Chapter 15
Tony
Right before it happened again, the entire world closed in on me. Physically. As if my body was being stress-tested.
Then my vision went to shit because my glasses had nowhere to be, and that’s when I knew I’d been cast adrift. Cut off. I was alone again. Falling into space with nothing to hold me to myself.
If I had eyes, I’d use them to cry.
When she picks me up, the feel of her hands is the way it’s been for decades. Comforting in a way that’s hard and cold. Nothing like how she is when her skin is touching mine.
She tells me it’s going to be all right. She’s going to get me back when she’s not on a boat. Before, I didn’t know what she and Caspian were doing with me. I enjoyed it, but the purpose was lost. Now I know what it means.
I’m in her belt. When she moves, my bubbles move with her.
The boat’s keening is so slight I didn’t feel it as a man, but now, it’s obvious.
It would be nauseating except that she’s here, holding me against her body while she works the second half of the day.
She and Tonya plaster over the nail holes, rub the scuffs off the floor, and fix an electrical outlet.
The lady with the pencil skirt comes in as the sun gets low. She’s not security, like Tight Bun. She’s fancier. Closer to the action. This is the kind of woman you hire on the odd chance the cops wanna start asking questions. We hired women like this all the time.
“Have you not opened this yet?” She puts her hand on the wooden crate leaning against the wall. Julia and Tonya moved it, but haven’t opened it.
“Were we supposed to?” Julia asks.
“The art has to be hung by tomorrow at three. That’s the point.”
I have special knowledge of Julia’s ability to hang artwork. I’m her level, after all.
They crack open the crate and pull out the piece. It’s framed in gold. About five feet wide by two feet tall.
Julia steps up to the piece. The art is on a long sheet of paper and is covered with non-reflective glass.
Not one inch of what’s beneath the glass makes any sense.
There’s a unicorn. A man with a box for a body and sticks for arms, holding what could be a hot dog in a bun, or a rifle.
Three houses with pointy roofs. Train tracks.
Several four-legged creatures that could be anything.
Names written by either children or a leftie’s right hand fill in the spaces.
Kaitlyn. Madison. Jeremy. Soo. Dylan. Bryce.
Some aren’t even legible. Not that a level can read.
The medium appears to be crayon, fingerpaint, ballpoint pen, and a string of viscous putty it’s best not to think too hard about.
“Do you like it?” the lady in the pencil skirt asks, standing next to Julia.
“I’m not much of an art person.”
“Mm-hm,” she answers noncommittally.
“We’ll use the standard. Focal point entered at fifty-seven inches.”
“Maybe a little lower.”
“How much lower?”
“About here.” She flattens her hand and puts it at about hip level. “So the artists can see it.”
She smiles and offers zero explanation.
“So kids did this?” Julia fills in the blanks.
One time, we lifted some modern art thing off a boat with a Czech flag. I wasn’t the guy who knew if it was worth anything or not. A kid could do this stuff, is what I thought. But it still looked like a grown-up was pretending to be a kid.
One thing you didn’t do when you were trying to fence it was suggest that a kid actually did it. You’d get a lecture or you’d offend someone giving you a view of the inside of their nostrils.
But Pencil Skirt Lady doesn’t lecture and she isn’t offended. “Mister Geggy has two children at Homer Academy. His daughter’s class made this for a fundraiser. There was a bidding war. It was so cute.”
“Ah. So he bought it.”
“One point two.”
“One point two?” Julia’s stunned.
“And the pool party. That sealed the deal.”
“It came framed, right?”
She just smiles. “The party’s tomorrow at four.”
“The patch plaster will be dry overnight. We’ll have it up by three. No problem.”
“Thank you.”
Her stilettos clack along the hardwood.
When she’s gone, Julia goes over to Tonya and says softly, “That’s why the usual art handlers aren’t here.”
“I think it’s cute,” Tonya says. “Let’s make it nice for the kids.”
“Yeah.” Julia snaps open her tape measure. “Imagine being that young and that seen.”
Tonya’s phone dings. She pulls it out and rolls her eyes. “Can you get those pictures off Caspian’s phone? My father’s got an entire plan.”
“Don’t we need to pay him first?”
“My dad clocks hours on whatever he thinks is interesting. Right now, that’s me.”
I know Tonya a little now, and I can tell this gives her some kind of satisfaction. “But he’s still clocking.”
“Yes. He says tonight. Something about filing deadlines.”
Tonya goes to Dan’s boat for the night.
Julia’s the one who vouched for me not stealing anything or misbehaving, so she’s the only one who has to stay on the Goddess. I sense she’s happy to give Tonya and Dan some space though.
She puts me on the built-in dresser in her room, next to my glasses, and takes down the bag with Caspian’s clothes in it, which was then my bag.
She talks to me as if I’m a real man. I like that.
Before, when I was in this form, it was all, “stay still,” and “come on, bubbles.” Now her voice knows me.
There’s tenderness in it. I may be stuck here, but I’m a man. Only she can make me feel like this.
I have never loved a woman the way I love this one.
“I’m really sorry about what happened today.
” She plugs in the charger. The phone makes a tone, then she leans down to look right at me, as if I can look back.
How I miss the ability to really see her and be seen.
“I totally froze. I imagined myself explaining to a judge how Caspian’s a screwdriver and you’re a level.
So I was like ‘what guy?’ and I think that’s what did it.
I should have known better. And now I have to bring you back.
So, we’re at this consent problem again.
And I’m sorry. In advance.” She stands straight and picks up the phone.
“I don’t know how fix this. I’m just going to tell myself you already said you’d fuck me in all three bunks so… shit.”
She sits on the bed, staring at the phone. She taps at the screen. Pauses. Taps more.
“Shit shit shit!” She throws it on the pillow. “Okay, Tony, you have to wait. Caspian has to come back.” She slides the screwdriver out of her toolbelt and talks to it. “You locked my phone. My phone. Like, for real? You’re a grown man. You’re allowed to have privacy but now…”
She stops talking when there’s a knock at the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s Nigel, Ms. Porter. Is Mr. Giraldi in?”
Her eyes look back and forth along my length, as if she’s wondering whether or not to hide me.
I’m just a level, Julia. It’s the best disguise ever.
The door is off to the side and behind a narrow doorway. I can hear them talking.
“Hi, Nigel. He’s uh… indisposed?”
“I have his ID card.”
“Thanks. I’ll take it.”
“I’d rather hand it to him personally. It was a lot of trouble to clear him. I want one last likeness check.”
“Okay, but you really wouldn’t want to talk to him now.”
I’d bet my last Enron share that Nigel sighs. I can’t hear him, and I’m sure Julia can’t either, because that would be impolite. But I know that guy’s sighing.
“I’ll come back in half an hour.”
“Thanks.” The door clicks shut. She comes back in and sits on the bed, staring at me. “Well, there’s that. How do you keep a level level on a boat, Tony? Look at me and tell me.”
I am looking at her, but I have no eyes and no idea how to do this. Every bit of attention I have as a stupid tool is fully on her and I still don’t know.
She watches my bubble go from one side of my tube to the other.
Back and forth.
Right to left.