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Show 176 would acknowledge that he had a point. Accordingly, Monday morning he sprang from bed the instant her movements wakened him and spoke to her as pleasantly as a mouth foul with sleep would let him. This surprised her. She was sitting in the edge of the bed, yawning and hugging her torso the better to scratch her back, and she stopped and turned to look at him. She was surprised again a few minutes later when he joined her in the shower and laughingly offered an indecency. (There was no time, of course.) He hummed while they were both dressing. Over breakfast he entertained her with an imitation of Natasha doing Rite of Spring, and while driving her to the Village casually mentioned Simon's invitation. If she didn't feel like going that was all right, he said. He wouldn't go either. They could stay home and get naked. He smiled wickedly at her, which unfortunately she didn't see because she was staring out the window, biting her lip. Sometime before one he broke off from a concentrated assault on the still-life, which had developed sticky impastos from having the comb and brush relocated so often, to call her at work with a trifling endearment. Cash registers rang in the background, and there was a blur of voices close at hand. Why yes, she said; they had back-ordered it some time ago, and the shipment had come in only that morning. He had been thinking about her all day, he said. No, it would not be necessary to lay aside a copy, she said; there were plenty on hand. Would she rather he ran his tongue along her crotch first or kissed the backs of her knees first? He was entirely welcome, she said, her low, polite voice thick with anger- The line went dead abruptly, and he was three digits into her number again before reflecting that the mark of the good artist was knowing when to stop. He spent the rest of the afternoon, until it was time to pick her up, lying on the couch and being startled nearly upright when the pictures drifting behind his eyelids suddenly rounded a corner onto something |