it.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “I’m not going through that. I’ll ruin my shoes.”
“Your shoes are already ruined,” I said.
“And look,” she said, holding up an index finger. “I broke a nail.”
I rolled my eyes. “Call 911.”
She tried to grab the umbrella. “You take over for a while,” she said.
I held it back out of her reach. “No, I’ll take over for Joey if she wants, but you have to pull your weight.”
“Why don’t you two princesses go inside for a cup of tea and I’ll just do it myself,” Joey said as she pushed.
“You’re going to let her do it all alone?” I asked Clare.
“Are you?”
“Screw you,” I said to Clare, and handed her the umbrella so I could help Joey get the drum through the mud. In a huff, Clare walked over to Joey’s side to hold the umbrella over the two of them. The next thing I knew, the umbrella went flying through the air, carried by the wind over my head. Clare made an effort to reach it and then, in what seemed like slow motion because I anticipated the whole thing but could do nothing to stop it, she tripped over Joey’s foot, landing belly first into the mud.
Joey and I locked eyes, momentarily horrified.
“Oh my God!” Clare said. “I’m ruined!” She picked herself up and stood, dark mud covering her expensive blouse and pants from top to bottom. It dripped in slow plops to the ground.
“Ew,” she said, looking down. “This is so not funny.”
Joey and I locked glances and then simultaneously exploded with laughter.
“Stop it!” Clare cried.
That just made it funnier. We collapsed into one another.
“You two are so immature,” Clare insisted, but even as she said it, I saw a smile playing around her lips as she finished the sentence. She looked down at her clothes, pulling the sticky shirt away from her body. “I guess I do look kind of ridiculous,” she said.
That’s when Joey straightened herself out and took several steps back.
“What are you doing?” I asked, but it became evident soonenough. Joey took a running start and then dove into the mud like a baseball player sliding into first base.
“Try it,” she said, looking up at me.
I backed off. “No way.”
But Joey shot Clare a conspiratorial grin, and it was clear I had no choice in the matter.
Chapter 7
After getting the industrial drum to the curb, I told my sisters we should go straight back to our house to get showered and changed, provided they didn’t mind borrowing my clothes. Clare insisted on retrieving our handbags first, so we went into the mudroom in the back of the Waxmans’ house and stopped.
“Now what?” I said. “We can’t exactly go traipsing through the house like this. Renee used to have a heart attack if we wore our shoes past the front door. This would kill her.”
“No worries,” Joey said, stripping to her underwear faster than most people could say hello. “I’ll get the handbags. You wait here.”
“Get us some towels too,” Clare said.
Joey nodded, left her soaked clothes and shoes in a pile on the floor, and ran upstairs toward the linen closet.
“You’re not going to want to get back into those muddy things!” Clare shouted after her. “So find something to wear while you’re up there—borrow something of Renee’s!”
Clare turned to me, her face looking lovely even smudged in black mud. In fact, the contrast of her glamorous cheekbones against the gritty filth was striking. And the colors were an inspiration, as if all the browns and blacks of the scene paidhomage to her cinnamon irises, standing out against the white of her eyes. Suddenly, I had an itch I hadn’t felt in a long time. The itch to paint, to capture a very specific aesthetic thought on canvas. I wondered if I could experiment with transposing the concept that beauty is only skin deep by putting the grotesque on the surface and letting beauty shine through from beneath, turning the whole into something glorious. Had that already been
“Wait a minute,” she said. “I’m not going through that. I’ll ruin my shoes.”
“Your shoes are already ruined,” I said.
“And look,” she said, holding up an index finger. “I broke a nail.”
I rolled my eyes. “Call 911.”
She tried to grab the umbrella. “You take over for a while,” she said.
I held it back out of her reach. “No, I’ll take over for Joey if she wants, but you have to pull your weight.”
“Why don’t you two princesses go inside for a cup of tea and I’ll just do it myself,” Joey said as she pushed.
“You’re going to let her do it all alone?” I asked Clare.
“Are you?”
“Screw you,” I said to Clare, and handed her the umbrella so I could help Joey get the drum through the mud. In a huff, Clare walked over to Joey’s side to hold the umbrella over the two of them. The next thing I knew, the umbrella went flying through the air, carried by the wind over my head. Clare made an effort to reach it and then, in what seemed like slow motion because I anticipated the whole thing but could do nothing to stop it, she tripped over Joey’s foot, landing belly first into the mud.
Joey and I locked eyes, momentarily horrified.
“Oh my God!” Clare said. “I’m ruined!” She picked herself up and stood, dark mud covering her expensive blouse and pants from top to bottom. It dripped in slow plops to the ground.
“Ew,” she said, looking down. “This is so not funny.”
Joey and I locked glances and then simultaneously exploded with laughter.
“Stop it!” Clare cried.
That just made it funnier. We collapsed into one another.
“You two are so immature,” Clare insisted, but even as she said it, I saw a smile playing around her lips as she finished the sentence. She looked down at her clothes, pulling the sticky shirt away from her body. “I guess I do look kind of ridiculous,” she said.
That’s when Joey straightened herself out and took several steps back.
“What are you doing?” I asked, but it became evident soonenough. Joey took a running start and then dove into the mud like a baseball player sliding into first base.
“Try it,” she said, looking up at me.
I backed off. “No way.”
But Joey shot Clare a conspiratorial grin, and it was clear I had no choice in the matter.
Chapter 7
After getting the industrial drum to the curb, I told my sisters we should go straight back to our house to get showered and changed, provided they didn’t mind borrowing my clothes. Clare insisted on retrieving our handbags first, so we went into the mudroom in the back of the Waxmans’ house and stopped.
“Now what?” I said. “We can’t exactly go traipsing through the house like this. Renee used to have a heart attack if we wore our shoes past the front door. This would kill her.”
“No worries,” Joey said, stripping to her underwear faster than most people could say hello. “I’ll get the handbags. You wait here.”
“Get us some towels too,” Clare said.
Joey nodded, left her soaked clothes and shoes in a pile on the floor, and ran upstairs toward the linen closet.
“You’re not going to want to get back into those muddy things!” Clare shouted after her. “So find something to wear while you’re up there—borrow something of Renee’s!”
Clare turned to me, her face looking lovely even smudged in black mud. In fact, the contrast of her glamorous cheekbones against the gritty filth was striking. And the colors were an inspiration, as if all the browns and blacks of the scene paidhomage to her cinnamon irises, standing out against the white of her eyes. Suddenly, I had an itch I hadn’t felt in a long time. The itch to paint, to capture a very specific aesthetic thought on canvas. I wondered if I could experiment with transposing the concept that beauty is only skin deep by putting the grotesque on the surface and letting beauty shine through from beneath, turning the whole into something glorious. Had that already been
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