Jaclyn said, "I like the portrait and the mixed media but your walls are so bare!" She scanned the tiny shop a little more before announcing, "I just acquired a gorgeous double sailboat scene."
"Not quite. Brazil. But the painting's German. When are you going to use your walls?"
He looked sheepish. "I was thinking of spray painting them," he said hopefully.
"Spray paint, are you a graffiti artist?"
"No." He shifted on one leg, uncomfortable.
"But you've got spray paint, hmm. What colour?"
"It's red. A blood red."
"Ever use stencils?"
"Not since I was a kid."
She scoffed. "Same idea, in reverse."
Jaclyn stood and removed her jacket, followed a black sweater. The jeans she left on.
"Wow, I love your tattoos," he said.
"Yeah? Good. Transmogrify them."
Jaclyn backed against the wall and stood, arms wide. "Trace me."
"You want me to spray you? Shouldn't you take your clothes off?"
"Oh please, how postmodern do we have to be? Just trace my outlines. I don't care about the paint."
He shook his head, still slightly bewildered, but sprayed the outside of one hand. A handprint glared out from the white wall. Encouraged, he traced up and down her arms, then torso, then legs (leaving lots of red on the jeans). It was only when he hesitated at her face that she stopped him.
"Without a head, it's just a body. Any body, every body. You'll see. Invite some critics."
"Even then you'll always have me here on your wall."
She had no idea what he really felt about her, if he wanted her, but traces of her on his wall seemed to make him happy. He smiled, and she flipped him a grin a return.