Idea in Stone | Page 9

black letters: "Read
my lisp: Equality now!".
To Stefan's left was Paulo, with arresting dark eyes, wavy black hair,
and skin that was dark enough to look like a golden tan, not quite dark
enough to be considered 'ethnic' -- except by casting directors. His
acting talent was considerable, but success in film or television eluded
him, and he scraped by working for a repertory theatre company. Paulo
was the handsomest person Stefan knew, yet he was so uncomfortable
about his looks, his race, or something, that Stefan thought of him as an
"ugly beautiful person". No matter how much adulation Stefan and the
others gave him, he seemed set on his unhappiness. The group figured
that somehow people picked up on this, which explained his perpetual
singledom. After the blind date where they met, Stefan reported, "He's
a beautiful prince you kiss who turns into a poisonous frog". Their
early mutual disinterest made it easy to slip immediately into
friendship.
"Where's Rick?" asked Stefan. Rick rounded out Stefan's triumvirate of
friends.
"He called Allen's cell about ten minutes ago to say he'd be a bit late,"
said Paulo. "He just finished up a contract on Bay Street."
"Holy crap," said Stefan, "not one of those big bank buildings."
"Yeah," replied Allen, "he got the contract for the tower I work in."
"Oh yeah. Did you have anything to do with that?" asked Stefan.
"Well, I told him it was up for renewal. But he won the bid on his
own."
"Can you imagine hanging up there on one of those little platforms?"
asked Paulo. "And where do they get the water from?"

The three of them sat in silence, trying to figure it out. Allen gave up
first, and asked how the others' days went. Paulo described a workshop
he was participating in, then Stefan recapped his day at the studio. "I
think they're going to can me," he said. Not knowing how to respond,
Allen went on to describe his day with a group of estate inheritors
bickering over their shares. Allen didn't mind, he said, because he got
paid out of the estate for every moment they spent arguing with each
other.
"Hey guys," said Rick, coming up the stairs, "how's it going?" They
greeted him as he slumped down into a chair. "That was the hardest day
I've spent since I started doing this," he said, sipping on a paper cup of
coffee the size of a sandcastle bucket. "I don't know if I can keep this
contract. It's just too much work."
"Why don't you hire some other people to work for you?" Allen often
harangued Rick on this point whenever Rick took on a tone of nobility
about being overworked. "It's your business, and as long as you do all
the work it will never get any bigger than you."
"If I pay extra people, there won't be enough of a profit left over."
Allen flipped up his Okay, nevermind hands.
"Hey, Stef," said Rick, "I wrote another song last night."
"That's great."
"What's it about?" asked Paulo.
"Oh, well, it's -- it's kind of hard to explain. I mean, it's kind of
reductive to take something as personal as a song and, you know, sum
it up."
"Okay," said Allen, "so what kind of song is it?"
"It doesn't really fall into a category, exactly. It's -- I dunno. I'll play it
for you guys sometime." He turned to Stefan. "Do you think you could

talk to one of your mom's people for me?"
Stefan squirmed. "You should really finish your demo first. They can't
do anything for you if you haven't got a demo. And I don't know if her
agent is really the right person for you. I mean, she's considered folk,
right?"
"Yeah, yeah, I know," said Rick. "I've gotta get that demo finished. I
swear I'm going to do it first thing in the new year."
"That's great," said Stefan. The others made sounds of approval. Stefan
regretted the thought, but was satisfied that he'd never have to present
anything to anyone if he waited for Rick to finish the demo of his songs.
They were good, the ones he'd heard, though most of them were about
his ex-girlfriend. She'd been around for about a year, and sometimes
he'd take her out with them, clutching to her to assert his straightness
like a love-doll personal flotation device. Then she left for Japan or
Malaysia or wherever it was, leaving their relationship sufficiently
open-ended for him to imagine it was still going on.
"I hate my job," said Rick.
"Then stop doing it," replied Allen.
"Easy for you to say. You've got buckets of money in the bank."
"Yeah, but I made it. It's not like somebody just gave it to me."