The Reluctant Nude - Meg Maguire [43]
“It is good to meet you,” Max said.
“You too. Thanks for the invitation. Wow, this place is rad.” Her eyes scanned his sunny little empire. “I could get a tan in here.”
Fallon shouldered her bag, looking uncertain. “Do I get the day off, in light of this underhanded surprise visit?” she asked Max.
“Yes, I suppose.” He frowned internally, sad to lose the momentum of the last couple of days, the trajectory of both their rapport and his progress on the statue. He suddenly wished he hadn’t made that call. “Will you stay for coffee? So that I may grill your friend for personal information about you?”
“Um, sure. We don’t have anything scheduled.” Fallon put her bag down and dragged a pair of folding chairs over.
Max prepared the mugs and joined them, leaning on the edge of the worktable. “So Rachel, you are Fallon’s flatmate?”
“Housemate, yes. And therapist,” she added with a smile.
“Don’t listen to her,” Fallon said.
Max glowed to see her so clearly pleased with this morsel of normality. “What do you do for work?” he asked Rachel.
“I’m a teacher. High school life sciences, in Queens.”
He tried to picture this petite thing exerting authority over a classroom of rowdy urban teenagers. Strangely enough, he found he could.
“Fallon and I went to grad school together,” Rachel added.
“I see. And how is she as a housemate?” He caught Fallon shifting in her seat, torn between protest and permissiveness.
“Oh, she’s a dream. Clean, dependable, fabulous cook?” Rachel looked to Fallon for confirmation.
“I suppose.”
“Her eggplant parmesan is famous. And she wears seamed pantyhose and lipstick when she vacuums,” Rachel added. Fallon kicked her ankle with her sneaker. “Just kidding. She wears a French maid costume.”
Max smiled and turned to Fallon. “What else don’t I know about you?”
“Nothing terribly interesting,” she said, sounding shy.
“She’s very modest,” Rachel said warmly. “Although that’s probably not the side of her you see—”
Fallon interjected. “So, anyhow. What will you be doing while we’re off exploring?” she asked Max.
He shrugged. “I could do some gardening. Does Fallon do any gardening?” he asked Rachel quickly, knowing she’d happily supply any information he asked for. She clearly enjoyed teasing her friend as much as he did.
“Oh, a bit. Our yard’s about as big as a napkin, but she does some veggies. I’ve managed to kill all the cucumbers she planted back in August. Sorry,” she added to Fallon.
“I don’t suppose you brought any of the music I requested?” Max asked.
Rachel nodded, curls bouncing. “Oh yeah, I grabbed all the albums out of her car. I sure hope you like Elliot Smith and Van Morrison.”
“It’s not for me.” He aimed a smile at a pinked-faced Fallon.
“We should get going.” Fallon looked around, seeming to realize she was the only one who’d finished their coffee, or even started it. “Soon, I mean. There’s a lot I want to see.”
“What do you think of Fallon’s boyfriends?” Max plowed on, shameless.
Rachel pondered this question a moment. “They’re not bad, actually.”
“Thank you,” Fallon said graciously.
“Most of them are named Paul,” Rachel added.
“Only two of them.”
“A decent percentage. Anyway, they’re all right. Quite academic, I’d say. Quite a few engineers.”
Max smiled. “That doesn’t surprise me. She seems rather analytical.”
“I am actually in the room,” Fallon said.
Max ignored her. “So who exactly is this man who wants a sculpture of Fallon with her clothes off?”
Fallon stood so brusquely her chair toppled over backward. “We better go and start our day.” She aimed a pointed look at Rachel before politely righting the chair.
Rachel set her untouched coffee on the table and picked up her purse. “It was great meeting you.” She offered her hand again.
“Would you like to come back for lunch?” Max asked. “Fish chowder?”
“As seductively un-Kosher as that sounds, I was hoping to take Fal out for a girl’s lunch. We’ve got some catching up to do.”
“Very