41. PURRFECT DESIGN
Prologue
Jayme Ziccardi was having a hard time focusing on her assignment. Making a still life drawing of a stuffed bird had sounded a lot easier than it actually was. It had also sounded a lot less boring. It wasn’t lack of talent that caused Jayme to dawdle, though, since pretty much everyone agreed that Jayme was extraordinarily talented. The problem was that there were other things she wanted to draw. Like her own comic, for instance.
And as she stared out the window, which offered a stunning view of the garden of the Gardner Institute of Art where she was currently enrolled, she couldn’t help but wonder if this really was the way to proceed. Ivan, a boy her age, who was sitting next to her and had almost finished with his assignment, glanced over in her direction, trying to catch her eye. If she didn’t know any better she would have thought he liked her, but since he had a girlfriend, that probably wasn’t the case.
“Pssst,” Ivan said. “Having trouble?”
She glanced to the front of the class, where Mr. Cabanes was reading a book on human anatomy, and nodded.
“The trick is to start with the head,” said Ivan. “Start with the head, then work your way down.” He gave her an encouraging wink. “You can’t miss.”
She took a look at his drawing, and saw that the head of his bird was the same size as the rest of its body, so even though in theory what he said might hold a kernel of truth, clearly something had gone wrong in the execution.
But instead of offering him constructive criticism, she gave him a thumbs up.
“Thanks for the tip, Ivan.”
He swelled with pride.“That’s all right. Us newbies have to stick up for each other.”
Ivan was a recent addition to the class, and had admitted to her the week before that the only reason he’d signed up was because his mom, who was an artist, had insisted.
Once again she started on the arduous work of producing a lifelike rendition of that bird, but then movement caught her eye and she saw that an actual bird had settled on the windowsill and was looking up at her, its head cocked and a curious glint in its eyes.
She blinked and smiled, then held up a hand in wave.
“Jayme, Jayme, Jayme,” suddenly a voice sounded behind her. She jerked up, and immediately her feathered little friend fluttered off and was gone.
“Hi, Mr. Cabanes,” she said. She hadn’t heard him come up behind her, but then the man had a habit of sneaking around. He wore tennis shoes, and was light on his feet.
He studied her work for a moment, then leaned in and whispered,“Look, I know this isn’t the sexiest assignment, but it’s part of the curriculum so I have to teach it. Besides, if you don’t master the basics, how are you going to do your other work?”
She glanced up into the man’s face, and caught that trademark twinkle in his eye.
“What other work?” she asked innocently.
Without a word, he lifted the drawing she’d been slaving over and took out the cartoon she’d been working on. She tried to grab it but the teacher was too quick for her.
And as he studied it, she sat there, slightly breathless with anticipation.
Finally a light chuckle sounded, indicating that Mr. Cabanes liked what he saw.
“This is pretty good, Jayme,” he said. “Is this an original or a copy?”
She gave him a look of indignation.“I would never copy someone else’s stuff.”
“Oh, but it’s fine if you do. We all have to start somewhere, and most artists start by copying the work of the artists they admire, then gradually discover their own style.” He handed her back the three-panel comic strip of a giraffe and his best friend the lion cub. She’d dubbed it Mike and Spike, and this was already the fourth in a new series.
“Well, I do feel inspired by one artist,” she admitted.
“I know,” he said. “I can tell from your work.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Dave James?”
She nodded.“I try not to copy him, though. I want to create my own comic strip.”
“Well, your work definitely shows promise.”
She flashed him a smile of gratitude.“Thank you, sir.”
“Look, I know these still lifes aren’t what you signed up for, but I can assure you they’ll be a big help later on.”
“But, sir, I want to be a comic artist. So how is drawing dead birds going to help me?”
“Patience, my dear,” he said as he glanced toward the door, where some kind of ruckus was taking place. “Just do the work now, and you’ll reap the rewards later—trust me.”
Before she could reply, he was walking to the front of the class, moving as noiselessly as ever.
She heaved a little sigh, tucked away her latest Mike and Spike effort and set about to try and finish drawing that darn bird. And she’d just put pencil to paper when suddenly the door swung open and a woman stormed in, followed by Mr. Cabanes, who seemed to have been trying to stop her.
“Jayme Ricardo!” the woman said as she raked Jayme’s fellow students with an icy look in her eyes. “Who is Jayme Ricardo?”
“Please, ma’am,” said Mr. Cabanes. “You can’t just come barging in here and—”
“I’m Jayme,” said Jayme, holding aloft her hand. “But it’s Ziccardi, not Ricardo,” she corrected the very irate-looking lady. Apart from her furious expression, she was really pretty. Long blond hair that had clearly benefited from the attention of a very expensive hairstylist, a nice camel coat, and a Louis Vuitton bag that must have cost a fortune.
“I want a word with you, young lady,” said the woman, and Mr. Cabanes, though clearly not happy with this intrusion, gestured for Jayme to join them outside.
Reluctantly, Jayme did as she was told, and trudged in the direction indicated. The woman and the teacher both left the class, and as she joined them in the hallway, Mr. Cabanes carefully closed the classroom door so they had a certain measure of privacy.
The woman gave her a once-over, her eyes traveling the length of her body, from the top of her head to her shoes and back again. Judging from her foul expression and the fire shooting from her expressive eyes she didn’t like what she saw.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Seventeen,” said Jayme.
“Seventeen!” the woman cried.
“This is Mrs. James,” Mr. Cabanes said, making the introductions. “Veronica James.”
Jayme frowned.“Veronica James, as in…”
“The wife of Dave James, yes,” said the woman as she continued to look at Jayme as if she was a piece of dirt that had accidentally attached itself to her shoe.
“I’m a big admirer of your husband’s work, Mrs. James,” Jayme said.
“Oh, I know,” said the cartoonist’s wife. “I know you’re a big fan.” She rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe I have to say this, but I want you to stop seeing my husband, Miss Ricardo.”
“Ziccardi,” she corrected the woman once more.
“What?”
“My name is Jayme Ziccardi, not Ricardo.”
“Oh, don’t get cute with me, young lady. How long has this been going on?”
Jayme stared at the woman in confusion.“Going on?”
“The affair! How long have been sleeping with my husband!”
Jayme blinked.“Sleeping… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know Dave has been paying for your classes. And I know he’s got big plans for you. So let me ask you again: how long have you been sleeping with my husband?”
“But I haven’t,” she said. “I’ve never even met your husband.”
“Jayme is only seventeen, Mrs. James,” said Mr. Cabanes.
“I know! Why do you think I’ve come down here in person to find out what’s going on!” Dave James’s wife straightened, and gave Jayme the kind of look a gardener reserves for the offensive slugs assaulting his best and most promising roses. “I’m only going to say this once: stay away from my husband, Miss Ricardo.” She accentuated these words by poking her finger in Jayme’s chest, causing Mr. Cabanes to make soft protesting noises.