Page 16 of Just Say (Hell) No
“Because it belonged to a kid who outgrew it?” Victoria suggested. “Bonus of being short. It needs somebody better than me appreciating it, though. I think the running’s working for you.”
“Not sure.” Nyree sank down beside her, stuck out one bare leg, and poked at her thigh. “Still a bit squashy.”
“Yeh, but you have boobs. Boobs excuse all.”
“If I lose too much weight,” Nyree said, “I won’t. A good thought. Helpful.”
“True.” Victoria unfolded herself from the car seat and went over to the toaster oven into which she’d jammed the pizza. “Better have some pizza. Just in case.”
When they were eating it, Victoria said, “Dog portrait. Let’s have it.”
“Don’t you want to talk about your day, dear?” Nyree asked.
Her friend grimaced. “Nah. I’m prosecuting an indecent assault on a minor. I want to hear about horrible dogs. Turns out I’ve wanted to hear about them all day. I just didn’t realize it. I thought you’d never get home to entertain me.”
“I was with Pookie.”
Victoria sighed with satisfaction. “Never fails. They couldn’t name them ‘Rex.’ Or ‘King.’ Something manly.”
“Does he look like a Rex? Or a King? And here’s what I want to know.” Something was working. The pizza, the wine, or the friend. Or all of them. “Why does a rich woman’s desire to have her darling immortalized on canvas rise inversely—conversely—”
“Inversely,” Victoria said, “if it’s going in the opposite direction. Go on.”
“Right. Why does it rise inversely with the size and, uh, rise in the same way—” She gestured, then gave it up. “Why is it that the littler and nastier the pet is, the more she wants him painted? Pookie has a horrible bark, and he’s gassy, though that’s not his fault. Savannah feeds him cheese. Do not feed a dog cheese.”
“No worries.”
“I’m only at Dog Number Four,” Nyree said, “and I’ve already had to teach myself some new phrases. ‘It’ll be a challenge to do justice to all that personality.’ That’s a good one. Also, ‘Hmm. It’s not just the looks, it’s the protectiveness. I’m really too booked, but that combination. I’d like to squeeze her in. Let me check my calendar, because she has something special.’ And then the owner says, while her Pomeranian is trying to bite my ankle, ‘It’s true. Sheisspecial. So protective of me. So if you can do it…’ And then there’s thiswedding.Pookie’s mummy is having a dog wedding. I am not joking.”
By the time she’d finished explaining, Victoria was holding her belly. “Oh, my God,” she gasped. “Pookie and Precious. In her gown. And herveil.Under the arbor. Oh, I can’t. Take me as your date. Please. So you were there all this time?”
“No. Taking photos at the shelter. With a couple Blues players.”
Victoria sat up straighter and stopped laughing. “Really? Who?”
“Koti James.”
“Married,” Victoria said, “but bloody fit. Who else? And I know rugby players are just another day at the office to you, but leave me my illusions. So few men are taller than me. So who?”
“Marko Sendoa,” Nyree said reluctantly. “Publicity shots for the shelter, that’s all. The boys were fine. Good. Well behaved. Like you say, another day at the office.” She waggled her toes across the poppy-painted table. “What do you think about cherry-red toenails? Good? Or too much?”
Victoria levered herself off the couch. “Good, I guess, but what do I know? Ask a woman who doesn’t wear a robe and a wig to work.” It was light, but it wasn’t. “And whose partner likes nail varnish.”
“Who cares what Seb thinks? You’re wearing it for you, not him.”
“Yeh, nah,” Victoria put the plates into the tiny sink. “Anyway, got to go. Big day tomorrow. Jury summation, and I want this bastard put away.”
Nyree sobered. “Sorry. I should have asked.”
“Nah. I didn’t want to talk about it. Why d’you think I came over? I wanted to hear about Pookie, and about Marko Sendoa. Much nicer spot to put my thoughts for the evening.” Victoria ran water over the dishes. “I hear whatyou’renot saying, too. Don’t think I don’t. I’ll shout you a couple months’ rent, and you know it. Stop worrying. Trade me a painting for it.”
The second glass of wine was so often a bad idea, and not just for your thighs. Nyree had to force the breeziness. “You’ve bought too many paintings. I’m good for two more months, if I’m careful. No worries. If I don’t have a show by then, or really get the dogs going, I’ll have to find a graphic design job again, but that’s not the end of the world.”
Victoria leaned against Nyree’s meter-wide “kitchen” and studied her. “Except…”
“Just…” Nyree swallowed. “I need to seepeople,that’s all.In order to do good work. Even if they’re funny, or messy, or sad underneath. It doesn’t matter. People, and real light, and shadow. Working at a computer takes my colors away. It’s… it’s scary. But that’s why,” she said, trying for cheerfulness, “I’m doing the dogs, right? If I get to paint Pookie and Precious on their wedding day, I can charge fifty percent more, because two. Plus—wedding guests. Dog fanciers. Rich people.”
“Mad people,” Victoria said with a smile that Nyree wished didn’t look like it was meant to cheer her up. “I’m leaving the wine with you. Who knows? Maybe I’ll need it tomorrow, and your company, too. See ya.”
