All around the words, tucked and ov

All around the words, tucked and overlapping, are stills from reality television shows, movies, news programs, photographs from the war, and, in the bottom corner, there’s a large magazine photo of a possum with its mouth wide open, its sharp little teeth gleaming. Daniel’s painted over parts of the images in ways that completely change the mood, enhanced them, layered them on top of each other, and left a few blank spaces where it looks like clippings have been pasted and torn off. All of it looks intentional, though, because even in those blank spaces, there’s texture, as if he’s challenging the viewer to guess what was there. The whole thing is silly and irreverent, like he knows he’s part of this culture and he’s laughing at himself as well as the rest of us. And the possum seems to be there just to make you wonder why it’s there. Or maybe he’s being really literal, and he’s advising viewers not to glue their faces to possums. Which is good advice, if you think about it.
It makes me smile even though I don’t want to. I don’t know if it’s good or bad or well-done or crap, but I think it’s clever and worth a second look.
I spend time on each of his paintings, gorging myself on the vibrant, gleeful, perverse images, and as I do, a sense of dread wells up inside me. I didn’t want him to be good. Or interesting. I wanted him to be an over-sincere, sappy hack, because then his body and face would explain it all. I wanted his work to be obvious and dumb, because then I could dismiss it. And the funny thing is, a lot of it is obvious, and some of it is kind of dumb, but in all cases, it’s clear that’s exactly how he wants it to be, because there are too many sly flashes of cleverness for it to be anything else. It’s like he’s controlling what he offers and how much of it he’s willing to give. Like he has no intention of baring his soul to anyone, but he’ll put on a damn good show so you forget that’s what you wanted in the first place.
So. Daniel Van Vliet might be a man-whore, but he is clearly not brainless. Far from it, unfortunately. I do a search for his name and find a couple of mentions in various places. It turns out we graduated from the same high school, four years apart. He was on the hockey team. He graduated from Becker two years ago with a BFA, and he was magna cum laude, which meant he didn’t mess around, not when it came to his grades, at least. I do an image search and find a picture of him, probably in high school or right after, at some party with his arm slung over the shoulders of a guy who looks a lot like Caleb McCallum. I wonder if they’re friends.
I wonder why I’m wondering.
Abruptly, I turn the iPad over and push myself off the bed. “What is wrong with me?” I mutter.
Feeling too restless for my own skin, I head down the hall and into the living room, where I find my mom staring out the window, cradling a glass of wine against her chest. “Hi,” I say as I approach, not wanting to startle her.
She looks over at me. “Estella,” she says, forcing enthusiasm into her voice. “Are you joining us for dinner?”
“Us?”
“Your father and I.” She sniffles and takes a generous sip of wine.
“We’re eating together?” We never eat together. “Um, sure.”
I follow her into the kitchen. The housekeeper has left something in the oven, and my mom yanks on oven mitts and pulls it out. A roasted chicken and potatoes.
“I made a chocolate torte this morning,” I offer, pointing to my creation on the kitchen island. “Maybe we could have it for dessert?”
She runs her hand down her side. “I’m trying to lose a few pounds.”
“Is Stell here?” my father calls from the dining room, and I go out there to see him sitting at the head of the table, a glass of scotch in his hand. “Baby! How are you today? Ready to head back to school?”
I take a step back. “No,” I say, the jolt of anxiety in my stomach making my voice sharp. The look of disappointment on his face blunts my tone. “I mean … not yet.” My dad was so proud when I got into the Ivy League, and I let his enthusiasm carry me along, right past all my doubts. Sometimes I wonder if I went just to please him—and to avoid a fight with my mom. Now I’m letting them both down. “I’m sorry, Dad,” I say softly. “I’m trying.”
 He waves his hand, pushing away all the bad feelings like he always does. “Your mother said you’ve taken up art.”
The table’s already set, so I drop into the chair next to him. “I guess you could say that.” I don’t want to disappoint him again. I know he’s been worried about me.
He pats my arm as I breathe in his familiar boozy scent. “Do you have any pictures to show me? You used to love doing that. You’d come running into my office to show me what you’d done. Usually it was a dinosaur baking a cake.”
“What?” I laugh. “Really? I don’t remember that.”
He nods and gulps his drink. “I’ve got a trunkful of dinosaur-baking-a-cake drawings. What are you drawing these days?”
My cheeks heat up. I’ve been drawing nothing, but I’ve been telling my mom the lessons are going fine, because I don’t want her to think I’m doing anything to sabotage them. “Er … possums.”
He pauses with his glass halfway to his mouth. “Say that again?”
“Possums,” I say more firmly. “They’re just … really spunky little marsupials.”
