Public Secrets

want to go to NYCC.”
“Yes.”
“You want your own place.”
She blew out a frustrated breath. “Yes.”
“Well, you’ve got it.”
“You’re right,” she said after a moment. “You’re absolutely right. And I can ditch the guards when I want to.”
“I didn’t hear that.” He checked his watch again. “Listen, I’ve got to run. Tell Johnno I’ll pick up Chinese.” He grabbed a briefcase, then stopped. “I forgot. Are these yours?” He pointed to the portfolio open on the kitchen counter.
“Yes.”
“Good work. Mind if I take them with me, show them around?”
“You don’t have to do that. Just because I’m friends with Johnno doesn’t mean—”
“Hold on. Look, I happened to see them sitting out in the other room. I took a closer look and liked what I saw. Johnno didn’t ask me to pump up your ego. He wouldn’t.”
She rubbed her palms on her thighs. “Do you really like them?”
“Yes. I know some people. I could get you some input if you want.”
“I would, very much. I know I have a lot to learn—that’s why I’m here. I’ve entered some competitions and shows, but …” She trailed off, knowing she was babbling. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Sure. See you later.” He tucked the portfolio under his arm and headed out.
She sat alone, taking very careful breaths. She was on her way, Emma thought. Finally, she was on her way.

Chapter Nineteen

I T’S OURS .”
Emma and Marianne stood, their arms tossed around each others shoulders, looking out the windows of their newly purchased loft in SoHo. Emma’s voice was both dazed and exhilarated as she made the statement.
“I still can’t believe it,” Marianne murmured.
“Believe it. It’s ours—twenty-foot ceilings, bad plumbing, and interest rates from hell.” On a quick laugh, Emma did three spins. “We’re property owners, Marianne. You, me, and Chase Manhattan.”
“We bought it.” Marianne sat down on the scarred wide-planked floor. The rattle and hum of downtown traffic echoed up from three stories below. Something crashed outside, and even through the closed windows they heard the shouts and swearing. It was like music.
The loft was a huge square of space, banked by a band of windows in the front and a towering panel of glass on the right.
A sound investment, Marianne’s father had grudgingly called it.
Complete insanity, had been Johnno’s verdict.
Investment or insanity, it was theirs. Still dressed in the tidy suits they’d worn to the settlement, they each studied their new home, the fruit of weeks of search, endless calls to realtors, and numerous bank interviews. It might have been a huge, empty space with spotted ceilings and grimy glass, but for them, it was the dream they had shared throughout childhood.

Then they studied each other, their faces mirrors of giddy terror. It was the laughter that broke the last strain. It bubbled up from Emma first, then echoed off the high plaster walls. Grabbing each other, they did an impromptu polka up and down the length of their new home.
“Ours,” Emma panted out when they teetered to a stop.
“Ours.” They shook hands formally, then laughed again.
“Okay, co-owner,” Marianne began. “Let’s make some decisions.”
They sat on the floor with Marianne’s sketches, warming Pepsis, and an overflowing tin ashtray between them. They needed a wall here, the staircase there. Studio space above, darkroom space below.
They arranged, rearranged, constructed, destructed. At length Marianne waved her cigarette. ’This is it. Perfect.”
“It’s inspired.” Emma took the cigarette out of self-defense and rewarded herself with a puff. “You’re a genius.”
“Yes, I am.” She shook her spiky hair as she leaned back on her elbows. “You helped.”
“Right. We’re both geniuses. A space for everything and everything in its space. I can’t wait until we—oh, shit.”
“Shit? What do you mean, shit?”
“There’s no bathroom. We forgot the bathroom.”
After a brief study, Marianne shrugged. “Screw the bathroom. We’ll use the Y.”
Emma simply put a hand on Marianne’s face and shoved.

P ERCHED ON A stepladder, Marianne painted full-length portraits of herself and Emma between two windows. Emma had taken on the more pedestrian chore of marketing and was storing food inside their reconditioned Frigidaire.
“That’s our buzzer,” Marianne called out over the boom of the radio.
“I know.” Emma balanced two grapefruits, a six-pack of Pepsi,