The Art of Wag (8 page)

After some final instructions about creating Photoshop brushes, it was time for the critique. Tracy printed her picture of Roxy and carried it over to the wall. She hung it up and smiled again. Something about the dog’s expression and the colors she’d used made Tracy unreasonably happy.

All the students pulled up chairs and arranged them in a semicircle in front of the images hanging on the wall. When it was her turn, Tracy explained her process. When she was done, the class fell into silence. No one said anything for what seemed like forever and Tracy’s heart sank. Everyone hated it. Just like every other thing she’d tried, she couldn’t do this either. She cleared her throat, “Um, well, I know it could be improved. I should have added shading under Roxy’s chin. Roxy is my dog, by the way. I just drew it from memory. It’s not really that good. Maybe if I’d had a photograph to work from I could have made it better.”

Ms. Melina’s black curls bobbed back and forth as she shook her head. “No. This is your artistic vision. It’s not supposed to look like a photograph. It’s your vision of your pet in your heart. It’s very honest. I love it. I can’t think of any way you could improve it. Frankly, I’m impressed. Given how difficult some of the tools in Photoshop are to use, I think you’ve done a brilliant job. What does everyone else think?”

At the many mumbles of assent, Tracy sat up straight in her chair. “Really? Thank you. That means a lot.”

Ms. Melina pointed at the student next to Tracy. “Okay, next. John, please tell us how you created this image.”

For Tracy, the rest of the critique passed in a blur. She made some suggestions to some of the other students on their artwork, but she kept looking back at her own drawing of Roxy. She had created something other people liked. It was looking like she’d pass the course and get her certificate of completion, after all.

After class, she asked Ms. Melina if she could print a couple more copies of her image. Once she had saved multiple copies of her files on a disk and had her printouts, Tracy was ready to head back to Shelby’s place. She couldn’t wait to show the drawing to her friend. Maybe she could buy a frame and give one of the copies to her as a thank you. As she gathered up her things, Tracy was almost giddy at the idea. Shelby would love it!

Rob stood next to Tracy, slowly collecting his notebook and pencils. As he jammed his printout into his backpack, the expression on his face was decidedly unhappy. The other students had quite a bit to say about his artwork and the discussion took such a negative turn that Tracy started to feel bad for him. He was a nice guy and she’d been in that situation before. It could be upsetting to have your creative work verbally dissected and analyzed.

Rob paused in his packing to push his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose. He gave her a sidelong glance and asked in a somber voice, “Do you still have time to talk? I did find your file for you.”

“Yes, you did!” Tracy reached over and squeezed his arm. “I’m forever grateful. Do you want to have a cup of coffee or something at the deli? Since you paid for lunch, I’ve still got two dollars burning a hole in my pocket.”

The expression on his face brightened. “Sure, that sounds great.” He threw his backpack over his shoulder and they went outside. As they made their way across the lawn, he seemed to shrug off the events of the last few hours. “I think I told you that I have this big potential web site contract. What I was hoping is that you could go to a meeting with me.”

Tracy glanced at him. He was clutching the strap of the backpack with both hands and looking down at the grass as he walked. She said, “I don’t live around here. And I have a job.” Sadly, it was just one job now. At least she still had one source of income left, so she wasn’t completely unemployed and destitute yet.

Rob kicked a rock with his sneaker, causing it to skitter across the sidewalk. “Where do you live?”

“Alpine Grove. It’s a little town.”

“Oh, I know it. That’s perfect. It’s not that far away. Couldn’t you come back here for the meeting?”

Tracy gripped the handle of her bag more tightly. “I have to work. And at the risk of sounding like I’m financially challenged, I can’t skip out on work again, because I need the money. I can’t take any more time off. My boss will kill me.”
Financially challenged
was a far more pleasant way to say she was totally broke and almost homeless.

“I’d just need you for this meeting. Whether or not I get the contract, you’re off the hook. If I get it, I’ll have money to hire a freelancer to actually do the work.”

