She settles onto the couch with the sketchbook balanced on her knees and opens it to a blank page.
“What’s the sketchbook for?” I ask, moving closer.
I already know it from her file, but she’s obviously unaware of that.
“I make costume jewelry,” she says.
“For a living?”
There’s a glint of something almost giddy in her eyes as she runs a hand over the page. “My aunt sells it, but it’s not a living. I have a day job.”
“Can I see your designs?” I motion toward the sketchbook.
Her hand freezes for a second. “It’s just a silly hobby.” She shuts the book. “Nothing worth looking at.”
I don’t push. If she doesn’t think her designs are good enough to be seen, then they probably aren’t.
Her posture relaxes. She sets the sketchbook on the coffee table in front of her.
“Come,” she says, waving me over.
I sit down beside her.
Alain adjusts his lens.
“OK, let’s get started.” Laura opens a blank page and picks up a pencil. “We’re going to create something cool.”
I run a hand through my hair. “Cool might be a stretch.”
“Have some faith!” She shoves a pencil into my hand. “We need to collaborate, remember?”
Alain edges closer, probably hoping for an argument, but I just give a resigned sigh.
“Let’s start simple.” Laura pushes the sketchbook closer to me. “How about a wrist tattoo that pairs with a bracelet?”
I look at my pencil like it’s a ticking bomb. “I really don’t think?—”
“Don’t you try to weasel out of this, Antoine!”
I stare at the page, praying for a stroke of inspiration. Nothing happens.
“What exactly do you want me to draw?” I ask.
“Something elegant. Maybe floral. It has to complement a bracelet design.”
“Floral. Got it.”
I press the pencil to the page and start sketching what I hope resembles a rose. With the book on my lap, I angle my body so that my back is blocking Laura’s view. Long minutes later, I pause and survey what looks like a lopsided, decrepit streetlamp.
I grimace.
Laura tries to peek over my shoulder. “Let me see.”
“No. It’s a work in progress.”
She lunges sideways and gasps at the sight of my masterpiece. “Is this supposed to be a… rose?”
“It’s conceptual.”
