The Art of Wag Page 4

  “My place is just sitting there empty. It’s not like I don’t have somewhere I can go.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” She gripped his hand. “I just wanted you to know, that’s all. There’s a chance my mother could show up. I mean, I hope not, but you never know with her. She could just decide to drive up here and there she’d be, just standing there on my doorstep. I mean our doorstep.” Kat groaned. “And that would be awful on so many levels.”

  Joel reached over and caressed her cheek with his fingertips. “Sometimes you confuse me.”

  “I know. Sometimes I confuse myself.”

  Chapter 3

  Black Berets

  The Turd made it to the city without any automotive incidents, which was nothing short of a miracle. Tracy knew it was a risk taking the ancient car on a road trip, because there was always the possibility that it would have some type of anxiety attack under the hood and decide that remaining in motion was just too much for its tender sensibilities. With a great sense of relief, Tracy collapsed that night at Shelby’s apartment. The next morning, they took the bus to campus and Shelby pointed Tracy in the right direction to make it to her class.

  Tracy walked into the room and zeroed in on a place to sit. Tables were set up with two computers sitting on each one. She took a seat at one of the empty tables and examined the machine in front of her. When was the last time she’d even used a computer? It would be totally humiliating if she killed it. The professor didn’t appear to have arrived yet. Tracy put her hands in her lap and looked around the room at her fellow classmates. She couldn’t hurt the computer while it was off, anyway.

  All the other students in the room seemed to know what they were doing. Every one of them was dressed in black. Who wore a black turtleneck in sunny Southern California, anyway? Probably they were all art majors. Maybe all the art snobs had gone digital by now.

  In her college art classes, Tracy had discovered that many art majors spent far more time ruminating on the aesthetic and social value of art, rather than actually producing art. Because they tended to wear all black all the time, she referred to them as the “black-beret crowd.” The most pretentious black berets focused on brush strokes and the importance of the medium in “the work.” But did brush strokes even exist in digital artwork? What would they talk about now?

  Tracy sighed. This class was likely to be strange and awkward. She shouldn’t have come. Who was she kidding? One weekend class wasn’t going to give her enough information to get a job doing this stuff. And what she really needed was a job, not flashbacks to the days of blundering aimlessly through college art classes.

  Tracy turned in her chair and looked at the door. Shelby would be so disappointed if she just bailed out on this class. A tall, lanky man wearing baggy pants and a light-blue shirt that didn’t fit quite right scuttled through the doorway and upon spotting the empty seat next to Tracy, strode across the room and put his backpack down on the table with a thunk. He smiled at Tracy and pushed his glasses farther up on his nose. “Hi. This is the Photoshop class, right?”

  Tracy nodded. “Yes. But I don’t think the instructor is here yet. Maybe she is running late.”

  “That’s a relief.” He sat down in the chair next to her. “I couldn’t find a parking place anywhere. I felt like I was walking for miles, and then I ended up at the wrong building. It’s been a long morning.”

  “A friend showed me which building to go to, so that helped a lot. I’m sure I would have gotten lost.” Tracy tried to smile sympathetically. “But you made it.” And sat next to her. Perfect. So much for all that extra table space.

  The man took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He pulled a notepad and pencils out of his backpack and paused to turn and put out his hand. “I’m Rob.”

  Tracy shook his hand. “I’m Tracy. Do you know much about this software?”

  Rob shook his head. “Not really. At my job, I set up computer networks and satellite services. My boss wanted a web site, so I created one for the company. But he thought it was ugly, so they’re sending me to this class so I can fix it.”

  “How bad could it be?” She wouldn’t know a good web site from a bad one.

  “I guess it needs more graphics. And my boss called the colors I selected horrifying, which I thought was a little harsh.” He looked down at his row of pencils and picked one up to study it. “I warned them before I started that everything I’ve ever tried to draw ends up looking like a three-year-old’s rendition of a pig. I’m not really artistic at all, so I’m not sure how much this class is going to help.”

