No, You Gotta

PAINT

[1993]

It was the middle of December, and Nora was scrambling to meet all of her deadlines before the holidays.  Since the beginning of the year, she’d managed to hire a lawyer, successfully get herself released from her contract with Pearl Jam’s record company, become a full-time Rolling Stone contributor, fly all over the country and abroad to document both popular and promising unknown bands, and keep herself single to the point of chastity.  She was far from the vagabonding art school dropout she had come back to Seattle as—though she still maintained a residence there.  She couldn’t bring herself to move to L.A. like the magazine had preferred her to.  Seattle was home, always.

She still created and sold original artwork on the side, as was allowed by her contract with Rolling Stone.  They gave her a lot of creative freedom, and for that she was grateful.  She loved nothing more than to arrive home from a long trip, jetlagged beyond sanity, and sit down on the floor in her spacious loft with a blank canvas and only the flickering coils of her indomitable spirit to guide the brush.  That’s how she felt those days, a year after the turmoil of her misjudgments and mistakes—like a conqueror—like a new woman. That was how she knew that her decision to stay single and stop chasing the men in her life was the right one. It had brought her unmeasured success, peace of mind, and the ability to live without drama, without the weight of fucking up.

Nora was in a particularly sunny mood that morning on her way to a downtown studio to capture photos during and after a video shoot.  She was driving to meet Soundgarden to work on a three page spread that was to appear in the first volume of the magazine the following year.  It seemed like ages since she’d seen those guys, and she was especially looking forward to seeing Chris—not only because she missed and valued his weird brand of friendship, but because she was eager to show him what she’d made of her life.  She didn’t need to prove herself necessarily, and especially to someone like Chris who didn’t give five fucks what she did as long as she was happy and safe—but something about the way he had criticized her actions in the past where Stone was concerned… She wanted him to see her without Stone’s influence, just as Eleanora Fiona Davis.  No frills, no distractions.

As she parked her Volkswagen behind the massive brick building and gathered up her equipment from the backseat, she wondered for a fleeting moment about Pearl Jam.  She knew very well that they’d released their sophomore album a couple of months earlier—it was all over every publication and radio station from Seattle to New York.  She’d refused as of yet to buy the record or even listen to it all the way through. She’d only heard snippets of a single or two on the radio, and she turned the station in the blink of an eye whenever she heard one start.  She didn’t need the distraction of her not-so-distant, blundering past in her life just yet.  She wanted and needed to focus on her work.  Slamming her car door shut, she bounded through the back door of the studio and made her way down the hallway to the door marked “soundstage”.

Pushing open the door, she peeked her head in and saw Chris and Kim huddled over a camera monitor with their video producer, discussing some footage.  Nora crept her way quietly into the back of the huge space and waited for the conversation to dwindle before she made herself known.  Finally, she cleared her throat and took a few steps forward.  Kim saw her first, but he was literally pushed out of the way once Chris caught sight of Nora’s waist-length black hair billowing out around her as she approached.  His eyes lit up like Christmas lights and a mischievous-as-ever smile broke out across his face as he raced to close the distance between them. Nora began to pick up her pace and smile back, but then Chris halted right in front of her and stopped her with his hand carelessly shoving at her shoulder.