Art Girls Are Easy

  Lucy snuck some wine into her aluminum earth-friendly water bottle and gave it to Indigo, who took a swig. They drifted over to the side of the room and leaned against the wall together, checking out the scene.

  “You know, I never said thanks,” Indy said, handing her back the bottle.

  “Thanks for what?”

  “Thanks for showing up at Fairness Committee and defending me.”

  “Of course! You’re the most original artist I know. And so is your process.” She shrugged. “So what if you burned some stuff.”

  “I just really appreciate you barging in like that and sticking up for me. I mean, without you, I wouldn’t have been able to create this piece. And I love this piece.” Indigo knew Lucy would never know in full what she meant.

  “Look.” Lucy took another swig of wine. “I will always be there to throw myself in front of whatever dumbness gets in the way of you making art. Whether it’s a Fairness Committee, a case of writer’s block, or an obsession with some stupid guy.” She smiled at Indy. “I’m your biggest fan.”

  Indy felt a sense of gratitude wash over her.

  “Likewise.” She gestured to Lucy’s water bottle for another swig of wine. “I know I’ve said it before. But I really, really regret making such a thing out of my crush on Nick. I mean, imagine all the work I could have made if I hadn’t wasted my summer thinking about him.”

  Indigo handed Lucy the bottle and caught her reflection in the glass doors that led to the hallway. She felt chic, trim, and sophisticated in her white, crisp button-down and black skinny jeans.

  “What if the energy you spend thinking about a boy is the same energy you put into your work,” Lucy wondered. “Like how calories are calories?”

  “Totally,” Indy agreed. “I need that energy if I’m going to live, let alone make stuff that I don’t want to burn with a torch.”

  “I still can’t believe you burned Nick’s painting. You’re such a badass.” Lucy shook her head and giggled.

  “But you know what I mean. Jealousy, boys, sex, money…” Indy said and sighed, watching a couple of the hotter dads check out Lucy’s boobs in her staff T-shirt. “Those are all distractions from making art.”

  “I dunno.” Lucy squinted her eyes to think about it. “I mean, without that stuff, what would you ever have to make art about?” She sounded very confident, Indy realized. Maybe Lucy was smarter than she’d honestly ever given her credit for. “Without those feelings, without life, your art just sucks. It means nothing.”

  “I guess I just need to figure out how to balance thinking about guys with thinking about art,” Indy finally concluded.

  “Eh,” Lucy said, shrugging her shoulders. “One thing feeds into the other.” She took a final swig, emptying the bottle. “Good art just needs passion.”

  Indy looked across the gallery at Nick, who was shaking hands with each of the O’Donaghues like he was a campaigning politician. His eyes were lit up with the same spark—the same desire—she recognized from their late night in the studio together, before they moved in to kiss. It seemed like he wanted something from that wealthy couple as badly as he wanted her then. It was strange to see.

  Indy saw Jen Rant trying as hard as she could to schmooze with the Steins. But as Jen tried to seem congenial and feminine, her hunger just read as urgent. Marty and Ellen Stein looked like they couldn’t escape. Indy observed how Lillian worked the room and made sure all of the pictures on the wall were hung evenly. She saw Jim Dybbs and his hot wife making out in the corner of the gallery. And as disgusting as it was to see Jim rub his hippie-dippie beard all over his wife’s flawless made-up face and groping her shapely butt with his hairy hands—it was sort of sweet. They were in love.

  “You know what I think?” Indigo began, out loud to herself as much as to her best friend. “More than anything, these, these…people around us—whether they’re distractions or obstacles or mentors or crushes.” Indy paused for a second to think, then said, “They’re all just here to be our muses.”

  “Yeah,” Lucy said back, nodding.

  “I mean, isn’t that what a muse is supposed to be? Somebody who inspires you? Or gets in your way to the point where you want to prove them wrong? Or basically helps you to express yourself even if they’re not trying to?”

  “Totes.”

  “Who says that a muse has to be some Greek babe?”

  “Well, that’s what a muse is for dudes, I guess.” Lucy began twirling her hair on her index finger.

  “Fuck dudes,” Indy shot back.

  Lucy laughed and took her hand.

  “Oh, Indy. Don’t worry. You’ll find somebody new to crush on as hard as Nick.” Indy looked Lucy in the eye just as she realized how sad she was. Letting go of liking Nick was the hardest thing she had to do this summer, including the all-nighter she’d pulled to finish her final project, the days she spent in her room, and the depression and guilt that went into, then followed, the act of actually cutting herself. Her eyes welled up as she realized she was lonely now that she didn’t have Nick to think about. He kept good company in her mind.

  Lucy reached out for a hug. “Nick was a good muse,” she whispered as Indy squeezed back.

  The gallery was nearly empty by now. Only a few random stragglers surveyed the art, taking notes on their iPads and in their Moleskine notebooks.

  “Ms. Hamlisch?” An older man with sharp features under tortoiseshell glasses approached Indigo and held out his hand. He wore brown slacks and a tweed blazer, and Indy couldn’t help but think she’d seen him somewhere before.

  “Yes?” Indy replied, politely. She didn’t recognize him as anyone’s dad.

