Present Day
Clay & Soul is a studio I was introduced to when I was in school. I had to take a sculpting class. And this is where we came to work on our projects. We learned everything from the different types of modeling clay to how to kiln your own pieces. The studio comprises a large workshop area, with a few pottery wheels and crafting tables available to the public, an inventory area of premade pieces that customers come in to paint and decorate; and two private studios in the back for larger projects.
I currently occupy one of the private studios. I’ve been working on a large clay piece with a new type of clay that can withstand the weight and size of the sculpture and remains malleable until it’s kilned, so I don’t have to finish it in one day. I’ve been working on it for three months, actually. It’s a Trojan horse, and it stands about half as tall as I am. I don’t really have a reason or purpose for a clay Trojan horse, but it’s a challenge. Challenges keep me focused.
Challenges and toothpicks.
My biggest concern now is how I’m going to kiln it when I’m done. There isn’t a kiln here big enough for it to fit. But I’ve been Googling some work-arounds that might work out.
As I enter Clay & Soul to put some more hours into my horse, the first thing I lay eyes on is the honey-colored hair of the woman sitting at one of the pottery wheels. Fuck.
I dart behind one of the inventory shelves. I knew I had recognized her the other night. I’ve seen her in here before. I’ve watched her hands mold clay in a way that should be considered illegal. Pornographic. She wears earbuds while she molds. Her body sways slowly right and left while her eyes are closed the whole time. Her fingers delicately slide up and down the wet mass as they pinch and poke the clay into a form.
“Hey, Luca.”
I jump at the sound of my name from behind me. It’s Laura, the owner of the shop. I run my fingers through my hair and turn to her. “Hey.”
“Are you hiding from someone back here? Stalking someone?” Her brow rises as she lifts up onto her toes and looks over my shoulder. “You checking out the girl in the purple smock?”
I instantly shake my head, but my facial expression apparently doesn’t match, because Laura places a hand on her hip.
“Right. I don’t remember her name. She doesn’t come in often, but when she does, sometimes she stays all afternoon. Makes three or four pieces. I think it’s a stress reliever for her in some way.”
I turn my head to watch her for a few more brief seconds.
She’s gorgeous. Graceful. And then my mind sinks directly into the gutter.
I think of about half-a-dozen ways I could help her relieve stress.
“You want to invite her back to the studio?”
I snap my gaze back to Laura. “What? No. I’m not. I mean, I wasn’t—” is all I can get out before Laura taps me playfully on the shoulder.
“Okay, lover boy. Everything is set up in the back. Ventilation is on. Carving utensils are prepped. It’s ready when you are. You going to come out from behind this shelf?”
“Of course,” I say with a little conviction in my voice. I’m here to work, after all. As I turn to walk toward the studio, my shoulder bumps the shelf. I panic to steady it, but a clay pot falls to the floor and smashes to pieces. Kerry opens her eyes and looks up instantly. She looks at the mess on the floor, then her eyes travel up my body and to my face. She recognizes me and her eyes go wide. She mouths the words, “What the fuck?” I stare at her like a creep, unmoving for a few long uncomfortable moments.
I should say hello. Just wave and acknowledge that I see her. But the look on her face has struck me motionless. I can’t read her, really, but I feel like she thinks I followed her in here.
Or maybe she doesn’t remember me. Maybe she’s trying to figure it out. Where she knows me from. Maybe that’s the look.
Just say hello.
No, just walk away.
I avert my eyes away from her and focus on helping Laura clean up the mess.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
“Well, Luca, you just destroyed a five-dollar, generic, mass-produced clay pot. I’m gonna need you to pay up.” She winks at me, collecting the largest pieces of the broken pot into her apron.
“You want me to come work a birthday shift?” I ask, knowing the weight of that question will be pittance enough. One Saturday a month, the studio is open for birthday parties of children between the ages of eight and fourteen. As organized as Laura is, these parties are always the height of insanity. Extremely loud. Extremely messy. But it’s good business for the studio. I’ve worked a few birthday shifts in the past to show my appreciation to Laura for letting me have studio time for close to free.
“Maybe. I’ll let you know,” Laura replies. She motions her head in Kerry’s direction. “You gonna go talk to that girl or not? She’s still staring at you.”
“I assumed. I can feel it in the back of my head,” I say, picking up another piece.
“I shouldn’t,” I continue. “I don’t want to disturb her any more than I already have.”
I know what it’s like to be interrupted during a project. It completely breaks up your creative spirit and your train of thought. I’ve probably already done that by playing my rendition of Greek plate smashing with Laura’s stock pots.
Say hello. Apologize.
Laura stands and walks over to the checkout counter. She chucks the broken pottery into a box. “Maybe I can figure out a mosaic or something with these.”
I add the pieces I’ve gathered into the box. Laura grabs a broom and a dustpan.
“I’ll get that,” I offer, reaching for the broom.
“No way. You need to go over there and talk to her. She’s still looking over here.”
I can’t bear to turn around. I’m not a chickenshit. I’m not a coward. But all the scenarios of how this could go wrong are playing in my head.
Why, yes, it is me. Luca. The tat shop owner. I just happened to show up in this obscure location, completely by accident, at the exact same time you are here. Not weird at all.
Hey, yeah. Luca? Remember? I was going to show you that vagina tattoo the other night? Oh, you don’t remember that? Never mind.
How is Stella? Is she still pissed at Padraig? He hasn’t really talked about it. Oh, they hate each other now? Okay, so, good talk.
Nothing positive is floating through my head. I don’t know how drunk she was the other night or what exactly she remembers. Maybe she’s embarrassed, and I don’t want to add to that embarrassment by approaching her.
I’ve made up my mind. I’m just going to pretend that I’m not Luca. And since I’m not Luca, I don’t know Kerry and I don’t have to say anything to her.
“I’m heading back to the studio, Laura. I’ll be in there a while.”
She gives me a side glance and shakes her head. “Okay. What do I tell her if she asks about you?”
“Tell her my name is Ramon.”
“Okay, Ramon.”