Page 12 of Make Me Scream

I turn back to Porter, but he’s not there — he’s at the corner, and then he’s gone, down into a subway entrance.

Pissed, I find Joel so we can go. With a few hundred people leaving the exhibit all at once, we have to walk three blocks before we can hail a cab. At least the driver blasts the heater for us.

Joel takes pity on me and lets me shower first, though we’ve mostly warmed up by the time we get home. While I wash, he calls Martin, who didn’t expect us to get back for at least another hour. I’m drying my hair when he arrives with a bag of groceries and a case of White Claw.

When I get out of the bathroom, Joel and Martin are cooking dinner: a spicy Thai basil beef stir fry. Hearty, filling and sure to bring the heat long after we’re done eating.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to see all the art,” Martin says to me. “That’s a real bummer.”

“Thanks. It’s really nice of you to cook for us on short notice. It smells amazing.”

Joel pauses from cutting peppers and leans over to kiss Martin’s cheek.

“He cooks like an angel and heisan angel,” Joel says.

Martin blushes.

“Aww,” he says. “I was going to have canned chili before you called, so this was definitely a step up.”

I crack open a hard seltzer and take a long drink. Maybe I should take it easy until I’ve eaten, but whatever.

“At least Joel got to talk up Professor Mundell,” I say. “How did it go?”

Joel sucks in his breath.

“Well, I think, but we’ll see. He liked my concept of classical nudes with original art as tattoos. ‘A timeless subject with a modern twist,’ he called it. Mundell didn’t make any promises, but he said I should get to work on it, immediately.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing!” I say. “Congratulations!”

“Gwen, would you be willing to model?” Martin asks.

“Hey!” Joel snaps. “I wasn’t going to, you know, presume anything.”

“I’m not presuming, I’m just asking. If she wants to say no-”

“I’d be happy to,” I interrupt. “I’m not shy. Especially not for a talented artist. Will you show me what the tattoos will be first?”

“Of course,” says Joel.

“Great. And no butterfly tramp stamps.”

He laughs.

“Sure thing. So, what about you? I saw you talking to Professor Porter. How’d it go?”

I sigh, then summarize our discussion of Alistair Rat.

“So it was about as expected. But there was something else, after the fire alarm.”

After I explain about the cell phone in the bag, Joel asks, “Are you sure it wasn’t a case of some kind? Don’t some people use those?”

“Who?” I say. “Fishermen?”

“Porter isn’t an underwater videographer or something, is he?” Martin asks.

I shake my head. Their suspicion is understandable but I know what I saw.

“No. It was definitely a plastic bag. And again, no phones were allowed, so why did he have one?”

---