  Tracy leaned forward and put her elbows on the table. “I took some art classes in college, but I don’t have a computer, so I’m not sure about this either. My friend gave me a free coupon so I could take the class, which was really nice of her, since normally it’s pretty expensive. But without a computer of my own, I’m not going to be able to try out anything we learn here. So it’s probably all kind of pointless.” Why was she telling this guy all this? It was time to shut up now.

  Rob put on his glasses again and looked around the room. “I think we may be the only ones here who are old enough to drink.”

  “Thanks for bringing that up.” Tracy noted the row of pencils and notepad neatly arranged on Rob’s side of the table. She probably should have brought something to write on. Maybe they’d have handouts. She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a tiny notepad that she used for grocery lists.

  Rob handed her the perfectly sharpened pencil he was holding. “Do you need something to write with? I brought a bunch.”

  “Thanks.” She looked around the room again. “Where do you suppose the instructor is?”

  “I don’t know. I hope she shows up. A lot of people ask me about web sites. It would be great if I can learn enough here that I can create web sites that aren’t hideous. Then I could get out of the networking business. At least creating web sites would be inside work. Crawling around on ladders to attach satellite dishes on buildings is starting to get to me.”

  “Yeah, I guess that would be harsh. At least, it’s warm here. It could be worse. You could live in Alaska or something.” Tracy wanted to laugh at his earnest expression. She could certainly relate to the desire for a career change. He was kind of goofy-looking, with unruly brows and a long face. The overall disheveled look kind of reminded her of Shaggy in Scooby-Doo. Behind the wire-rimmed glasses, he had tawny hazel eyes, which were surprisingly expressive. Right now, he was so intent on what he was saying, it softened the overall Shaggy impression. But if he said “Zoinks,” she really would burst out laughing.

  A large woman charged into the room and the door slammed behind her. She had a black beret jauntily placed on her wild curly black hair and wore thick glasses with severe black frames. Setting her books on the desk at the front of the room, she exclaimed, “Ladies and gentlemen, turn on your computers. It’s time to make art!”

  Along with everyone else in the room, Tracy and Rob straightened in their chairs and rummaged around to find the power switch on the computer. Class had begun.

  After class, Tracy took the bus back to Shelby’s apartment. Her brain felt like mush after a whole day of learning about paths, masks, filters, and layers. Who knew messing around with a bunch of pixels could be so complicated?

  On the other hand, she had learned enough to create a pretty cool drawing of Roxy. She had also discovered why Rob’s boss might have considered his color choices “horrifying.” Maybe Rob wasn’t just nearsighted. He might actually be color-blind. It seemed to be the only possible explanation for the grotesque creations she saw on his monitor.

  Maybe she’d sit next to someone else tomorrow. Perhaps she’d just taken a lot of art classes, but Rob seemed to have the aesthetic sensibilities of a goat. He also didn’t seem to realize that what he was creating was repellent. To her credit, the instructor, Ms. Melina, had tried to remain encouraging, but the expression on her face was telling. As she squinted through the heav
y lenses of her glasses at his creations on the screen, she looked like she’d eaten a rotten lemon.

  Shelby had given Tracy the key to her place, so she let herself in and was greeted by Billy Bob, the jumbo cat. Even Squiggy, the stinky gray tabby at the vet clinic the other day, was small by comparison. Billy Bob was a proud orange member of the 20-pounder club. It wasn’t just that he was fat, which he was, but he was also tall, burly, and extremely furry, which added to his imposing feline presence. The cat lumbered toward Tracy, his prodigious gut swinging back and forth as he approached.

  Tracy crouched down to say hello. “Hey, Billy Bob. How’s the mega-cat?”

  Billy Bob flopped over on his back and exposed his pale orange-and-white underbelly for Tracy to rub. He curled his paws up to his chest and closed his eyes, obviously expecting Tracy to comply with his demand for affection.

  At the sound of the door unlocking, Tracy stood and turned. Shelby walked into the room and threw her book bag on the entry table. She looked down at the expanse of orange cat. “So are you falling for the charms of that big ole lug? That fine figure of a feline, Billy Bob, obviously has you trained.”

