After my meeting with Scorpion, I got into a taxi. My fantasy bubble about Scorpion had burst. I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh, so I did both. Sylvia, you’re such a fool!!!
So, he’s going to London to have a show. So what? I guess he just wanted to break it to me gently – and I’m not jealous – really, really I’m not.
So, he’s going to London to have a show. So what? I guess he just wanted to break it to me gently – and I’m not jealous – really, really I’m not. What nerve to think that I would be jealous of his having a solo show so soon after our show together? He was young, handsome and talented. Life was ahead of him! No wonder people wanted him. Nobody wants to bother furthering the career of a seventy-year old woman. Well …. there was Grandma Moses. She was discovered at seventy-eight. Maybe I could be Grandma Saltwater!?!?!? How charming! ……….. Sob!
He’s probably home now packing balls of string and nails into his initialed Louis Vuitton bag that his mother left for him under the Christmas tree. Mommy’s boy! I wonder if Scorpion is his given name? Who would name their kid “Scorpion” anyway? When he shows his passport at airport security, I just bet they’ll be suspicious of that baldhead and stupid little bun and all those creepy tattoos. In a strong wind, do his earplugs whistle?
When I came home, Max was in the kitchen, bent over a tray, working on a replica of our garden completely carved out of vegetables and fruits – pool deck bricks assembled from pineapple chunks, pool from lengthwise slices of cucumber, mushroom stone walls, celery top palm fronds sprouting from jicama trunks, tiny mango flowers on parsley vines.
I hadn’t seen Max this intensely at work in a few months. “A new job?” I asked as I sat on a barstool.
“No, no, of course not,” he said, poking a toothpick into a tiny grape. “Just something to relax me while you were out.” He looked up, “So how did it go with Scorpion?”
“Oh …… well ……… “ My eyes filled with tears again.
“Come, now, my dear – tell Max. Why are you crying?”
“He’s …… he’s …… having a solo show in London.” I wailed.
Max put his arm around me and I buried my face in his chest. “You’ll have another show,” he said. “Mark my word.”
I was still sobbing.
“What else happened?”
“Nothing.” I lied. But I couldn’t keep anything from him. “Just something stupid.”
“I just had this fantasy about him, that’s all.” I said, hoping I didn’t look too guilty.
Max said, “Scorpion is attractive and you wanted to sample the hors d’oeuvres. Right?”
“Well, sort of,” I sniffed and dabbed at my eyes. “I wanted an offer I could turn down. This was my 19th Century romantic novel moment. I wanted him to be Heathcliff to my Cathy, filling my arms with heather. I had my lines all set: I can’t go through with this madness! This must stop!” I wiped my tears and took a deep breath. “Instead I got purple Barney and Big Bird sharing champagne.” I sighed. “I just wanted to be interesting.”
Max kissed my forehead. “Sylvia, you are interesting. I fell in love with you because you are splendid. In a room full of people, you stand out in the crowd.”
I knew this was a pile of manure from Max’s backhoe. “Maxie, I love it when you lie to me.” I had to smile. He was so dear.
Still …………….. the sound of a bubble bursting is very sad.
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