Tracy stopped in front of the deli and turned to face him. “Is this something unethical? Or illegal? Because I don’t want any part of it, if that’s the case.”

Rob opened the door for her. “No, not really. Well, maybe it’s a little deceitful to imply that you’d be doing the design later, I guess. But that happens all the time with this type of contract. People hire freelancers that come and go. You said you don’t do that type of work anyway, right? But I know you can talk about color theory and contrast and all that artsy stuff. All you have to do is pretend to be an artist for one meeting. It will be great!”

Tracy was busy rummaging in her purse for her two dollars, but paused to look at him. “
Great
is definitely not the first word that comes to mind here.”

They got their coffee and carried it to a table. Tracy sat down and encircled the mug with her hands. “So why should I do this? I don’t even know you.”

“I’ll pay you. How about $500?”

Tracy gripped the mug more tightly. That would pay her rent and then some. She could buy something other than fire-sale bulk boxes of ramen noodles at the grocery store. “Um. Well, that makes it more interesting. I’d need to talk to some people first. But I still don’t know anything about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

Tracy stirred some sugar into her coffee. “I don’t know. What is your shoe size?”

He took a sip of coffee. “Really? That’s the best you can do? Thirteen.”

She peered under the table. “Those are some big feet!” He had large hands too. Was it true what they said about that? Hmm. “Okay. Are you afraid of the dark?”

“No. Are you?”

Tracy shook her finger at him. “Hey, I’m asking the questions here. It depends on where I am. If I were in an old cemetery in a scary neighborhood with alien neon werewolves creeping around, then yes. But if I’m walking around downtown Alpine Grove, no.”

“Anything else? How are my shoe size and neon werewolves related to the meeting?”

“Fine. Where did you grow up?”

“A galaxy far, far away.”

Tracy scowled. “Oh, come on. That’s not helpful. How am I supposed to know you’re not some creepy serial killer or something?”

Rob waved his hands in front of himself. “Do I
look
like a serial killer to you?”

“Not really, but serial killers never do, right? And if you were one, would you tell me?”

“I have nothing to hide.” Rob rummaged around in his backpack and pulled out his wallet. He held up a stack of cards and began laying them on the table. “Here’s my driver’s license. And a business card for the networking company I work for with my phone number and e-mail address. This is my library card. And here’s my American Express card.”

Tracy flashed a grin at him. “Oooh, a gold card. You didn’t leave home without it. I don’t think a serial killer would show me his gold card.” She pointed at his chest. “And the logo on the business card is the same as the one embroidered on your shirt.”

He looked down and pulled the shirt away from his body to examine the logo. “I could have stolen the shirt.”

“I don’t think so. No one steals logo wear.” She waved at the cards on the table. “Fine. You have convinced me you’re really Robert J. Thompson, a networking guy with big feet who reads books. I suppose I can go to this meeting if you want. But I need to talk to my friend Shelby. I’m staying with her while I’m taking this class, and I’d have to do that again. And I need to talk to my boss at work. When is the meeting?”

“They said they want to talk sometime next week. I can ask them if we can do it Friday afternoon so you can come down for the weekend again. Would that work?”

“I guess so.”

“Great! I’ll give you a call this week with the details after I get it set up.”

After finishing their coffee, they exchanged phone numbers and shook hands. Tracy went to the bus stop and sat down on the bench to wait for her public transportation to arrive. She still didn’t have a completely good feeling about this arrangement. Rob seemed nice enough. And five-hundred dollars was five-hundred dollars. But what if she screwed up this meeting? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d choked under pressure. But hey, Rob had asked her to do this, even after seeing how pathetic she was at saving and finding computer files. The guy knew what he was getting into.

