Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 35946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
The bell dings on the art supply store door, and Mildred, the older shop owner slash eccentric photographer slash half-crazy cat lady, looks up and smiles as I step in.
“Cold out there?”
I nod, smiling as I pull my coat off and stash it and my bag in the tiny back office.
“It’s been slow all morning,” she says with an absent wave of her hand before snatching up her own wacky jacket.
“So, I’m going to take Mr. Tiddlywinks to get that ear of his checked out.”
My face falls.
“Aww, poor little guy. Are you going to see if the vet thinks it’s an ear infection?”
She shakes her head.
“Oh, no, I know what it is.”
“Oh yeah?”
She nods solemnly, leaning in close.
“Yes, dear, it’s that Native American spirit fellow again, Chief Wompahasset, trying to communicate with me again.”
Ladies and gentleman, this is my boss.
“Oh… uh, yeah?”
She nods matter-of-factly.
“Yes, dear. He reaches out now and again. He loves my work from my trip down to the southwest. I think he wants one of my photos to take back with him.”
I clear my throat, searching for words.
“Right. Right, yeah of course.” I frown. “Back with him where, Mildred?”
She sighs, shaking her head and smiling patronizingly at me as if to say, “oh poor dear.”
“The spirit realm, silly.”
“Ah, yeah, of course,” I nod, and she smiles.
“Anyways, I’ll be back later this afternoon. Madame Yvonne—that’s my medium, dear—said she can take us now if we hurry.”
She slips her coat on and grabs her keys and bag before scurrying to the door.
“Call me if you need anything, Emily.”
“Yep, will do.”
“Well, don’t actually call. Madame Yvonne says the spirit world hates to be interrupted by cellphones. The cell signals burn them, you know.”
“I didn’t, but now I do.”
She smiles and taps her temple. “Knowledge is power, dear.”
“I hope Mr. Tiddlywinks feels better.”
She flashes a smile and a wave as she slips out the door.
Yikes.
I shake my head as I start to go through the store, taking notes on what needs to be stocked. Mildred might be completely nuts, but she’s a sweetheart too, especially after she gave me a job like this.
I hear the sound of the bell above the door clinking.
“Hey!” I call out, still in one of the back aisles of the small shop checking for stock. “Let me know if you need anything!”
“Y’all sell size five brushes?” A sort of weird, southern-drawled man’s voice calls out.
“Yes, we do!” I call back. I put a smile on my face as I walk down the aisle towards the front of the shop. I stick my head out from the aisle, but blink as I see no one.
“Hello?”
“Back here, missy,” the weird cowboy voice calls from further back in the store now.
“Oh, okay. Size five brushes are going to be in aisle two, with the rest of the brushes.”
“How about size four brushes?”
I clear my throat.
“Also, aisle two.”
“What about size eights.”
I roll my eyes.
“Sir, all the brushes are going to be in aisle two.”
“Even size ones?”
“Sir, every brush is there.”
“Them size ones are purdy tiny.”
I frown, heading down an aisle towards his voice. But when I get to the back of the store, he’s gone again.
“Sir?”
“Hey what about sketchpads? You got them?”
No, dude, it’s an art supply store that doesn’t sell the thing eighty percent of the people who walk in here are looking for.
“Yes, we do,” I say thinly. I frown again as I head back to the front of the store, but yet again, I’ve missed him.
“How about easels? You know, for paintin’?”
My jaw tightens as I glance around the store at the annoying voice that keeps dodging me.
“We do.” I say tightly. “Sir, do you have a list of things you’re looking for? Maybe I could help you shop.”
“Naw, missy, you’re doin’ a fine job of helpin’ me out. I’m going to the Art Institute of Chicago. Just got in, so I need all my paintin’ stuff.”
My brows raise. “Wow, congrats! That’s a great school. I actually graduated there myself.”
“Yeah? Well shee-it. How come you ain’t doin’ art right now?”
I frown, half running down an aisle for the front of the store again. And of course, he’s not there.
“Pardon?”
“Art. How come you’re working here instead of doing art?”
I scowl. “Well, sir, it’s not exactly easy to make a living as an artist. And we’ve all got bills to pay.”
“Yup, yup, I hear ya,” he drawls from somewhere in the store.
“You ever thought about teaching?”
My heart skips, and my mouth tightens before I shake my head.
“No.”
There’s a silent moment before he speaks again.
“I think you’d be good at it, missy.”
“Thanks,” I say thinly. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“You know, what you need is one of them patrons.”
“Excuse me?”
“A patron. You know, like DaVinci had? You need one of them rich folks to support you in your pursuit of the muse, ya know?”