He glances into his cup, as if he’s wondering if the scotch is responsible for my crazy talk. And then I think he decides that it doesn’t matter. He polishes off the drink and says, “Well, that’s marvelous. Have you—” His head snaps up as my mother strides into the room and sets the platter of chicken and potatoes on the table. “This looks delicious.”
My mother gives him a wan smile and sits down. We serve ourselves and eat in silence for a few minutes. If I wanted to cut through the tension, I’d need a sharper knife. Finally, my mom puts down her fork and turns to my dad. “You said you had something to tell us.”
My dad gets up and pours himself another scotch, then turns to us. “I’m going to be in Germany for the next three months.”
I look back and forth between my parents. “Are you, like, moving there or something?”
He gives me a tight-lipped smile. “It’s a new contract, sweetheart. I need to be there to make sure the customers have exactly what they need from Bierens.”
My mother snorts. “One customer in particular.”
“Liza,” he snaps, then inclines his head toward me.
Mom’s eyes go wide and who, me? again. She’s got that look down. “Is there something wrong, Lou?”
Dad rolls his eyes. I don’t blame him. For that, at least. “I’m leaving tonight,” he says. “But you can call whenever you need.” He directs that last part to me. “If you decide you want to go back to school, you just ring me up and tell me to buy you a ticket. I’ll fly with you.”
“Thanks, Dad, but at this point, it’s a little late.” My heart is pounding at the mere idea.
“All the same. If you need me, you call.” He reaches forward and squeezes my shoulder. I can tell he’s trying, but that he has no idea what to do. I wonder if I’m driving him away, if what’s happened to me has made him desperate to escape, just like Taylor was desperate to escape. But I’ll never be able to ask him. I’m too afraid of the answer.
My mother gets up quickly and picks up her plate. “I have a headache. I’m going to lie down,” she says. “Have a good trip.”
Her plate clatters into the sink a second later, and then she’s gone. My dad finishes off his drink and looks down at me. “I’m sure you have plenty of friends to call, plenty of things to catch up on,” he says.
I almost laugh. “Sure.” I get up and give him a hug, and he hands me several hundreds.
“For pizza,” he says.
“I appreciate it, Dad.” It’s the closest I’m going to get to I love you, Stell. He used to say it, but that was when I was much younger. “Safe travels.”
I put my dish in the sink and start to head back to my room, but then I glance down the hall toward my mom’s suite, and I make a last minute course correction. She was obviously upset, obviously on the verge of hurling her wine glass at my dad’s head. She thinks he’s headed to Germany with a new girlfriend, and maybe she thinks it’s serious because he’s going to be gone for so long. Either way, I’m worried about her.
I pad down the hallway and stop outside her closed door. Light filters out from underneath, so I know she hasn’t gone to bed. I’m about to knock when I hear her voice, muffled, but still understandable.
“Daniel, it’s Liza. Can you come over tonight?” She pauses, listening. “I don’t care when. It’s just—oh, come on.” Another pause. “I’ll make you forget whatever you’re worried about. I’ll make you forget your own name.”
I cringe at the wheedling, singsong sound of her voice.
“Fine,” she snaps. “Fine! You’re spending more time with Estella these days than you are with me!” Her exasperated sigh is so loud that I can hear it through the door. “Yes, I know I hired you. Yes, I know you’re doing your job. But—” In the silence, I wonder what Daniel’s saying. Is he telling her that I’m such a bitch that she should be paying him double? Is he talking dirty to her? Apologizing? I don’t even know what I want it to be.
“This better not become a pattern,” she says quietly enough that I almost have to press my ear to the door to catch it. “Because there are plenty of artists who could do a series for my entertainment suite. Caleb, for example. He’s in such demand these days that—”
My mouth drops open. That’s flat-out mean. Threatening to snatch back a commission simply because he won’t come over and service her? I saw him this morning. He wasn’t himself. He had something going on and he’s probably dealing with it now.
“That’s better,” she purrs. “I’m looking forward to the gallery opening, then.”
My stomach turns.

