I was too busy to notice the time. It was dark by the time I was finished loading the kiln with my last pot. I had to wait at least two hours for the kiln to heat up. It has to run at low temperature for two hours on a new fire so the moisture in the clay won't form steam and explode in the kiln. I've cleaned up that mess a couple of times, at school and here. It sounds worse than it is, but it does ruin the pot.
So here I am, sitting in my lounge chair next to the shed looking at the stars and wishing I had the energy to go to the house for a drink. It's really dark in the desert away from town. The lights in the house are muted by the shed and there is no moon. The phases of the moon are printed on the kitchen calendar but I never look at them.
Quiet too, except for the scrunching noise of Rose coming from the house. I think it's Rose anyway. Who else could it be? "Hello, Rose," I say into the darkness. "Sit down in the first chair you fall over and join me. I'm waiting on the kiln."
"Isn't it a little cool out here to be naked? I'm wearing a bathrobe. I could get you something."
"I've got the visiting robe on. Handy, that."
Rose sat and it became very quiet again. I went back to stargazing, trying to turn my mind off. After a time I pushed the button on my watch and saw that an hour had passed. Another hour to go, then I could turn up the heat and go to bed. Rose must have seen the light from my watch."
"I thought you were asleep."
"No, not exactly. It's just about the same thing. I'm still waiting on the kiln."
"Can we talk?"
"I thought we were. But anyway, sure, what do we talk about?"
"I've been here a week. I ought to be moving on. If you could lend me gas money, I could make it the rest of the way to Tucson."
"Why do you want to leave?
The abruptness of the question startled even me, familiar as I was to non-social intercourse. But why did she want to leave? What was waiting for her in Tucson? So I broke down and said some more.
"What's waiting for you in Tucson?"
"Well, nothing really. I have a friend who said she would let me couch surf for a few days while I looked for work."
"Work? I thought you wanted to paint?"
"Well, yes, but I have to work."
She had stopped. Maybe she was thinking. I guessed I needed to say a little more.
"I probably ought to explain my own situation to you. The rich jerk who is paying for all this made a big mistake building this monster in the desert. I think he thought his family would think it was heaven to live here. People would come running to visit, swim in the pool, I don't know what he had in his mind. He was dead wrong about all of that. But he won't admit it. And, he can afford to not admit it. So he put me here to watch the place and keep it looking like it serves some purpose. If that's work, as you think of it, then I'm working.
"His wife is really happy I'm here, too. She is afraid he will make her live here.
"No reason you can't join in. Moneybags won't even notice. You can paint here. You can stay here as long as you like. I'll give you the gas money, of course, if you don't want to stay here. Hell, I'll give you the gas money either way, of course. It isn't my money and there doesn't seem to be any limit on it. You like housework?"
"No. Not much."
"Neither do I. We can share it. I haven't been upstairs for months. I worry about that, betimes."
"You should. I have been up there. You should."
"Yeah, and about the gatekeeper's cabin out front. I haven't been in there to clean since the last time Mr. Money came to visit. Been scared to. But with you covering my rear, maybe I could try it, one day."
"Armed with a broom and a mop? Or is it worse than that?"
"Maybe a rake and a shovel. So, you staying?" Long pause. She must be thinking again. I couldn't see her in the dark.
"Ok, I'm staying, for a while at least. Artists have always had patrons. This one doesn't know he is one. That's funny! We're artists in residence."
"I'm not an artist. I'm a potter."
"You're an artist. I've seen the pots."
"If the sun ever comes back around, we'll get you some painting supplies. I don't know where from, internet most likely."
"I've got painting supplies. They're in the car. What I need is a place to work."
"Can you work in the shed? We can move some stuff around. Artists worry about light a lot, I know."
"Yeah, we can do that, look at the shed. When the sun comes around again."
The pots did not explode. The sun did come around again, and the women went to see the garage.
"Anything I paint in here will either be very depressing or wildly inaccurate."
"What's wrong?"
"The light."
"What's wrong with the light? For a garage it's got enough light, doesn't it? How much light do you need?"
"It isn't just the amount, it's the color. The lighting is all fluorescent. It isn't right. It's too blue. There isn't any red and yellow. I mean, you can see all right, we won't fall over things in the dark, but the colors aren't right."
"What do the colors need to be?"
"As close to sunlight as we can get them. And turn off the fluorescents. Can we open the garage door?"
"Yeah. We can do that. You want to work outside?"
"Not in direct sunlight. I'm not that tough. But close to the door the light has to be better. Can you work without the fluorescents?"
"I guess so. I never thought of it. Why not?"
So all the fluorescent tubes were replaced, easels were set up, painting supplies obtained, the potting shed became the painting and potting shed and art continued to happen.
As the days passed, I observed that Rose wasn't all that happy with the eating and cleaning arrangements. It seems that she likes things a bit more hygienic and with a bit more variety than I will accept. So as the days go by, after deciding to remain at the castle, gradually, little by little, Rose took up kitchen work and cooking.
At first, I still went for the groceries, as I usually have another errand or so to accomplish, but Rose was writing out the list of food. This led to complications as Rose didn't know what, exactly, was available and often didn't get what she asked for sending me. One morning she worked up the courage to ask to change things.
"I wonder if it would be possible for me to go for the groceries. I notice the store only gets fresh produce twice a week, on Mondays and Thursdays. Might as well let it get old here as there. And we might get more choice."
Fresh produce never had much impact on me, nor did any other phase of grocery shopping. She was welcome to it. We'd have to see how the credit card worked, it having my name on it. So I loaded her up with cash for her first trip, in case the card didn't fly.
"So how did it go? Did the credit card work?"
"Like a champ. Maybe they thought I was you, maybe they didn't look at the card, maybe they just didn't care. And there's a lot of stuff in the store I didn't know they'd have. I bought spices. We can cook our own beans."
"You can make our own beans. I can just about open a can. But go ahead, the concept is appealing."