4.5

“Ta-dah!” I said, gesturing grandly at my workshop.
“Oh look, more disappointed expectations,” Dawn said, peering around, “I hope the drinks are better.”
“Now that’s just darned cold, I happen to be rather proud of this workshop. I built most of what you see here, even fabricated half the tools. You wouldn’t believe the amount you have to spend on tools to make tools,” I said as I walked to the refrigerator corner.
“I was sort of hoping for a lot of madness, crazy drawings on the walls and floors, maybe a bit darker and with some jazz playing.”
“Jazz I can do, but dark? I don’t want to go blind, and I have to see to work. Wine, if I recall correctly?”
“Cab if you’ve got anything decent.”
“Come now, I sell art, the world would be greatly disappointed if I swilled cheap beer and farted a lot. This business requires a certain level class, whether I’ve got it or not.”
“More disappointments, even the refinement is fake?”
“Well I could just pour myself a glass of drain cleaner right now for all the headway I’m making in impressing you. That would be nice and dramatically artistic now, wouldn’t it?” I asked as I poured a couple glasses of wine.
“No, drain cleaner just has no style whatsoever.”
I handed her a glass, “Well then, let us drink to my monumental failure.” I held out my glass.
She held hers up and eyed me, “No, I think I’ll drink to your exceptional poise. That’s one hell of a thick set of armor you’re wearing,” she said and touched her glass to mine.
I drank deeply, I found this woman more than a little unsettling despite her comments about my calm. “I think I could guess that the cruder sort of men generally refer to you as a bitch. Sadly for me that word usually translates as ‘fascinating’. So I’m interested and you have me at a disadvantage, who are you?”
“I’m precisely not that.”
“Not fascinating?”
“No, I’m astoundingly boring. I sell houses, mostly to stupid people. I own a crappy, boring house that needs work that I can’t ever find the time to get done. I have a fancy SUV, investments, some half dead houseplants and a fish. I have a life so routine and boring that I could spit. I’ve just discovered that the romantic artist types have the same hell I do. Is everything like this?” she was gripping the wineglass so hard I thought it would break.
I shook my head, “You’re looking at it all wrong.”
“How do I look at right?”
“Well, the first thing to do would be to relax your grip on that wineglass before I have to demonstrate how entirely inept I am at first aid. The second thing is to drink the wine in that glass.”
She looked down and relaxed her grip a bit before taking a sip of her wine. “Now what?”
“You learned to follow instructions,” I said and grabbed the bottle of wine, “I told you to drink the wine in that glass.”
She glared at me and tossed back the remainder of her wine. She held out the empty glass as though for my approval.
“Good start,” I said and poured the glass near full,”Start on that while I get something together.” I set down the bottle of wine and walked over to my storage shelves. I picked out a four foot square of sheet bronze and carried it over to a worktable. After spraying it with a light adhesive I smoothed a large sheet of butchers paper over it.
“Come here,” I said, grabbing a pencil and spinning it in my fingers. She walked over and set her drink next to the sheet metal.
“No, take another drink first.”
“If you want to get me drunk, just say so,” she said, acid in her tone.
I smiled, “I don’t want you drunk, just alive, now drink.”
She took a deliberately large swallow of wine and set her drink down. I handed the pencil.
“You’ve got a sheet of paper and a pencil. Draw a shape, any shape, just so long as it pleases you.”
She took the pencil and stared at the sheet of paper, “What is the point of this exercise? I’m not an artist you know.”
“You hate boring and predictable, so don’t do it. There are forms and patterns and shapes that are appealing to people, tastes differ, but it’s there. Just freehand something that appeals to you.”
I expected her to throw the pencil down and walk out, and from the look in her eyes, she was considering it. Instead she set the pencil on the paper and made several broad strokes without looking down. I didn’t look either and simply stared back at her.
“I’m done,” she said flatly.
I looked down pencil lines on the paper, it was good, doing it angry and blind she’d made smooth lines that would be easy cut.
“Ok, that’s one, two more to go,” I said and grabbed a smaller sheet. “Each one will be smaller,” I said, doing the adhesive and paper ritual again.
“There’s a point to this?” she asked, sipping her wine.
“Ever done this before? No? Oops, you just broke your routine. Now again.”
She looked down at the sheet metal and then at the other piece she’d drawn on. I turned away and started prepping a third sheet. When I was done, I handed it to her. She absently took a hold of it while still staring at her second drawing. The sheet immediately slipped out of her hands and crashed to the floor. Dawn jumped. “It’s heavy!” she exclaimed.
“You get used to it,” I said and picked the sheet up and set it on the table. I gestured towards it and started prepping the shears, uncoiling the air hose and getting out the ear protection. I set it all on the steel table I used for cutting.
“Ok, now what?”
“Now we cut,” I said and lead her to the cutting table. I handed her a set of ear muffs. “This can get noisy, so put these on.”
She put the ear muffs on and immediately wrenched them off. “These fit really tight.”
I smiled, “They have to, that’s part of the noise blocking, don’t worry, it’s just another thing you get used to.”
She put them back on and I showed her how to use the pneumatic shears. I guided her through cutting out the shapes.
When it was done and I signaled for her to take her ear muffs off, she look down at the shapes on the table. “I guess I’m not very good at this yet.”
“The shears are just for fast removal of lots of material, the next step is the cutting wheel.” I gave her a pair of safety glasses and showed her how to trim the rough sheared edges with the rotary tool.
I left her to it while I prepped several packages for shipping. The tool ground away in the back ground, punctuated by noises and curses. I was enjoying this when the tool stopped.
“This wheel is getting smaller, is that normal?” Dawn asked.
“Yes it is,” I answered, walking over to her. “Good time to ask, it’s about time to change it out.” I demonstrated how to change the cutting wheel and where the extra wheels were and went back to packaging. After an hour or so I checked my email for incoming orders and printed them out for my job list. I checked the clock and walked back into the work area.
“Hey.” I got no response, “HEY!” I yelled. Dawn nearly dropped the rotary tool.
“Don’t scare me like that, I could take a finger off,” she glared at me.
I laughed, “You almost look to be enjoying yourself. Come on, it’s time for lunch.”
She turned off the rotary tool and flexed her fingers. “Ok, maybe that is a good idea.”