The remainder of the day passed in a rush. Madge and I returned to the residence for a late lunch, and we wandered through the galleries in front. I was enthralled by all of the art, even more so now that knew the artists. I was particularly intrigued by Josephine’s sculptures, so intricate, that looked as if they might start moving at any moment.

We were not alone in our perusal. A steady stream of art lovers walked the galleries with us. Some were content just to look, but others were star struck to meet the actual artists. I spent half an hour in conversation with a middle-aged couple who hung on my every word, as if I were an authority whose wisdom they wished to imbibe. I mean sure, I had opinions about everything I saw, and could defend those opinions, but I was nothing exceptional. Still, it was a heady feeling, not to be ignored.

Around mid-afternoon we went to the upper floors of the public part of the house. These former residences were now the exhibition workspaces, where fellows could work in public view. The spaces felt much less personal than the main workspace. Anthony was hard at work, barely looking up to acknowledge us as he scrutinized his canvas, in relationship to the bowl of fruit sitting on a pedestal to one side.

Madge spoke loud enough for Anthony to hear. “You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but Anthony is quite the showman. I’d say he uses the public workspace more than the private, just so he can put on a performance for his admiring public.” Footsteps outside in the corridor made Madge grin. “And here they are now.”

The only other occupied upstairs room contained a massive clay sculpture, as well as Darren, laboring over it. He greeted us with a smile. “I woke up thinking about this guy,” he told us. “Couldn’t get back to sleep.”

Madge returned to the lower floors, but I remained behind, perched on a stool to watch Darren sculpt.

He worked the clay deftly, exposing to the air only the portion that he was focusing on. The rest remained carefully wrapped to keep it from drying out. His hands were sheathed in a gray-pink film, nearly up to his elbows. He had pushed up the sleeves of his turtleneck — a different one from this morning, knit and closely fitting — as far as they would go. Even so, the garment was speckled with splashes of clay.

The sculpture was a female figure who appeared to be in mid-dance. Her limbs were long and lithe, her fingers elegantly curled. I could almost sense the motion.

“You don’t have to stay quiet on my behalf,” he said after a while. “I can talk and work at the same time.”

“I’m used to working alone, but I like having something on in the background,” I replied. “I used to put on old Bob Ross episodes.”

“Oh man, if I could have that voice just telling me that everything was okay, all the time, I’d be way more confident.”

“You should be! Your work is amazing.” He managed to make a dismissive gesture without ever stopping his sculpt. “No, I’m serious. You’re tremendously talented. I mean, all of you are here.”

“I’ve only been here for two years myself,” he said. “All I’ve really learned, I think, is how far I have to go. I mean sure, you work on a project and you learn something along the way. But I feel like I only learn just enough to realize how much better I could have done. It’s a bitter cycle.”

We continued chatting amiably for the rest of the afternoon. My butt had long since fallen asleep on the stool, and I had to pee terribly, but I was afraid that if I left, I wouldn’t have the excuse to come back in. So far, Darren was the closest thing I had to a peer here, and I hoped that in time he would be a friend.

But what did that mean, “in time”? How long did I think I would be staying? I could give this a week, maybe two, and even that would put my job at risk. Part of me wanted very badly to stay, but it was impossible. There was no way that I could just give up my entire life, not to mention my very sense of self, for a place here. Not even if I had actually earned it, and lest I forget, I had not earned it. I was on borrowed time, and even this nice afternoon had been nothing more than borrowed pleasure.

“Everything all right?”

“Huh?” I was jolted out of my reverie. “Yeah, why?”

“Just your face, you looked... never mind.” He covered the sculpture’s face, the part he had been working on, almost as if he didn’t want me to see it. “I’m going to get cleaned up before dinner. Coming?”

“Sure.” I hopped down from the stool, stretching stiff legs and cracking my back. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Darren observing me as I did so, but when I turned to face him he was looking the other way.

We descended to the galleries, which were empty now, walked through to the residence, and parted on the second floor landing. I returned to my unpacked mess of a room, my thoughts churning.

No matter how I looked at it, Darren had definitely been checking me out. I knew just how often I had done the same, sneaking a glance at a woman at a time I wouldn’t be caught. Or rather, didn’t think I would be caught. How many times had the object of my attention noticed and simply not said anything?

I finally relieved myself in the bathroom and checked my pad. A few little spots of dark red, whatever that meant. I threw that one away and applied another, then examined my appearance in the bathroom mirror. It wasn’t as if I were wearing anything that alluring. Jeans on bottom and a green V-neck top. I had on a bra this time too, so nothing was poking through that shouldn’t.

I couldn’t deny to myself that the attention was pleasant. I wasn’t a bad looking guy as Ben, but certainly nothing to turn heads. But now I was pretty, and dammit, I liked being pretty.

There was nothing to say that I couldn’t just wear the same outfit down to dinner, but it might be fun to dress up a little bit. The same top would be fine, but maybe a skirt? Of course, that meant different shoes. I knew enough not to wear socks and sneakers with a knee-length skirt. But I had a pair of brown sandals, with just a bit of a heel, and that would be just right.

I had not experimented much with jewelry yet, except of course for the necklace I was required to wear. But I found an arrangement of rings that looked nice, and a chunky bracelet. I even had a pair of silver earrings in a Celtic knot pattern, which almost matched the necklace. With a bit of struggle, I got those in too. That led to makeup, which I did not want to overdo. And perhaps I could do something with my hair, more than just a plain ponytail. Yes, there was a clip that had a Celtic knot pattern of its own, matching the earrings. Not only did it look good, but it kept all that hair out of my face.

Once I had finished, I observed the final effect. It was an art all its own, fixing up this body. As long as I had it, I decided, I might as well use it to its potential. Anything else would just be a missed opportunity.

These were the thoughts that I kept front and center in my mind as I descended the stairs—carefully, I was unused to heels of any height—in search of the dining room. They were good thoughts, and not entirely untrue.

They were far less dangerous than the total truth, at the borders of my conscious mind—that I would like it very, very much if Darren looked at me that way again.