The middle of the space was taken up with my wide, deep couch and four armchairs arranged around a circular table.
At the corner back right, facing the kitchen (and the windows) was a big, old-fashioned drafting desk for use whenIwanted to sit at one and work, but not go down to my studio.Thewings to its sides and the trays stationed under it were cluttered with a disorganized rainbow of colored pencils and pens.
At the corner right front windows, there was a chaise longue that had an elaborate gold hook lamp drone drifting above it, a colorful silk, tasseled shawl thrown over it, and an antique, tri-legged table at its side.
There were various rugs of differing sizes and styles under these furniture arrangements or simply scattered about willy-nilly, these covering the wood-planked floors.
And the right-side wall had its entire lower half covered in built-in shelves, whereIstored my small (but growing, and very precious) collection of real books (the ones made of paper), along with bits and piecesI’dfound that intrigued me orIthought were pretty.
Sitting on top of these, between the windows, were two large shadowboxes, one displaying the famous, slinky dress the characterReevawore inRainandPavements, a garment of my own design that had become iconic to that show.Theother held the vintage-inspired undergarments the characterPorcelainwore in the famous sex scene inSheets(somethingI’dalso designed).
Across from this, adorning the wall by the dining room table, also in a shadow box, was the massive gownI’dcreated forTheSunnyGlade.Theintricate embroidery, tiny lace ruffles, satin bows, delicate piping, slender velvet belt with its oval diamanté fastener and extraordinary seam work, draping and ruching were what earned my first award nomination.
This dress, in the colors of a peach, from fresh to ripe, was displayed with the intricate, creamy-peach gossamer bow that had been tied around the actress’s neck pinned above it, and the blushing-peach satin and grosgrain tri-cornered cap with its bruised-peach feather situated in the frame at the top.
Mr.Truelockcalled it a work of art, andItended to agree.Iwas super proud of it.
But it wasn’t a sculpture byLeMondor a watercolor byArrivi.
“Considering the content of our repast, shall we adjourn to the couch?”PrinceAlekseisuggested.
Fabulous.
I wore no cosmetics, my hair was in a ponytail, my outfit was on the lower scale of cute (until you saw the back, which he had not)andIwas being a bad hostess.
Well, at least he didn’t seem put off by my eclectic space.
“Of course,”Ireplied, swinging an arm toward the couch in a belated invitation.
He moved that way and sat, saying, “Ididn’t know your preference, soIcalled the club and requested the manager ask the bartender who served you.Hesaid you ordered a pink fizz.SoIdeduced you enjoyed sweet and tart, and brought you a grape sparkle.”
Grape sparkle sodas weremy favorite.
And the effort he put behind that wasn’t cute, it was just sweet.
But…wait.
“You wentyourselftoCaptainJacques’s?”Iasked.
“I hovered through their flyby,” he murmured, pulling one of the beverages out and setting it on the table in front of the empty side of the couch, all whileItried to wrap my mind around the idea ofPrinceAlekseipiloting his craft through a fast-food flyby.
He then started to unearth the food.
So, of course,Cometjoined him.
And by joining him,Imeant thatComethefted his great cat weight up, perched all four paws on the prince’s thigh and aimed his meddlesome, sunken nose toward the food.
“Who’s this creature?” the prince asked, his attention onComet, as it would of course be.WhenCometdidn’t want to be ignored, he wasn’t.
I headed toward the couch, offering, “Youcan push him off.Hewon’t like it.Buthe’ll eventually get over it.”
He turned to me. “That’snot an answer to my question.”
Well then.
I sat and shared, “He’sComet.Andno, as you can tell,Ido not starve him, no matter what he says.Andhe’s not allowed treats, orDr.Twill yell at us again during his annual.He’shad his morning kibble.Later, he’ll laze on his back whileNovaandJupiterplay with the kitty-light drone, instead of joining in and getting his doctor-mandated exercise.Assuch,IfearI’llgo into the annals ofBadCatMomswhen he gets arthritis at age four.”
I was sitting as far from him asIcould get, butIwas close enough to see clearly as the prince wrapped his long fingers around the back ofComet’sneck, andInoted through the thick, creamy fur, his thumb stroking.
