6/9/2023 0 Comments The Turning by Francine Prose![]() Their all-time favorite was a guy who had a Keith Haring squalling baby in three colors on the inside of his forearm. An hour or so later, hair and makeup will arrive, dragging their pressed-aluminum wheelies and their fabulous tattoos. ![]() But this coming Monday, someone’s intern and someone else’s assistant will be pushing food-cart-sized racks of clothes into Lee and Mattie’s loft for a fashion shoot. They would love to spend a few more days at the billionaire’s house on the channel or canal or archipelago or inlet or whatever the body of water is. And C, because both of them are superstitious and afraid to jinx themselves. They will never get old-a conviction both secretly hold but that they have never discussed, A, because it is boring, and B, because both secretly fear that their belief in eternal youth might not withstand the scrutiny of reason. The aging process is for giant wheels of cheese, for pheasants turning green, for whiskey in barrels bigger than the art-school apartment where they met and fell in love, back when they were poor. Every sunny morning, which is to say, every morning, Mattie says, “Let’s go out and lay by the pool and accelerate the aging process.” The billionaire is so generous with his recreational drugs that from the moment they wake up until the moment they fall asleep, everything seems hilarious. ![]()
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