“I think he painted the way he did," I answered, "because he had something perfect with Diana."I braced myself for her next scathing insight and nearly fell over when she reached out to pat my hand. Her wedding ring was a heavy,hammered gold band that could probably pound nails."Nothing but the occasional espresso is perfect," she said, not unkindly. "Let me share some wisdom, Willing Girl. Relationships are like Whack-a-Mole. You squash one annoying deformity and another one pops up in no time."Not your classic sentiment, there. Or a particularly heartening one. It seemed well meant, though, so I figured it might be a good time to inform her, "Um, my name....is Ella. Marino.""Oh,I know who you are, Miss Marino," she shot back. "Shall I mention again that the Willing Foundation doesn't?""No,Dr. Rothaus," I said meekly. "No need.""Excellent." Dr. Rothaus headed for the door. "You may call me Maxine. Good luck finding something I haven't. And don't cry on the materials.”

“Relationships are like Whack-a-Mole. You squash one annoying deformity and another one pops up in no time.”

“Favorite painting...?""Painting? Odalisque," I said."Really.His non-nude nude. Interesting."It was,to me. Edward's most famous painting of Diana is Troie, where he painted her as Helen of Troy: naked except for the diamond bracelet and the occasional tendril of auburn hair. It had caused quite a stir at its exhibition. Apparently, Millicent Carnegie Biddle fainted on seeing it. It wasn't quite what she was used to viewing when she sat across from Mrs. Edward Willing every few weeks, sipping tea from Wedgewood china cups. Odalisque was more daring in its way, and infinitely more interesting to me. Most of the Post-Impressionist painters did an odalisque, or harem girl, reclining on a sofa or carpet, promising with their eyes that whatever it was that they did to men, they did it well. An odalisque was almost compulsory material.But unlike any of them,Edward had painted his subject-Diana-covered from neck to ankle in shimmery gauze.Covered,but still the ultimate object of desire."Why that one?" Dr. Rothaus asked."I don't know-""Oh,please.Don't go all stupid teenager on me now.You know exactly why you like the painting.Humor me and articulate it."I felt myself beginning the ubiquitos shoulder dip. "Okay. Everyone is covering up something. I guess I think there's an interesting question there.""'What are they hiding?'"I shook my head. "'Does it make a difference?'""Ah." One sharp corner of her mouth lifted. I would hesitate to call it a smile. "That is interesting.But your favorite Willing piece isn't a painting.""How-""You hesitated when I asked. Let me guess...Ravaged Man?""How-""You're a young woman. And-" Dr. Rothaus levered herself off the desk-"you went through the 1899 file. I know the archive.”

“What did she say to you?""Nothing.""Oh, great. I have to try to get you out of this mess after you hit a girl for nothing," he whispered angrily. "Josephine, don't waste my time. You don't seem like a violent type. She had to have said something to rile you."I just don't like her. She's vain. She puts her hair all over my books when she sits in front of me in class.""So you hit her?""No ... yes.""A girl puts her hair all over your books, so you break her nose?""Well, I don't think it's broken, personally.""Doctor Kildare, we are not here to give a medical opinion. I want to know what she said to you.""God," I yelled exasperated. "She said something to upset me, okay?""What? That you were ugly? That you smell? What?"I looked horrified."I'm not ugly. I don't smell."He sighed and took off his glasses, sitting down in front of me and pulling my chair towards him. "I was just asking for a reason.""Never mind," I said."That creep out there wants -you to pay for his daughter's nose-job. Because of that nose-job she will be a famous model one day and you'll be working in a fast-food chain because you couldn't finish your Higher School Certificate due to expulsion. Now tell me what she said.""There's nothing wrong with a fast-food chain," I said, thinking of my McDonald's job."I'm really getting pissed off now, Josephine. You called me out of work for this and you won't tell me why.""Just go," I said, as he stood up and paced the room."I'll defend myself in court."He groaned and looked up to the ceiling pulling his hair. "God save me from days like this," he begged."Go," I yelled."Okay. Let him win. He's a creep. Creeps always win," he said walking to the door. "But don't think you're going to make it in a court room, young lady. If you can't be honest, don't expect to stand up in a court room and defend honesty.""She called me a wog, amongst other things," I said, finally. "I haven't been called one for so long. It offended me. It made me feel pathetic.""Did you provoke her?""Yes. I called her a racist pig due to some things she was saying.""Is she one?""God, yes. The biggest.”

“Marius made a movement.'Oh, don't go!' she said. 'It won't be long.'She was sitting almost upright, but her voice was very low and broken by hiccoughs. At moments she struggled for breath. Raising her face as near as she could to Marius', she said, with a strange expression:'Look, I can't cheat you. I have a letter for you in my pocket. I've had it since yesterday. I was asked to post it, but I didn't. I didn't want you to get it. But you might be angry with me when we meet again. Because we shall all meet again, shan't we? Take your letter.'With a convulsive movement she seized Marius' hand with her own injured one, but without seeming to feel the pain, and guided it to her pocket.'Take it,' she said.Marius took out the letter, and she made a little gesture of satisfaction and acceptance.'Now you must promise me something for my trouble...' She paused.'What?' asked Marius.'Do you promise?''Yes, I promise.''You must kiss me on the forehead after I'm dead...I shall know.'She let her head fall back on his knees; her lids fluttered, and then she was motionless. He thought that the sad soul had left her. But then, when he thought it was all over, she slowly opened her eyes that were now deep with the shadow of death, and said in a voice so sweet that it seemed already to come from another world:'You know, Monsieur Marius, I think I was a little bit in love with you.'She tried to smile, and died.”

“He handed me a bandana. "Tie that on.""Why?" I said, but I did it anyway. "Norman, you are way too into ceremony.""It's important." I could hear him moving around, adjusting things, before he came to sit beside me. "Okay," he said. "Take a look."I pulled off the blindfold. Beside me, Norman watched me see myself for the first time.And it was me. At least, it was a girl who looked like me. She was sitting on the back stoop of the restaurant, legs crossed and dangling down. She had her head slightly tilted, as if she had been asked something and was waiting for the right moment to respond, smiling slightly behind the sunglasses that were perched on her nose, barely reflecting part of a blue sky.The girl was something else, though. Something I hadn't expected. She was beautiful.Not in the cookie-cutter way of all the faces encircling Isabel's mirror. And not in the easy, almost effortless style of a girl like Caroline Dawes. This girl who stared back at me, with her lip ring and her half smile - not quite earned - knew she wasn't like the others. She knew the secret. And she'd clicked her heels three times to find her way home."Oh, my God," I said to Norman, reaching forward to touch the painting, which still didn't seem real. My own face, bumpy and textured beneath my fingers, stared back at me. "Is this how you see me?""Colie." He was right beside me. "That's how you are.”