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Show 93 from the rinser over to the cabinets, walking through clouds, feeling heat on his back, looking forward to feeling the same heat on his front when he had put away the dishes and turned back to the washer. Racks marched along the skate track endlessly; the wet floor retained blurry imprints of his feet that disintegrated as the displaced water seeped back into them. Lorin thumbtacked his self-portrait between Harry's and Sharon's on the cork wall and dragged a sawhorse over to join the others. The floor was littered with paper coffee cups and sandwich wrappers and cigarette butts. He felt his heart clutch when he had sat down next to Noel and looked back at the wash of grey paper with faces staring out of it. Among the softly shaded cheekbones, high foreheads, clear eyes, chiseled lips and nostrils, his own face stood out like a gargoyle. Mr. Bandera stood with his arms folded, puffing a black pipe whose bowl was stamped with chalky fingerprints. "You've all flattered yourselves," he said. Lorin thought so too. "I haven't," he said. The room was very quiet while everyone looked at Lorin's picture. "Jesus, Lorin," Mary Rogers said. "You forgot the crown of thorns." That was all right, Lorin reflected in the general shuffle while people were rearranging their sawhorses to get a better view of the wall and someone went to the windows to open the blackout curtains a little more. He used the opportunity to examine Mary's self-portrait. Mary was thin and had watery red hair and rabbit teeth. Her self-portrait showed a smooth three-quarter profile with a soft mat finish. The lips were wet and slightly parted. The chin was tipped up, and the eyes gazed directly at you, as though she were turning away but still wanted to make sure you were following her. That was all right. She could be very sure he was going to be generous |
