Unfinished Muse (19 page)

He nodded. “Yeah. Well, I took it
apart.”

“What was wrong with it?” I felt like I was
approaching an antelope on the Savannah. I had to move slowly so as
not to spook him. “I’m sure she would have loved it.”

“It was all wrong. Too small. Too boring. I
don’t know.” He sounded so defeated. “I want it to be something
fantastic. She’s been through so much. I want to give her back some
of her childhood, you know?”

He really was sweet. I wanted to hug him and
tell him it would all work out. “What about the tires you spray
painted last week. Was that part of it?”

He shrugged and stared at his hands. “I was
experimenting with the idea of doing an outer space theme. It
didn’t work.” He shook himself and sat straight, looking right at
me. “But I’ll get it, right? I’ve got time.” He snorted, then took
a long swallow. “What about you? I see you come and go a lot lately
during the day. What do you do?”

The question startled me. “Me?” I did a
mental flail, trying to think of an answer that didn’t sound like
I’d had a psychotic break. Telling him I was a Muse was out of the
question. “I’m a…consultant.”

His eyebrows drew together. “What do you
consult about?”

“Uh. Projects. Aesthetics. I’m a project
manager. Consultant. An aesthetics project manager consultant.” I
wasn’t sure there was such a thing. I was tanking in this
conversation. If this had been a talk show, I’d have been begging
them to cut to a commercial. I forced a smile and went all in. “For
the government. I can’t really talk about it.”

“Okay.” His expression was doubtful. “I
won’t ask.”

The awkward silence that followed was broken
only by the sound of each of us swallowing our beer. I lasted
probably a full minute before I broke.

“So. What’s got you frozen up? Why haven’t
you settled on a big idea, yet?” I tried to give him an encouraging
expression, but it felt more like a thin film of desperation spread
across my face.

He shook his head. “I don’t know what’s
wrong. But time is running out.” He sighed and ran his hand through
his hair. “If I don’t come up with something, we won’t be able to
get it built in time for her birthday.”

I put my bottle on the table and strode over
to him. “Come on.” I stuck my hand out.

He looked at my hand, then up at me. “Where
are we going?”

I gave my hand an impatient shake. “You need
to remember what kinds of things kids like.”

“I know what kids like. I don’t need to go
anywhere.” Despite his protest, he took my hand and let me tug him
to his feet. “Kids like video games and television marathons.”

I led him into the kitchen and deposited my
empty bottle on the counter. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

He frowned and grabbed his keys. “You’re not
going to tell me where we’re going, are you?”

I grinned and shoved him through the door.
“We’re going to a toy store.”

~*~

I’d been right not to attempt to hop into Mark’s
truck and follow him when I was invisible. The inside of the cab
was small and crammed with blueprints, loose tools, and notebooks.
If I tried to sit on top of it all in stealth mode, I’d have ended
up with a screwdriver poking me in the butt at the very least.

“So, this is why your apartment is so tidy.”
I shoved an atlas and a map of Topeka to the floor. “You keep all
your crap in here. Very clever.”

“I wasn’t expecting a passenger.” He slid
behind the wheel and started the engine. “This was all your
idea.”

I grinned. “It’s a fabulous idea. You can
thank me later.”

He grunted and pulled out of the parking
lot. “For someone who used to avoid talking to everybody, you sure
are chatty.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “Hey, I
wasn’t avoiding anybody.”

“Uh huh. And you didn’t duck behind your
counter when I tried to wave at you through your window.”

I’d really hoped he hadn’t seen that.
Apparently I wasn’t as smooth as I thought. I grimaced at him and
remained silent until we arrived at the store.

The store he chose was a family-owned place
with all kinds of old-school games and timeless toys like hula
hoops and yo-yos. We stuck together for a while, and I tried to
help.

“How about this?” I held up a pair of hats,
one with cat ears and one shaped like what a court jester would
wear. “The whole playground could be done in giant hats.”

He reached out and took the jester hat,
frowning in concentration. “Maybe.” He shook it and the tiny bells
rang.

“The curly ends could be double slides.” I
gave him a hopeful smile.

“Let’s keep looking.” He handed it back.

