I hand one can of black paint to Hayes and reach behind him to tuck one snugly into the back waistband of his jeans.
I’m surprised by a whiff of the cologne he’s wearing. It’s still familiar yet not at all unpleasant, which must be a weird mind trick or something because I know for a fact that this boy’s cologne stinks and I hate it.
I realize we’re staring at each other and I finally unfreeze.
Grabbing another can of spray paint for myself, I use it to point to the lower right of the cutout lion. “Start there.”
Hayes’s voice is gruff. “Get the feet going right and the rest will follow, huh?” Which is another saying from the Narnia book he gave me.
The smile in my voice is obvious as I say, “Or something corny like that.”
But I can’t get distracted now. This is go time.
I get Kat situated on the lion’s tail with a can of paint and explain to Ken about my organization system.
“I need you to keep an eye on these guys, and when they say they’re running low, you get ready to hand them a new can from these here.” I point to a collection of black spray cans with multicolored caps.
He nods his head and says, “Got it,” as if the cans are filled with oxygen and we’re all entering some high-altitude, life-threatening situation. I like Ken’s attitude.
Handing him an unlit flashlight, I call out, “Okay, guys. We’re going to try this without any lights. If you get a clogged cap or need to see better for a minute, just call ‘lights,’ and Ken here will shine on you from the base section. Best to not have too many moving beams.” I pat Ken on the back. “You good?”
He flinches, but nods.
As I pass Kat on my way to Scott’s ladder, I whisper to her, “That guy must be totally bonkers for you because he is scared shitless.”
She stops spraying the tail to smile at me in the twilight. “Yeah, we clicked pretty hard. Thanks again for covering for our first date.”
“Thank you for this. I owe you back about a thousand shift trades.”
“Oh, I’ll be cashing in on those.” She laughs. “Ken and I have some serious cosplay prep planned for the future.”
I climb the ladder where Scott is securing the upper section with more packing tape. I reach up and hand him a can of spray. “Nice work,” I say. “Leave the edges for Kat, Hayes, and me, but I think you can handle some of the center fill to save us time.”
I guide him in painting the inner portion of the lion’s back haunches as I emphasize how important it is to keep the can constantly moving.
“What I mostly need from you is no drips.” I poke him in the side to emphasize my words, and he twists away from me with a laugh.
Hayes coughs, and when I look down, he’s watching Scott and me. He sees me looking, and he quickly goes back to working on the lion’s feet.
I push away the urge to ask Scott what the hell he said to Hayes while I was climbing up the ladder. There’s no time, and besides, this work area is a drama-free zone.
I make my way back down to the grated walkway and grab two more cans of spray, one black and one hot pink. Crossing over to the opposite ladder, I pass Ken, who continues holding the thin railing in a death grip while watching Kat expertly work on the tail.
As I pass by Hayes, I give a low, “Thank you for this.”
His response of, “No problem,” reveals absolutely nothing about what Scott told him.
Launching up the opposite ladder, I position myself to start on the head, and after taking a moment to savor the fact that this is finally happening, I attack the first layer of the mane’s outline with the black paint.
My can’s psssshht feels like it’s coming from inside of me.
I’ve left the facial details open, so I can give our lion that special touch at the end, but I need to make sure I mask the Sparkle Soda ad.
My plan to incorporate some of the hot-pink color from the ad into the lion’s mane will make the end result more forgiving. Not to mention it will emphasize the fact that the garish advertisement is being devoured by our giant lion.
I pause a moment at the word our.
I’ve never thought of any of the lions belonging to anyone but me. I look down at the figures moving in the darkness, or in the case of Ken, standing stock-still in abject terror.
I feel my lips pull into a wide smile as I turn my attention back to the lion’s still-forming face.
Our lion’s face.
Chapter Nineteen
Things are running smoothly, and within a few hours, we’ve filled the first garbage bag with empty cans. The black bag rests at Ken’s feet, and he’s even let go of the railing…with one hand, anyway.
Ken has proven himself useful in directing the light where needed without flailing it about in a way that would call more attention to the tower than necessary.
Now that it’s later, I’m feeling more relaxed about someone spotting us. I figure once we hit around 2:00 a.m., we’ll be in the home stretch, since in my experience, folks who prefer the shroud of darkness are less inclined to be snitches.
As we gradually finish the initial foundation layer, I fire Scott from painting, since it turns out that a Venn diagram comparing the skill sets between chainsaw sculpting and graffiti painting would show very little overlap. That one commonality is the fast-moving pace of both art forms, but Scott has been layering on way too much paint, and it’s a good thing I brought extra.
He makes himself useful running supplies back and forth to Hayes, Kat, and me. Before long, we develop a shorthand system whereby we call out “black” or “gray” or some other color, and no matter where we are, we have fresh cans of paint in our outstretched hands within moments.
A few hours later, we’re finally ready to ditch the enormous stencil that’s now covered in so many dripping colors it looks like it could be an abstract art piece on its own. Like, if Jackson Pollock had taken his action painting in a more random direction.
