Wiser

by Lexie Ray

  “Anyone who has artistic ability is, by definition, an artist,” Dan maintained. “Well, let’s see it.”

  “Now?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Here?”

  “Yeah,” Dan said, nodding emphatically. “I’d like a portrait of myself, please. I’d pay you, of course. I’d never ask an artist to give me their artwork for free.”

  “It’s not going to be artwork,” I said, smiling as I pulled a marker and a pad of order tickets from beneath the bar. “It’s just going to be a crappy marker drawing on an order ticket.”

  “Art comes in many different forms,” Dan said stubbornly. “Who knows? We could have a Picasso on our hands.”

  “Very funny,” I said, my voice dry. “Strike a pose, then.”

  Dan extended one arm up into the air and curved the other behind his head, looking absolutely ridiculous. A couple of Mama’s girls serving tables nearby covered their mouths to hide their laughter at the sight. I laughed outright.

  “Is something wrong with my pose?” Dan said, staring straight up in the same direction of his outstretched arm.

  “Nothing wrong with it at all,” I said, chortling as I sketched the outline of his body as lightly as I could. When I got the shape right, I laid in the details a little more surely—the buttons on his shirt, the spikes in his hair, all the way down to his kind eyes and clean fingernails.

  “Here we are,” I said. “You can stop doing that pose now. Please. People are looking at you.”

  Dan relaxed his arms and took the pad as I handed it to him. I thought it was a fair sketch, realizing that I needed to practice some more, but he was thrilled with it.

  “Blue!” he exclaimed. “This is great! And it took you like, what? A minute?”

  “Oh, stop,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “It’s not that good. I’m out of practice. You should’ve seen me a few years ago.” Never mind that a few years ago I was still in high school and struggling to raise my brothers and sisters.

  “I’m being serious,” he said. “This is a great sketch. How much will you sell it to me for?”

  “Sell it?” I snorted. “I’ll give it to you.”

  “Nope,” Dan said adamantly, shaking his head and getting his wallet out. “I told you that I’d be paying for your art and I intend to. Name your price.”

  “A dollar?” I said uncertainly.

  Dan clucked at me. “Take some pride in your work,” he said. “This is great stuff we’re mining, Blue.”

  “Two dollars?”

  “I’m giving you twenty,” he said, peeling the bill from his wallet and holding it out to me.

  I recoiled. “The sketch isn’t worth that,” I protested. “It’s not worth the paper I drew it on, or the marker I drew it with.”

  “I insist,” he said. “I want to buy this artwork from you for twenty dollars.”

  “Fine,” I scoffed, snatching the bill. “But you’re crazy. I could do better.”

  “Then do another one,” he said. “I’ll even do a different pose.” He propped his chin up on both fists and gave a big cheesy smile, batting his eyelashes at me.

  I cackled at how ludicrous he looked.

  “Here’s an idea,” he said, dropping out of his pose and leaning forward earnestly. “Let me give you a taste of the marketing firm where I work.”

  “Okay …”

  “A client comes in,” he said, walking his fingers across the bar to the pad of paper. “We have a meeting with them to talk about their product or company or whatever.” He sat his fingers down at the edge of the paper, treating it like it was a conference table or something. “We have graphic designers sitting in on the meeting, taking notes and doing sketches.” He tapped the marker with one of his fingers. “After that meeting, and deciding on what kind of campaign we want to move forward with, the graphic designers will start putting together promotional materials or ads or whatever.”

  He’d had my rapt attention the entire time. “Give me an example,” I said. “Anything. You’re the client. I’m the designer. Go.”

  Dan pressed his lips together, thinking, and then lit up. “Okay,” he started. “I own an adult novelty store. Not only do I stock the regular items—sex toys and the like—I’ve also started stocking regular items that would appeal to the same clientele, like crayons with naughty names for the colors, card games with sexual twists, and coloring books with nudity. I’m trying to branch out, expand my merchandise and boost my sales, not alienate my regular customer base, and draw in new customers.”

