Chapter Seven

JULIA DRAPED THE towel around her neck. The shower had taken the edge off the chill from being soaked to the skin. She shoved aside the surreal nature of the afternoon, the kiss in the kitchen followed by Lian’s brutal dismissal and not so subtle threat as she stared out of the window. Another storm had blown up, the wind ripping at the trees surrounding the estate.

From her second-story window she could see the maze. The tall dense hedge prevented her seeing much other than the top of the elegant crane statue in the center of the maze. She shifted her gaze toward the house, drawn by a flash of white. A woman ran across the lawn. Too tall to be Lian. Julia’s mind stuttered as she realized it was Nüwa running through the storm toward the house. Julia craned her neck and stood on tiptoe to keep her in her line of sight. Worry nipped at her mind. What was Nüwa doing out in the storm? What had driven her from the house? Julia didn’t turn away until she saw Nüwa enter her home.

Satisfied Nüwa was safe, Julia flipped the switch on the pot to reheat her coffee. Another day lost to the weather. While the coffee heated, Julia opened her email app and scrolled through her inbox. The headline from the art show selection committee announcing their selections gave nothing away.

Julia set the phone aside and poured herself a cup of coffee into her favorite Bob Ross “Happy Accidents” mug, then added vanilla flavored creamer. She sipped her coffee as she mentally prepared herself for the rejection she expected.

Bolstered by the sweet hot brew, she tapped the screen to open the email. She scanned the obligatory mention of how hard the decision making had been, blah, blah, blah, until she arrived at the line she was looking for, then she read it twice. Joy, unfettered terror, and excitement fought for space in her chest. She tapped out a message to Nico and set her phone aside.

Of all the things she had not expected to happen today, Nüwa’s kiss was the first and the acceptance to the Westlake Art Show was the second.

Her phone buzzed and Nico’s number scrolled across the top. She picked it up.

“You’re in?” Nico shouted in the phone, the noise of what had to be a crowded bar in the background audible.

“According to this email I am.” Julia rubbed her brow. “I’m freaking out. How am I going to get ready for this and do all the other things I’ve got scheduled?”

“Can you get Jason to take over some of it?”

“He can’t do the stonework. He’s only good for basic bricklaying and not even good at that.”

“You want me to ask Tony?”

Julia mentally calculated the hit to the business if they subcontracted. “No. I can’t afford it. The new med Dad’s on is freaking crazy expensive.”

“Okay, but if you change your mind let me know. We can always use extra money. Come down and celebrate. The party’s just getting started. We have a sitter and Tony is on his way down.”

“Nah. I’m in for the night.”

“You already took your bra off, didn’t you? You and my sister Thalia. Once it’s off you couldn’t pry her out of the house.”

Julia laughed. “You’re a regular comedian. And yeah, so go have fun with your husband. Catch you later.”

“Congratulations, Jules, you deserve it. You’re going to do great.”

Julia’s heart hitched at her high school nickname. Nico, her best friend since sophomore year electric shop, was the only person who still called her by nickname.

“Thanks, Nico. Love to Tony.”

“Talk to you later.”

Julia disconnected the call. Her mind spun out, as all her responsibilities crowded her mind. She pulled a sketch book over and found a red Sharpie marker among the moving debris on her countertop. Besides finishing her unpacking, she needed to prepare other pieces for the show. The folks in Westlake and Hunting Valley had deep pockets. If she sold one of her large pieces it might mean enough for a new roof for her parents’ house, or enough to pay for some home-health help to give her mom a break.

She wrote the date and Westlake at the top of the page and made a list of tasks she needed to complete prior to the show. She made a separate list of sculpture pieces to take with her to the show. Her knees ached from standing and she pulled over a tall stool, perched on it, and continued her list. The scratch of the marker on the page was soothing, and she emptied her brain of all her tasks, errands, and appointments, large and small, clamoring for her attention. As she wrote down “complete repairs—Zhou,” her mind skittered to a halt. Working on the wall was much more complicated now Lian thought she was an unscrupulous spy, and Nüwa—well, what did Nüwa think of her? That she was desperate? A slut? Julia flushed when she thought about their kiss in the kitchen. What had made her respond to Nüwa as she had? Was she really that thirsty?

Julia capped her marker. She abandoned her coffee and walked to her secondhand couch. She moved the blanket she kept there aside. After plumping the pillow, she lay down on her back. She pulled the blanket up under her chin and closed her eyes.

Mentally Julia replayed the moments leading up to their kiss. Their discussion, Nüwa’s freedom in speaking of her past, the way she listened, truly listened to Julia. Her laser sharp gaze and crystal-clear focus had drawn Julia to her, more than her stunning good looks.

She had gifted Julia her attention. In a world where most folks half-listened as they scrolled through their phones, Nüwa had listened, heard, and more than understood Julia’s emotions. And was open to answering Julia’s questions. A nagging sliver of guilt slid under Julia’s skin.

Nüwa had been so willing to share her story with Julia, answered her questions freely. Julia hadn’t shared all the truth of her former Mistress, nor the fact she had worked as an escort. A brief career as she was unwilling to provide any extra client services, as Dominique had termed them. Julia didn’t regret her choice to draw the line at sex work. Her only regret was it had been the catalyst for her expulsion from her Mistress’s life. The room grew dark as the gloomy afternoon shifted to dusk. Julia switched on the lamp. The list mocked her from the counter. Of all the things demanding her attention now, the only thing that appealed was her studio.

She left the couch, snagged her sketchbook in passing, and headed for the refuge that had always offered a way to make sense of her life.

