edges where the Venetian stucco is rough and say, “Shitty job!” Tom glares at me like I spoiled everything for him, all his flattery work on this female customer gone and done with, and it‟s all because of me, his dumb painter who can‟t keep his big mouth shut, and just wait till we‟re alone, he‟s going to show me who is boss! But the lady just stands there and smiles and looks happier than ever, as if my telling her she did a shitty job was some kind of compliment. Tom doesn‟t glare at me anymore, because the customer is happy, so whatever I say about her shitty job on this door must be okay. He goes to the basement to check on the other guys and leaves us standing there. Still smiling like a fool, she asks me why I think it‟s a shitty job and what can she do to make it better. I say, “The edges.” I touch the edges of the door to show her where they could stand some improvement. “You mean the edges are a little rough?” she says. She promises to work on the edges. I can see that she is trying to please me, to make me feel like I‟m a master painter and she‟s an apprentice, learning from me, asking for my advice. She‟s paying entirely too much attention to me. It‟s my workplace, not my home, like it is for her, and the other guys are beginning to notice. They nudge me at lunchtime and want to know when I‟m going to take advantage of all the attention she showers on me. These are not the words they use, but this is their drift. Next day she asks me to take a look at the door, I say, “I‟m busy, can‟t you see? I‟m working.” She says okay and comes back during my break with a cup of coffee for me, like usual, asking me to go look at the effing door again. I can say, It‟s my break time, I‟m supposed to rest, instead of looking at your door, but something restrains me. She is a lady, after all, and a client, and Tom tells us all the time that we must keep the client happy. She says, “What do you think?” I look at the door this way and that. I let my fingers roam over it as though a touch can tell me more than a look, like I‟m a real Venetian stucco expert—and of course, I am, compared to her, that is. “Better,” I say at last. “But still…here, see?” I point at a couple of spots on the top.
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