At my guiding, Scott and I climb our opposite ladders and get busy undoing the tape that holds the stencil between us. Everyone stands back and watches as the giant cardboard cutout floats to the metal catwalk below.
“Wow,” Scott says, and we all stop to admire our mural so far.
The lion is still a faint, floating form, and big sections of his body need to be filled in. But he’s ready to start moving from ghostly to lifelike.
Ken gives an amazed, “Nice,” and in the dark, I nod my agreement.
Hayes is the first one to jump right back to work.
“Looking good!” Kat calls and shakes her spray can, making it clink happily.
Scott climbs down the ladder and starts gathering up the used stencil, while Ken kicks at it helpfully from where he stands, holding the railing.
Kat and Hayes and I are all working as fast as we can, but everything seems to be taking longer than I planned. I can’t believe I ever imagined I could do this alone, but if things flow smoothly from here on out, we just may finish before sunrise begins.
But we might not.
With a deep breath, I shove that thought down and start in on the most important part of the whole thing—the details of the lion’s face.
Kat bellows, “Orange!” to request a new full can, and in a hiss-whisper, she calls up to me, “This is amazing, Rory.”
“I know, right?” I don’t look away from the open mouth of fangs I’m carefully outlining.
A loud, metallic clatter explodes into the night, followed by an unhelpful round of shushing as we all turn to see what’s just happened.
Scott stands beside Ken with his hands raised in surrender. Ken hisses at Scott, “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“What happened?” I ask.
Scott and Ken gesture to the scattered cans at their feet. Scott says, “I just kicked over a whole shitload of cans.”
“Well, then, straighten them up.” I turn back to the lion’s mouth. “And pass Kat a can of orange while you’re at it.”
“No, you don’t understand,” Scott says. “There is no more orange. Or red or green and now we’re almost out of black.”
“What are you talking about?” Hayes growls from where he’s standing on the ladder opposite me. “There was just plenty… Oh.”
“What?” I’m annoyed by all the distractions at a point when I really need to concentrate. “Why are you guys just standing there looking down over the edge?”
“Because.” Scott covers his forehead with the palm of his hand. “That’s where half the paint just went.”
“You kicked the cans of paint over the edge?” I resist the urge to wing the spray can I’m holding at Scott’s head. But only because it’s still half-full and apparently we’re almost out of black. I desperately need black to shade in the rest of the face.
Hayes asks, “Was this whole thing not challenging enough for you?”
“It was an accident,” Scott says. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s great. Just great.” I scramble down the ladder to make a quick assessment of the damage. Looking over the cans, I’d say we’ve lost more than a dozen.
I glance up at our lion and catch my breath. It looks amazing. But we really do need those cans to finish. “Shit.”
“I’ll go down, see if I can find them. I think they fell mostly off to the right.” Scott heads for the ladder.
“No, we need you handing out what’s left of the paint,” I say. “We’re running out of time.”
Ken’s voice is strong. “I can hand out paint.” He stands staring at Kat for a moment, looking like he’s telling his hand to let go of the railing while his hand refuses to let go of the railing. “You need orange,” he says to Kat. “Will gold work?”
She smiles. “I can work with gold.” And we all stand, watching with amazement as Ken bends down and picks up a can of paint with a gold lid. He stretches as far as he can toward Kat while still holding on to the railing and, finally, pulls himself away from it.
“Ken!” Kat stretches toward him.
Walking like a zombie, Ken stomps along the grated walkway, holding up the can of paint as if it’s an Olympic torch. Like these are the opening ceremonies of some twisted tournament for the walking dead.
We all stand, watching speechless as Ken hands the can off to Kat in a slow-motion display of willpower and courage against overwhelming odds. We all break into whispered cheers of celebration at his triumph.
Ken has moved a grand total of about three feet.
“Nice,” I say. “Now, everybody, back to work. Scott, grab a flashlight and go see what you can salvage.”
“Already on my way.” Scott grabs an empty backpack before moving to the ladder and quickly disappearing into the dark abyss below.
I look up at the blank expression on the lion towering over our heads, trying to come up with an alternate plan in case Scott can’t find those missing cans.
“You okay?” Hayes asks from halfway up the opposite ladder he’s been working from. He’s holding a can of paint poised over the lion’s still-forming back.
I look at him through the darkness, wishing I could shine a flashlight to read his expression. “Mistakes happen, right?”
“All we can do is keep on trying,” he says.
I’m hopeful that he’s not just talking about our mural as I make my way back up toward our lion’s still-forming face.
• • •
Fortunately, Scott manages to get down and back up fairly quickly. Unfortunately, he only finds about half of the lost cans, and even more unfortunately, most of our black is now gone.
“It was hard spotting the black cans with the black caps in the dark.” Scott holds open the pack, showing me the cans he’s salvaged. “I am so sorry, Rory.”
“It was an accident.” I consider the remaining supplies and quickly map out a new plan in my mind. All my creative synapses are sparking.
