“Why?” I don’t know why I am engaging with this lunatic.
“Because it’s art.”
I stop. I look at David. He raises an eyebrow, a smile on his lips as he takes a sip of coffee. That ugly fucking mug practically winks at me in the light of kitchen.
“Don’t you like art, Angelo?”
“This…isn’t my kind of art.” I mutter, wondering how long I have to stand in this kitchen, talking to this nut job.
“Oh, not your taste?” She tilts her head to one side.
I shake my head.
“What kind of art do you like?”
David moves away, walking towards the fridge and opening it. My eyes follow him and I’m jealous of his exit.
“What kind of art do you like, Angelo?” She asks me again. Her eyes are focused on my face, watching my movements.
“I don’t…” I stop. Again. There’s no point in carrying on this conversation.
“You don’t like art?” She asks, “But your career is working with artists.”
“I represent them,” I shrug irritably. “I don’t work with them.”
“Oh, come on dude,” David calls to me from the fridge. “We are peas in a pod.”
I roll my eyes.
She looks between the two of us.
“Angelo was the one who encouraged me to do Saviors of Space.” David walks back towards us, a bowl of berries in his hand. He offers the bowl to Penelope, she takes a handful and pops them all in her mouth at once.
I watch with fascination as she chews, cheeks full, a small spot of raspberry juice on one lip.
“If it weren’t for him, I’d still be an indie darling,” David grins at me, popping a raspberry in his mouth. He extends the bowl to me, but I shake my head.
“Really?” Penelope grins. A tiny spot of pink appears at the corner of her mouth. “So you are a big fan of the franchise?”
I stand still. Her eyes stay on me.
“I mean, why else would you tell your client to commit ten years of his life to a project?” She looks at me again, her eyes slightly larger around the edges.
“It was the fiscally prudent move,” I respond, enunciating each word, looking back at her.
“A decade of someone’s life, all in the name of fiscal prudence,” she smiles again, but its sharper this time, her arms drawing back, hands resting on hips. “What fantastic advice.”
“He used to take the bus. In L.A. And now he’s got a net worth of 70 million dollars,” I stare back. “So, yeah. It was pretty fucking fantastic advice.”
I can feel David’s eyes on me, looking between the two of us, but I keep my gaze on Penelope.
“Well,” she turns back to David, patting him on the arm. “Here’s your set, honey. Pay me whenever.” She bends down and picks up the box of worn-out cardboard. “And, uh,” she glances back at me, “I hope this coming decade is a little more…fulfilling.” She smiles at David, nods at me. “Nice to meet you, Angie,” she says, and saunters from the room, bare feet silent on his floors.
I wait for the door to close, the sound of her feet on gravel in the driveway, before I turn to David.
“Jesus Christ, dude. Why do you let people like that in your house?”
He smiles, eyes twinkling in the way that has made both of us millions of dollars. “Pen’s very cool, actually. So creative. She’s a true artist.”
“Yeah,” I pick up pottery David and Jane, bonking them together, “I can see that.”
“Don’t break them,” David reaches for the figurines (Bowls? cups? Seriously what the hell are these?) and puts them on the table.
“I know true artists, David. They’re broke. They’re gross. They can’t pay their water bill. Don’t hang out with them.”
“Everything she makes is one of a kind.”
“Because no one would order from her twice.” I glance again at the pot, Charlene for Christ’s sake, and the half-formed handle.
Art.
I take a step back from the counter, staring at the Chernobyl set in its entirety. “Jesus, I have seen people buy some dumb shit on impulse, and I get that you want to impress your girlfriend’s friends, but of all the ugly shit to spend your money on, you had to pick this?” I hold a mug in one hand.
“Um…”
Fuck. She’s back.
I see Penelope out of the side of my eye. She smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
David looks down, and turns to her. “Oh, Pen, I-”
“Don’t worry.” She turns to me, “We all have different tastes.”
Words are stuck in my throat. I want to apologize. It is an utterly foreign sensation. I haven’t apologized in years. The world bows down to me, not the other way around. I’ve spent my life making sure that was the case.
I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to start apologizing now, even if I do feel kind of bad. The poor woman. She doesn’t even wear shoes. She makes these hideous things, and names them, like a lunatic.
That’s no way to live.
“For example, rude assholes aren’t to my taste,” she smiles in my direction, that charming, megawatt glow, “but I know they’re popular elsewhere.”
David swallows a laugh.
Well. I don’t feel so bad about not apologizing.
“I just forgot to mention that we’re all getting together tonight at my house. I don’t know if Jane told you or not, but you’re always welcome.” She smiles at David. He nods back.
I stand, irritated again, borderline pissed off that she’s ignoring me, despite the logic of knowing she has every reason to ignore me.
She looks towards me, takes a deep breath, and offers another smile. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but it’s clear she’s trying.
“Angelo, of course you’re welcome too.” She pats David on the shoulder and nods towards me. “Let me know if you’re coming. I’ll get another few lobsters from Rich and Sarah.”
This time, I keep my mouth shut until I hear the car engine, the tires on the gravel, and the sound of her driving down the driveway and away, out of ear’s range.
The ugly pottery