  I’d filled several sheets of order tickets with the notes I’d taken, then made a couple of sketches based on some of the products he’d told me about. One was a simple drawing of a naked woman posing, but the majority of her boobs were missing. The crayon apparently drawing her had just paused on that part. I’d also jotted down some catchy phrases that had sprung to mind.

  “All right,” Dan said. “Let’s hear the pitch.”

  I showed him the pad, not sure what a pitch was. “It sounds like you want to bring more people in with more normal merchandise,” I said. “Not everybody needs a new dildo every day, after all.”

  “True,” Dan remarked, flipping through the pages on the pad.

  “So you have this new merchandise that might be a little more socially acceptable, but it’s still edgy,” I continued. “You don’t want to weird out your regulars by them thinking you’ve gone mainstream, but you want to draw in new people—people who don’t regularly go out and buy a dildo, but who might like to buy a gag gift for someone or a conversation piece for themselves.”

  “Go on.”

  “So maybe the way you sell it is to have these sexy little ads,” I said. “They’d remind people that all of us are a little dirty on the inside—somewhere, there’s still a kid who snickers at the most inappropriate times.”

  Dan turned to the page on the pad that featured a little group of doctors—grown men and women—covering their mouths and holding their bellies in mirth at two scientific posters of male and female genitalia.

  Dan grabbed my hands, making me jump, and stared at me.

  “Have you ever been in marketing before?” he asked, his face serious.

  “No,” I said, wondering why he was holding my hands so tightly.

  “I wasn’t just giving you a random example,” he said. “That was the client we’re trying to figure out how to handle right now. Nobody’s come up with anything the client’s happy with, yet, and no one’s come even close to what you’ve done here—in five minutes. This is incredible work.”

  I flushed with pleasure at his praise. People praised my sexiness and my ability to sling a drink together, but it’d been a long time since I’d been paid a compliment about my art.

  “Thank you,” I said shyly. “If you think it’d help, you can take the pad to your designers.”

  “I’m going to take you to my designers, if you agree to it,” Dan said, releasing my hands. “This is incredibly inspired work, Blue.”

  I laughed, suddenly uncomfortable. “Just take the pad,” I urged, “if you want to take anything. I’m not going to be able to contribute to your firm. I don’t even have a college degree.”

  “There are things you can learn in college, that’s true,” Dan said thoughtfully. “But there are other things that just come naturally. Blue, you’re one of the best natural designers I’ve ever seen. These things that you came up with—they’re incredible. I can’t gush enough about it. Are you ever free during regular business hours? Would you even be interested in coming to the firm? I could offer you a freelancer’s fee.”

  The price he quoted next made my eyes bug out. “Seriously?” I asked. I thought about the wad of money Mama had given me for the abortion, then thought of it doubling and tripling. If what Dan was saying was true, I could make all that money with my art.

  But then, my heart sank. Who would ever want a woman of my profession coming into their legitimate place of business?

  “No, no, no,” Dan said.
“It’s that sad look again. I hate that look. I’d do anything to keep that look from your face. What’s wrong? Do you not want to go to the firm?”

  I sighed. “It’s not that,” I said. “Of course I’d want to go. But you do know what we do here at Mama’s nightclub, don’t you Dan?”

  There were very few people who didn’t know exactly what was what before strolling in to enjoy a night in here.

  Dan shrugged. “I hear catchy music, I see beautiful women, and I taste the best vodka sours in all of New York. Whatever you’re doing here, you’re doing it right.”

  I pointed at Shimmy, who was currently leading a customer to the stairs to go up to the bedrooms. “And what do you think happens upstairs?” I asked.

  He smiled. “I’m not ignorant to the little quirks of your nightclub,” he said. “If it bothered me, I wouldn’t come here. As long as it’s two consenting adults, I don’t know why prostitution is even illegal. Oldest profession there is.”

  I shook my head. Full disclosure, I told myself. It was best to be honest at the get go. It saved so much heartache at the end.