 

JULIA FLIPPED ON the overhead lights in the studio. The fluorescent shop lights hummed to life. Cool white light spilled over the cement floor. Sketchbook in hand, Julia walked the length of the wall. She stopped in front of her collection of small sculptures, making notes about each piece she had on the shelves and which ones she would bring to the show. She had submitted photos of her smaller work, ranging from palm-size statues to slightly larger pieces that would fit on an end table, or bookcase inside a home.

On the opposite side of the shop two of her oversize sculptures sat on the floor. Julia tapped her finger against her lip as she considered the two large works. The first was a marble sculpture of two women entwined, arms around each other, their forms in abstract. Their bodies melded and gowns flowed into the single base. Suitable for a garden, the piece would be too big for most homes, other than a mansion. The second, carved from a single trunk of maple. A realistic sculpture of her sister, Jordyn, laughing. An ache settled under Julia’s ribs. How could she part with Jordyn? Not yet, more than likely not ever. “What do you think, Jorie?”

Julia’s voice was swallowed up by the large space. She pulled a shop stool over and sat next to the sculpture of her sister. “I got in. And now I’m freaking out.” The emptiness of her life, work, studio time, the grind of never turning down a job for fear of not having enough to help her parents settled over Julia. Her heart ached most of all for not having a partner to share it with.

Nico was awesome, but a friend, and not the sister Julia shared everything with. Identical in appearance, complete opposites in disposition, their twin bond was unbreakable. Even with Jordyn gone ten years now, Julia could feel her presence in her life every time she looked in the mirror. Nico had way less time for her now he was married with a kid. He and Tony were the model couple, supporting each other wholeheartedly in whatever they did.

A wistful longing crept up Julia’s spine. Julia’s girlfriends had never ever understood her need to spend her time with hammers and chisels and pneumatic sanders pulling beauty from rough stone. Her Mistress dismissed Julia’s art outright, demanding she stop “wasting her time.” That should have been the catalyst for Julia leaving, but Julia had held on much too long to the foolish hope her Mistress would one day understand what Julia didn’t understand herself some days.

“You would call me pathetic. Tell me to get off my ass, stop feeling sorry for myself and get over it if you were here. Damn, I wish you were here.”

Grief welled up, searing her from the inside. Julia pushed it away with both hands. She didn’t have time for this. No, her sister would have yelled at her to get over it and get busy. She would tell her to not give up. Jordyn never ever gave up.

Julia stood and rested her hand on the arm of her sister’s statue. “Right. Got it. I can always count on you.” She grimaced at the way her words sounded in the hollow space. More room than she’d ever had to work and what was she going to do with it? The extra work she took on to pay for it left her little time to create. Except when it rained. And then she worried about money. “Stop.” She shook herself mentally as she spoke out loud, pulling herself from the spin cycle of anxiety.

Julia flipped through some sketches she had made of ideas for new pieces. She had enough for her booth, but she needed a show piece to draw folks in, something large to engage them and get them to buy smaller pieces to remind them of what they experienced looking at a large sculpture. After clearing a space on the crowded workbench, she pulled a stool out from under the bench. The ancient wood squeaked and shifted under her weight.

Once she was satisfied she wouldn’t end up on her ass, she flipped to a clean page in her sketch book. After selecting a pencil stub from the tools scattered over the bench, an image of Nüwa edged into her subconscious. She sketched, the pull and drag of her pencil on the paper soothing. The drum of the rain on the roof a percussive soundtrack to her work. Julia pulled her phone from her sweatpants and tapped it to open her music app.

She searched Nüwa’s name on her playlist. An EP cover popped up. Nüwa looking directly into the camera with a smokey eye makeup. Bold, seductive, and the most provocative album cover Julia had ever seen for classical music. A few minutes later, Julia had downloaded the music. Her knowledge of classical music would fit in a thimble, so she selected the only track she recognized from a one semester music appreciation course she’d taken in college. The sounds of Prokofiev’s “The Love for Three Oranges, op. 33” filled her studio. Julia closed her eyes and listened. She imagined Nüwa at the piano. Not satisfied with the music alone, she paused the track and opened YouTube. A simple search turned up a dozen clips of Nüwa performing. The most recent one dated back ten years. Julia flushed. Cheese and crackers, she had gone full-on stalker mode.

After scrolling through the thumbnails, she opened the clip of Nüwa dressed in the bright-red dress she had said she loved. The fabric flowed and swayed around her body as she crossed the stage and took her place at the piano. Her shoulders and back were exposed by the strapless top. From the front it appeared as if she was naked at the piano. The camera angle changed, and Julia was treated to a view of the muscles of Nüwa’s arms and back rippling as she played. The sheer joy on her face was magnificent. Nüwa was playing with the music as well as playing it, playing the audience, and playing with the orchestra. Even from the distance of a recorded performance, Julia had the sensation Nüwa was playing just for her, an intimate performance in a public place. The camera zoomed closer and Nüwa’s face shifted from her dazzling smile to a grim determination as she played the extremely difficult final piece of the concerto. The speed of her hands was amazing as she pounded the keyboard, wringing every bit of feeling the music had to give.

Julia played the clip twice more. Set her phone aside and began sketching. A vision of a sculpture with Nüwa at the piano, half life-size, bronze, marble, and black granite. The point of the pencil snapped off, and Julia tossed it aside and snagged another stub off the bench and kept drawing, unwilling to interrupt her flow to sharpen the pencil.

In the silence of the studio, with the rain pounding on the roof, the sketch of her show piece emerged. Julia’s ass was numb from the hard stool. Tingles shot down her legs. She stood and stretched. She leaned on the bench, flipped the page, and began listing the materials she would need and estimates of the cost. This would bring folks to the booth, but would Nüwa sit for her? She could create it from the clips and stills but it wasn’t the same. Would Julia be able to ask? Would it be too much? Too much for Nüwa to bear, or too much exposure?