media.”
“And I found out today,” Christy added, “that Siobhan wants me to exhibit at a major show in November. November! That’s, like, barely two months away.”
Trip refilled her glass. “Drink up.”
“I’m going to need it,” she muttered, and took a long sip.
“So,” I asked her, “do you have a piece in mind?”
“For what?”
“For your exhibition?”
She shook her head. “I have a bunch of ideas, but…” She shrugged. “I’ll think of something.”
“What about you?” Wren asked me. “You’ve been unusually quiet tonight.”
“Deadlines as far as the eye can see. Crushing workload. Be surprised if I have time to breathe.”
She snorted and opened another bottle.
“How’s Joska?” Trip asked with a heartless grin.
“Are you kidding? He’s half the deadlines himself. We have a huge project for his class. A design proposal, case study, full set of drawings, a model, the works.”
“Professor Liang is pretty laid-back,” Trip said. Then he frowned.
“Management class will more than make up for it, though.”
“Told you it wouldn’t be easy,” Wren said.
“You were right. I’m playing catch-up, ’cause I’m not a Business or Finance major.”
“Yeah, but you have real-world experience,” I said.
“This is different.”
“How?”
“You know what it takes to build a house, right?”
“More or less.”
“Nothing like design class, is it?”
I snorted.
“It’s theory versus real world,” he continued, mostly for the girls’ benefit.
“They teach you how to design buildings, but it’s totally different on the job site.”
“Most construction guys think architects are idiots,” I told them.
Wren arched an eyebrow. “Are they?”
I glared and held out my glass for a refill.
“Most of them, yes,” Trip admitted. “At least when it comes to practical construction.”
Christy glanced at me to see if I agreed or not.
“Sadly, he’s right,” I said. “Most people in class couldn’t design a workable building if their lives depended on it. You should see some of the projects from fifth-year students.” I shook my head in mock disappointment.
“Beautiful buildings, but completely impractical.” I gestured at Christy with my wineglass. “Remember the dome? By Brunelleschi?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“That’s what you get from an architect who’s also a builder. Beautiful and feasible.”
Trip raised his glass. “Amen, brother.”
The wine and conversation continued to flow until very late. We were all drunk by the time we went to bed.
Unfortunately, I was still too keyed up to sleep. I thought about jerking off, if only to pass the time, but decided against even that. Then I heard a strain of familiar music from across the hall. It was Trip’s make-out tape.
A small part of me was annoyed that they hadn’t asked me to join them, but that was completely irrational. Wren was Trip’s girlfriend, not mine. I didn’t have any claim on her. Besides, Wren didn’t want two boyfriends. She wanted Trip, with some fun on the side.
I was the fun on the side.
Sometimes.
I closed my eyes and tried to will myself to sleep, but couldn’t help listening to the faint, rhythmic sounds from across the hall. The house was old, with lots of night noises, but not so many that I couldn’t imagine what was going on.
I finally pulled on shorts and a T-shirt and went upstairs. I was standing in the foyer, still trying to decide what to do, when I heard a creak on the stairs behind me.
“You too?” Christy said.
“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.”
We glanced toward the master bedroom.
“They weren’t exactly loud…,” she said.
“But it was kinda obvious.”
“Yeah. So, um… you wanna hang out?”
“Sure.” I made an expansive gesture toward our little studios. “My place or yours?”
“Mine,” she said after a moment.
“Good call. Those beanbags are comfy.”
She kicked off her bunny slippers and curled up on the smaller bag, an ugly orange thing with a suspicious stain on the underside. The other bag wasn’t much better, a brown blob that had been patched several times.
We chatted for a few minutes, mostly small talk. Then she dropped a bombshell.
“How come you aren’t… you know?” She glanced again toward the master bedroom.
My eyes widened. Did she know about Wren and Trip and me? How could she? She wasn’t the type to understand swinging, much less condone it.
So I couldn’t imagine why Wren would’ve told her. I took a deep breath and said neutrally, “How come I’m not what?”
“You know… with someone? Like, a girlfriend.”
“I dunno,” I said with disguised relief. “I guess ’cause I don’t have one.”
“Why not?”
My face grew still. I didn’t need another lecture about how I was a male slut.
“Oh, gosh— Sorry! I don’t mean it like that.”
“Then how do you mean it?”
“I was just making conversation.”
I doubted it, but decided to answer anyway. “I don’t really want a girlfriend. Not right now, at least.”
“Oh. But… why not?”
“That’s harder to answer.” I shrugged. “I guess I want to find myself first.”
“Find yourself?”
“I need to be happy on my own before I can be happy with someone else.”
“I think I understand.”
“Do you?”
She nodded. “So… are you? Happy, I mean.”
“I think so.”
“I can tell.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“You’re… different… from when I saw you last.”
“I had a lot to think about over the summer.”
“Wren said you turned into a philosopher.”
“Ah. What do you think?”
“Me? I dunno. I think you’re different. That’s for sure.”
“Different-good or different-bad?”
She cocked her head to the side. “Too soon to tell.”
“Fair enough.”
We fell silent.
She thought of something and smiled. “You remind me of someone.”
“Oh? Who?”
“Nobu.”
My eyebrows shot up. “The Japanese monk?”
“You remember?”
“Of course.”
She smiled again. “He used to tell me there’s beauty in everything.”
“Ah.”
“And he was always very calm. Like you are.”
“It’s an illusion.”
“What is?”
“Me. Being calm. I have to work at it. All the time.”
“I think he did too,” she said.
I let her enjoy the memory.
“I’d better go,” she said all of a sudden. “I need to get some sleep.”
“Oh. Okay. G’night.”
She left before I could say anything else.
I listened to her pad down the stairs. Then I realized that she’d left her slippers. I thought about taking them down to her, but decided to leave them where they were.
I went next door to my own studio and turned on the desk light. I pulled a book at random from the shelf and sank into the nearest easy chair. I read for a while but didn’t really see the words. I was thinking about Christy and what she’d said. After a while I closed my eyes, just to rest them for a few minutes.
I woke up the next morning in the same chair. I was a bit stiff, but not so much that a good run wouldn’t take care of it. I went to rub my eyes and realized that someone had covered me with a blanket during the night. My book had slipped off my lap and now lay on the floor, closed, but with a
scrap of paper to mark my place.
My eyes fell on a drawing in the other chair. I picked it up and looked at it. It was a quick sketch in pencil, the kind of thing I made in my own sketchbook when I wanted to remember a design.
Christy had drawn me as I’d slept in the chair, covered with the blanket that still lay across my lap. My hand rested on the book I’d been reading. The scene was still and very serene.