Talia stifles a laugh. She is enjoying this way too much.
As Talia talks, Mom and I transport the cracked eggs into the cooled soy sauce and spice bath to let them soak.
“As I said, I’m calling from NASA.” He sounds stuffed up, like he’s in the height of a cold. The speaker makes him sound like he’s underwater. “I’m calling because NASA is reinstating its Artist-in-Residence program. We choose one artist to create art to represent the work we’re doing. The pieces are then displayed in museums throughout the country.”
“I’m listening,” Talia says to signify that she’s still there.
“We’re excited to share that Red String Girl has been chosen as our first artist,” he says in a professional, neutral tone that doesn’t match his choice of words. “Would this be of interest?”
My mouth falls open at the same time that Talia’s jaw drops. Despite bouncing on the couch, she manages to say coolly, “This might be of interest to Ms. RSG.”
I dry my hands and join Talia on the couch. I crouch forward over my crossed legs, eagerly listening.
“I’m told you’ll work out the details with the program director, but the artist… compensated… for the year,” he says, the line crackling.
“You broke up there for a moment. Could you repeat that?” Talia asks, leaning closer to the phone.
The static clears as the man says, “She’ll be compensated twenty-two thousand dollars for the year.”
I widen my eyes. Wow. That’s a lot of pet portraits.
Mom fast-walks over from the kitchen and lunges toward Talia’s phone. “Bullshit! You come at us with that number? We’ve got offers for days,” she says.
“Shh! Don’t you dare,” I whisper, pulling on her arm. “If you negotiate, they might not want to work with me anymore.”
Mom balks. “Multiply that number by six, divided by three, multiply it again by two, and add ten. That’s the number we want to see on a piece of paper.”
“I’m sorry. Who is this?” the man asks.
“Sorry about that. This is my… coagent,” Talia makes up. She shoots Mom a look.
“Names aren’t necessary unless we talk real numbers,” Mom says.
Talia covers the phone with my hand. “Are you trying to do an accent?”
I grab Mom from the waist and pull her back farther. “You sound like Keanu Reeves inBram Stoker’s Dracula. You’re not convincing anyone.”
“I’m aiming for Elizabeth Hurley,” she whispers.
“As Vanessa Kensington inAustin Powers?” Talia asks, still covering the phone.
Mom grins. “As the Devil.”
“You’re both awful! And don’t you dare insult Keanu!” Talia whispers. “Sorry about that. Please, go on.”
NASA Guy continues. “Unfortunately, I don’t have the power to increase that number. We rely on grants for the money. But the attention your client should get will be significant.”
“We can’t pay rent with significant,” Mom says, pouting her lips Liz Hurley style. “How about less tellys and more monies for your artists.”
“Televisions?” the man asks. He sounds so confused at this point, I almost feel bad for him.
Mom exhales audibly. “Telescopes!”
NASA Guy sighs. “I hear you. I do. I wish I could do more in that regard.”
“Wishing is nice and all, but whatcanyou do?” Mom smirks.
“I—I guess I can try to get a cafeteria card for Ms. RSG,” the man offers. “I can’t guarantee an amount. But it should cover or at least subsidize meals.”
