Story 3/100

Nightly Accordion

She knew she had work to do but she had no interest, no compulsion to be responsible or produce anything.  It was New Year’s Eve, and she was in her studio, working on a deadline, designing the site for that car shop…  A car shop.  “That fucking car shop,” she called it.  She knew nothing about cars, and she adopted this client.  Why.  Why did she do it.  Money.  Always money.  And why was she still designing sites, she thought.  She said to herself, “Holy fuck this.” And stopped her work, called her cousin Paula, what was she doing, she thought, probably working on another design for her newest client.  Paula didn’t do websites as Molly did but designed clothes for companies that had new lines and specialized side projects coming out, or new projects or… Molly really didn’t know, didn’t need to know.  They were both independent designers of different folds but with one goal, to be free of everything.  Molly thought she was there till she landed this client, the one that told her the site was due on 1/1/16.  Of course, start the year off with a new website, she understood that, she guessed, but why her, why did she do this to herself?

She called Paula.  Taking a couple, few, rings for her to pick up, Molly poured herself an obnoxious glass of the Pinot she bought the other day, opened last night, she was surprised it was still so good.

“Yeah…” Paula answered.

“Did I catch you in the middle of something?  Are you working?” Molly said, before sip.

“Are you?”

“Not really.”

“Good, it’s N-Y-E…”

“I hate when people say that.”

“Thanks, how’s work going?”

“I’m not into my work tonight.  Why am I working tonight.  We should be out.”

“Out where?”

“I don’t know.. just out.”

“Everyone’s out.”

“That’s WHY we should be out.”

“No.. that’s why we SHOULDN’T be out.”

Molly didn’t know what to do but sip her glass and watch the news, the ball dropping in New York.. she’d always wanted to go there, sell some of her sketches, the black and white pencil drawings she’d been heaping over the last six or eight years, something.  “Did you open any wine tonight?”

“No.. trying to stay focused, be good.  You?”

She wanted to tell her the truth but didn’t want to be seen or heard a certain way, and she knew there was work to do, so why was she on the phone, why was she just watching the news and sipping the red that always slowed her.  The interest still wasn’t there, no push or pull to the work.  “Nope.. just getting ready for bed.”

“You know what, you should come over, have some wine with me, and we should watch the ball drop.  We’ve never done that.”

“I know…”


“I shouldn’t.  I should finish what I need to do.”

“Okay.. well… call me tomorrow.  Happy New Year, love!”

Molly didn’t respond, just ended the call with Paula.  She sipped deeply the light, floral, rosy Oregon Pinot and opened another bottle.  This one a red blend her winemaker brother bought her in South Africa.. she opened her sketchbook, drew, beginning with the image, specific as she could conjure: tip of a corkscrew diving into a cork like there was something to be found.

She hated New Year’s Eve now.  And she turned off the TV, not wanting to see any of it; not the catalyzing flares and yells, the kisses, none.  She could hear people around her apartment setting off fireworks.. she sipped again and drew more detain into the tip of the corkscrew.. she saw herself differently.. maybe she should design clothes, draw them, do something different in the new year.

She called Paula back.

“What’s wrong?” Paula said.

“I’m coming over.”

“Why?  Don’t you have to work?”

“We need to talk.  And we need to get out.”