The Dwelling: A Novel by Susie Moloney

director.
    She would make director.
    Her heart pounded when she thought about money. To make it stop she leaned over and picked up the bucket with her rubber-gloved hands. Her fingers felt moist under the cotton batting and she would be happy to get it off. She made herself think only of these things. Becca was a very focused person. When she had a will, she could do anything.
    From downstairs, Dan hollered, “Becca! Come hold the shelf!” At the sound of his voice, Becca closed her eyes. It was just for a moment, but in that moment she could feel her body turning inward on itself, away from the voice downstairs.
    Becca was going to talk Dan into ordering Chinese. To do that, she needed to be sweet and accommodating. Please, not too accommodating. Max and Kate were coming for coffee after supper. Friends of Dan’s. Max was Dan’s new partner. Which sounded much better than the truth.
    And what does your husband do?
    He has a partner.
    That sounds impressive.
    Yes.
    What do they do, these partners?
    They’re making a comic book. It’s about a superhero.
    Becca carried the bucket into the bathroom. Inside her head, the cocktail party changed dramatically. Gales of laughter overtook genteel conversation and elegant chuckles. She dumped the bucket into the tub and watched as the grayish liquid rolled slowly down the drain and then rinsed it efficiently before pulling off her rubber gloves. Without them her fingers looked like oversized Q-tips. She smiled at that. She peeled the tape off one nail and was pleased when no glue was left behind.
    He used to be in advertising.
    He won an award.
    “Becca!” Dan called up again.
    “I’m coming!” she called down, and took her time, unwrapping each finger slowly, lovingly, and wondering if she should have sex with him before Max and Kate came and that way get it over with for the night, or if putting it off for the evening until she had at least had a glass of wine would make it easier.
     
    The studio, as he was calling it, was filling up fast. There was a serious lack of room, but as the boxes emptied and were put out into the hallway, it was beginning to take on a cozy feeling, as opposed to the crowded one he had briefly been afraid of at the beginning of the week. There was not much left to go inside. Once the books were unpacked and on the shelves, it would free up some floor space and he could unpack the rest of his stuff, put up the drafting table, his floor lamp (the overhead was just a bulb that cast a horrible glare over everything; it would be a disaster at night, when he was tired), and his supplies table. Then he was set. There would be just room for the bed to be pulled down (although he didn’t anticipate using it too often) and room for a bedside table. Cozy.
    Next year he would put in a window on the outside wall. It would be useless for light for most of the day, being an east window, but it would be very nice in the morning. He did his best work at night anyway.
    That was habit. He had always worked at night because he’d had a day job, or he’d been in classes during the day. He could work any time he wanted now, and that was both frightening and exhilarating.
    For the first time in his twenty-eight years, Dan Mason was gainfully unemployed. Unless you counted college. Even then, he’d worked part-time, framing prints for people whose conception of art rarely went further than making sure it matched their sofa.
    He realized too late that instead of putting the upper shelves on first he had anchored the frame to the wall and attached the lower two shelves to it, using his eye as a level (he had a great eye). The bottom three shelves were in place, and only the top one remained. But he couldn’t quite get under it. He would need Becca to hold it while he stood on a chair with the drill.
    Dan shrugged and took a break, slipping out of the house into the backyard for a smoke. Becca didn’t like smoking in the house. During the day he often broke that rule,