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EMILY THORNTON
“Oh, wow! That’s amazing, Ems. You are such a fabulous artist.”
“Ooh, fabulous, hey? Thanks, Dannie. You’re my biggest fan,” I coo in appreciation of my best friend, Daniella's encouragement.
“It’s true. Next to yours, my drawings look like something a two year old would deposit on a canvas with pureed broccoli.”
“Funny.”
“How’s the assignment coming along?”
“I’m almost done. This is the last in the collection I have to submit by Friday. I’m nervous.”
“You’re crazy. You’re always nervous when the truth is that your art professor would be so lucky to have more students like you in his class. You’re going to ace it. No sweat.”
My one-woman fan club smiles brightly at me. Dannie and I couldn't be more different if we tried. We are polar opposites in every way, but we are cut from the same cloth when it comes to friendship and loyalty.
Daniella is a math nerd. With her eyeglasses and pullovers, she’d be perfectly at home on the set of The Big Bang Theory. I zone out when she starts waxing lyrical about equations and stats. She may as well be speaking a foreign language, for all the sense it makes to me. The light dances in her eyes, and I swear her voice goes up a few octaves as she chatters on about all things mathematical. I nod my head and pretend to be interested, but truthfully, I’d be happier watching paint dry.
I painted a canvas for Dannie for her twentieth birthday. It was my artistic interpretation of an equation she’d been particularly fascinated with at the time. I have to say it was pretty damn impressive. Even I was amazed at how good the end result was. The canvas hangs over her desk now. Dannie insists that it serves as her inspiration when she’s feeling a tad unmotivated.
“Are you working this afternoon?” she asks, a red gummy worm dangling from her lips.
“No. Pierre is working an extra shift. He’s going to visit his parents next weekend, so he asked if I'd swap shifts with him.”
“Uhhh, Pierre. That man is too beautiful for his own good,” Dannie gushes.
“That he is. Pity he bats for the other side.”
“Hey, give me one night with him, armed with a bottle of wine, and I’ll change his mind.”
“You’re far too horny for a math major, Daniella Freeman.”
“It might interest you to know that apparently old Einstein got around quite a bit in his day,” Dannie grins. “Genius is horny work, my dear woman,” she says, staring mockingly down at me over the rim of her glasses.
“Is that so?”
“Yup. Speaking of horny work, How’s your love life? What happened to that tall drink of water you met at the gallery? Paolo, was it?”
“Ah, yes. I’m afraid the delicious Paolo went back home to Italy.”
“Oh, darn it. Never mind. It’s a good thing you have a best friend who has your back.”
“You’re referring to that enormous vibrator you bought me for my birthday, aren’t you?” I sigh, rolling my eyes.
“Don’t knock it til you’ve tried it, hon. Not all of us have access to lovers of art with deep pockets who enjoy lazy afternoons filled with champagne cocktails and oodles of rampant sex.”
“Do you even know what I do at the gallery?” I laugh.
My phone rings, cutting our conversation short. It’s David.
“Hi, Big Bro.”
“Hey, Ems.”
“What’s up?”