Second Chance for Romance

Chapter 19

I ran into a snag with my project when I started building the model. The curve of the roof was impossible with the materials I had. I tried everything.

Poster board was too flimsy. Foamcore wouldn’t bend. Balsa split when I tried to bend it with the grain and wouldn’t bend at all when I tried against. I even tried laminating thin sheets of it, but the results were a mess. Ditto with poster board. I wasted a small fortune in supplies and finally decided that I didn’t have the tools or experience to do it right.

“Why don’t you try plastic?” Christy suggested as we contemplated the failed experiments.

“Like Saran Wrap?”

“No, like plexiglass or something. One of the guys I know is creating sculpture with it. He uses a heat gun and bends it into all sorts of shapes. He might be able to help.”

“I’ll try anything at this point.” I looked at my watch. “Ten thirty at night on a Sunday. Do you think he’s still in his studio?”

She laughed. “No, but I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

“Great news,” Christy said after aerobics. She handed me her duffle. “My friend—his name is Jonas, by the way—said he can do it. No problem.” She danced ahead and then twirled.

“Why does she always do this after aerobics?” Trip asked Wren as an aside.

“Too much energy. I think she’s hyper.” She eyed me sideways. “She needs more sex. It calms her down.”

“I heard that, Miss Fussbudget,” Christy said. “And my sex life is just fine, thank you very much.”

I snickered.

Christy gave me a sunlit smile and pirouetted away.

“When can we get started?” I asked her.

“I told you, not till we’re married.”

Trip laughed.

“No,” I said, “when can we get started with your friend?”

She feigned surprise. “You wanna have sex with my friend?”

“Not sex! Sheesh. All I wanna do is make a roof. Is that too much to ask?”

“All right, all right! You don’t have to get all grumpy. That’s her job.”

Wren squawked and made a grab for her.

“Can’t catch me!” She ran off, with Wren in hot pursuit.

Trip bent and snagged Wren’s duffle bag. “This seems so familiar.”

“Déjà vu all over again.”

“Ha! I know that one. Yogi Berra, right?”

“Yep.”

The girls rounded a lamppost and came shrieking back toward us.

Christy almost knocked me over when she grabbed my arm to slow down.

She was a speedy little thing when she got going. She whirled around us and used me as a shield.

“Help, help! Protect me from the evil witch!”

“Whoa there, Hazel,” I said to Wren.

Trip caught her around the middle as she lunged at the little blonde.

“Put me down!”

“Not until you calm down.”

“Franklin Davis Whitman the Third, put me down this instant! ”

“She sounds serious,” I said.

“I am serious!”

“Are you going to behave?” Trip asked.

“Yeah, behave!” Christy taunted.

I caught her eye and shook my head sternly.

She immediately settled down.

“Think about your position here,” Trip said to Wren, his voice

reasonable. “I can carry you home if I have to.”

“Do it and you’ll—”

“Be careful what you say next,” he warned.

“I’m sorry, Wren,” Christy piped up. “I’ll be nice. I swear. Still friends?”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“You’re not mad at me either,” Trip said with calm assurance. “You just don’t like losing.”

She didn’t answer.

“If I put you down,” he asked again, “are you going to behave?”

“What if I say no?”

He chuckled. “Then I’ll carry you all the way home. Over my shoulder.

With your cute little ass in the air.”

“It is a cute ass,” I said.

“Very cute,” Christy agreed.

“Fine,” Wren huffed after a moment. “Put me down.”

Trip waited.

“Please.”

He set her on her feet, and she blew hair out of her face.

“I’m sorry,” Christy said contritely. “I was just having fun.”

“I know,” Wren said. She smiled. “You just drive me crazy sometimes.”

“Maybe you need more sex,” I said.

She glared.

“He may be right,” Trip said. He grinned at her. “I can pencil you in tonight if you’d like.”

Christy giggled.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” I told him. “You’re a lot bigger than a pencil.”

Christy’s look of shock was priceless.

“Well, he is.”

“But… how do you know?”

“I’ve seen it,” I said simply. “I’ll tell you about it one day. But first, this friend of yours… Jonas? I really need to get this model back on schedule.

Can he help me do the roof or not?”

I skipped judo the next day and Christy skipped the pool. Together we descended into the bowels of the A&A building. Jonas was an MFA student and shared studio space with several other artists who worked in mixed media. His sculptures reminded me of the Chicago Picasso, all weird shapes and flat planes, but he knew how to form plastic.

