effect.
âAt the studio,â Rain said, giving him a look. âWas that the elevator?â
âI thought you were supposed to have lunch with Gwen today,â Karl said.
âI am,â Rain said. âIâm heading over there in a few minutes. I just couldnât concentrate this morningâIâve got this strange feeling. Iâm anxious or something. I canât think why.â
As she sat down on the bed next to him, Karl rose abruptly. âIâm going to take a bath,â he said.
He stood naked from the bed and tromped into the bathroom. His rubbery, aging behind stayed in her mind. Images sometimes sparked their meaning in ways she didnât grasp immediatelyâlittle things like Karl didnât normally sleep nakedâbut the image bestowed itself instead simply as an image: an aging man whose work was not physical, his yellow ass cheeks heading south, darkened unpleasantly with black hairs between them, but the graceful beauty of still loving the man who bears them. Wasnât that the contradiction? It was an image of multilayered subtlety and Rain wasnât raised to see the obvious. Karl slammed the bathroom door.
âYou know London?â Karl said, shouting from behind the door to her and then he was silent. Rain thought the air in the room was musty and close and started to straighten the bed.
He hadnât said anything else, so Rain shouted back, âYeah?â
Karl poked his head out of the bathroom. âI was thinking London was going to be a huge bore for you. Maybe Gwenâs right: maybe you should just stick around the States and set up a new studio this fall.â He watched her as she smoothed the sheets, looking around for the top sheet. âYou know, get that show ready?â he said.
Rain stopped and straightened up, looking at him. Heâd said magic words. Her show. But she asked, âYou donât want me to go?â
âNo!â Karl shouted in exasperation and slammed the door. And then he opened it again. He paused and said, âI thought you wanted to be an artist.â
He must real y be sick, Rain was thinking. He wasnât usual y this frustrated without some precipitating event. Every little thing was irritating him. This was what his intense involvement in her career had come to. No longer pulling but pushing. The challenge of hope he created in her morphing into a threat now.
Rain grabbed up a pillow, turned her back to him and muttered, âI guess that I thought what Iâ¦â
Karl interrupted her. âI mean, how much work can you get done in London, anyway? And hereâs your last chance to be in the studio and instead you come homeâ¦â Karl left that one hanging, playing with the door handle. âI just need to know, are you real y going to be an artist or do you just like talking about it.â
He may have purposefully been trying to start an argument, and with this he succeeded gloriously. Even though Rain knew he was stomping on all her triggers, she had been kicked in her most sensitive spot now.
âYOU talk about it,â Rain said, turning back to face him.
âYeah, well, Rain, criticism is my job and what you talk about is making art and that is just not the same thing, is it?â Karl took hold of the door again, ready to shut it, a tight smile gripping his face. âHonestly, Iâm just trying to help you. Most artists would gnaw off their left arm for a summer group show at Gwendolyn Brooker. If youâre just going to let this show dropâ¦â
âLook, just SAY if you donât want me in London, alright?â Rain threw down the pillow she was holding. Just as it hit the floor, the phone started to ring.
Rain was momentarily confused by the sound. She didnât usually fight back with Karl and it gave her a terrible feeling of vertigo. It was as if the pillow hitting the floor had burst into rings. The second ring snapped her out of
âAt the studio,â Rain said, giving him a look. âWas that the elevator?â
âI thought you were supposed to have lunch with Gwen today,â Karl said.
âI am,â Rain said. âIâm heading over there in a few minutes. I just couldnât concentrate this morningâIâve got this strange feeling. Iâm anxious or something. I canât think why.â
As she sat down on the bed next to him, Karl rose abruptly. âIâm going to take a bath,â he said.
He stood naked from the bed and tromped into the bathroom. His rubbery, aging behind stayed in her mind. Images sometimes sparked their meaning in ways she didnât grasp immediatelyâlittle things like Karl didnât normally sleep nakedâbut the image bestowed itself instead simply as an image: an aging man whose work was not physical, his yellow ass cheeks heading south, darkened unpleasantly with black hairs between them, but the graceful beauty of still loving the man who bears them. Wasnât that the contradiction? It was an image of multilayered subtlety and Rain wasnât raised to see the obvious. Karl slammed the bathroom door.
âYou know London?â Karl said, shouting from behind the door to her and then he was silent. Rain thought the air in the room was musty and close and started to straighten the bed.
He hadnât said anything else, so Rain shouted back, âYeah?â
Karl poked his head out of the bathroom. âI was thinking London was going to be a huge bore for you. Maybe Gwenâs right: maybe you should just stick around the States and set up a new studio this fall.â He watched her as she smoothed the sheets, looking around for the top sheet. âYou know, get that show ready?â he said.
Rain stopped and straightened up, looking at him. Heâd said magic words. Her show. But she asked, âYou donât want me to go?â
âNo!â Karl shouted in exasperation and slammed the door. And then he opened it again. He paused and said, âI thought you wanted to be an artist.â
He must real y be sick, Rain was thinking. He wasnât usual y this frustrated without some precipitating event. Every little thing was irritating him. This was what his intense involvement in her career had come to. No longer pulling but pushing. The challenge of hope he created in her morphing into a threat now.
Rain grabbed up a pillow, turned her back to him and muttered, âI guess that I thought what Iâ¦â
Karl interrupted her. âI mean, how much work can you get done in London, anyway? And hereâs your last chance to be in the studio and instead you come homeâ¦â Karl left that one hanging, playing with the door handle. âI just need to know, are you real y going to be an artist or do you just like talking about it.â
He may have purposefully been trying to start an argument, and with this he succeeded gloriously. Even though Rain knew he was stomping on all her triggers, she had been kicked in her most sensitive spot now.
âYOU talk about it,â Rain said, turning back to face him.
âYeah, well, Rain, criticism is my job and what you talk about is making art and that is just not the same thing, is it?â Karl took hold of the door again, ready to shut it, a tight smile gripping his face. âHonestly, Iâm just trying to help you. Most artists would gnaw off their left arm for a summer group show at Gwendolyn Brooker. If youâre just going to let this show dropâ¦â
âLook, just SAY if you donât want me in London, alright?â Rain threw down the pillow she was holding. Just as it hit the floor, the phone started to ring.
Rain was momentarily confused by the sound. She didnât usually fight back with Karl and it gave her a terrible feeling of vertigo. It was as if the pillow hitting the floor had burst into rings. The second ring snapped her out of
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