Fifty-Eight

“HEY, TIGER,” I said as I petted her hair. It was about two inches long now and stuck out in odd places after our night and day in bed. “Don’t you think it’s about time to get your stripes back?” Wendy sat up with her eyes wide open staring at me.

“Really?” I nodded. “Kate, will you help me stripe my hair. Please?”

“I can, but I’m not good at that kind of thing like Melody is. Don’t you want to wait for her?” Kate asked.

“I can’t wait. Please, please?”

“How about Donna?” They looked at me blankly. “The woman who cuts my hair. I’ll bet she’s in at Quick-Cuts and could do it.”

“Really?” Kate asked. “She does women, too?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“But ... um ... what about ... my ... uh ... other stripes?” Wendy asked, glancing down at her pubic hair.

“I have it on good authority that she does that, too,” I laughed. That was all it took and we were up and out of the house in minutes.

We met the rest of our crew at the airport at nine o’clock that night. It was a good thing we had the Mazda as no one wanted to wait at home. We left the airport with Melody, Kate, Wendy, Bree, Allison, and Lissa piled into the car. Whitney would not be coming back from her meet until early Monday.

Our results were pretty good. Brent and Franklin placed fourth in their division. Allison made a slam dunk in the Women’s Elite Singles and Women’s A. Lissa had fallen to pro Hannah DeMarco in the Open, but of course Hannah had been unable to conquer the invincible Portia Lupino in the Pro Division. Allison, Lissa, and I would all be on the U.S. Team at World’s this summer. What a high.

Melody and Bree sold all our spring stock. We had nothing left to ship or to sell. The studio was going to stink again when she started restocking Raquethon and preparing fabric for our fall collection.

“You’ve got your stripes back!” Melody exclaimed.

“Upstairs and down,” Wendy laughed.

“We saved Tony’s reputation today at QuickCuts,” Kate said. “None of us met him before the gala, so that big barber, Howard, thought he’d lost all his girlfriends. You should have seen him when I told him there were seven of us now, but we had to get dressed up that day as well.”

“That’s the first time I’ve really been afraid to have him use that razor around my throat,” I laughed. “He kept trying to see into the back room where Donna was working on Wendy.”

We all arrived in the big bedroom. We really need a bigger bed. Lissa solved the problem by dragging the mattress from the guest room into the master bedroom and flopping it on the floor beside the big bed. Then in a magnanimous gesture, she and Allison volunteered to take the floor as they dragged me down there with them.

“We competed today,” Lissa said.

“And had already checked out of our room so we could go to the airport,” Allie joined in.

“We are so horny!”

Why the fuck am I so nervous? My part of the thing was over. I painted a huge fucking wall. We raised a quarter million dollars. It was all a success. All I had to do was shake hands with some folks and thank all the volunteers. My hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t button my shirt. Fortunately, Lissa stepped in and helped. Oh, God! Everyone is going to see it.

Lissa chose my clothes. I didn’t even know where they came from, but they were suitably artistic. This wasn’t the time for a tux. I wore a black collarless shirt with a black-on-black embroidered design down the panel that covered the buttons. She put me in a black suit that fit like a glove. I seemed to remember having worn this once before, but I don’t remember when. Of course, she finished it off with my funky black Converse high tops. I looked like ... an artist.

“Tony,” Kate said, running into the bedroom, “Wendy needs you.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there.”

“Tony, she needs you.” Oh shit! I turned around and Kate handed me Wendy’s collar as I passed her. I didn’t bother to knock.

She was standing in the middle of the room in a simple black dress with tears running down her cheeks. I rushed over and caught her in my arms and hugged her.

“What is it, Tiger?” I asked. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m scared. They want me to talk ... to everyone.”

“But you’ve been planning this all week, haven’t you, Tiger?” She nodded her head against my chest.

“I thought I could do it but I can’t. I don’t live there anymore. I have a home and friends. Why do the they want me to talk?” she sobbed.

“Because they know you and respect you,” I said. “And you are their hopes and dreams, Tiger. How many of them will ever have a permanent home like you do? How many will have the courage and determination to go to college or to get a job?”

“They want to,” Wendy said.

“I know. They do want to. That’s why they asked you to speak on their behalf. You are their dream,” I said. “Now look at me, Tiger.”

Wendy immediately straightened up and looked me in the eye. I raised the collar.

“This would look great with that dress, don’t you think?” I asked. She nodded. I reached out and put it around her neck. I could see the tension drain from her body.

“Thank you, master,” she breathed. “I’ll do it for you.”

Wendy and I had to sit on the dais with all the dignitaries. She never let go of my hand. Sometimes it was painful. Our family—all of them—sat in the front row with many residents of Tent City and all the volunteers seated in the next three rows. When Lissa came back from her run to the airport, she not only had Whitney, but Mom and Dad and Beth. The orchestra played some kind of overture that I didn’t recognize as people gathered together. A priest gave an invocation. President Haywood welcomed everyone and talked for a few minutes. Thankfully, not too long. I’d looked at the program and the number of speakers on the list would keep us there all day long if they each talked ten minutes. He gave the podium to Doctor Watts, president of PCAD. Then, of course, the Mayor spoke. And spoke. And spoke. I have no idea what he talked about, but it sure took a long time for him to say whatever it was. Nice guy, but what a talker. The guy from the Gary Ranson foundation presented a nice check to the committee. Then President Haywood took the podium again and called me to stand with him.

“Tony Ames is the artist who painted the work we are about to reveal behind us this morning,” he said into the microphones that were blasting our words out to the public. There were two television stations with microphones on the podium, too. “Tony, tell us about the project and what has resulted.”

“Thank you, Doctor Haywood. Doctor Watts, Mayor, and all you friends, family, fellow students, and co-workers who have come to this dedication.” I looked at everyone there and read from my notes. I said how much money had been raised to “help the homeless,” recognized the volunteers, thanked my advisor and my agent, said I was happy to be at a school that had a Social Activism committee and that I was glad to see all the people from Tent City in the audience. Then I said thank you and turned to sit down.

“Tony, there’s one other thing,” Doctor Haywood said, calling me back to the podium. “What is the name of the work we are about to see?” That caught me by surprise. Shit! Why didn’t you warn me I needed to name the damned thing? One phrase kept coming back, to me. I looked out in the audience to see Beth sitting with Mom and Dad and Allison. She’d flown out from Boston just to see this unveiled. I knew for sure what it was called.

“Um ... They say a work of art should have a short pithy title, but I don’t have that for this. It has a title, though, that I have known since grade school. The title is ‘Leaving the world better than we found it.’ I hope this reflects that sentiment.”