Odalisque
Fifty-Eight
“HEY, TIGER,” I said as I petted her hair. It was about two inches long now and stuck out in odd places after our night and day in bed. “Don’t you think it’s about time to get your stripes back?” Wendy sat up with her eyes wide open staring at me.
“Really?” I nodded. “Kate, will you help me stripe my hair. Please?”
“I can, but I’m not good at that kind of thing like Melody is. Don’t you want to wait for her?” Kate asked.
“I can’t wait. Please, please?”
“How about Donna?” They looked at me blankly. “The woman who cuts my hair. I’ll bet she’s in at Quick-Cuts and could do it.”
“Really?” Kate asked. “She does women, too?”
“Oh, definitely.”
“But… um… what about… my… uh… other stripes?” Wendy asked, glancing down at her pubic hair.
“I have it on good authority that she does that, too,” I laughed. That was all it took and we were up and out of the house in minutes.
We met the rest of our crew at the airport at nine o’clock that night. It was a good thing we had the Mazda as no one wanted to wait at home. We left the airport with Melody, Kate, Wendy, Bree, Allison, and Lissa piled into the car. Whitney would not be coming back from her meet until early Monday.
Our results were pretty good. Brent and Franklin placed fourth in their division. Allison made a slam dunk in the Women’s Elite Singles and Women’s A. Lissa had fallen to pro Hannah DeMarco in the Open, but of course Hannah had been unable to conquer the invincible Portia Lupino in the Pro Division. Allison, Lissa, and I would all be on the U.S. Team at World’s this summer. What a high.
Melody and Bree sold all our spring stock. We had nothing left to ship or to sell. The studio was going to stink again when she started restocking Raquethon and preparing fabric for our fall collection.
“You’ve got your stripes back!” Melody exclaimed.
“Upstairs and down,” Wendy laughed.
“We saved Tony’s reputation today at QuickCuts,” Kate said. “None of us met him before the gala, so that big barber, Howard, thought he’d lost all his girlfriends. You should have seen him when I told him there were seven of us now, but we had to get dressed up that day as well.”
“That’s the first time I’ve really been afraid to have him use that razor around my throat,” I laughed. “He kept trying to see into the back room where Donna was working on Wendy.”
We all arrived in the big bedroom. We really need a bigger bed. Lissa solved the problem by dragging the mattress from the guest room into the master bedroom and flopping it on the floor beside the big bed. Then in a magnanimous gesture, she and Allison volunteered to take the floor as they dragged me down there with them.
“We competed today,” Lissa said.
“And had already checked out of our room so we could go to the airport,” Allie joined in.
“We are so horny!”
Why the fuck am I so nervous? My part of the thing was over. I painted a huge fucking wall. We raised a quarter million dollars. It was all a success. All I had to do was shake hands with some folks and thank all the volunteers. My hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t button my shirt. Fortunately, Lissa stepped in and helped. Oh, God! Everyone is going to see it.
Lissa chose my clothes. I didn’t even know where they came from, but they were suitably artistic. This wasn’t the time for a tux. I wore a black collarless shirt with a black-on-black embroidered design down the panel that covered the buttons. She put me in a black suit that fit like a glove. I seemed to remember having worn this once before, but I don’t remember when. Of course, she finished it off with my funky black Converse high tops. I looked like… an artist.
“Tony,” Kate said, running into the bedroom, “Wendy needs you.”
“Okay, I’ll be right there.”
“Tony, she needs you.” Oh shit! I turned around and Kate handed me Wendy’s collar as I passed her. I didn’t bother to knock.
She was standing in the middle of the room in a simple black dress with tears running down her cheeks. I rushed over and caught her in my arms and hugged her.
“What is it, Tiger?” I asked. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m scared. They want me to talk… to everyone.”
“But you’ve been planning this all week, haven’t you, Tiger?” She nodded her head against my chest.
“I thought I could do it but I can’t. I don’t live there anymore. I have a home and friends. Why do the they want me to talk?” she sobbed.
“Because they know you and respect you,” I said. “And you are their hopes and dreams, Tiger. How many of them will ever have a permanent home like you do? How many will have the courage and determination to go to college or to get a job?”
“They want to,” Wendy said.
“I know. They do want to. That’s why they asked you to speak on their behalf. You are their dream,” I said. “Now look at me, Tiger.”
Wendy immediately straightened up and looked me in the eye. I raised the collar.