Quickly climbing up the ladder where Hayes is working, I hand him the final two cans of black paint. “Finish up the back end with these as best you can. Then that’s it for black.”
He gives me a nod in the dark and continues working.
Moving to the front, I lean back, debating how I can make the rest of this work without black. I’ll be forced to keep some of the underlying color from the Sparkle ad and use it for accent lines.
I picture the ways I’ll incorporate the faded pink into the lion’s mane and facial features, and realize that, no matter what, the lion will be more pink than I’d planned. And, of course, we have plenty of pink spray paint left too.
I think about Mom’s approach to unplanned obstacles when she was making art.
I’m remembering an endless series of different pieces that she trashed when she was unable to get things just right. In particular, a beautiful clay bowl that she pounded down until it was just a useless lump because she couldn’t make it perfect.
Maintaining her artistic vision was what mattered.
I sigh. I’m way too stubborn to be a true artist because I don’t give a shit if he’s dripping and deformed and his colors are all wrong, wrong, wrong; this lion is going to freaking roar at the break of dawn.
• • •
I’m working on the lion’s right eye and just noticing how tired my arm muscles are getting when I hear a faint beeping sound coming from below. It sounds oddly familiar but I can’t quite place it.
“What the hell is that?” Kat shout-whispers.
“Where’s it coming from?” I call down and see Ken already riffling through the empty supply bags.
The sound gets louder as Ken holds up a lit smartphone. “It’s someone’s cell phone. Who has the red-and-black case that says OBEY?”
OhmyGod. “Turn it off. Turn it off.” I race down the ladder toward him as fast as I can while my phone continues to stroke out with a frenzied alarm.
“What’s your passcode?” Ken is swiping at the face of it.
“No, I mean Shut. It. Down!”
I reach him just as he swipes right to turn off my phone and I see the notification for only a split moment before it disappears. But I don’t need to read the notification to know what just happened.
My screen goes black too late. My dad has just traced my cell phone and locked in on this location.
And I don’t need any notifications to know a few other things too. He’s already pissed and he’s heading this way.
Everyone is frozen, watching me. I realize my lungs are empty, and I slowly inflate them.
Stepping back until the railing presses against my butt, I take the flashlight from Scott and sweep it from top to bottom, over our full design.
It’s definitely looking very lionlike. But it’s not quite done yet. And we’re completely out of time.
The mission has failed. I look from face to face, all watching me.
I have to at least try. “Okay, guys. That was my dad tracking my phone. I need you all to clear out. Now.” Nobody moves, and I shout, “The cops are coming!”
A harmony of groans rises up, and Ken lets out a panicked squeal as cans rattle and everyone moves quickly toward the exit ladder.
I start shaking my spray can, and Kat looks back and asks, “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’ll be fine. I should have time to at least finish most of the details on the face before my dad gets here.”
Everyone turns to look at the design, and Scott says, “The body looks like his fur is molting or something. There are too many unfinished places. I can’t believe I fucked up so bad, Rory. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not all your fault.”
“Just mostly your fault,” Ken chimes in.
“I way underestimated how long things wo
uld take,” I say. “It’ll be okay. I’ll get as much done as I can before my dad climbs up. He’ll have to handcuff me if he wants to stop me from painting.”
“He is going to straight-up arrest your ass,” Kat says.
“You don’t know that,” Scott says. “He might not arrest his own daughter.”
Hayes turns to me. “We can’t let you take the fall for this whole thing.”
“Well, I won’t forgive myself if you guys get into trouble.”
Ken says, “Maybe we can block his way or something? Make it so he can’t come the whole way up here?”
“And what?” I say. “You think he’ll get bored and go away? You have clearly never met my dad. He’ll have a task force surrounding the tower and helicopters buzzing around our heads.”
Scott says, “Maybe your dad didn’t get a lock on your phone before Ken shut it off.”
Kat turns back to the lion and begins spraying again. After a moment, Hayes moves back into position and stretches out his arm. The sound of their cans hiss into the sprawling night. Our big, crazy night that will all be over very, very soon.
“Come on, guys. You’re running out of time. You need to clear out. Leave the rest to me.”
Between spray strokes, Hayes says, “Not. Leaving. You.”
Kat stops spraying a moment. “Accept it, you’re not getting rid of us.”
I look back and forth from Scott to Ken. “You guys should really get out of here.”
Ken looks at Kat and says, “I’d rather spend the night in jail than walk away from what is happening up here tonight.”
Kat turns around and strides directly up to him. Grabbing the back of his neck, she kisses him firmly before releasing him to go back to painting.
Scott and I look at each other with raised eyebrows, and he smiles. “Well, I’d like to stay and see how all this plays out.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “This really goes above the friend-zone pay grade.”
He gives my shoulder a light punch. “Depends on the friend.” He grabs a new can of silver paint and heads up the ladder toward a big section that desperately needs to be filled in. My eyes shift immediately to Hayes.
Love and Vandalism Page 22
