portraits and am curious about Sargent, using his career as a model for my own. You know, aim high!”
“Sargent,” he pondered to no one in particular. “Interesting choice. Most appropriate.”
“Well, then,” I leaned in awkwardly to give J3 another friendly kiss to the cheek, but this time his face did not warm with a blush. “So great seeing you. How funny that we bumped into one another? At the museum.”
Hello—of course at the museum.
I began to walk away, thinking about my dreaded cell phone that I’d have to use to call Daphne so I could apologize for my lateness.
“Hey, Emily,” called J3, running to my side. “I’m in the city for a few days before returning to L.A.”
“Gosh, you must think I’m such a Madame X, I haven’t even asked you what you were up to in the city.”
“Working, as always. Perhaps I can take you and Henry out for a celebratory engagement evening.”
“That would be great! It’s just that we’re a bit occupied right now.”
“Oh, right. Of course, with the wedding.”
J3 kept my pace, walking with me in the direction of Daphne’s.
“Well, actually we’re in the middle of a move. Or trying to be in the middle of a move. You see, there’s this great loft on Reade Street, but it’s so big and a bit out of our price range. But I so want for us to live there, as it’s now hard to imagine living somewhere less impressive, not that I am materialistic or anything,” I took a moment to remind myself that I wasn’t materialistic. “But we have to think unconventionally if we really want it. And here I am giving serious consideration to letting a fraternity brother of Henry’s named after the Tasmanian Devil move in with us.”
Did J3 have any clue how to interpret my language?
“Tasmanian Devil?”
“Taz, for short.”
J3 watched a couple as they pushed a canopied baby carriage past us, but I gathered he used them as a distraction so he could gather his thoughts.
“You know, Emily, I’ve basically made the Four Seasons my permanent New York address. I mean, they accept packages for me even when I’m not registered, plus the whole ‘Will you be having your freshly squeezed grapefruit and Frosted Flakes served to you at 6:00 AM?’”
“Frosted Flakes?”
“My livelihood comes from video games. Have to start my morning like a kid.”
“Love Frosted Flakes, especially the games. Except not my box’s current game.”
“The IQ test of the great Mesopotamians?” he said with a curious smile.
I nodded, somewhat astounded.
“That one was ridiculous. I felt so inadequate after basically being told that I was stupid,” he said.
“Me too!” I blurted for the eighteen-thousandth time this afternoon.
“So, considering we eat the same breakfast food, perhaps I could be your renter. I mean I’d hardly ever be there, with my life in L.A. and traveling. I’ll pay full price.”
“J3, what a fantastic idea. But, really? I mean I don’t want you to feel obligated.”
“Obligated? Emily, I live in homes that come with room service and toiletries wrapped with hotel signage.”
And this was bad why?
“Aside from my place in L.A., essentially a locker, I have no place to put my bag down and stay for a while. This would be ideal for me.”
“But wouldn’t you at least want to see the place? Though it really is quite amazing—three floors, terrace, these vapors with therapeutic properties that shoot from the bathroom. Excellent for your pores. The windows and space—I mean it really is fabulous.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t have thought otherwise. Considering that you are Emily Briggs.”
Feeling embarrassed.
“Soon to be Philips,” I said, wiggling my taped finger. “And, speaking of which, I just need to clear it with Henry, but I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”
At the corner of Seventy-ninth, the WALK sign blinked its warning to hurry it on up unless you wanted to suck in exhaust fumes for a few useless seconds. I began to step from the curb when J3 pulled on the back of my sweater lightly, not enough to stretch its shape, saving me from a renegade Chinese food delivery man. I would have been part of the one-out-of-ten-million statistics to make it on the local news for being rammed by the wire basket hood of a bicycle. Had I renewed my health insurance?
“Thanks,” I said in a trembling voice.
He smiled.
“No problem, just watching your back.”
“I’ll say.”
“So I’ll be at the Four Seasons till next Thursday, and hopefully I can get you two out to celebrate more than your engagement, considering that we all may be living together. You can just reach me there. And you? Are you at the same number?”
“Not really. And I’d give you my cell number, but I don’t give anyone that number. I never use it.”
“Of course, how could I forget, you find them to be very rude and discourteous. How John Singer Sargent of you. A fine correlation, as I know you will be this century’s answer to portraiture and then some.”
Smiling, completely reddened from all of this excitement and humility, I just spoke to conceal my discomfort.
“Okay. Right, then. I’ll be calling you.”
I straightened my pose, not because I had just been viewing Sargents and felt particularly self-conscious about my posture, but rather from feeling quite exhilarated. My shoulder blades went to places they’ve never been to before. I believe I appeared to be an exclamation point.
7
The kind of bliss you have when you get a check in the mail, having no idea where it came from but quickly cashing it anyway—this is how I felt while walking to Daphne’s. I needed this moment. And my time was due. I could also use a big check made out to me that I had no idea where it had come from. Aside from Henry asking me to marry him, J3 agreeing to move into the Reade Street loft had been the first bit of good news in some time.
A protester screamed her issues at the corner of Madison, her causes unknown with all of the counter-productive yelling. These protesters really should reassess their tactics if they wanted to utilize their time effectively. I tried to calculate how I could cut across the street without being accosted by scary protester person, but the traffic did not flow in my favor. As I approached her, she smiled, targeting me the way the man with the thankless job of giving out flyers to a gentleman’s club spots the pedestrian with the greased hair and gold chain.
“Hello!”
