Rhapsody Suite
Sixteen
IT DIDN’T SEEM like I’d been punished until I had to get up to go to Pilates on Saturday morning. Just getting out of bed was punishment enough, but Lissa pointed at the keys to the car and said to be back by noon, then she and Melody snuggled back into bed. There was no sign of Lexi. I assumed she’d returned last night. Molly had stayed with the kids at Jack’s house. This morning it was just me making coffee and eating toast. I got to the club in plenty of time and then the Pilates instructor worked my ass off manipulating muscles that I hadn’t worked in a week. I was still sore from my light workout Friday afternoon and in spite of feeling more energized, the Pilates hadn’t eased my pain. I dragged myself into the steam room and dozed in the heat and moisture.
I got showered, rewrapped my ankle, and took another anti-inflammatory. I looked almost human when I returned to pick up everyone for the trip to the airport. That’s more than I could say for the three women who dragged themselves out to the car. After an emotional goodbye at the airport security line, Lexi was gone and I looked forward to life returning to normal—whatever that was.
It was a crazy hectic week. We got the official invitation to Bree’s party on Monday. She was going all out. “Welcome Pacific College of the Arts and Design student and Intercollegiate National Racquetball competitor Tony Ames to Seattle Cascades University at 8:00 p.m. at Coach Sam Jacobson’s house. Refreshments will be served, but no alcohol or drugs will be allowed on the premises. Attire is semiformal (cocktail dresses, jackets and ties). A special contest will be held to guess the identity of Tony’s girlfriend. Film clips and sketches from the USAR Intercollegiate National Championships in which Tony was the bronze medalist will be on display.”
“Holy shit! What’s with the big deal?” I asked as we looked over the invite. “I thought Bree was just having a party for a few friends. This looks serious.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t go,” Lissa said. “I’m not sure I want to be in a contest to identify Tony’s girlfriend, especially if Bree is running it.”
“It’s okay, darling,” Melody said. “I worked out the details with Bree before she sent out the invites. There won’t be any danger of our relationship being exposed. I talked to Coach Jacobson as well.”
“I don’t want my girlfriend selected by a vote,” I said. “I’m pretty happy with the ones I’ve got.”
“They’re not voting, they’re guessing. It will be fun.”
“If you say so.”
My preliminary portfolio review did not go well.
Art History and Art Orientation would have final exams. Fundamentals, Concepts, and Figure Painting had final projects. I was supposed to be able to show my progress through my portfolio and then the review committee would determine if I should continue on my current course of study or if adjustments should be made. They would be the final arbiters of my grades. My committee comprised Professor McIntyre, Dr. Henredon, and Abe Ardmore, the chairman of the Studio Arts Department. My preliminary review was with my advisor, Professor McIntyre. Hers was the only class for which my final project was complete as she had agreed to take my concept sketches and finished work on the mural as my final painting.
“Tony, your portfolio doesn’t show anywhere near the progress you’ve made this year. Your presentations for Fundamentals are unspectacular. You are lacking significant examples from Visual Concepts, and you have nothing at all from your Art Orientation class. Frankly, if this were your final review, we’d reduce all your grades except Life Drawing/Painting a letter grade across the board.”
“A letter grade?” I was stunned. My final review was scheduled for next week since I’d be missing the last week of school for National Singles. “What do I need to do?” I was near panic already. Losing a letter would mean that I positively wouldn’t make a B average for the semester.
“You need to complete your portfolio in a professional presentation format. It needs to show progress from your earliest work in each class to your latest work. You should have been maintaining this portfolio all through the year, Tony. This is sloppy work. Just in case you’ve mislaid it, here are the criteria that were handed out during orientation last fall.”
“I’ll fix it,” I said, taking the sheet. How did this become such a big deal? Damn, I hate this fucking school.
“Oh, and the student exhibition opens a week from Friday. With the splash you made with the mural, you should really have more than one piece in it. Your choice. But we need all the pieces you’ll be exhibiting by end of day Wednesday.”
“Thank you.” I left her office feeling stunned. I knew I needed to add more to my portfolio, but I didn’t expect her to come down so hard on me. Shit, if I lost a letter grade in every class there’s no way I’d qualify for my scholarship. I headed back to my room to start gathering stuff up.
“Damn it, Melody. Stop it! This is serious. If I don’t finish this and get it right, I won’t even be able to come back next year.” I had piles of material spread out all over the bed and was redoing one of my portrait sketches. It was an early sketch and wasn’t anywhere near my best work.
“I don’t get it. You’ve done all the work. Just put it in the portfolio.”
“Do you know how much they count portfolio review?”
“Yeah. Thirty percent of grade. So, what did she say?”
“She said my Fundamentals presentations were so-so, I was missing significant pieces from Concepts, and didn’t have anything from Art Orientation. If it was my final review, they’d knock a letter grade off everything except Life Drawing/Painting.” There, that ought to let her know how serious this was. I let it sink in with a smirk. I wasn’t expecting the blow-up that was about to happen.
“So why the fuck are you redrawing a sketch for Life Drawing from last semester?”
“I saw it and it needed work.”
“It didn’t need work. Nothing in Life Drawing/Painting needs work. You’ve got that class nailed. Why the fuck aren’t you pulling out your Art Orientation stuff and your Concepts stuff? Geez, Tony! Wake up!”
“And I suppose you’ve got everything in perfect order.” I yelled back at her.
“Yes. There’s nothing spectacular in my portfolio like there is in yours, but it shows the progress I’ve made this year. It’s not that big a deal.”
