Ian seemed genuinely happy, being part of her conceptual process. Twice she stepped over, pried the sketch and tape from his hands, insisted on being at the center of his arms. Sienna loved those moments most of all.
Forty-five minutes later, Ian confessed, “I’m beat. The practice, our flight, the night . . . It all feels like a weight I’m carrying.”
“Go to bed.”
“That’s a futile gesture. I never sleep before live performances. Besides, I don’t want to leave you.” He paused. “Does that sound totally lame?”
“No, Ian. It sounds wonderful.”
He walked into his bedroom, returned with two pillows and a blanket. Stretched out on the sofa, then stood back up and shifted the furniture around, moving the coffee table out of the way, positioning the sofa so he could see her and one wall. Kari stood where she was, watching him settle, smile her way.
The next time she looked over, Ian was fast asleep.
Sienna padded across the floor. She meowed twice, pacing around the sofa. When Ian did not respond, she climbed up by his feet. She walked his entire length, purring softly. Ian did not move. Sienna settled on the blanket, in the space where his hands did not quite meet his chin. Kari smiled, mostly because she was jealous of her kitten.
Half an hour later, Kari stopped working. Five sketches were still spread out over the bar’s granite surface. Most of these she did not actually remember drawing. They were swift lines, the sort of churning half motions of unfinished dreams. Just the same, they held a special fascination for her, as if they challenged her to reach deeper, look further. She spaced these out over the bar’s surface, then went into the master bedroom. She was scheduled to meet her managers in twenty minutes.
She showered and dressed in one of the Miramar outfits Rafi and Graham had helped her select. She liked how her newly styled hair could be blow-dried and shaped with her fingers. She did her face and eyes like the LA cosmetician had shown her. When she was done, she studied herself in the floor-length mirror. But it was not really her reflection that held her.
She reentered the parlor and stood there, staring down at the man asleep on the sofa. Sienna looked up, meowed quietly, then snuggled back and closed her eyes.
Kari had assumed Ian would be with her for all the interviews. Shielding her from the worst of it all by his presence and strength. She walked to the bar, opened the fridge, poured a glass of juice. Studied the mystery sketches and the man. Wondering if there was a connection she did not see.
There was a soft knock on her door. She set the glass on the dining table as she passed it. Opened the door, smiled at her two managers, accepted their compliments, said, “I’m ready.”
