T-shirt with a floral design. I enjoyed this drawing, nailing the shadows of the clothing perfectly by rubbing my finger over certain parts, blurring the lines. Just for fun, I portrayed the woman with long braids hanging from either side of her face and a slim band around her head.
“The sleeves have to be a bit wider toward the wrists. They looked like the flaring pants, really,” my aunt said as she leaned over me and studied my picture.
“Aren’t you too young to have been part of that freaky era?” I teased her, but I made the changes she suggested.
“I had an aunt who came right out of that time. When I spent the night over at her place, she often showed me funny photo albums of her and her husband.” Wrinkles of a smile built around her eyes. “I laughed so hard at their crazy looks that sometimes she feared I’d choke.”
Sheesh, I knew how that sounded. When my aunt got into one of her laughing fits, she was like a vacuum cleaner, and it was impossible not to laugh with her, just because of the sound of it. Aunt Pamela had always been my favorite relative, even though she was only related by marriage. Uncle Jack and my father looked a lot alike, but otherwise the brothers had little in common. While my father was warm and caring, it seemed like Jack was first and foremost interested in prestige and only secondly in family. The ever-busy attorney. He was a nice guy, all right, but after seventeen years of knowing him, he wasn’t even half as close to me as Pam had been since she’d given me a stuffed Roger Rabbit for Christmas when I was four years old.
Pam drew the chair next to me out and sat down, leaning her elbows on the table. She pointed at the hem of the right pant leg on my drawing. “You know, if you added a small pleat here and a larger one here, the pants would look a lot wider and more authentic.”
I tried to do what she said, and heck she was right. But then that was no surprise. Pam was an artist herself, doing beautiful canvases in aquarelle and oil. The hallway and parlor were wallpapered with her awesome abstract paintings of people, landscapes, and buildings. While my parents did everything to support my talent, Aunt Pamela really understood what drawing meant to me.
“Mind if I bring my easel and paint with you for a bit? The chicken can roast without my help.” She smiled when I nodded.
It was nice to have her around for the next forty minutes. Pam was a funny person, warm, and always up to giving amazing feedback. She also skimmed through Tony’s pictures and was impressed by such a great talent. Her gaze fell on the one arty letter that stood out at the bottom right of each drawing. She frowned. “And T is for…”
“Total jerk,” I muttered before I knew what I was saying.
Pam burst out laughing, and I bit my bottom lip. Then I added, “Well, his name is Anthony Mitchell, so I guess T is for Tony.”
“I see.” She stopped laughing. “Just where have I heard that name before?” Her forehead creased with a frown, and she tilted her head, trying to make a connection. “Is he tall and blond with blue, blue eyes?”
And a killer mouth, designed to get on my nerves. “Yep, that’s him.”
“I think Cloey dated him a few times last summer. He’s a very nice boy.”
I turned around to her fully. “Nice? Ha! That’s not the side I’ve got to know of him.”
Pam scratched her brow. “Really? Cloey didn’t speak of anyone else but this guy for weeks. She was so happy when he finally asked her out. Unfortunately it didn’t last very long with them. Cloey cried for days when it was over.”
“Is that so?” How strange. Somehow this clashed with the story Susan and the girls had told me about Tony and Cloey. If she dumped him, why would she cry? And what made her dump him in the first place? Had he been an asshole when he’d slept with her? To me it seemed he was an asshole 24/7, so that could easily be it.
I pushed the thought aside. It wasn’t my
“The sleeves have to be a bit wider toward the wrists. They looked like the flaring pants, really,” my aunt said as she leaned over me and studied my picture.
“Aren’t you too young to have been part of that freaky era?” I teased her, but I made the changes she suggested.
“I had an aunt who came right out of that time. When I spent the night over at her place, she often showed me funny photo albums of her and her husband.” Wrinkles of a smile built around her eyes. “I laughed so hard at their crazy looks that sometimes she feared I’d choke.”
Sheesh, I knew how that sounded. When my aunt got into one of her laughing fits, she was like a vacuum cleaner, and it was impossible not to laugh with her, just because of the sound of it. Aunt Pamela had always been my favorite relative, even though she was only related by marriage. Uncle Jack and my father looked a lot alike, but otherwise the brothers had little in common. While my father was warm and caring, it seemed like Jack was first and foremost interested in prestige and only secondly in family. The ever-busy attorney. He was a nice guy, all right, but after seventeen years of knowing him, he wasn’t even half as close to me as Pam had been since she’d given me a stuffed Roger Rabbit for Christmas when I was four years old.
Pam drew the chair next to me out and sat down, leaning her elbows on the table. She pointed at the hem of the right pant leg on my drawing. “You know, if you added a small pleat here and a larger one here, the pants would look a lot wider and more authentic.”
I tried to do what she said, and heck she was right. But then that was no surprise. Pam was an artist herself, doing beautiful canvases in aquarelle and oil. The hallway and parlor were wallpapered with her awesome abstract paintings of people, landscapes, and buildings. While my parents did everything to support my talent, Aunt Pamela really understood what drawing meant to me.
“Mind if I bring my easel and paint with you for a bit? The chicken can roast without my help.” She smiled when I nodded.
It was nice to have her around for the next forty minutes. Pam was a funny person, warm, and always up to giving amazing feedback. She also skimmed through Tony’s pictures and was impressed by such a great talent. Her gaze fell on the one arty letter that stood out at the bottom right of each drawing. She frowned. “And T is for…”
“Total jerk,” I muttered before I knew what I was saying.
Pam burst out laughing, and I bit my bottom lip. Then I added, “Well, his name is Anthony Mitchell, so I guess T is for Tony.”
“I see.” She stopped laughing. “Just where have I heard that name before?” Her forehead creased with a frown, and she tilted her head, trying to make a connection. “Is he tall and blond with blue, blue eyes?”
And a killer mouth, designed to get on my nerves. “Yep, that’s him.”
“I think Cloey dated him a few times last summer. He’s a very nice boy.”
I turned around to her fully. “Nice? Ha! That’s not the side I’ve got to know of him.”
Pam scratched her brow. “Really? Cloey didn’t speak of anyone else but this guy for weeks. She was so happy when he finally asked her out. Unfortunately it didn’t last very long with them. Cloey cried for days when it was over.”
“Is that so?” How strange. Somehow this clashed with the story Susan and the girls had told me about Tony and Cloey. If she dumped him, why would she cry? And what made her dump him in the first place? Had he been an asshole when he’d slept with her? To me it seemed he was an asshole 24/7, so that could easily be it.
I pushed the thought aside. It wasn’t my
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