switch.
Unfortunately, my business in the ladies room was not entirely finished.
As soon as I was done, my quest for the truth began.
That Scumsucking Bastard of a Shit
"You didn't
really
paint them, did you?" I asked right away.
"Yes I did. You can see the paintings for yourself." He pointed
at the canvases of Maura and Sloane leaning against his wall. He had pushed aside some fire hydrants to display his new work.
"Of course I see them," I said, "but did they really pose for you?"
"Well, it depends on what you mean. Yes, they posed. But not specifically for me."
Nate told me about his scheme. He'd been superimposing headshots from the Freshman Face Book on various magazine model bodies with Photoshop. Working at the computer lab allowed him ample time to perfect the image before transferring it to canvas. His goal was to do a portrait of every girl in the class alphabetically. There were five; exactly enough for one per week. He already had two down.
Nate thought next week was going to be tough, though. Melinda Cassidy was, as he said, a "gigantress." He didn't want to make her uncomfortable. But skipping over her would be even more insulting. Plus, Melinda was most likely of all the girls to call his bluff.
He was very interested in hearing about Maura and Sloane's outrage, and made me repeat several times what they'd called him.
"A scummy bastard son of a bitch?" He laughed as he paced around the creaking floor.
"No, a scumsucking bastard of a shit."
"What the hell does
that
mean?"
"I don't know. I guess they don't like you."
"Well, they shouldn't. But I'll bet you anything they let me get away with this."
Wall of Girls
After learning the truth from Nate, I stayed at his place for a pasta dinner. He cooked a pot of fusilliâlong twisty macaroni that looks like curly hair. In my haste to see him, I'd forgotten to eat.
I sat on his bed while he cooked.
I turned to face the wall of girls, the wall that I'd tried to avoid looking at every time I was there. Knowing about Nate's scheme made me feel braver.
Then I realized that the wall wasn't a wall of
girls;
it was a wall of
girl!
They were all Clarissa, in different styles. It was like a lineup of Barbies. Punk Rock Clarissa, Churchgoing Clarissa, Math Nerd Clarissa, Cowgirl Clarissa. Her hair varied in length and color. Her clothes went from prudish to risqué, frilly to clean-cut. There had to be at least twenty versions.
"Nate!" I cried. "These pictures are all of Clarissa!"
"Yeah, you didn't know that?"
Boiling water sizzled over the top of the pot. The sound blended with the radiator's hiss.
"I thought they were all different women! I thought they were all the women you'd slept with!"
He laughed. "I guess you could say that. I mean, I do feel like I'm sleeping with a different woman almost every time I see her."
"How does she feel about that?"
"I think that's partly why she does it," he said. "To keep things interesting."
"Would things be boring if she always looked the same?"
"It takes a lot to keep the flame burning, if you know what I mean."
"I guess so," I mumbled.
Part of me felt less threatened, knowing they were all Clarissa. But in a way I felt sorry for her.
The radiator switched from hissing to banging and steaming. It had gotten so hot that I was breaking a sweat. I went over to the radiator to turn it down. The banging was loud near my ears. I couldn't find a knob.
"How do you lower the heat?" I called to Nate in the kitchen.
"You can't! The landlord controls it. It's included in the rent!"
We hung out for a while after dinner. I didn't stay past ten. He tried to coax me into sleeping over, but I said it was too hot in there and I wouldn't be able to sleep through the radiator noises. He walked me down the path to the road, where he kissed me good-night and said, "Come on, don't you think it would be better if you stayed? It's freezing out here."
"No," I said, "it'll be better if I go home."
Or better yet, I thought,
Unfortunately, my business in the ladies room was not entirely finished.
As soon as I was done, my quest for the truth began.
That Scumsucking Bastard of a Shit
"You didn't
really
paint them, did you?" I asked right away.
"Yes I did. You can see the paintings for yourself." He pointed
at the canvases of Maura and Sloane leaning against his wall. He had pushed aside some fire hydrants to display his new work.
"Of course I see them," I said, "but did they really pose for you?"
"Well, it depends on what you mean. Yes, they posed. But not specifically for me."
Nate told me about his scheme. He'd been superimposing headshots from the Freshman Face Book on various magazine model bodies with Photoshop. Working at the computer lab allowed him ample time to perfect the image before transferring it to canvas. His goal was to do a portrait of every girl in the class alphabetically. There were five; exactly enough for one per week. He already had two down.
Nate thought next week was going to be tough, though. Melinda Cassidy was, as he said, a "gigantress." He didn't want to make her uncomfortable. But skipping over her would be even more insulting. Plus, Melinda was most likely of all the girls to call his bluff.
He was very interested in hearing about Maura and Sloane's outrage, and made me repeat several times what they'd called him.
"A scummy bastard son of a bitch?" He laughed as he paced around the creaking floor.
"No, a scumsucking bastard of a shit."
"What the hell does
that
mean?"
"I don't know. I guess they don't like you."
"Well, they shouldn't. But I'll bet you anything they let me get away with this."
Wall of Girls
After learning the truth from Nate, I stayed at his place for a pasta dinner. He cooked a pot of fusilliâlong twisty macaroni that looks like curly hair. In my haste to see him, I'd forgotten to eat.
I sat on his bed while he cooked.
I turned to face the wall of girls, the wall that I'd tried to avoid looking at every time I was there. Knowing about Nate's scheme made me feel braver.
Then I realized that the wall wasn't a wall of
girls;
it was a wall of
girl!
They were all Clarissa, in different styles. It was like a lineup of Barbies. Punk Rock Clarissa, Churchgoing Clarissa, Math Nerd Clarissa, Cowgirl Clarissa. Her hair varied in length and color. Her clothes went from prudish to risqué, frilly to clean-cut. There had to be at least twenty versions.
"Nate!" I cried. "These pictures are all of Clarissa!"
"Yeah, you didn't know that?"
Boiling water sizzled over the top of the pot. The sound blended with the radiator's hiss.
"I thought they were all different women! I thought they were all the women you'd slept with!"
He laughed. "I guess you could say that. I mean, I do feel like I'm sleeping with a different woman almost every time I see her."
"How does she feel about that?"
"I think that's partly why she does it," he said. "To keep things interesting."
"Would things be boring if she always looked the same?"
"It takes a lot to keep the flame burning, if you know what I mean."
"I guess so," I mumbled.
Part of me felt less threatened, knowing they were all Clarissa. But in a way I felt sorry for her.
The radiator switched from hissing to banging and steaming. It had gotten so hot that I was breaking a sweat. I went over to the radiator to turn it down. The banging was loud near my ears. I couldn't find a knob.
"How do you lower the heat?" I called to Nate in the kitchen.
"You can't! The landlord controls it. It's included in the rent!"
We hung out for a while after dinner. I didn't stay past ten. He tried to coax me into sleeping over, but I said it was too hot in there and I wouldn't be able to sleep through the radiator noises. He walked me down the path to the road, where he kissed me good-night and said, "Come on, don't you think it would be better if you stayed? It's freezing out here."
"No," I said, "it'll be better if I go home."
Or better yet, I thought,
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