  “Yes. He’s a sweetheart, although I didn’t appreciate finding him on my head this morning when I woke up. Breakfast is clearly an important part of his day.”

  At the comment, Billy Bob stood up to his full height, stretched, and bellowed a throaty meow.

  Shelby chuckled. “Yes my liege, I’ll get right on that cat-food program.”

  “So what’s in the bag?”

  Shelby looked down at the grocery sack she was holding. “I stopped by the store. I know you wanted to go out somewhere, but let’s face it—you know neither of us can afford that. I took that cash you lent me for lunch and bought dinner. We’re eating in.”

  “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. It’s my last chance to see the big city and I’m broke. I hate this.”

  “Oh, it won’t be so bad darlin’.” Shelby put down the bag on the kitchen counter. “I edited a paper for another grad student and she was so happy that she gave me a bottle of wine.” She pulled a bottle out of the bag and presented it to Tracy with a flourish.

  Tracy examined the label. “Hmm. Do you suppose last year was a good year?”

  “Don’t look gift hooch in the mouth. It’s better than no year, which is what we had before.”

  Tracy put the bottle down. “That’s true. So what’s for dinner?”

  “I know you’ve been eating that nasty packaged pasta stuff, so I’m gonna get some good Southern food into you. It will help your brain power. You just watch.”

  “At my place, we refer to that packaged pasta stuff as dinner.”

  Shelby paused in her kitchen organizing. “I know. And that’s just sad. So tonight we’re having black-eyed peas, greens, and my famous homemade corn bread. It’s good for you, and the total cost for both of us is less than five dollars.”

  “Greens? You know how I feel about vegetables.” Tracy picked up the evil bundle of leaves. “At least it’s not grits.”

  “This food is part of my heritage. And you know you love my corn bread.”

  “That’s true. It is amazing. You have won over countless men with that recipe. They date you just to get more of the stuff.” That and the fact that Shelby was beautiful in an elfin way. She had a round face and a sweet smile that seemed to turn men into a puddle of quivering gelatinous goo.

  “My grandma’s corn bread recipe is my secret weapon.” The corner of Shelby’s mouth turned up in a small, knowing smile. “You could learn a thing or two from watching me cook, you know.”

  “I suppose. I hope you’re right about my brain power too. Today I thought my brain would explode. Why do they make software so complicated? It’s like it’s out to get me.”

  Shelby poured some of the wine into two glasses and handed one to Tracy. “Cheers! Don’t think of the software as complicated. Think of it as empowering. Remember how you struggled with paints? You can’t erase paint with just a click.”

  “My apartment is ample proof of that. I’m hoping my mother doesn’t stop by. There was a cerulean blue incident that it’s probably better she not know about.”

  “So other than the software being complicated, did you enjoy the class?”

  “Sort of. At first, the guy I was sitting next to was afraid the instructor wouldn’t show.”

  Shelby tilted her glass toward Tracy. “Guy? Is there something you aren’t telling me?”

  “No. I tried to make myself look large like I needed the whole table to myself, but it didn’t work. He spotted the empty seat. I guess he was harmless enough. At least he wasn’t some art snob. I created a picture of Roxy that I thought was okay. The layering effects you can create are cool. Once I figured out how to do some stuff, the time flew by.”

  Shelby sipped her wine. “See! That’s great. You’re so talented. I wish you’d stayed around here and gotten an art degree.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be.” Tracy twirled the wine in her glass. It was a deep, rich burgundy color that almost looked velvety as it swirled around. “After I dropped out twice and pretty much flunked the biology program, effectively killing the idea of vet school, my father said there was no way he’d pay for any more college. And he told me an art degree would be useless as far as getting a job. You know I’ve never had enough money to try and go back myself. I can barely pay my tiny rent. Now, it all just seems pointless. I can paint by myself whenever I want, after all. So what do I need a degree for, anyway? Plus, I don’t miss the black-beret crowd.”

