Page 104 of Make Me Scream

“Good.”

“And no matter how many times people complimented him on his skill and vision, he always gave credit to you and his partner. When some of our more devoted patrons learned that you were the model for several of Mr. Franklin’s best pieces, they actually got into a minor bidding war to purchase them. And when they learned that you weren’t just a model, but an artist in your own right, they became very interested.”

Blushing, I turn away, not wanting Mundell to see. Maybe he wants to make amends, but like Lane, I don’t want to offer up a clean slate so easily.

“Well, I’m nowhere near as talented as Joel.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Ms. Carpenter. Your illustrations are very good. That’s why you’re a student of mine.”

I want to take that as the praise he intended, but Mundell has some gall saying so now.

“You mean, as long as my art reflects well on your school,” I counter.

“Fair point.” He gazes up at the sky, squinting from the sun. “I know what I said before, but in light of recent developments, I’d like to offer you a… special dispensation.”

A troupe of drummers passes by, playing and chanting loudly. They drown out the saxophone and stop in front of Mundell. He fishes a twenty out of his wallet and drops it in the basket hanging from the lead drummer’s waist. The man gives us both a wide smile before moving on.

“What does that mean?” I ask when we can hear ourselves think again.

“You devise your art and present it to me. If I approve it, you can do it in public and it won’t affect your enrollment at my school.”

Oh, I see. He still controls my work in the end. I hope he can forgive my skepticism.

“How do I know you’ll ever approve of them?”

“You have my word. For every piece you conceive, I’ll offer feedback as much or as little as necessary until you’ve developed your idea into art that is meaningful, feasible and still truly personal.”

Ahh. His word, and his mentorship. And how much, exactly, are those worth?

“How many people have you taught to make art like mine?”

He chuckles.

“The principles of art are similar across mediums. The goals are often the same too: creating beauty, imparting meaning, challenging preconceptions. Whatever your goals are, whether you want to be the next Georgia O’Keeffe or the next Alistair Rat, I’m confident I can help you. And if not me, who else will you learn from?”

I hold back a laugh. He really has no fucking idea, does he?

“The other main condition would be cutting off all contact with Lane, of course. While he may no longer be your teacher, a relationship with him would reflect badly on the school.”

If we’d had this conversation last night, I might have agreed to it on the spot. Now, I’m not ready to swear off Lane permanently. He may still redeem himself, and I’d rather not have to hide.

“Lane made me certain promises about my education,” I say. “He’s offered to support me, should something happen to my scholarship.”

Mundell narrows his brow.

“Under what conditions?” he asks.

“None. He’s pledged to help me because it’s the right thing to do. We’ll need to stay in contact, to a degree.”

“I see. Don’t worry.” He sets his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll match his offer. I’ll pay your expenses instead.”

He can’t be serious. It’s okay for him to do it, but not Lane? What the hell will he get out of it? At least with Lane, we’re connected by our art. Our physical and romantic relationship was… not strictly independent, though it could have been.

“Won’t that invite suspicions-” I invoke his intonation — “that would reflect badly on the school?”

Mundell takes a few steps away and motions for me to follow.

“I think I have an answer to that. Come, let me show you something.”

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