  “I’ve taken paying customers up there, too,” I said, indicating the stairs. “I’m a part of this entire thing.”

  If Dan was shocked by my admission, he didn’t show it. “I would expect that,” he said. “You’re one of the most beautiful girls working here.”

  I flushed at that. Okay, time for fuller disclosure. “And one of my recent customers put a baby in my belly,” I said. “So, there’s that. I don’t think you want this hot mess in front of you anywhere near your marketing firm.”

  Dan’s eyes flicked down to my flat belly and up to my face. Long seconds passed before he smiled.

  “A baby on the way,” he said. “Congratulations. I’d imagine you were looking for a way out of the nightclub life, to try to raise your son or daughter in the best environment possible. If I were you, I’d leap at a chance to get out of here. For your child’s sake.”

  It surprised me that he didn’t suggest that I got rid of the child inside of me. It downright shocked me that he was being so nice about everything. Was he patronizing me about the marketing deal?

  “Is this what your strange night is all about?” he asked softly—so quietly that I had to lean forward to catch the words.

  “I guess it’d be more accurate to say that you’ve caught me in the middle of my strange life,” I said. “I’ve spent my whole life with people telling me what I need to do and getting pulled in all different directions. I don’t even know what I want anymore.”

  I didn’t understand why I was telling him this—some customer I’d only just met. But with a girdle holding in my gut, which was physical proof that I was carrying an actual human being inside me, I didn’t know where else to turn.

  Dan smiled, covering one of my hands with his larger one. “You know,” he said. “No one knows what’s best for yourself more than you.”

  I wanted that to be true. I wanted to know beyond the shadow of a doubt that I was wise enough to make my own decisions. But I felt that this entire time, I’d been letting myself down.

  I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. “When’s a good time for you at the firm?” I asked, immediately rewarded with a beautiful grin from Dan.

  “Can you meet me at this address about 10 tomorrow morning?” he asked, pushing a business card toward me. “I know it’s kind of short notice, but the client will be there, expecting something that I only just acquired a few minutes ago.”

  That sent a thrill of nerves down my spine, but I smiled all the same.

  “Perfect,” I said, plucking the card up and putting it in my pocket.

  Dan shook his head, rubbing his mouth with his hand. “I don’t know how I could ever thank you,” he said. “I feel like someone just dropped you right in my lap.”

  I blushed a little at his choice of words. “The feeling’s mutual,” I said.

  “Then it’s meant to be.”

  Chapter Six

  Even though I’d only gone to sleep at about 5 in the morning, jittery with excitement and nerves, I popped out of bed at 8. The boarding house was silent, the other girls also having only gone to sleep a few hours earlier. I showered and styled my hair, trying it in a couple of different ways before giving up and slicking it back into a bun. I didn’t want to look like I was going out for a night on the town when I showed up at Dan’s firm.

  Back in my room, nothing fit. I was going to have to spring for some bigger pants, it was apparent. I’d set out a pair of khakis, but there was no way I was getting them zipped and buttoned over my ever-growing bump. The girdle was becoming less and less help.

  I finally chanced upon a pretty jersey knit dress that tied at the side, accommodating my increasing girth. I was pleased to see that pairing it with a light cardigan helped conceal the bump. I was even more grateful that it was so early that I was guaranteed not to run into Mama or anyone else.

  I looked forward to the day when I wouldn’t have to hide the fact that I was pregnant. Most women were proud of it, buying cute clothes to show off their growing bumps.

  I still wasn’t sure how I felt about it. Did I wish Jake were still in the picture? Of course I did. It was so hard to face parenthood alone.

  But I didn’t feel as desperate as I had been feeling. Something about going to Dan’s firm—or maybe even Dan himself—had helped restore my faith in the situation.

  I had a way out of Mama’s nightclub if everything went well today. That sent even more nerves fluttering in my belly, but I couldn’t ignore the possibility. This could be the way I’d start earning honest money, leaning on my artistic talent instead of my looks.