After my third suggestion, I could see I was
hurting his concentration more than helping. I wandered off and
left him perusing the stuffed animals. I was sure the answer he was
looking for could be found inside that store. He only needed to
find it.

A few aisles over I found a woman about my
age wearing a nametag and an apron covered in buttons. In one hand,
she held a pink, plastic bottle. In the other, she held a stick
with a hole on the end.

She was blowing bubbles.

Or at least, she was trying. As I came
around the corner, she pursed her lips and blew. The liquid
splattered everywhere. She dipped her wand in the solution and
tried again with the same result.

At first, I was amused. Who doesn’t know how
to blow bubbles? She blew again, and the thin film almost formed a
bubble, then sprayed backward into her mouth instead. I didn’t know
how that could even happen. She sputtered, stomped her foot, then
tried again.

I approached with caution, not wanting an
eyeful of liquid soap. “You know, if you lift your arm a little
closer and a little higher.” I moved her elbow into position.
“There. Now try blowing more softly. If you blow too hard, it
doesn’t give the bubble a chance to form.”

She tried again, and a perfect, medium-sized
bubble drifted into the aisle. “Hey, thanks!” She tried again, and
a stream of smaller ones pattered out of the plastic loop.
Grinning, she dropped her wand into the bottle. “I’ve been trying
to do that for days. I couldn’t figure out what I was doing
wrong.”

I smiled. “Well, I’m glad I could help.”
What a weird skill to have to pass on to a stranger.

“I’m Amy.” She tapped her nametag. “What can
I help you find today?”

I started to tell her I was just looking.
It’s always the automatic response to that question. But I glanced
at the shelves in the aisle where we were standing and gasped. “Are
all these for bubbles?”

“Sure. Big ones. Little ones. Colored ones.
Ones that land on you without popping.” She touched the different
wands of varying sizes as she spoke, her expression as animated as
her hands. “We’ve got these trays so you can pour a bunch of
solution into it and dip the really big wands. The bubbles are
bigger than a person if you do it right.” She shrugged. “Not that I
could get them to work.”

I was enchanted. There were so many choices
dangling from pegs, taunting me. Inviting me. “I’m going to buy
them.”

“Cool. Which ones?”

I touched a bright green one with a
flower-shaped loop on the end. “All of them.”

She blinked at me. “How about I get you a
shopping basket.”

By the time she came back, I had an armful
of wands, two industrial-sized bottles of bubble solution, and a
book on the art of bubbles. Amy grabbed two of the smallest plastic
wands as they slid off the book on their way to the floor, and we
wrestled everything into the basket she’d brought me. As an
afterthought, I added a green and yellow bubble gun that shot
bubbles at the touch of a trigger.

“You really like bubbles,” she said. “No
wonder you knew how to help me.”

I shrugged. “Everybody likes bubbles.” I
eyed the giant trays and grabbed one, then picked up a contraption
that resembled a jump rope—two handles and a length of rope—but was
far too short for anybody to jump. “What’s this?”

“I watched a video of that, once. You hold
the handles together and drag it through the solution, then sort of
wave it with handles apart.” She chuckled. “I tried it once. You
can imagine the cosmic fail I experienced.”

I dropped it in the basket, along with one
last wand that was more hoop than handle. The circle was nearly the
size of my head. “Okay. I think that’s enough damage. Let’s ring
this up before I can’t make my rent.”

She rolled her eyes. “Try working here. If
I’m not careful, I spend more than I make.” With her free hand, Amy
waved me to follow while she carried my basket to the counter.

The total wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d
expected. Turns out, bits of brightly colored plastic in weird
geometric shapes were pretty cheap. The rope thing and the book
were the most expensive items, and they weren’t too bad,
either.

Once I’d paid for it all, I went in search
of my idea-deficient neighbor. He wasn’t where I’d left him. After
searching through the building blocks, the army men, and three
aisles of Barbies, I finally found him standing in front of a rack
of board games.

His face lit up when he saw me. “Wynter,
you’re a genius.”

I suppressed a sarcastic reply. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He gave a deep, satisfied sigh and
held out the game in his hands.