“Maybe for you it isn’t. You’re a perfect student. I’m a crappy student. I can’t do the work with you trying to have sex with me all the time.”
“Fine. I’m catching a bus out to Lissa’s. You can just sit here and screw yourself for all I care. Call if you ever get your head out of your ass.”
I spent two painfully lonely nights alone in my dorm room with my portfolio spread out all over everyplace. I let the final paper for Art History go. I’d have to survive on what I’d done. It wasn’t in the portfolio review.
I called Lissa and Melody a couple of hours after she left and apologized to both of them.
“For what?” Melody asked.
“For being a general ass,” I said.
“Not too general,” she responded.
“Okay. Then for being a specific ass. I’m sorry.”
They forgave me, but we agreed that I needed the time to focus on school and they couldn’t help but be a distraction. We’d all get back together Friday. Melody sat with me in Fundamentals on Thursday and we kissed at lunch and made up. It was all I could do to not beg her to come back to our room.
I went to the Concepts lab and Ms. Brock just waved me over to where the projects had been set during the semester.
“I wondered when you’d finally show up to do your portfolio photos. Your projects are over there somewhere.”
I found them and did a series of digital photos from the earliest project to the latest—the sculpture that I’d done out of clay. It was a little damaged, but it didn’t take long to fix the sags and get it back in order. I sorted through the photos on my computer and loaded the best on a thumb drive to take to Kinko’s and have printed on photo paper.
My most recent presentations for Fundamentals actually weren’t bad. They certainly showed that I’d progressed in my understanding of the assignments and in my presentation skills. I just hadn’t put them in the portfolio yet, so I spent a late night at the library fighting for time on the color printer to pump out the selected presentations at thirty cents a page.
Art Orientation was the toughest. I’d considered the work in that class to be pretty much throw-away stuff. It was hardly more than doodles. I went searching through sketchbooks and the papers stacked on my desk until I had a pretty fair collection. I organized them from worst to best, hoping that no one would question what the chronological order was. I had no idea.
By Friday, my portfolio was about as good as it was going to get. It was hard to believe that every student had to go through portfolio review in art, juries in music, or performance in dance and theater. You could tell in the hallways that everyone was uptight. I saw a couple of kids come out of professors’ offices in tears. Probably getting the same message I had. Yeah, we were all adults, capable of managing our own lives, but when you were faced with a professor ripping you a new one, you were just a kid.
I breathed a sigh of relief when we all sat down for lunch on Friday after Life Painting. Topic of discussion: What was everyone wearing to the party Saturday night? I’d listened to arrangements to borrow shoes, dresses, or makeup from each other and the merits of going braless or using an underwire shelf bra under a strapless dress. I excused myself to go to my Friday workout.
It was the first time I’d seen Lissa all week and my whole day improved the minute I saw her. We stole a couple of minutes to make out before we got on the court. I had to adjust myself in my shorts before I could serve. All of a sudden, going without sex for a couple days seemed like an eternity.
“I’ll be so glad to have you in our bed tonight,” Lissa whispered in my ear. “I can’t satisfy that girl all by myself!” We laughed and started my first real scrimmage since my injury. It felt good. I worked up a sweat and my ankle was feeling strong.
Lissa cut it short because she didn’t want to risk reinjury. I headed over to SCU to use the sports therapy room. I had a pretty good routine over there now and I’d met a bunch of guys in different sports. It seemed like the baseball guys were all in as bad shape as me. The trainers were working on arms and backs and I saw both pitchers with icepacks on their shoulders. I finally got my turn in the hydrotherapy bath and was just relaxing when someone splashed water in my face. I spluttered and looked up to see Bree and Sonia standing on either side of me.
“Hey! What are you two doing in here? This is the guys’ locker room.”
“This is a sports therapy room. It’s coed. You’d better not be naked in there,” Bree laughed trying to look through the bubbles in the tub. Thankfully, I wasn’t, but I wasn’t keen on her trying to find out, either.
“No. You just surprised me. I forgot this isn’t the club. Everything is separate over there. So, what brings you here? Need therapy?”
“Why? Do you want to massage my sore muscles, Tony?” Bree asked.
“Bree, behave. We just came over to make sure you remembered the party,” Sonia supplied.
“I couldn’t forget it. It’s all the girls have been talking about. By the way, which is better if you are wearing a strapless dress—underwire shelf bra or braless?”
“I know which I’d do,” Bree said. “But if you wanted to find out, you’d have to go exploring.” She pushed her chest forward over the edge of the tub. Not to be outdone Sonia did the same thing on the other side.
“What do you think? Braless?” she asked.
“Um… I’m not that good a judge.”
“Well, you’re only using your eyes, dummy.” They both wiggled a little more and I was really blushing, not to mention stretching my trunks in the bath.
“We have so much fun planned for tomorrow night,” Bree went on. “We’re going to see how many ways we can embarrass Tony.”
“Great. I think I’ll stay home and watch the Fishing Channel.”
“What? Golf too fast for you?” Bree kidded. “If you don’t show up tomorrow—on time—the entire football squad is going to hunt you down and drag you there. And getting physical with them is nowhere near as much fun as getting physical with us.”
“Girlfriend,” I said weakly. “Remember? Girlfriend.”
“Just make sure you bring them all. We’ll even have a few extras to choose from just to make sure you have a good selection.”
Great. I had five dates for the party Saturday night already. There was no way I was going to get there on time.
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