“This would look great with that dress, don’t you think?” I asked. She nodded. I reached out and put it around her neck. I could see the tension drain from her body.
“Thank you, master,” she breathed. “I’ll do it for you.”
Wendy and I had to sit on the dais with all the dignitaries. She never let go of my hand. Sometimes it was painful. Our family—all of them—sat in the front row with many residents of Tent City and all the volunteers seated in the next three rows. When Lissa came back from her run to the airport, she not only had Whitney, but Mom and Dad and Beth. The orchestra played some kind of overture that I didn’t recognize as people gathered together. A priest gave an invocation. President Haywood welcomed everyone and talked for a few minutes. Thankfully, not too long. I’d looked at the program and the number of speakers on the list would keep us there all day long if they each talked ten minutes. He gave the podium to Doctor Watts, president of PCAD. Then, of course, the Mayor spoke. And spoke. And spoke. I have no idea what he talked about, but it sure took a long time for him to say whatever it was. Nice guy, but what a talker. The guy from the Gary Ranson foundation presented a nice check to the committee. Then President Haywood took the podium again and called me to stand with him.
“Tony Ames is the artist who painted the work we are about to reveal behind us this morning,” he said into the microphones that were blasting our words out to the public. There were two television stations with microphones on the podium, too. “Tony, tell us about the project and what has resulted.”
“Thank you, Doctor Haywood. Doctor Watts, Mayor, and all you friends, family, fellow students, and co-workers who have come to this dedication.” I looked at everyone there and read from my notes. I said how much money had been raised to “help the homeless,” recognized the volunteers, thanked my advisor and my agent, said I was happy to be at a school that had a Social Activism committee and that I was glad to see all the people from Tent City in the audience. Then I said thank you and turned to sit down.
“Tony, there’s one other thing,” Doctor Haywood said, calling me back to the podium. “What is the name of the work we are about to see?” That caught me by surprise. Shit! Why didn’t you warn me I needed to name the damned thing? One phrase kept coming back, to me. I looked out in the audience to see Beth sitting with Mom and Dad and Allison. She’d flown out from Boston just to see this unveiled. I knew for sure what it was called.
“Um… They say a work of art should have a short pithy title, but I don’t have that for this. It has a title, though, that I have known since grade school. The title is ‘Leaving the world better than we found it.’ I hope this reflects that sentiment.”
I was done. I could sit down and relax now. I held Wendy’s hand as we were all led off the podium to a row of chairs in front of my family. I almost started to laugh when the orchestra started playing Also sprach Zarathustra by Richard Strauss. Most people know it as the theme from 2001: A Space Odyssey. As the orchestra played, the awning was lifted to expose the wall. Criminy! I was crying again. As I glanced around, everyone was. They only did the opening bit. The whole piece is like hours long but “Sunrise” is only a couple minutes. It really hit people. Just getting those timpani rolling in the background was something else. And watching my own work revealed to such a strong piece of music was humbling. I turned around to reach a hand to my mom and dad behind me and they were both crying, too, as they took my hand.
When it was over and the painting was revealed there was a lot of applause. President Haywood and President Watts led Wendy and me back to the podium and stood us between them while the audience applauded some more. There were at least a hundred rows of folding chairs stretching the width of the intramural field. It sounded like a football game. Doctor Watts approached the podium. The noise calmed down.
“There is one more person on our program today, selected by the residents of Tent City to be their spokesperson and to dedicate this mural. I’m going to ask Tony to return to the podium to introduce our last speaker,” she said. I approached the microphones again and brought Wendy with me.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I want to introduce a person that I’ve known for a little more than a year now. When I started sitting at the student service tent, I didn’t know that my friend was living there. She was a homeless refugee from domestic abuse. She saw Tent City as a place where she could live safely while she got her life together and got squared away in college. She was severely burned in the attack on the encampment and ran into my arms while she was still in flames. Since then, she has become a part of my family and my household. We love her. I want to introduce you to the most courageous woman I have ever met—Miss Wendy Martin.”
Wendy hugged me and I nodded to her and sat down as the applause quieted.
