones she couldn’t wait to make some kind of jewelry out of. Her mind abounded with inspiration and possibilities. For the first time in what seemed like forever, what not to make was a bigger dilemma than what she would do in the studio. Then, finally, she had a thrilling idea.
She was going to build a three-eyed monster.
Possessed by her creative direction, Indigo rooted through the studio trash to look for newsprint, scraps, or any other kind of paper debris she could use as the base for a plaster-of-paris mold. But it was recycling day, which meant the bins full of paper waste were already on their way to the compost heap in town.
Then Indigo remembered the garbage bags full of discarded sketches, scribbles, and journal pages full of ramblings from when she’d been sequestered in her room. The bags were still in there—she hadn’t hauled them to the Dumpster yet. Indigo rushed out of the studio to make it to the Beat cabin before somebody else got rid of them. She didn’t even think to take off Nick’s welding goggles—all she could think about was creating this sculpture.
As soon as she exited the studio, Indy saw Lillian waiting for her on the lawn.
“Hi.”
“Hello, Indy.” Lillian nodded. I was just at Ferlinghetti, looking for you—I figured you might be here.”
“Am I banned from the show? From Silver Springs?” Indigo no longer cared about the events of this morning or even of the last month. She cared only about her project now, and the sooner Lillian told her the verdict of this morning’s Fairness Committee, the sooner Indy would know whether she was going to make her papier-mâché “triclops” beastie here at camp, or at her parents’ place back home.
“Well, I want you to know that this was not an easy decision. It came down to a vote, the results of which were—”
“Am I getting. Kicked. Out,” Indy asked again.
“No,” Lillian said, evenly. “We’d like you to stay.”
“Thank you!” Indigo exclaimed. The relief she felt made her realize how much she did care about this place. She got to stay! Indy was even tempted to give Lillian a hug but then thought better of it.
“…Provided!” Lillian added. “You finish your Industry Showcase submission and stay out of trouble until the application period for C.I.T.s begins in the fall.” A smile formed on Lillian’s lips. “We all actually think you would make a wonderful staff member next year.”
“All of you?” Indy said, genuinely surprised to hear the staff’s opinion of her. Was what she did really not that bad? Should she not have felt all that guilt? There’s no way this was a fair outcome, but she felt grateful enough for the second chance to know she wouldn’t take it for granted.
“Well, to be honest, one committee member thought you…lacked certain qualities. But we’ll just leave it at that.” Lillian crossed her arms around her chest. “And Indigo? Please be careful using that blowtorch.”
Indy looked Lillian in the eyes, and then, remembering she was wearing welding goggles, broke out into a huge grin.
“I always am.”
Lillian smiled back. And Indigo, relieved that the whole ordeal was finally over, ran all the way back to her bunk.
She burst into her bedroom. But instead of finding the two trash bags of scrap paper she was looking for, she found Eleanor and Yvonne sitting on the floor instead, playing cards. Between the two girls lay a stunning assortment of prescription-pill bottles and loose tablets.
“Hello?”
“Oh, Indy!” Yvonne threw down her cards abruptly like she’d been caught doing something terrible. “How are you? You look nice. Is everything okay? We sort of heard about you maybe being in trouble? I mean, not like the blond chick from Dirty Dancing ‘I’m in trouble, Baby! Get your dad to help me out!’ kind of ‘in trouble,’ but that maybe you were going to get…”
“I’m not getting expelled.” Indigo felt herself smile in great relief. “They just told me—or Lillian did. I can come back next summer. And I’m still in the show.” She couldn’t believe her luck.
“Terrific,” Eleanor responded, as dry as a wind tunnel. “Yvonne, go! It’s your turn.”
“Oh!” Yvonne picked up her hand of cards from the floor—half of them were turned up already. “I guess, I’ll…raise you four Ativan?” Eleanor showed
her hand—all aces—then swept the stash of pills to her side of the room.
“Aw, darn it!” Yvonne said, smiling. Either she was a phenomenally good sport or she was relieved to have a friend who paid this much attention to her. Indigo had been replaced. And not a moment too soon.
“Have you guys seen the two garbage bags that were in here earlier?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah!” Yvonne nodded as Eleanor dealt another hand of cards. “I put those in my and Puja’s room. I hope that’s okay.”
“You’ll find that all your other stuff is in Puja’s room, too,” Eleanor added, not bothering to look up. “I just figured you might be more comfortable hanging in there from now on.” Eleanor looked up from her hand of cards and stared at Indigo with a reptilian coldness that chilled her from across the room.