  Keeping my makeup demure, I stuffed a tote bag with some pencils, pens, my sketchbook, phone, and wallet. I slipped on my most comfortable pair of wedges and looked at my reflection in the mirror hanging on the door.

  A careful observation would show a pregnant woman, pretty but conservative. I wasn’t sure how graphic designers dressed, so I didn’t know if I looked like one. I was going to try to find out.

  Even though it was still early, I left the building and hailed a cab. I didn’t want to make a bad impression by being late.

  I showed the driver the card and sat back to relax and enjoy the ride, trying to forget my anxiety.

  It was dangerously easy to get sucked into life at the nightclub. If all your friends were in one place already, there was little point of leaving. Back in the early days, I would go whole months without leaving the building. It could really warp a girl’s brain and alter her reality, making the life inside of the nightclub seem more and more normal until it was the only thing there was.

  The ride across the city was nice. I might get out of the nightclub every once in a while to go to the store, or to the clinic if I was sick—or was supposed to get an abortion—but it’d been a long time, indeed since I’d explored the city. I saw places I hadn’t seen since I first got to the Big Apple. It filled me with an inexplicable longing for those crazy early days, when I was exploring both myself and the city. I might not have always had a place to stay in the morning, but I’d figure it out by the evening.

  With a small stab of shock, I realized that life would never be like that again. As much as I might have enjoyed it then, I now had to think for two people: me and the baby within me.

  Responsibilities just got a lot more real.

  It was 9:30 in the morning when the cab driver pulled up outside of the marketing firm. Intimidated, I pressed my face against the cab window and looked up at the sleekly modern building, its outside covered in window after window of glittering glass.

  “This is the address on the card,” he said.

  “I know,” I said. “I just didn’t expect it to be so big.”

  I paid him and got out of the cab, looking around. Everyone in this part of town was dressed extremely professionally. I should’ve worn a suit—if I’d even had one hanging in my closet. I was woefully underdressed and il
l prepared. It was all I could do not to hail another cab and go back to the nightclub, where I apparently belonged. I didn’t fit in to this world.

  Maybe if I didn’t have a baby growing in my belly, I’d do it. But this was a chance at a new life, and I had to try to seize it.

  The lobby area of the building was just as modern as the outside with smooth concrete flooring and enormous windows. It was bustling with activity—people waiting in an alcove of aluminum chairs, others walking quickly across the expanse. There were several coffee and snack kiosks positioned around the area.

  I realized I didn’t know where to go until I stumbled on a directory display. It showed all of the businesses that the building contained. That comforted me a little bit. At least Dan’s firm wasn’t big enough for its own skyscraper.

  Creative Marketing Solutions. Seventeenth floor. Bingo.

  Happy that I was still early, I walked across the lobby to the row of elevators. The ride was too quick, I decided, as I stepped hesitantly out into another, smaller lobby on the seventeenth floor. My heart was pounding as I approached the glass desk.

  “Hello,” I said, flashing a smile at the receptionist. “I’m afraid I’m a little early, but I’m supposed to meet Dan Fraser here at 10.”

  “Name, please?” she asked, looking at me with interest.

  I wanted to tell her Sandra Webber, but Dan wouldn’t know me by that name. I wasn’t even sure that I knew myself by that name. Was Blue enough?

  “Blue,” I said, unable to come up with anything different.

  “Oh, yes,” the receptionist said, tapping at something I couldn’t see on the other side of the desk. “He’s expecting you. I’ll go let him know that you’re here.”

  She walked around behind a partition and I was left by myself in the little lobby. Compared to the receptionist, who was just wearing dark trouser jeans and an embellished T-shirt, I was overdressed. I resigned myself to the fact that I just wasn’t going to get it right on my first try here.

  “You’re already breaking the first cardinal rule of graphic designers,” Dan said, grinning as he entered the lobby and took my hand to shake it. Its warmth—and his good looks—were a welcome distraction from my nervousness.