  “I’m Peter Franks. From the Franks-Curren Gallery in New York?” He gave her a warm smile. “Could I possibly have a moment of your time?”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” Indy looked to Lucy for guidance while she silently freaked out.

  “I’ll be waiting for you outside.” Lucy grinned.

  A little bit later, Indigo walked through the glass doors of the Stein Gallery and down the hallway toward the ladies room. As she glided down the corridor with her shoulders back, she let herself process what had happened in the last fifteen minutes. A real gallery owner, Peter Franks, wanted to put a bid in for the exclusive rights to her next sculpture series for his space in TriBeCa. He’d given her his business card and arranged to have her come tour the gallery upon her return to New York. Maybe it was luck. And maybe she actually had done this on her own. It felt amazing.

  “Well, hello.”

  No.

  It had to be comic timing, seriously. Nick was exiting the men’s room as Indigo approached and the two of them were suddenly alone in front of the water fountain. Indigo could hear Lillian say her good-byes from the next room, then close the front door. Now it was really just the two of them in the gallery, or it seemed that way.

  “Hi.” Indy suddenly felt dizzy. She paused, and, not knowing what to say, announced, “I’m going to pee.”

  “Congratulations,” Nick joked. He smiled and showed off his perfect teeth as Indigo felt the familiar rush of sexual feelings charge into her body. “Hey.” He reached out to touch Indy’s bare arm, which formed goose bumps on contact. “I just wanted to say how incredible your piece is. I mean, I know that you know. You’re smart enough to know how talented you are, and not many people are both.” He paused. “You know…bright and good.”

  Indy smiled, taking in the compliments like a plant responding to sunshine.

  “I guess what I wanted to say,” Nick continued, “is that I’m proud of you. You’ve grown up a lot in the short amount of time I’ve known you, Indigo. And I’m glad you didn’t get in trouble. I did all I could.”

  “You stuck up for me?” Indy completely forgot that she had to pee and felt only the magnetic force of the spot in front of Nick where she stood.

  “Of course I did,” Nick responded, running his fingers through his hair with one hand and bringing the clear plastic Di
xie cup of red wine to his lips with the other. His lips were stained from the inside with burgundy.

  “Hey.” He gulped down the rest of the cup. “About that night when you and I…”

  “Yes?” The memory of it rushed Indy’s senses. “What about it?”

  Nick’s eyelids looked heavy. “That was really nice.” He put the cup down on the water fountain and moved a step closer. Indy’s heart leapt. But she did not budge.

  “Yes,” she replied, a familiar mixture of pain and desire quickly growing inside her.

  “And I just wanted to tell you,” he continued, moving even closer so that she could smell his hair and skin next to hers the same way she did in the studio that night.

  “Yes?” she asked. She could feel her heart pounding against her chest.

  “I…” Nick’s eyes glanced down at her body, and back up into her eyes. “I think you’re the real deal.”

  “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls,” Indy whispered back.

  He smiled. “Maybe,” he said. “But you’re my favorite girl.”

  His hands wrapped around Indy’s waist and he brought her in, close to him, like she’d always dreamed about. He leaned in close enough for her to feel his warm breath on her lips. “You did it, Supergirl.”

  Indigo felt pleasure and terror wash over her as she realized Nick was about to kiss her again. But before he did, she gathered all of the resolve and strength she still had inside of her and pulled away.

  It was time to let him go.

  “Sorry, Nick,” she said.

  Nick looked confused and hurt, but Indy felt no sympathy for him. She just felt the small spark of confidence that her life was about to change with this very decision, for the better.

  “Well.” He frowned at his shoes. “Congrats again on your piece. It’s…it’s remarkable.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you.” Indigo smiled, and then she walked away.

  The best part was that she truly meant it.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you first and foremost to my literary agent, Scott Mendel, and my editors Cindy Eagan and Elizabeth Bewley, as well Pam Gruber. Thank you, second but also somehow foremost, to Holly Schlesinger, who revised the drafts of the proposal and the structure of this before it was actually a thing, and Gillian Berrow, who helped me shape that aforementioned thing into a Great Thing.

  Thanks also to Jack Fagan, Ellen, Joe and Phil Klausner, Amy Poehler for the blurb and for being a flawless rock star in general, Cecily Von Zeigesar for being an inspiration, Eryn Oberlander, Kara Baker, Melissa Myers, Sarah Self, Erin Junkin, Greg Hodes, Justin Ongert, Erica Gray, and everyone at Poppy and Little, Brown.

  Finally, thank you for reading this. People who appreciate my work make my life extraordinary. I am so lucky to have fans as wonderful as you.

  Thanks dpgroup forum.

  About the Author

  Julie Klausner is a New York City-based writer/performer. She is the author of a memoir called I Don't Care About Your Band, which was optioned by Will Ferrell and Adam McKay's production company, and the host of a weekly podcast called How Was Your Week. Julie is a regular contributor to Vulture.com, where she writes about Real Housewives and makes videos, and also writes for television, including shows like Billy on the Street and Best Week Ever. Her website, predictably, is julieklausner.com. Art Girls Are Easy is her first book for young adults.