Monkey Wrench by Terri Thayer Page B

Green cabled tights peeked out beneath her long black paisley skirt and were tucked into short tan boots. Up top, an asymmetrical yellow sweater was belted at the waist with several skinny belts. She hitched up a lacy cream shawl over her shoulders. She looked like she shopped in antique shops and boutiques equally. None of her clothes should have worked together.
    Oh right, art teacher.
    “Find your way okay? The campus was shut down earlier today. Big drug bust.”
    “I heard,” I said. “In fact, I’m still a bit frazzled. I got caught up in a big protest downtown. I was on my way to the First Friday at the quilt museum, but I never made it.”
    “Oh, First Fridays. I love those. I know a lot of the people who show their work.”
    She reached into a tote bag behind her desk and handed me a stack of Quilters Crawl maps. I opened one of them.
    “Thanks for helping us this year with the map. I really like the new design,” I said. “You did a great job.”
    I pointed at the logo she’d designed. It was a convertible, speeding down the highway, filled with three attractive women and a grinning sea otter.
    “I liked that you gave us some quilters with attitude. Those women look more like my customers. My crowd doesn’t relate to the stereotype of the pudgy, gray-haired quilter. It turns them off. They don’t recognize themselves.”
    Sonya shrugged. “I just tried to imagine what kind of women would drive hundreds of miles to twelve shops in one weekend. Someone fun, obviously.”
    “Are you a quilter?” I asked.
    Sonya shook her head. “I’d never set foot in a quilt shop before I did the brochure. I’m interested, though.”
    “Are you an artist?” I asked, kicking myself as it came out. Of course she was. She taught art for a living. “What’s your medium?” I said, trying to recover.
    She smiled. “In a perfect world, oils. I’m fascinated by the old Italian masters. Some day I’m going to go to Florence. In the meantime, I supplement my income with graphic design jobs and web design. I did that work for the Quilters Crawl to try and find more work.”
    Surprise must have shown on my face. She flipped her hair back, gathering the long locks in one hand and shifting her entire body to accommodate. “You wouldn’t believe how little money I make. The schools only hire part-timers, so that they don’t have to put out for pensions and benefits. In addition to State, I teach classes at Mission, Foothill, and DeAnza.”
    Those schools were all over the map. Fremont, Cupertino, Los Altos. Literally.
    “Yikes, that’s a lot of driving.”
    “Like your shop hop,” Sonya said. “Only I do it every week.”
    Talk of driving brought me back to the Crawl. “Let me have another hundred maps,” I said. “I’ll bring them to Freddy Roman’s.”
    I took the second pile from her awkwardly, adding them to the ones already in my hand.
    “You’ll need something to carry them in,” Sonya said. She dumped the rest of the maps out and handed the tote bag to me. “Here, use this.”
    The bag was canvas, like the kind readily available at the craft stores for a few dollars. But it was no longer the boring beige generic canvas. Every inch of it had been decorated. Brightly colored swirls, paisleys, flowers made the bag look like it was made from wonderful fabric.
    “Your handiwork?” I asked.
    Sonya nodded. “I was doodling, testing out some fabric pens.”
    Some doodles. My most careful drawings didn’t look as good. “I’d love to know which ones you use. I’d like to carry them in my store, but am never sure which ones to order. I don’t want to disappoint my customers.”
    Sonya reached into a mug on the desk and handed me a pen. “I love this brand. Take it.”
    So many gifts. She was the generous sort. “Well, thank you. I hope you can come by during the Crawl. We’re giving away some great stuff.”
    “I’ll do that,” she said.
    ———
    Once home, I took a shower, changed into my