Office Girl by Joe Meno Page A

pretty sure this is actually kind of valuable now.”
    â€œHmmm,” Jack says, inspecting a panel of a triangle with arms, lighting what appears to be a joint.
    â€œIt’s funny. I think about him a lot. Like how old people are when they give up, you know? Like before you just accept that your life is going to be the same as everybody else’s. Before you do anything great.”
    â€œI don’t know,” Jack says. “I think about that a lot too.” He flips to another page, seeing a pyramid of silver lines, which upon closer inspection reveal a nude female shape. “These are really weird.”
    â€œI know. And nobody knows about him. He’s kind of my biggest influence. As an artist, I mean. Him and my dad.”
    â€œYour dad?”
    â€œYeah, because he works all the time. At first I thought making hotel paintings wasn’t cool. But now I think it’s pretty great. It’s all he does all day. And people actually see what he makes. Even if they are kind of bland. I mean, the other thing is that when I was a kid, my dad had all these art books and everything, lying around, and he would explain them to me. Like Magritte. And Gauguin. I know the reason I want to be an artist is because of my mom and him.”
    â€œThat’s pretty cool. My father’s a shrink. We didn’t have any art books lying around when I was a kid. The only cool thing we had growing up was the DSM , which lists all the things that can go wrong with your head. That and The Joy of Sex. But I don’t think either one of my parents ever opened it. They got divorced when I was like five or so. And then she got remarried. To another shrink, this guy David. He’s pretty great actually. I kind think of him as my actual father. He’s the person I call if, you know, I’m ever in trouble.”
    â€œThat’s nice you get along with him.”
    â€œYeah. But then my mom divorced him too, when I was like eight or nine. And then she married some dentist. But we still talk. My first stepdad, David, and me.”
    â€œMy parents are so weird. They’re still like teenagers around each other. They still like holding hands. They still smoke a lot of dope, though.”
    â€œThat’s great.”
    â€œYeah.” And then they both look down at their feet for a few seconds before Odile asks, “So, do you want to see this thing I’ve been working on?”
    â€œSure.”
    Odile stands up suddenly and snatches a small green pad from her bureau and then hands it to him. “It’s this notebook I’ve been putting all my ideas in. They’re more concepts of projects than actual projects. Kind of like Yoko Ono.”
    Jack nods and flips through it. There are small pencil sketches, quick drawings, and lists. On one of the lined pages it says, Dress like a ghost on the bus . Beneath that it says, Buy some parakeets and turn them loose in front of a playground, or, Act out a scene from a famous movie on the subway, or, Create a banner for some nonexistent event, or, Put on a puppet show in a hospital emergency waiting room.
    â€œThese are really great,” Jack says, smiling.
    â€œYeah, I dunno. One day I’m going to do them all. Right now I’m just coming up with different ideas. I feel like … people in this city … nothing surprises them anymore. When you live here, there’s just too much going on around you, so you don’t see any of it. It’s hard to get people’s attention. Unless it’s something bad, like a murder or natural disaster or something. Because nobody in this city is surprised by anything.”
    Jack nods and looks away for a moment.
    It’s late, it’s begun to finally feel late. The streetlamps outside the window have started to shine in a way that suggests that the sun is only an hour or so away from coming up. Odile yawns, covering her mouth with the back of her hand in a polite fashion that