Tracy drove The Turd down the driveway toward Kat’s house. After grabbing her stuff from Shelby’s place, she had experienced a long, unpleasant drive through horrible city traffic. In a way, bumping slowly through the potholes littered throughout the driveway was a relief. At least she was away from other drivers intent on going eighty miles an hour. The freeway was a scary place for a car that couldn’t go faster than sixty. Or okay, maybe fifty-five. Here deep in the forest, it was pitch dark and pouring rain, which made the giant road craters difficult to spot until the front end of the car splashed into one of the swampy lakes. But the old car was a veteran of far worse rural roads, so it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like the thing could get any uglier or more beat up.

At last, the lights of the house appeared through the foggy darkness. The muddy smears on the windshield made the view look like a poorly done painting you might find above the bed at a cheap motel. Tracy parked as close to the front of the house as she could. She leaped out of the car, slammed the door, and ran up the steps to the landing. Fortunately, there was a roof over the area, but she still huddled as close as she could to the door and rapped her knuckles on the tongue-and-groove wood.

Kat opened the door, let Tracy in, and said, “You made it! Roxy is going to be so glad to see you.”

Tracy rushed through the door and stood dripping in the entryway. “Ugh, it’s just pouring out there. The fall rains have arrived. And it’s only going to get worse.”

“Please come in. Why don’t you take off that wet coat and warm up while I go get Roxy? Joel finally fired up the wood stove because he got tired of listening to me whine about being cold.”

Tracy took off her coat and walked into the kitchen, where it was significantly warmer. “I’m not a big fan of cold either. I think you and I may be in trouble when winter arrives for real.”

Kat walked toward the back of the house and disappeared into the bedroom. The crate door clanged and Roxy came rushing out. Tracy bent down and gathered the little dog in her arms. “Hi there! Were you good?”

The two women loaded Roxy and the crate into the car. They came back inside and stood in the entryway as Tracy rummaged around in her bag for her check. She looked up. “So where is Joel?”

Kat waved in the general direction of the stairs down to the basement. “He’s in his office doing nerdy stuff, I think. There was...ah...a little problem and he hurt his arm, which is slowing down his typing, I guess.”

“What happened? It wasn’t while he was out cutting wood, was it? Is he okay?”

“I wasn’t going to bring it up, but he had to get Roxy out of a cabinet. You were right. She has a thing for kitchenware.”

“Oh no. I’m sorry.” Tracy looked down at the floor. “I guess you’re not going to be willing to board her again, are you? That’s not unusual, really. No one wants to take care of Roxy after the first time. I can’t leave her with my parents and I can’t bring her with me to Shelby’s place either. Both of them have banished Roxy from their premises. My mom and dad have farm dogs and work all day. The last time I left Roxy at their place, it was bad. They lost her under the woodshed for a while. Roxy thought the whole experience was really fun. Mom was less amused. Dad even less so. In fact, I think he’s still mad.” He still referred to Roxy as “that long hairy rodent.”

Kat leaned against the door. “And your friend won’t let her stay either?”

“No. Shelby’s cat Billy Bob is bigger than Roxy and they really don’t get along. You probably know this, but interspecies disagreements are extremely unpleasant. And a little scary, even. Shelby is my best friend, but she said she’d let me rot out on the street—to use her words—rather than let Roxy in her apartment again.”

Kat gestured toward the kitchen. “I guess it’s a little comforting to know it’s not just me. I suppose it wasn’t really that bad. I should have been watching Roxy more closely. She’s really good in her crate and she was so sweet sitting next to me on the sofa while I was reading. I guess I got complacent.”

Tracy chuckled. “Yeah, that’s her M.O. You think, oh what an adorable little dog. She won’t do anything. Then half your kitchen is all over the floor.”

“Actually, I took the pots and pans out of the cabinet, so I can’t blame her for that. Roxy got behind the cabinet and Joel had to take it apart to get her out. That’s when he hurt his arm. On a positive note, she can’t get back there again. Joel put in a new board and reassembled the lazy Susan one-handed. It was pretty tricky. He was definitely not in a good mood, though. After I put all the pots and pans back in the cabinet, I decided to lay low.”