“I didn’t understand why the residents of Tent City wanted me to speak for them this afternoon,” Wendy began. “I don’t live there anymore. They didn’t ask me to speak because I was smarter than they were or better in any way. They didn’t ask me to speak because the madman that I fled was the one to attack our home. Maybe they asked me to speak because I’m in college. Students talk. A lot.” There was a little laughter. Wendy looked at me. I nodded, trying with all my might to tell her she was doing well. “Really, they asked me to speak because I am hope.” A glass of water sat on the podium and Wendy drank.
“We aren’t like you. We aren’t doctors or lawyers or software engineers. We aren’t dock workers or contractors or bus drivers. We don’t run the local deli, collect your garbage, or write parking tickets. Some of us did once. We were productive citizens. We owned homes, ran businesses, took children to Little League, drove cars, had mortgages, were married, respected, and loved. But then something happened.
“I won’t lie to you. For some of us, what happened was alcohol or drugs. For some it was layoffs, abuse, illness, or depression. For some of us, it was simply not being able to see any other way to live. For some of us, it was the last hope that we could rise again. Talk to Frank about wanting to restart his dental practice. Talk to Lisbet about wanting to have her children with her again. Talk to Crazy Joe about how one day he’s going to walk right back down to the docks and get his job back—as soon as he finds out if the Mariners are going to pick up his option.
“We’re not like you, but we have dreams. We have hopes. We have a community where we can live independently with just a little help.” Wendy turned and looked at the wall. “That’s me over there with the stuffed tiger,” she said pointing at her picture. “That’s Emily who never said much, but always had a book she’d found. God rest her soul. Over there, that’s Paulie who was sober most of the time and always had a joke that he’d heard. I think he hung out in the bus tunnel just to listen for people telling jokes so he could pass them on. He didn’t hurt anyone. He didn’t deserve to die for being homeless. You can’t see him because he’s behind that tent, but that’s Sal. He was close to eighty years old. He’s probably hiding behind the tent peeing because his diabetes was so bad, he could never make it to the Honey Bucket. He said he thought he had a son in Seattle, but he hadn’t found him yet. He never made it out of his tent that night.
“We’re not like you, but you are us. You are all the hopes and dreams that we carried into our tents at night. You are all the people we wanted to be. I got hurt in the fire, but I ran straight into the arms of friends—real friends. Friends who accept me for what I am and hope for what I might become. Tony and Bree put out the flames in my hair. Kate held my hand before the ambulance arrived. Melody and Lissa opened their home to me and gave me an example to live by. Deb and Saul made me their daughter at Christmas. They got to me before it was too late. Tony and Kate and the crew painted this beautiful wall for me—for all of us—to remind us that no matter who we are or how helpless we feel, we have the power to leave this world—or at least our little corner of it—better than we found it.”
There was no time for people to applaud. As soon as Wendy turned away from the podium to look at me, the combined orchestra and chorus began the Dies Irae movement of Mozart’s Requiem. Wendy collapsed in my arms as we sat between the college presidents and both of them were crying as they hugged us. The four of us wept all the way through the nine minutes of the piece.
We were mobbed by people after the dedication. Our families. All the people who volunteered. Doc Henredon and even Doctor Dennis and Professor Strait. There were the news cameras who wanted to interview Wendy and me. Kate got drawn into some of the interviews when one of the cameramen recognized her as the one who was painting with me.
Bree, bless her heart, couldn’t charge admission for the dedication, but she made sure volunteers were collecting donations at every gate where people were exiting. It was more than an hour after the ninety-minute program ended before we were able to start moving toward our own cars. I looked just in time to catch two wild little boys as they hurdled into my arms.
And then Doctor Watts told us there was a reception at PCAD.
The reception turned out to be dinner and there were at least a hundred people there who all wanted to talk individually to each of us who had been involved. The Board of Regents at SCU and the Trustees of PCAD were all there but, thankfully, no press.
Wendy clung to me throughout and I was surrounded by my family. Kate stayed on Wendy’s other side and our Tiger held it together.
Of course, it wasn’t possible for us to just collapse, even at home. Grandpa Ken and Papa Oke had rolled drums into the basement, but Kate had a quiet conversation with her mother and the drumming was postponed for at least one night. Eventually, everyone found places to sleep and I found myself in bed with my own little family.
I cradled Wendy in my arms, even after it was just the five of us in our bed. Kate continued to hold Wendy with me and Melody and Lissa squeezed me from the other side. I was so exhausted and emotionally drained that I thought I’d sleep forever.
And if that was so? What better way to spend eternity than having my lovers cuddled next to me in our home?
Comments
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