necessary. I’m almost certain that short-lived relationship is over.” I couldn’t exactly tell him Nicole ended things over a pinky sized penis.
CHAPTER 17
“So…” Professor Lindsay began staring at me from her thick rimmed glasses. I remained standing while she sat behind her large desk that consumed almost the whole room. It was the first time I’d been in her office and I wasn’t impressed. It actually did highlight just how little she thought of my work. The walls were adorned with the most hideously oppressive abstract paintings I had ever seen. They carried the same traits which told me it must be a series from the same artist. “I am pleased you have finally made your decision.” She emphasized the word ‘finally’ and it took all the strength I possessed not to roll my eyes. She really was dramatic. “Your lack of eager response was proving to be embarrassing for the college.
Of course it was.
“Well, you have it now, so I guess we can move on to the next stage.” I was trying to usher her along, although she seemed set on making me suffer. I had a hot date I simply did not want to miss.
“You leave in under two months.” My heart hurt. “The college is taking care of your Visa that will last the entire two years. Ms. Marks is everything okay?” Her impatient tone broke my train of thought.
Two years of no Leo.
“Yes, fine, carry on.”
“You will finish with the end of semester exhibition. I understand you will have a heavy workload and the stress of moving overseas, but I certainly do not expect to see a drop in your grades. They must be maintained for the scholarship to commence. Are you hearing what I’m saying?”
“Yes, Professor.”
“Since you are currently top of the class, your series may or may not be bought by the college as per previous years.”
“Is that what these are?” I pointed to the hideous display on the wall. “Work from a previous student?”
“Of course not,” she appeared affronted. “They are mine.”
“They’re lovely,” I croaked, lamely attempting to hide my shock.
“Don’t bullshit me, Ms. Marks,” her brash response was unexpected, and this time I couldn’t hide my shock. “I’m sure you feel about my art style exactly how I feel about yours.”
She never ceased to amaze me.
“The French will love you. Have a good day Ms. Marks.” With that backhanded comment, she put her head down and continued reading her document as if I wasn’t there.
Whenever my interaction with her came to a close, I always felt the need for wine.
Taking my leave, I closed the door behind me and smiled at Marge, who seemed engrossed by a sculpture set on a display box in the center of the waiting room.
“What is it?” I asked, staring at it intently.
“I’ve been trying to figure it out,” Marge stated through squinty eyes.
We both tilted our heads side to side as if the image might miraculously make sense. “I think it’s a man.” Like everything else on this floor, it was abstract. The ceramic piece appeared languid in form, the man’s body accentuated until it was almost unrecognizable.
“Why does it have three legs?” Marge asked, touching the middle ceramic piece.
“I don’t think that’s a leg—”
“Oh hell!”
“Shit, Marge!” I whispered in urgency seeing her face pale, the brown piece of penis now between her guilty chubby fingers. “Just drop it. Come on.”
“Ms. Marks?”
“Oh shit!” My words barely formed as I closed my eyes, hearing my name from an unknown voice behind me. Marge froze, seemingly with the notion that if she didn’t move, she would go unnoticed, despite the abstract genitalia in her hand.
Turning on my heel, I did my best to block the now emasculated figure. “Yes?” I put on my best smile, feeling my cheeks flush.
Beside me, I heard Marge whisper like a ventriloquist, “It’s seven thousand dollars.”
The woman with severe facial features looked from me to the back of
CHAPTER 17
“So…” Professor Lindsay began staring at me from her thick rimmed glasses. I remained standing while she sat behind her large desk that consumed almost the whole room. It was the first time I’d been in her office and I wasn’t impressed. It actually did highlight just how little she thought of my work. The walls were adorned with the most hideously oppressive abstract paintings I had ever seen. They carried the same traits which told me it must be a series from the same artist. “I am pleased you have finally made your decision.” She emphasized the word ‘finally’ and it took all the strength I possessed not to roll my eyes. She really was dramatic. “Your lack of eager response was proving to be embarrassing for the college.
Of course it was.
“Well, you have it now, so I guess we can move on to the next stage.” I was trying to usher her along, although she seemed set on making me suffer. I had a hot date I simply did not want to miss.
“You leave in under two months.” My heart hurt. “The college is taking care of your Visa that will last the entire two years. Ms. Marks is everything okay?” Her impatient tone broke my train of thought.
Two years of no Leo.
“Yes, fine, carry on.”
“You will finish with the end of semester exhibition. I understand you will have a heavy workload and the stress of moving overseas, but I certainly do not expect to see a drop in your grades. They must be maintained for the scholarship to commence. Are you hearing what I’m saying?”
“Yes, Professor.”
“Since you are currently top of the class, your series may or may not be bought by the college as per previous years.”
“Is that what these are?” I pointed to the hideous display on the wall. “Work from a previous student?”
“Of course not,” she appeared affronted. “They are mine.”
“They’re lovely,” I croaked, lamely attempting to hide my shock.
“Don’t bullshit me, Ms. Marks,” her brash response was unexpected, and this time I couldn’t hide my shock. “I’m sure you feel about my art style exactly how I feel about yours.”
She never ceased to amaze me.
“The French will love you. Have a good day Ms. Marks.” With that backhanded comment, she put her head down and continued reading her document as if I wasn’t there.
Whenever my interaction with her came to a close, I always felt the need for wine.
Taking my leave, I closed the door behind me and smiled at Marge, who seemed engrossed by a sculpture set on a display box in the center of the waiting room.
“What is it?” I asked, staring at it intently.
“I’ve been trying to figure it out,” Marge stated through squinty eyes.
We both tilted our heads side to side as if the image might miraculously make sense. “I think it’s a man.” Like everything else on this floor, it was abstract. The ceramic piece appeared languid in form, the man’s body accentuated until it was almost unrecognizable.
“Why does it have three legs?” Marge asked, touching the middle ceramic piece.
“I don’t think that’s a leg—”
“Oh hell!”
“Shit, Marge!” I whispered in urgency seeing her face pale, the brown piece of penis now between her guilty chubby fingers. “Just drop it. Come on.”
“Ms. Marks?”
“Oh shit!” My words barely formed as I closed my eyes, hearing my name from an unknown voice behind me. Marge froze, seemingly with the notion that if she didn’t move, she would go unnoticed, despite the abstract genitalia in her hand.
Turning on my heel, I did my best to block the now emasculated figure. “Yes?” I put on my best smile, feeling my cheeks flush.
Beside me, I heard Marge whisper like a ventriloquist, “It’s seven thousand dollars.”
The woman with severe facial features looked from me to the back of
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