“I hope that’s okay!” Yvonne repeated. “I knew it was gonna be awkward, so just tell me if it’s awkward. I mean, not like, ‘Ooh, let’s experiment with our bodies and listen to folk music—college roommate–style awkward,’ but—”
“It’s fine,” Indy interrupted. “It’s great.”
“Oh, and Indigo,” Eleanor continued, “that DVD you lent me is on your bed. The one labeled ‘rehearsal’?”
“Oh, right. Thanks.”
She turned around to fetch her bags, and as she left, heard Eleanor ask Yvonne, “Wait. Was she wearing my skirt?”
24
Everything about Indy’s sculpture turned out even better than she’d intended. As she formed the monster’s body, soldered the nanny-cam-lens eyes onto its papier-mâché head, and wove shreds of Eleanor’s white blouse into its scalp for hair, she found that her hands were taking her piece to a higher level than she dreamed. She’d also decoupaged the chair drawings she’d churned out before Lucy’s play onto an actual chair that the robot sat upon for a meta, surrealist statement that would have blown René Magritte’s mind.
So when her piece took center stage at the Industry Showcase Art Show and was even awarded best in show, however grudgingly, by Jen Rant, who headed the judging committee—Indigo tried her hardest to look surprised.
“Excuse me! Can I have everyone’s attention, please?”
Lillian, wearing a smart navy pantsuit and a golden brooch in the shape of the Silver Springs coat of arms, stood in the center of the Stein Gallery—one of several glisteningly clean and modern-looking exhibition spaces located on the northwest corner of the Silver Springs campus. The Stein Gallery was named after Megan’s family, who had donated enough money to make sure it was the biggest one at camp after Megan encountered some spatial challenges displaying her work the summer she was going through a Claes Oldenburg phase. In fact, Megan’s mural, which was mounted on the wall opposite the gallery’s main entrance, even depicted her father writing a check for its donation, her own sculpture of a huge, vinyl Subway foot-long floating in the background.
“I want to say, first and foremost, what a sublime blessing it is to have Silver Springs campers, their parents, and all of you talented professionals together on such a creatively fulfilling occasion.” Lillian beamed into a sea of young and old faces.
“What is she talking about?” Leo Hamlisch, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, whispered to Indigo. Yoshiko, who stood next to them in a black satin shift dress and fedora, smiled appreciatively.
“Welcome to the fortieth annual Silver Springs Industry Showcase Day art show!” Lillian announced.
The adults gathered in the Stein Gallery all applauded on cue. Yoshiko took an Instagram pic of Indigo’s piece on her iPhone and then one of her standing next to it. Indy didn’t mind—she had even put on some black eyeliner and lip gloss, for a look that was way more becoming than the one she rocked at the Kinnetonka Social.
“We are so proud of you,” Yoshiko said sincerely and a little too loudly.
The Steins shot them a look. In response, Leo mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key.
“Now, as you all know,” Lillian started up again as the crowd’s attention began to wane, “we like to foster a noncompetitive creative environment here at Silver Springs.”
Everyone stopped slurping the gallery wine and chewing on their Carr’s water crackers for enough time to participate in the biggest group eye roll ever seen in a non-flash-mob setting.
“That said, some works truly are exceptional and deserve special recognition,” Lillian continued. “And today we’d like to announce that the work of art that best represents a clear vision, a bold statement, a visually compelling aesthetic, and a promising talent…is Blinky at the Races by Indigo Hamlisch!”
Indigo’s dad hugged her tight, and Yoshiko began to cry.
“Indy, would you mind coming up and saying a few words about your sculpture?” Lillian beckoned.
Indy, through her joy, thought about how, only days earlier, she was dirty and isolated in her bunk, throwing drawing after drawing into the trash. She smoothed down her hair and walked over to Lillian, then reluctantly took the mic from her hands.
“I guess,” she began slowly and with gradually more confidence, “I wanted to make a statement about revenge, technology, and surveillance.” She cleared her throat. “Blinky is a monster who can see what you do day or night. He’s like a nondenominational cyborg Santa Claus. With a conscience.”
“What are the monster’s eyes made out of?” somebody in the crowd shouted at her. Indy recognized the voice immediately.