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

Di sekitar kata-kata, terselip dan tumpang tindih, stills dari acara realitas televisi, film, program berita, foto-foto dari perang, dan, di sudut bawah, ada foto majalah besar posum dengan mulut terbuka lebar, giginya sedikit tajam yang berkilauan. Daniel yang dicat atas bagian dari gambar dengan cara yang benar-benar mengubah suasana hati, ditingkatkan mereka, berlapis mereka di atas satu sama lain, dan meninggalkan beberapa ruang kosong yang mana tampak seperti kliping telah disisipkan dan robek. Semua itu tampak disengaja, meskipun, karena bahkan di ruang kosong, ada tekstur, seolah-olah ia menantang pemirsa untuk menebak apa yang ada. Seluruh hal konyol dan sopan, seperti dia tahu dia adalah bagian dari budaya ini dan ia tertawa pada dirinya serta sisa dari kami. Dan posum tampaknya berada di sana hanya untuk membuat Anda bertanya-tanya mengapa itu ada. Atau mungkin dia sedang benar-benar harfiah, dan ia menasihati pemirsa tidak untuk lem wajah mereka untuk posum. Yang merupakan nasihat yang baik, jika Anda berpikir tentang hal itu.Itu membuat saya tersenyum meskipun tidak ingin. Aku tidak tahu apakah itu baik atau buruk atau baik dilakukan atau omong kosong, tapi saya pikir itu pintar dan bernilai Lihatlah kedua.Aku menghabiskan waktu pada masing-masing lukisannya, sering meraih sendiri ramai, gembira, sesat gambar, dan seperti yang saya lakukan, rasa takut sumur dalam diriku. Aku tidak ingin dia untuk menjadi baik. Atau menarik. Aku ingin dia menjadi over-tulus, berdaya hack, karena kemudian tubuh dan wajah-nya akan menjelaskan semuanya. Saya ingin pekerjaan yang harus jelas dan bodoh, karena itu aku bisa mengabaikan itu. Dan yang lucu, banyak itu jelas, dan beberapa di antaranya agak bodoh, tetapi dalam semua kasus, ianya jelas itulah bagaimana dia ingin menjadi, karena ada terlalu banyak kilatan licik kepandaian untuk menjadi apa pun. Hal ini seperti dia yang mengatur apa yang dia menawarkan dan berapa banyak yang dia bersedia untuk memberikan. Seperti ia memiliki niat tidak memamerkan jiwanya kepada siapa pun, tetapi ia akan menempatkan pada acara yang sangat bagus sehingga Anda lupa itu adalah apa yang Anda inginkan di tempat pertama.Jadi. Daniel Van Vliet mungkin pria-pelacur, tapi ia jelas tidak bodoh. Jauh dari itu, sayangnya. Saya melakukan pencarian untuk nama-Nya dan menemukan beberapa menyebutkan di berbagai tempat. Ternyata kami lulus dari sekolah tinggi yang sama, empat tahun. Dia berada di tim hoki. Ia lulus dari Becker dua tahun yang lalu dengan BFA, dan ia magna cum laude, yang berarti ia tidak main-main, tidak ketika datang ke nya nilai, setidaknya. Saya melakukan pencarian gambar dan menemukan foto dirinya, mungkin di sekolah menengah atau tepat setelah, di beberapa partai dengan lengannya tersandang di bahu dari seorang pria yang tampak banyak seperti Caleb McCallum. Aku bertanya-tanya jika they're teman.I wonder why I’m wondering.Abruptly, I turn the iPad over and push myself off the bed. “What is wrong with me?” I mutter.Feeling too restless for my own skin, I head down the hall and into the living room, where I find my mom staring out the window, cradling a glass of wine against her chest. “Hi,” I say as I approach, not wanting to startle her.She looks over at me. “Estella,” she says, forcing enthusiasm into her voice. “Are you joining us for dinner?”“Us?”“Your father and I.” She sniffles and takes a generous sip of wine.“We’re eating together?” We never eat together. “Um, sure.”I follow her into the kitchen. The housekeeper has left something in the oven, and my mom yanks on oven mitts and pulls it out. A roasted chicken and potatoes.“I made a chocolate torte this morning,” I offer, pointing to my creation on the kitchen island. “Maybe we could have it for dessert?”She runs her hand down her side. “I’m trying to lose a few pounds.”“Is Stell here?” my father calls from the dining room, and I go out there to see him sitting at the head of the table, a glass of scotch in his hand. “Baby! How are you today? Ready to head back to school?”I take a step back. “No,” I say, the jolt of anxiety in my stomach making my voice sharp. The look of disappointment on his face blunts my tone. “I mean … not yet.” My dad was so proud when I got into the Ivy League, and I let his enthusiasm carry me along, right past all my doubts. Sometimes I wonder if I went just to please him—and to avoid a fight with my mom. Now I’m letting them both down. “I’m sorry, Dad,” I say softly. “I’m trying.” He waves his hand, pushing away all the bad feelings like he always does. “Your mother said you’ve taken up art.”The table’s already set, so I drop into the chair next to him. “I guess you could say that.” I don’t want to disappoint him again. I know he’s been worried about me.He pats my arm as I breathe in his familiar boozy scent. “Do you have any pictures to show me? You used to love doing that. You’d come running into my office to show me what you’d done. Usually it was a dinosaur baking a cake.”