Page 26 of I'm Your Guy
“What’s that for?” Tom asks, watching me.
“These are samples for the fireplace wall. The paint chips you get at the store are too small to show you what a color really feels like. I wanted you to be able to see it at scale, before you choose.”
He squints at the cardboard. One shade is a gray-green slate and the other one is a grayed-out plum. “I dunno. It’s just a wall.”
Rigo laughs. But I’m more annoyed than amused. “This is your home,” I sputter. “Let’s not forget you’ll have to stare at it every day for a decade.”
“So which color looks best? You’re the expert.”
I take a deep, cleansing breath. “Both of these shades are complementary to the stones in the fireplace surround. See?” I pick up the green one and hold it up beside the fireplace. Then I do the same for the plum. “They both look good. Personally, I think the plum brings more to the party. It’s a little warmer. I know you said that purple isn’t your favorite color. Too, uh, Brooklyn, I think?”
“Nah!” Rigo says from up on the ladder. “Brooklyn’s purple is more eggplant.”
“Agreed,” Tom says. As if either one of them is making any sense at all.
“So that shade of purple isn’t a dealbreaker for Cougars,” Rigo says. “And that green is fine, too. It’s not at all a Dallas green. Minnesota, though?”
“Mmm,” Tom says. “I hadn’t thought of that. But it’s not really the same.”
“Same as what?” I demand. It’s like I’m the only one in this room making sense.
“You can’t choose an accent shade in your competitor’s team colors,” Rigo says haughtily. “That’s just bad juju.”
“Exactly,” Tom agrees.
“Oh,” I say slowly. That comment about purple had something to do with a competitor’s team colors?
“Who you playing tonight?” Rigo asks. “Philly?”
“Yeah,” Tom grunts, his brow furrowed as he paints a stripe of paint on the baseboard.
“You’re not wearing anything orange, right? Wouldn’t wanna jinx yourself.”
“Fuck no,” Tom says. “Wasn’t born yesterday.”
“Uh-huh,” Rigo agrees. “What color car you drive?”
“Nebula gray pearl,” Tom answers immediately.
“Oooh, savvy,” Rigo says. “Nobody has gray in their logo. L.A. kinda ruined black and silver, yeah?”
“Yeah. Can’t be too careful.”
I’ve totally lost control of this conversation. “Guys, remember me? Can someone confirm that none of Tom’s enemies have either of these colors?” I hold up both cardboard samples.
Two men turn to stare at me with thoughtful frowns. “I think you’re all clear with both of those,” Rigo says.
“Yup.” Tom nods.
I summon the last shred of my patience. “Okay. Thank you. Now which one of these colors do you like better? Which one do you want to look at while you’re sitting in this room having a cup of…whatever warrior gods drink to wake up in the morning.”
His mouth quirks up on one side. “Gun to my head? I kinda like the slate green better.”
“Slate green it is,” I announce. “Was that really so hard?”
He returns to his baseboard. “What’s it called, anyway? The color.”
I check the can. “Secret Garden.”
