by Sofi Keren
She carried her bike up the stairs to her second-floor workspace. Unloading all her belongings, she turned to look at the mural sketches taped up on the walls. She was ready to work.
Her original idea was good. It was always interesting to look at her creations after some time had passed and to be surprised at how much she actually liked them, especially because they were never exactly the way she saw them in her head.
She’d first come across the mural project when she was skimming the list of calls for submission the Arts Commission put out each week. When she’d first read the theme, “Making Home in the Midwestern City,” it hadn’t really spoken to her, but she’d bookmarked it in case she thought of something later. It had sounded kind of bland, like one of those ubiquitous Thomas Kincaid paintings sold at stores in the mall. Not that she was knocking Thomas Kincaid. He was making bank, and Paige’s dad loved his depictions of churches in nature glowing with light.
Making home made her think of homemakers, and she didn’t know much about that. She’d never been particularly domestic, and growing up with just her and Dad, dinner was made in the microwave more often than not. Like many of her projects, the idea percolated just under the layer of her consciousness. Sometimes they would come to the surface and she’d start to work; sometimes they would disappear.
It was only three days before the deadline that the thought came to her: Whose home in the city? The city was made up of so many different people, all going in different directions, driving, taking the bus, biking, walking, shopping, going to school, working, passing by each other. That’s what made it a city, the invisible webs woven by all that activity. And that’s what she decided to draw.
She used her characters, colorful and manga-like Botticelli figures, placed them in cars and buses, on bikes and skateboards, and showed their movements through city streets with ribbons trailing behind them, braiding together as they crossed each other’s paths. The ribbons formed the outline of a house in the center of the piece. It looked fantastical, and almost like a board game, a modern mash-up of Candyland meets The Game of Life.
She’d bought a large, cheap canvas, almost as tall as she was, and created her piece on it. Then she took a photo from across the room and emailed it in with her application. Other people’s submissions probably looked cleaner, but in the end they had chosen hers. Luckily people in the art world were used to artists having their quirks.
It was good, she thought, standing back and looking at it, but the drive up to Chicago had given her an idea. All around the cities, both Indy and Chicago, the land was pushing up crops. Corn, soy, tomatoes, it rose in green stalks and tendrils for miles all around.
The piece needed a frame. Paige began sketching corn stalks, thick on the page, their leaves reaching up, then arcing back toward the ground, husks emerging between them. Atop each one the tassels waved in an imaginary breeze. The city wasn’t separate from its surroundings; it was connected to them too, just like the people in the city were connected in ways they would probably never realize. They were all pieces of one web, one machine, one world.
She worked furiously throughout the day and into the night, finally dozing off on the futon in one corner. When she woke, she looked up at the thrift store clock leaning up against the wall to check the time. She thought for the hundredth time that she should really get around to mounting it. Seven thirty. The light outside was pale, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure if it was a.m. or p.m. It felt like she was in between worlds, timeless.
Sketches in various states of completion lay all around or taped to the wall. This mural was such a different process. She knew they would project it bigger than she drew it, so that it would fill the whole wall, but that meant she had to visualize the whole picture in her head.
She hoped Cara would like the new elements. She had seemed open to whatever she imagined. It was nice that they’d chosen a gallery owner to spearhead the project instead of a city bureaucrat. She seemed to understand the practicalities without asking Paige to compromise her vision for the sake of what paint colors might be on sale, or what a focus group would ask her to change.
She stretched and listened as her body cracked. That must have been the sign that she was finally awake because her stomach growled loudly. Whether it was seven thirty a.m. or p.m., she hadn’t eaten in hours. She grabbed her phone and wallet and wandered out of the building toward the greasy spoon that had been in the neighborhood forever and would probably outlast them all. It was open twenty-four hours, which was perfect for her schedule when she was deep in a project.
Two old men sat outside on a picnic table smoking. They were fixtures there, regardless of the time of day or the season. A little consistency was nice, even if smoking seemed incongruous now. As the neighborhood was gaining trendy restaurants and adding new coats of paint to once-neglected buildings, this little place was still holding its ground.
Paige opened the door and was immediately greeted by the scent of fried potatoes and diner coffee. It felt like home. They would never judge her in here for the bird-nest state of her hair or the paint on her arms, if they even noticed at all.
She grabbed the booth closest to the door, her favorite one. The plastic cushions were cracked from decades of butts sitting on them and the Formica tabletop was chipped in all the right places.
Maybe I should draw this place someday, she thought. She imagined her creatures sitting in the booths. What would they eat?
Once she’d ordered a massive breakfast, she looked at her phone. When she worked, she put it on vibrate, but she couldn’t bring herself to power down completely. Ever since her dad’s accident, she felt like she needed to be reachable, just in case, even though he was married and had someone else to be his emergency contact now. But only her dad’s and Celia’s messages and calls were programmed to ring through when she was working. Everything else could wait.