“Candy Land?” I peered at the box. It hadn’t
changed much over the years. Bright colors, happy children, an
exuberant king welcoming us to his kingdom—and a bazillion tempting
pastries and sweets.

He grinned. “It’s the perfect theme for a
little girl’s backyard playground. I’m going to build Candy
Land.”

Chapter 16

With all three of my charges chugging along on their
own steam, I had an entire guilt-free weekend ahead of me to do
anything I wanted. Normally, that would mean cleaning up the
apartment, binge watching some television, or going to see a movie
by myself.

Recent events had shown me how badly I was
screwing up my life. It was time to make some changes.

I imagined a normal human wouldn’t stare at
a phone number and get queasy over the idea of calling it—unless it
was a potential romantic partner. Sure. That’s worth some
butterflies. But calling a new friend to see if they wanted to hang
out? Most people probably don’t have to do mental exercises in
order to talk themselves into it.

After a half hour of muttering to myself,
setting down the phone, pacing, then coming back to pick up the
phone again, I finally hit the button to call Jillian.

It only rang twice before she answered.
“Wynter! Hey. I was going to call you in a few minutes. How weird
is that?”

The tension ran out of me, and I sat on the
couch. “You were? That
is
weird. What’s up?”

“No, you first. How’s the job?” She sounded
out of breath.

“Is this a bad time? You sound busy.”

“I’m on the treadmill, but I’m on the cool
down. You talk. I’ll be done in a minute.” The pounding of her feet
and the vibration of the treadmill were soothing in the background
of the call. A slight echo let me know she’d put me on speaker.

I took a deep breath, wondering how much to
tell her. “The job has its up and downs. I’m still learning. Met a
cute guy. Don’t know how that’s going to pan out.” I paused, then
decided friendship meant sharing some of the crap, too. “Everybody
in my office hates me, and I ran away from the cute guy when he
tried to kiss me. One of my neighbors is a client, so I’m working
even after hours. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m probably
going to fail. So, there’s all that.”

Once it was out there, I felt both better
and worse. And to be honest, a little worried that she would decide
I was one of
those
people, the sad-sacks that required
constant handholding and far too much emotional commitment.

The hum of the treadmill stopped, and
Jillian switched me off of speakerphone. “Well, crap. You’ve had a
terrible week.”

I smiled at how fast she’d cut to the chase.
“Yeah. Terrible week.”

“Okay. Well, what I was going to call about
is even more important, then. We’re going clubbing tonight.”

“What?” My heart fluttered in panic. I’d
only been to a few clubs in my life, and always with people from
various work places. On the rare occasion that I joined in on
something my colleagues were doing, I ended up in a corner nursing
a drink while they all had a good time.

“Clubbing, honey. Dress hot. We will dance.
We will drink. We will meet people. And we will forget this shitty
week and the fact that, as a brand new Fury, I spent the week
waiting tables in a fake restaurant. Being a Fury isn’t as
interesting as you might think.”

I groaned. “Jilly, what the hell have we
gotten ourselves into?”

“It could be too soon to tell. But in the
meantime, we might as well make the best of it. Meet me in the Mt.
Olympus lobby at eight. We’ll go from there.”

~*~

There are clubs, and there are
Clubs
. Having
no idea which kind Jilly had planned for us, it took me over an
hour to decide what to wear. In the end, I compromised and went
with a simple black miniskirt paired with a flashy gold-sequined
halter and a pair of gold strappy heels.

When I stepped into the lobby at Mt.
Olympus, I was a little early. The lights were still on, but since
the sun had gone down, the glass dome overhead didn’t let in any
ambient light. The lobby had considerably less traffic than during
the day, but a few folks, human and otherwise, passed me while I
stood there feeling awkward and alone.

My stomach was queasy, my palms were
sweating, and I had to bully myself to keep from turning around and
going back out the door to my car. Fortunately, Jilly was came in
right behind me, and she grabbed me before I could chicken out.

The gold sequins had been a good call. Jilly
sparkled like a shiny emerald, from the top of her glittery
cheekbones to the tips of her spangled green pumps. I yanked on the
edges of my top to make sure I wasn’t flashing too much side boob.
Not that anyone would notice a little pale skin showing on me when
Jilly looked like a perky, green disco ball.