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Moody Artists

A fictional sestina, repeating the words studio, model, marriage, moody, people, and writer.

Suzanne fidgeted nervously outside of her husband’s studio. He said he’d be out in a minute, just persuading a model to sign a contract for his newest spurt of artistic talent. Models were funny, Suzanne had come to realize through all her years of marriage to Simon. They thought they were actors- moody and nonnegotiable.

She could never get used to the flow of people, all browsing through Simon’s haven. They were clients, contractors, agents, more people than she’d ever cared to know about. A writer herself, her idea of a stable working environment was an empty room, maybe some incense and soft music, and an abundance of papers, pencils and uninterrupted time.

A slam of the door startled the young writer. Simon had exited his studio, a huge grin on his face. “He said his people would get back to me!” They both knew that was model talk for “I’ll consider posing.” Such moody individuals, Suzanne thought again. Working with them must be as topsy-turvy as a marriage!

Speaking of marriage, her husband was enveloping her in an embrace, pressing his lips to hers. The young writer smiled up at him for his success. She knew that she got moody after spending so much time here, so tried hard to hide this from him. “Let’s get out of here,” Simon whispered, and they left the studio. Vaguely, Suzanne wondered what would become of the model, still inside Simon’s office, but was too thrilled at the fact that she was leaving to care much. All the globs of people had started to make her feel claustrophobic.

”The people will be thrilled with my new idea.” Simon spoke of all his clients, contractors and such over lunch. Is this the only topic of our marriage? Suzanne thought irritably. But no, Simon had switched back to the model, discussing all of his prospect poses. The young writer suppressed an urge to scream. It’s like he never even left that studio! She dared not say it aloud, since Simon got moody when she questioned his obsession with sculpting.

But Suzanne herself was starting to feel moody, much like she did before lunch. People around her in “Hon’s Café” were having dialogues, not monologues! But still, Simon continued to talk about his studio, oblivious to her frown. Our marriage is really going downhill, she realized, I can’t talk to him. More than anything, the young writer wanted to hide from that fact, hide way in her own safe working environment.

”Honey? Don’t be anorexic.” Simon joked, acting like a model for her with his slow consumption of food. Suzanne took her eyes off of the model train set, running it’s track near the ceiling, and noticed that her own meal had arrived. Still moody, she stuffed a few bites in her mouth, glaring at him. “What’s wrong, little writer?” Simon cooed loudly. The people around their table started to look at them, laughter in their eyes.

”You think we’re colleagues, not in a marriage!” Suzanne snapped before she could stop herself. “Did you ever think that I don’t want to talk about your studio?”

”Not talk about my studio?” Simon repeated, as still as a posing model.

”And don’t get moody with me; I’ve put up with enough in this marriage!”

Now all the people were staring; Suzanne had shouted that last line. Slowly, she sunk back into passiveness, wishing she could escape into her perfect room with everything she needed, and once again become a writer.

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