“There we go. Next time lead with that,” Mom says bluntly. Her accent slips into something more like Lindsay Lohan’s version inThe Parent Trap. It doesn’t know what it wants to be.
“NASA will also offer housing and travel allowances for the living and moving arrangements.”
Mom raises an eyebrow. “Better.”
I wave her off.
“How did you say you got Ms. RSG’s name? She didn’t apply for a NASA program,” Talia says.
There’s a long pause. “The team saw herEntangledinstallation.”
Hearing my installation name in this context hits differently. Instead of a pile of string, I remember the installation as it originally was. I feel a spark of excitement again.
“What is it about her work that you liked? I mean, enough for being picked as the artist-in-residence?” Talia pushes on.
He doesn’t respond for a few seconds but then finally says, “We think her ability to intertwine—excuse the unintended pun—science and… high concepts… works well for our ongoing missions. Her work is creative. She brings an interactive sensibility to ideas that often feel too far out to grasp. She’d help us convey high-level ideas visually and in an approachable way.”
“That’s right!” Mom shouts. “Our girl can do what you need.” She’s transitioned from the Devil into someone so posh, she could be a shoo-in for one of the Bridgertons.
Talia waves Mom off. “What kind of high-level ideas exactly?” she asks.
For a second it sounds like NASA Guy is blowing into a tissue.“Excuse me. Apologies for that. Unfortunately, I can’t give specifics until the agreement has been made. Confidentiality. I’m sure you can understand.”
“Me?” Talia asks.
“With your client’s identity remaining a secret,” he says, his congested voice blaring from the speaker.
“Yes. Oh! Yes,” she says, almost forgetting herself.
I stand to pace the room and process everything. I need to be doing something with my hands. I make my way to the kitchen and grab the ladle to push the marinating eggs back and forth in the mixture.
“Accepting this position would require living in the Los Angeles area for a year as Ms. RSG creates her art. I’d be her liaison, teach her about the work we’re doing. There’s some travel involved. As well as several showcases throughout the year.”
“Los Angeles? Multiple showcases? And for a year? A year is a long time,” I whisper to myself, not realizing Mom has joined me in the kitchen.
Mom makes a noise. “A year’s a drop in the bucket.”
“Not when you’re creatively blocked,” I tell her before turning away and watching as Talia remains impressively calm. She delivers good news all the time to artists she wants to represent. And bad news to clients whose work doesn’t sell.
“Ms. RSG will be fully integrated into our work. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience and opportunity,” NASA Guy adds, the line cutting in and out with more static. “It will be a lot of exposure.”
Talia watches me. “As you said.”
The pounding in my chest deepens.
“My understanding is that Ms. Red String Girl doesn’t want too much… personal publicity. We would honor her anonymity withnondisclosure agreements with people she meets around NASA. I will be the one to communicate with the press and working with Ms. RSG on what she wants to convey. At NASA, we put the missions—in this case, the art—first. It’s not about any one person,” he says with a sniffle. “Her anonymity is actually a compelling factor.”
Talia switches positions on the couch and leans against a pillow. “That’s all great to hear. When would this start? Ms. RSG is a very busy, in-demand artist,” she says with extra emphasis on “busy” and “in-demand.”
I nod dramatically, pretending it’s true. It’s literally the furthest thing from reality. But as I stare into the dark brown tea egg liquid, the cracked eggs bobbing up and down, it occurs to me that this could be how I buy backBaby Being Born. Not with the NASA money entirely, of course, but with the exposure. I can sell more pet portraits and maybe some bigger pieces with this type of coverage in the media. Maybe even line up more shows.
I ignore the pit in my stomach about the whole creative block thing. I’m sure I’ll figure it out. A lack of ideas has never been a problem for me before. Maybe this is the push that I need to get myself back on track.
“That’s another topic of discussion,” the man says. He’s so professional. “Because we’re reinstating the program, we don’t have an artist currently at work.”
I wave a hand in the air to get Talia’s attention and rush up to her, abandoning the eggs.
“Tell him I’ll do it, and I can be there in August,” I whisper.