I sacrificed a half-finished elevation drawing to use as a template. I used it to cut a second template and then taped them both to the ends of a composite block of balsa. Then I spent four dusty hours shaping and sanding the mold into the proper curves. Christy handed me tools, brushed away sawdust, and was the best little assistant I could ask for.

Jonas returned after dinner. He studied the mold, ran his hands over it, and pronounced it good.

“Dunno why, but I like it,” he said. “It has a feminine vibe.”

Christy beamed.

“But you’re really gonna be pissed when you see how long this part takes,” he added.

“Why?” I said in alarm. “Is it hours? Days?”

He simply chuckled as he set a flat piece of plexiglass on top of the mold.

Then he donned a pair of thick work gloves and triggered his heat gun.

“Hold on,” I said, “are you sure this won’t burn the wood?”

“I’m sure. Balsa has an ignition temp of nearly 400°F.”

He said it “four hundred eff.”

“Plexi melts at 360°F, but we only need to get it to about 280°F to make it pliable.”

“You’re the expert.”

He nodded. “So, you’re an architect?”

“Yeah. Working on it.”

“Cool, man. I dig what you’re doing here. Not the usual temple of capitalist greed.”

“Um, no.”

“Little B here says you’re a visionary.”

“I dunno about that, but thanks.” I gestured at Christy. “Little B?”

He glanced at her and nodded. “Yeah. Little Bernini. What some of us call her. She has the touch. Gonna be famous one day.”

The sheet of plexiglass had been heating up as we talked. After only a few minutes, it started to sag into the curves of the mold. Jonas gave it another couple of minutes before he set the heat gun aside. He gave the sheet

some gentle taps and then studied it from several angles.

“That should do it,” he said at last. “Give it a while longer to cool and you’re ready to go.”

“You’re kidding me. That’s it?”

“Told you you’d be pissed. Four hours to create a mold, four minutes to make a piece. A bit longer with heating and cooling, but yeah, that’s it.” He nodded at the wavy plexiglass. “I normally make freeform shapes. Now you know why.” He shrugged. “But you gotta go where the vision takes you. I grok, man.”

He took off the gloves and handed them to me. “I’m gonna get back to work. Big show in a couple of weeks.”

I nodded dumbly.

“I’ll hold on to your mold in case something happens to that piece. It should be fine, though. Give it a good sanding to rough it up before you try to paint it.”

“Got it. Thanks. And let me know when I can return the favor.”

“Dunno if I’ll ever need a building designed,” he said with a shrug, “but you’re the first one I’ll call.”

“It’s a deal.”

Christy hugged my arm and smiled up at me.

“Oh, yeah,” Jonas added, “take care of Little B. She’s like everyone’s little sister down here.”

“Will do.”

Wren and Trip were studying at the dining room table when we returned.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

I held up the plexiglass piece like a trophy.

“That’s it?”

It was a clear square, fifteen inches on a side, and curved in the shape of a woman’s hip and waist. I glanced at Christy. A little slip of a woman…

“Six hours of work for that?”

“You have no idea,” I said. “Damn thing took five minutes once the plexi heated up. Everything else was prep or cool-down.”

“I saved you some dinner,” Wren said. “I kept it in the oven on warm.

Oh, Christy… you have a message. He called twice. I wrote down the number.”

“He?” I teased her.

She shrugged and gave me a curious look as she followed Wren into the kitchen.

I set the plexiglass in front of Trip and told him the short version of what it had taken to create.

Christy shrieked from the kitchen.

Trip shot to his feet and knocked over his chair.

I almost knocked him over as I bolted past.

Christy was listening to the phone, oblivious to us.

We looked at Wren, who was just as confused as we were.

“How long?” Christy said. “Are you sure? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay. We’ll be there. The main gate. Right. Ten minutes. Oh, Danny, I can’t wait!” She hung up and beamed at us. Her expression fell when she saw ours. “What’s the matter?”

“We thought you were hurt,” I said.

“No! That was Danny. He’s at the airport. Come on, we have to go!”

The rest of us looked at each other.

“I’ll explain on the way,” Christy said. She gestured at me. “Come on.

Get your keys. He doesn’t have much time. I told him we’d meet him in ten minutes.”

“He’s at the airport? Which one? It’s gonna take more than ten minutes.”

“The airport!” Christy said. “Wait, there’s more than one?”

I rolled my eyes and dug in my pocket for keys.

“You want me to keep your dinner warm?” Wren asked.

“No. Thanks.” I kissed her cheek and opened the back door. “I’ll let you know what’s going on as soon as I know. Come on, princess,” I said to Christy. “Let’s go. Chop-chop.”

She bounced with excitement. Then she grabbed my hand and tugged me into the night.