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“I like my idea better.”
“You would, you perv.”
“You’re calling me a perv? I bet you’ve got a dog-eared copy of the Kamasutra under your bed.”
“Nah, more like the Training of O. Doesn’t Ginger still manage that Coffee shop on the upper east side?”
“Yes.”
“So why are we going the wrong direction?”
“She’s working at a different location today. Relax, I’ve been texting her like all day.”
We picked up Ginger, who ironically didn’t have red hair—it changed color to a dark brown when she was about five—and carried on our way toward the painting place.
“Ginger, how have you been?”
“Tired. Tomorrow is my first day off in over two weeks.” She took off her shoe and rubbed her socked foot. “I need a vacation.”
“You want a Tylenol?” I reached into my purse and rummaged around for my bottle.
“No, I’ll be fine.” She shook her head. “I want to drink wine, and not get a stomachache doing it.”
“Hey, Ginger,” Abby said. “What do you think of this idea: adult candy?”
“And breakfast cereal,” I added.
“Oh, I get it. Like cock shaped jolly ranchers? And little nipples and dicks shaped cereal?”
I rolled my eyes.
“Good grief, you’re as bad as Abby. Such a filthy mind.”
“Hey, at least I’m honest about it. Besides, somebody says ‘adult candy,’ shit, pretty much adult anything and where does your mind naturally go?”
“Oh come on—”
Ginger ticked her points off on her fingers.
“Adult book store, adult video, adult—”
“I get the point. It could be that it was a natural progression AND you have a dirty mind, Ginger”
She closed her mouth, considered my point, and then held her finger up.
“Good point.”
The taxi took us to the bar where the painting class was to take place. We ran into Kit, her hair still damp from a recent shower. I gave her a hug, and then the four of us headed inside. Warmth and laughter enveloped us as we took in the scene.
We got in line to pay for our admission, and soon ensconced ourselves at the four easels set up in the rear. I sipped on Chardonnay and tried to follow the instructor as she taught us how to paint a lake at sunset.
My friends and I kept laughing, however, and I know I missed some of what she said. Not only was I making an ugly-looking painting, but my friends had also decided I’d complained about ‘the guy at work’ one too many times.
“Okay, that’s it,” Abby said, staring at me from over her palate. “Why don’t you just admit you want to fuck this guy and get it over with?”
“What?” I blurted. “How do you figure I want to sleep with him?”
“She’s not wrong, Ivy,” Kit added, looking a bit silly with a swipe of paint on the side of her nose. “She’s not wrong. You have been protesting too much.”