“Those are nanny cams,” she responded, blushing an even deeper shade of red. Even though she’d decided she hated him the day before, Nick looked incredible in the blazer he wore to the Dylan concert, over a button-down shirt and black jeans. “And the lashes are made out of a DVD I sliced up into little strips. The DVD had special meaning to me.” He nodded in response to her answer.
Lillian stepped in.
“Congratulations, Indigo. And thanks to all of you—campers and parents alike—for making Silver Springs a mecca for such artistic vibrancy. And to all of our very important industry guests—I invite you to explore the works of our young artists. These are your future stars! After this, please join us in the dining hall for a quick brunch. Then there will be a one PM fully clothed performance of Oh, Calcutta! in the Herzog-Streisand Theater. Following that, please join us for a concert of Ani DiFranco songs arranged as chamber music in the Miranda July wing of the main house. Thank you, and enjoy!”
Indy rejoined her dad and Yoshiko, who was still choked up with pride.
“Congratulations, kiddo.” Leo Hamlisch hugged his daughter again.
“Thanks.” Indy grinned. “Do you guys wanna take a walk after this? I don’t really want to see either of those performances, but I should probably say hi to Lucy.”
“Oh!” Leo looked around. “Are Mr. and Mrs. Serrano here this year?”
“No. She’s a C.I.T., remember?”
“Of course. Well, let’s find her and say hello. I haven’t seen Lucy since…well, since I passed her on that billboard on Madison and Ninetieth.” Leo popped a Tic Tac into his mouth, then put the case back into his shirt pocket. “How much dough do you think she rakes in for that kind of a gig?”
“Leo, stop it. Don’t talk numbers in front of people, it’s déclassé,” Yoshiko scolded her husband.
“Oh, please. This camp is all about cash, and you can’t even talk about it? That’s like going to the Kentucky Derby and not talking about horses. Or how much you won from the horses.” Leo laughed.
“Mr. and Mrs. Hamlisch!” Lillian cut through the crowd to say hello. “You must be so proud of Indy.”
“We are.” Leo beamed.
“She’s very talented. And she really did a complete turnaround over the last twenty-four hours, with this piece. It’s incredible.” Lillian clapped her hands together.
“Indy works fast when she’s excited about something.” Leo put his hand on Indy’s back.
“By the way”—Lillian lowered her voice—“I want you to know how much it meant to receive your recent d
onation.”
“Well”—Leo winked—“those new printmaking facilities weren’t going to build themselves.”
Lillian smiled back, and Indy felt weird. In no way did her dad’s money talk negate the sense of accomplishment she felt around her piece. But, she figured, his donation was probably relevant to her Fairness Committee verdict. For the first time, she felt she had a better insight into the machine that kept this place running. This odd, terrible, wonderful place.
“Indy!” Lucy burst into their group with her big, bright Lucyness.
“Hey, look who it is!” Leo gave her a bear hug as soon as he saw her.
“Hi, Mr. Hamlisch! Hi, Yoshiko!” Lucy smiled sincerely and then turned to Indigo. “So, what’s this I heard about you winning best in show?”
Indy cocked her head to the side, brushing off the compliment like dust off her shoulder. “It’s all very political who wins these things.”
“BullSHIT!” Lucy exclaimed, causing the heads of the dads—and moms—who weren’t already checking out the pretty blond to turn in her direction. “This is the best piece you’ve ever produced. You made this art show your bitch. And I’m really proud of you.”
“Aw. Thanks, Luce.”
“It’s good to see you two haven’t changed,” Leo said. “You know, I remember when the two of you were as flat as two rowing paddles.”
“Leo, SHUT. UP.” Yoshiko looked mortified.
“Come on, let’s sneak some wine,” Lucy whispered to Indigo.
“Be right back, Dad.” Indy turned to leave with her.
“Okay, Peanut. Yoshiko and I will meet you at the dining hall.” Leo trailed off as he took his wife’s arm. “I wonder if they’ll have those gruyere frittatas this year.…”
Indy and Lucy made their way toward the snack table, dodging Mr. and Mrs. O’Donaghue, who wore matching ascots printed with alternating shamrocks and anchors. Also nearby were Yvonne’s conservative parents, the Bremises, who were taking notes on the most offensive pieces in the show so they could cite them in a sternly worded letter to Lillian at a later date. Puja’s dad, food critic Reginald Nair, was chewing a piece of gouda for what seemed like forever, next to his stunningly beautiful actress wife, whose huge saucer eyes peeked out underneath her dark bangs, which were as thick as a slice of chocolate pound cake.
Art Girls Are Easy Page 20