The Sleep-Over Artist by Thomas Beller

Author:Thomas Beller
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: W. W. Norton & Company
Published: 2000-08-14T16:00:00+00:00

AT THE RESTAURANT, her steak consumed, Christine took a sip of red wine and, putting the glass down, proceeded to make a sheep sound.

“Mahahha.” A little lamb sound. She took a pleasant sip of her red wine amidst the kooky and subdued festivity of Nadine’s.

“Oh my God,” he said, delighted. “Not the lamb sound.”

Now she made a deeper, more feline sound, more like an ominous purr, not a kitten, a leopard.

“Jesus! What was that?” he said. “That was terrifying. Go back to being a sheep.”

“It’s not a sheep,” she said. “It’s a lamb.” Then she made the sound: “Mahaha.” Then she smiled at Alex. She liked it when he responded to things she did. His face sometimes took on that look of dumb delight people have when they watch fireworks. She affected him that way. It worried her, though, to think that for anyone else in the world, including the perplexed-looking couple sitting next to them, that sound would mean nothing except, perhaps, that she was weird. Well, she figured, she was weird. When she was happy, she made lamb sounds.

It had been a lovely dinner. She described her surprise and befuddlement at receiving a singing telegram, related the emotional complications, and both she and Alex laughed gleefully, their comprehension and appreciation of the general absurdity of things in perfect synchronization. These moments of synchronization frightened her. His laughter was infectious. He had a way of simultaneously teasing her and complimenting her—with his laughter, his attention, his lustful eyes, the bright flare of surprise that lit his face when she did unexpected things—that she delighted in. The thought of its absence sent a pang of fear through her. It didn’t linger. It was a single sharp jab of pain inside of her, something inexplicable, incurable. She hadn’t told him about what thoughts the singing telegram had interrupted.

The Gum Incident was the most obvious example of something she had been feeling more and more strongly for a couple of years—she was like a house that had been overgrown with vines. Her own history had crept up around her and tied her down, made her earthbound. She wanted to fly. She wanted her life to change. And in her imagination this change would come about via a kind of hurricane that would sweep her away, unmoor her, change her life. There was the possibility, the vague hope, that the hurricane would come in the form of a man, that he would sweep her off her feet. But she was prepared to be her own hurricane, to do it herself. Alex had been a lovely breeze. But his love felt like another constraining vine wending its way around her. It didn’t feel liberating. It was at the opposite end of the spectrum from the Gum Incident—more beautiful, connected, real—but it was on the same spectrum. He was part of her past even while sitting across from her, even when inside of her. But she couldn’t tell him any of this. He was too

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