  Shelby shook her head. “It just bothers me that you didn’t pursue something you enjoy. That’s what school is for.”

  “Not according to my father.” Tracy put down her glass and leaned on the counter toward Shelby. “Oh, you’ll be amused to note, my instructor actually was wearing a black beret when she walked in. I almost laughed out loud!”

  “Maybe it’s a uniform. So you can pick artists out of a crowd. It’s like at home in Alabama where you can spot the biggest loser rednecks because they wear their baseball hats turned backwards. And then they’re shading their eyes with their hand. There’s some comedian who calls the backwards hat the “stupid sign.” All I know is that it’s helpful when you’re driving. You see a guy with a stupid sign and you know you gotta give him a wide berth. Because you never know what dumbass maneuver he’s gonna pull in that rusty ole Ford pickup of his.”

  Tracy laughed. “Remind me not to visit your home town. Alpine Grove is bad enough. The hunters are all out in their rusty pickups. But they’re wearing camo gear, so they think you can’t see them.”

  Joel stood in front of the open pantry in the kitchen. “Kat, could you come here for a minute?”

  Kat put down her novel, got up from the sofa, and was followed by three dogs. She stood next to Joel. “What’s wrong?” The canines—Lori, Lady, and Linus—stared into the pantry lovingly. The huge wooden box full of human food was always a source of great interest.

  Joel pointed at a huge plastic jug in the cabinet. “What is that?”

  “Mustard.”

  “I know that. It’s a lot of mustard. No one needs this much mustard, except maybe a baseball concession stand.”

  Kat shook her head. “The grocery store has a new restaurant-supply aisle. Maria thought it was incredible. I didn’t notice that she’d grabbed this until we were checking out.”

  “How can you not notice when your friend puts a six-pound jar of mustard into your cart?”

  “I was trying to keep her from buying any more Twinkies. We have more than enough.”

  “That’s for sure.” Joel sighed. “Could you return the mustard? It’s not opened. Just because something is a good deal doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”

  “All right. I discovered it when she was here and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She did buy a lot of food for us.”

  “Mustard is a fine condiment, but it’s not something we can live on. What do you wa
nt for dinner?”

  Kat gazed at the pantry and then grinned at him. “Well you’ve ruled out mustard and Twinkies. That really limits our options, you know.”

  Joel grabbed some cans and walked to the kitchen. “I’ll wing it. Would you chop up some carrots for me?”

  Kat headed for the refrigerator, followed by the three dogs. “I’m on it.”

  Joel started opening cans and dumping them into a pot. “You have a parade of large dogs following you. What did you do with the little one? Where’s the dachshund?”

  Kat looked around her. “She was right next to me.” She bent down to look under Linus’s hairy body. “Okay guys. Where is Roxy?” All three dogs wagged, but none of them gave any indication that they had any clue where the dachshund had gone.

  “You didn’t lose the dog, did you?”

  Kat stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Lose is such a strong word. Roxy is here somewhere. I’ll look around.” She went back to the living room and looked under the sofa and end tables. Lori licked her ear. “Yuck. Lori, why do you always have to do that?”

  A small yip noise came from the direction of the kitchen. Kat pushed Lori away and stood up. “Did you hear that?”

  Joel stopped chopping carrots. “I heard something. Was it the dog?”

  Kat started back toward the kitchen. There was a louder woof and all the dogs ran back to the kitchen and stared at the walls and cabinets.

  Joel put down the knife and leaned back against the counter. “Was it from inside or outside? She didn’t get out, did she?”

  Kat’s shoulders slumped. “I hope not. She doesn’t really do stairs, but I’ll go look, just in case.” She waved at the dogs. “Let’s go, everyone.” It was pouring rain and Kat grabbed an umbrella and a raincoat on her way out. The dogs thundered down the front steps and then turned to glare at Kat. She waved at them. “I know. Yes, it’s raining. Get over it. Look for Roxy. You’re dogs. Use your noses. Sniff her out.”