Her last serious girlfriend hadn’t appreciated that. Laura was an engineer, and she just thought more logically. She didn’t like it when Paige disappeared into a project, though she tried to understand. Paige supposed it was hard on Laura when Paige needed to be alone with her thoughts and her tools. She’d tried dating other artists, but their individual quirks added up to way too much difficulty.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want a relationship. She just wanted one that didn’t mean she had to give up something she loved, if that was possible. Everyone said relationships were compromise, but some things were too important. Or maybe she was just stubborn. Anyhow, no one had ever made her want to really reevaluate the way she lived her life.
There were multiple messages on her phone. A couple texts from Ria and an email from Cara. Damn, when had she become so popular? She felt a quiver in her stomach, but that could have just been from hunger. As if he knew, her server dropped off a plate of loaded hash browns and she dug in.
She read Ria’s texts first.
11:30 a.m.: Landed safely in Knoxville! Thanks for a really great trip to Chicago. I’m so sorry I fell asleep on the way home!
6 p.m.: Knoxville is good so far, not that I’ve seen much more than my hotel and the campus, but the stadium’s nice. They seem like good people. Not sure if this is the one, but we’ll see if they make me an offer.
11 p.m.: Headed to bed. Hope you’re having a productive day of work! I’m off to Charlottesville tomorrow for interview #2.
Now that she was awake and a little more aware, Paige realized it was indeed morning, so she decided to wait a while to text Ria back.
She was a little nervous about reading Cara’s email. What if she’d changed her mind or thought Paige’s ideas were boring and lame? That was ridiculous, she knew it, but she wondered if she would ever get to the point where she was as confident as other people seemed.
Dear Paige. Paige always thought the formality of letters was funny. Even before they’d met they referred to each other as dear.
I am so inspired by your visit. I hate to pressure you, though I suppose that�
��s what project managers do, right? We pressure you to meet deadlines, and you make us tear our hair out by missing the deadlines or making us think you’re going to. And in the end it all comes together and we show beautiful art.
But back to the pressure I just mentioned. Next week I am due to visit an artist in Louisville, and instead of going there directly, I thought I would stop in Indianapolis and check in with you along the way. Don’t panic! I know your mind is moving a million miles a second right now with new ideas. I look forward to seeing whatever you have on paper by the time I arrive.
If you have time while I’m there, I would love to take you to dinner. You choose the restaurant. It’s on the gallery’s tab, so choose anywhere you like. When you have time, please let me know if you are able to accommodate my surprise trip. I do hope so!
It was such a pleasure to meet you, and I truly look forward to this project.
Sincerely,
Cara Bless Williams
Paige’s mouth hung open, a bite of potatoes held aloft on her fork. Next week? Her stomach knotted at the prospect. She had only a few days to ready her sketches for Cara to see. And maybe she should do something about her hair. Her highlights were so grown out she looked like a lazy tiger.
Why was she worrying about her hair? This was just about work. Cara didn’t care what she looked like. Although…she had invited her to dinner. But on the gallery’s tab. It was business.
Right, Paige, she thought, because no one ever mixes business with pleasure. That’s why it’s an expression. No, she was just sleep-deprived. She needed to focus. Cara was coming to Indianapolis next week, and she needed to be ready. She wolfed down the rest of her breakfast, drank down her coffee, and dropped cash on the table to cover her bill. There was no time to waste.
Chapter Thirteen
She checked her phone for the time, and once she glanced away, promptly forgot it and had to check again. Paige couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this nervous. It was even worse than when she’d met Cara in Chicago, because now that she knew her, and they’d been emailing and texting since then, Cara’s positive opinion seemed that much more important. It was irrational because Cara had sent nothing but praise and a few perfect suggestions. But what if she saw the sketches in person and decided they weren’t right after all?
What if it wasn’t that Paige was nervous about her work, but something else instead? Their texts had started to veer from just about the project into everything else, from food to where they grew up, to the embarrassing TV shows they secretly loved. But Paige didn’t want to read something into it that wasn’t there. This project mattered too much.
Cara was late. She’d probably hit some traffic on the way down. It was hard to miss rush hour, either in Chicago or Indy, if you didn’t time it just right.
The phone chimed. I’m here. Should I come up?
Paige took a deep breath. Be right down to get you.
She looked around the studio. She’d tried to neaten the place up a little, but messy was her natural state, so she’d only been somewhat successful. Her sketches were laid out across the table and clipped to the wall. Breathe, she told herself. Why was she so damn nervous? She’d met Joan Jett at a musical festival once and was totally fine, mostly, but she was almost shaking right now. Steadying herself as best she could, she left the studio and went downstairs to greet Cara.
How was it possible that Cara was even more gorgeous today, when she’d been driving for hours? Paige opened her mouth to say hello and fumbled for worlds. Oh god, this is embarrassing, she thought.
Cara breezily leaned in to give her a hug. She smelled wonderful, like a light but expensive perfume. Paige wondered if it was obvious that she’d labored over what to wear. Her bed back at the apartment was covered in the clothes she’d tried on and discarded before going with her usual uniform of a button-down shirt and jeans, but adding a tweed vest on top to dress it up. Everything else she’d tried on felt like a costume, and she needed to feel like herself.