“What?” I laugh. “Really? I don’t remember that.”He nods and gulps his drink. “I’ve got a trunkful of dinosaur-baking-a-cake drawings. What are you drawing these days?”My cheeks heat up. I’ve been drawing nothing, but I’ve been telling my mom the lessons are going fine, because I don’t want her to think I’m doing anything to sabotage them. “Er … possums.”He pauses with his glass halfway to his mouth. “Say that again?”“Possums,” I say more firmly. “They’re just … really spunky little marsupials.”He glances into his cup, as if he’s wondering if the scotch is responsible for my crazy talk. And then I think he decides that it doesn’t matter. He polishes off the drink and says, “Well, that’s marvelous. Have you—” His head snaps up as my mother strides into the room and sets the platter of chicken and potatoes on the table. “This looks delicious.”My mother gives him a wan smile and sits down. We serve ourselves and eat in silence for a few minutes. If I wanted to cut through the tension, I’d need a sharper knife. Finally, my mom puts down her fork and turns to my dad. “You said you had something to tell us.”My dad gets up and pours himself another scotch, then turns to us. “I’m going to be in Germany for the next three months.”I look back and forth between my parents. “Are you, like, moving there or something?”He gives me a tight-lipped smile. “It’s a new contract, sweetheart. I need to be there to make sure the customers have exactly what they need from Bierens.”My mother snorts. “One customer in particular.”“Liza,” he snaps, then inclines his head toward me.Mom’s eyes go wide and who, me? again. She’s got that look down. “Is there something wrong, Lou?”Dad rolls his eyes. I don’t blame him. For that, at least. “I’m leaving tonight,” he says. “But you can call whenever you need.” He directs that last part to me. “If you decide you want to go back to school, you just ring me up and tell me to buy you a ticket. I’ll fly with you.”“Thanks, Dad, but at this point, it’s a little late.” My heart is pounding at the mere idea.“All the same. If you need me, you call.” He reaches forward and squeezes my shoulder. I can tell he’s trying, but that he has no idea what to do. I wonder if I’m driving him away, if what’s happened to me has made him desperate to escape, just like Taylor was desperate to escape. But I’ll never be able to ask him. I’m too afraid of the answer.My mother gets up quickly and picks up her plate. “I have a headache. I’m going to lie down,” she says. “Have a good trip.”Her plate clatters into the sink a second later, and then she’s gone. My dad finishes off his drink and looks down at me. “I’m sure you have plenty of friends to call, plenty of things to catch up on,” he says.I almost laugh. “Sure.” I get up and give him a hug, and he hands me several hundreds.“For pizza,” he says.“I appreciate it, Dad.” It’s the closest I’m going to get to I love you, Stell. He used to say it, but that was when I was much younger. “Safe travels.”I put my dish in the sink and start to head back to my room, but then I glance down the hall toward my mom’s suite, and I make a last minute course correction. She was obviously upset, obviously on the verge of hurling her wine glass at my dad’s head. She thinks he’s headed to Germany with a new girlfriend, and maybe she thinks it’s serious because he’s going to be gone for so long. Either way, I’m worried about her.I pad down the hallway and stop outside her closed door. Light filters out from underneath, so I know she hasn’t gone to bed. I’m about to knock when I hear her voice, muffled, but still understandable.
“Daniel, it’s Liza. Can you come over tonight?” She pauses, listening. “I don’t care when. It’s just—oh, come on.” Another pause. “I’ll make you forget whatever you’re worried about. I’ll make you forget your own name.”
I cringe at the wheedling, singsong sound of her voice.
“Fine,” she snaps. “Fine! You’re spending more time with Estella these days than you are with me!” Her exasperated sigh is so loud that I can hear it through the door. “Yes, I know I hired you. Yes, I know you’re doing your job. But—” In the silence, I wonder what Daniel’s saying. Is he telling her that I’m such a bitch that she should be paying him double? Is he talking dirty to her? Apologizing? I don’t even know what I want it to be.
“This better not become a pattern,” she says quietly enough that I almost have to press my ear to the door to catch it. “Because there are plenty of artists who could do a series for my entertainment suite. Caleb, for example. He’s in such demand these days that—”
My mouth drops open. That’s flat-out mean. Threatening to snatch back a commission simply because he won’t come over and service her? I saw him this morning. He wasn’t himself. He had something going on and he’s probably dealing with it now.
“That’s better,” she purrs. “I’m looking forward to the gallery opening, then.”
My stomach turns.