Free Numb by Sean Ferrell Page A

she trusts me to do right by her. And that’s what I do, for her, for all my clients. I’m very busy doing right by my clients. Second, it wouldn’t be you in the article, it would be her art. But when she does you, it will be fantastic.”
    Michael had also warned me that she was blind. I asked Michael, “If she’s blind, how can she do portraits?”
    â€œYou’ll see. And, when she’s done your portrait, it will get you work. Just watch. Hiko’s too hot right now.”
    Michael drove me into Brooklyn for my introduction to her. He picked me up at the hotel in a black BMW.
    When we got to Hiko’s she answered the door, smiled shyly, and said, “I’m so happy to finally meet you.” I believed her. She grasped my arm. Michael patted my shoulder and said, “I’ll be out here. Got some calls to make.” He walked back to his car, cell phone already speed-dialing.
    Hiko held my hand as she took me down a dark hallway and into a kitchenette. No lights were on. Sunlight struggled to reach us through half-open windows far down the hall. She drifted ahead and pulled out a chair for me. Her head tilted like that of a small bird, and her long fingers moved gently, sensitive, I imagined, to every soft movement of the air. I was not uncomfortable, but afraid to disturb her. As if I might scare her off.
    She turned to face me. “Have a seat.”
    She asked if I would like some tea. After I said yes she remembered she had none. “How about some chocolate milk?” she asked.
    I said, “Sure,” even though I don’t like chocolate milk.
    She poured us each a glass and then repeated her invitation to sit. I quietly obeyed.
    She felt her way from cupboard to cupboard. We sat on mismatched kitchen chairs in the center of a room so small it only had a center. Both chairs were splattered with handprints of orange, blue, yellow. Like scabs on the vinyl. Paint and clumps of plaster covered the floor in splotches, footprints tracked back and forth. Her feet were long and slender, and her tracks were slightly pigeon-toed. Her pinkie toes didn’t quite touch the floor when she walked.
    â€œMichael thinks you’re going to be a huge star,” she said.
    â€œReally?”
    She sipped her chocolate milk. “You don’t seem interested.”
    I didn’t know how I felt. “I guess it’s just so new.”
    â€œHas Michael taken you to any photo shoots yet?”
    I said, “Just a Polaroid in his office.”
    â€œFrom what he says, that will just be the first.” She was so dainty, I wondered if she actually took any milk in her tiny sips.
    Sunlight came through the window behind her. Shadows broke through and scampered up the walls as Michael walked back and forth outside. With the kitchenette below ground level, I was able to look out the window at his legs. He was still on his cell phone.
    Hiko turned an ear toward the window. “Is that Michael I hear?”
    â€œYeah. He’s waiting outside.” I kept watch on the curve of her lip and the small dot above it. “I think he’s on his cell phone. I hate cell phones,” I said. “They make people act so important.”
    â€œI disagree.” She put down her glass and smiled, bowing her head as though embarrassed. “I think they are wonderful. They equalize everyone. When else would the wealthy walk around sharing one side of a conversation with strangers just like a schizophrenic? Next time you are on the street, pay attention to the conversations going on. People reveal remarkable details about themselves.” She finished her glass. I hadn’t started mine.
    She said, “Now, let’s get started.” She reached outto me. “Give me your hands.” Her eyes gazed above me, as if to read a thought balloon above my head, and I couldn’t help but blush.
    Hiko wrapped her fingers around my hands and squeezed them.