Cara wore a navy jumpsuit, cinched at the waist with a white shrug covering her shoulders. Paige had always privately made fun of people who wore jumpsuits, since they seemed like they would make going to the bathroom impractical. But on Cara, it looked like it had been made for her to wear. Large round sunglasses made her look even more the classic movie star in the afternoon’s fading sun.
“It’s so good to see you.” Cara said. Her hair hung down in loose curls, and Paige imagined what it would feel like against her cheek.
Get it together, Paige.
“It’s good to see you too. Please, come up.”
They walked close together up the stairs. “How was your drive down?”
“As nice as a long drive can be. It gave me time to listen to an audiobook. I really only listen to them when I drive, and I drive so rarely in Chicago.”
“Oh, what book are you listening to?”
“It’s about Julia Child. Apparently she was a sort-of spy during World War II. It’s very interesting. Not so much about her cooking.”
“I might have to check it out.” She knew she never would. She couldn’t focus on audiobooks and by the time she realized her thoughts had drifted off, she’d always lost too much of the plot.
They stood awkwardly for a few moments. Why was this so hard? Paige hoped Cara didn’t notice. It felt so strange to have her here in her studio. It was like a fairy showing up in your living room, too unreal to be believed.
“Can I look?” Cara asked.
“Oh, of course! Please.” Paige was embarrassed. Cara was here to look at the art. Why was she making it weird?
She went to the table and thumbed through the sketches, considering each one before moving on. Once through the stack on the table, she walked around the room, pausing at each piece clipped to the wall. She didn’t say anything while she looked, and Paige’s stomach turned over slowly. Finally she turned to Paige, her face serious. Then, like a ray of sunshine, a smile broke across her face.
“It’s wonderful,” she said. “So much more than I’d hoped for. You really have a gift.”
“Thank you so much.” A wave of relief passed through her. “I’m so glad you think it’s right for the project.”
“It’s going to be my favorite piece of public art in the city,” Cara declared. “But there’s just one question.”
“Oh. What’s that?”
“Where do we go for dinner?”
Chapter Fourteen
Paige had walked past Cerulean so many times, but she had never been inside. Fancy restaurants had never really been her thing, and she couldn’t justify paying so much for such small plates of food. But Cara had done her research, or at least read some Yelp reviews, and decided that this would be the perfect place for her first dinner in Indianapolis.
The moment they walked inside, Paige immediately felt underdressed. Maybe she should have worn a dress or her one pair of black slacks. Cara, of course, fit in with ease. The lighting was dim, and they followed a hostess to a booth that offered plenty of privacy. The hostess disappeared as they sat, then immediately reappeared with a frosted glass bottle of water, which she poured while telling them that their server, Keith, would be by in just a moment.
Colorful teardrop glass lamps hung overhead, and Paige wondered if she could afford one of them. The other half lived quite well, she thought, though she wasn’t sure which half she was, or if she was straddling the line. Growing up with Ria’s family, she’d known they’d had money, but they didn’t go out to places like this.
Keith arrived and handed them each a menu, arranged as a small sheaf of papers clipped together.
“We’re celebrating,” Cara told him before he’d had a chance to tell them about the chef’s signature dish. She ordered a bottle of wine with a name that Paige would never be able to pronounce, and Keith poured them each a glass before saying he would give them time to look over the menu.
Cara raised her glass and Paige raised hers in response.
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br /> “A toast,” Cara said, “to making art and making connections.”
Paige smiled and clinked her glass against Cara’s. She made everything look so effortless. Paige felt the wine flow through her and warm her blood. If this is the life, she thought, it’s not bad. Not bad at all.
Keith reappeared, and with a flourish, offered them an amuse-bouche from the chef. Paige looked down and tried not to laugh. It was half a mushroom on a little wooden block. For the two of them to share. If Ria had been there, they would have mocked the pretension, but next to Cara, she tried to act as though half a mushroom was a completely normal thing to be offered.
Sipping more wine, Paige’s nerves finally began to relax. She and Cara laughed and talked about Cara’s next show and the play she’d been to see the week before. Keith presented several dishes of food artfully stacked in the center of white china, the sauces drizzled in swirls around them. As they debated ordering dessert, Paige felt Cara’s foot touch hers. She wasn’t sure if it was an accident or possibly something else. The last thing she wanted to do was cross a line and assume something that wasn’t there.
They shared a thick slice of chocolate cake, and once there was nothing but crumbs left, Keith presented a check, which Cara immediately scooped up. Paige tried to split the tab with her, but Cara reminded her this was the gallery’s treat. Paige didn’t fight her very hard, catching sight of a bill that had more digits than she’d ever spent on a single meal. But this was a celebration. And Cara was seeing the finer aspects of life in Indy. Paige was glad for that. Whenever she traveled, people assumed there was nothing but football and cornfields in Indiana, and she was always trying to tell them that it was that, but also so much more.
It was a beautiful night, and Paige didn’t want it to end yet. She suggested walking through downtown. Cara quickly agreed.
For an almost-summer night, it wasn’t too hot so they took the Cultural Trail toward White River State Park. It seemed like everyone was out tonight. A few teenagers practiced dance steps in a grassy area just off the street and they paused to watch them.