Othello Station by Rachael Wade Read Free Book Online Page B

the grey sky remains. My gaze lands on the alarm clock on the bedside next. “Shit.” I throw the blanket off my legs and scramble to get up. It all starts to come back to me. The album cover—I finished it—and then the grand idea I had to plop down and nap the day away. I suppose I had a right to. I did finish the project. But something plagues me, like unfinished business.
    I’m still not content.
    I walk to the laptop and stare at the screen. The design is still open, on full display on the desktop. The resolution is perfect. The design is flawless. It’s exactly what the band asked for, and it’s exactly what I’d envisioned for them. So why do I feel like something is missing?
    Out of habit, I bend and save the file, then close the laptop. I rise and pull on my jacket, grabbing the laptop to take it with me, then head out of the room and into the hall. I make my way to the elevator. My legs carry me to the front desk, as if they’re on autopilot, directing me which way to go. As I approach, I find Mira rustling through paperwork. She’s in a hurry, glancing at her watch.
    “You about to get outta here?” I ask, tucking the laptop tightly beneath my arm.
    She looks up. She’s distracted, her thoughts a million miles away. “Yeah, I’m off in five minutes. Just wrapping a few things up here. Can I help you with something?”
    “You can, actually.” I present the laptop, setting it on the edge of the desk. One of Mira’s co-workers approaches from the other side, eyeing us.
    “Can I help you with anything, Sir?” she asks, watching as I open the laptop and turn the screen toward Mira. She’s short, Latina, and curvy.
    Mira immediately shuts her down. “It’s fine, Nance. Thanks. I’ll take care of it.”
    “Okay. I know you’re trying to get out of here, so if you need me, just holler.”
    “Will do. Thanks.” The girl leaves us alone, wandering back around to the other end of the desk to resume her work. “So, what can I do for you?” Mira leans over to scan the computer screen. I pull up the file and zoom in, showing her the album design. “What’s this?”
    “I could use your opinion.”
    “You did this?”
    “Yeah. I’m a freelance graphic artist. I work on album and book covers, mostly. This is the latest project.”
    “It’s amazing.”
    “You really like it?”
    “Definitely. What’s not to like? It’s epic.”
    “Thanks. I’m proud of it.”
    “But?”
    “But I feel like it’s missing something.”
    “How so?”
    “The moon. I feel like maybe there should be a reflection somehow.”
    Mira leans in closer, studying the image. The band sits side by side on a log in the moonlight, their backs to us. The sky is dark, with stars so bright, they litter the backdrop, drawing your attention to the title of the album: Resilience. “Hhmmm,” she murmurs softly. “You’re right. The moonlight should be casting its light on them from above, raining down on them. They’re looking up at it, like they need it to give them an answer.”
    “Or maybe they already have the answer.”
    “Resilience.”
    “An epiphany.”
    “Get rid of the stars.”
    “What? Why would I do that? They make the title pop.”
    “Because it’s all about the moon.” She taps the sky and lightly drags a finger over the ring of the moon, like an artist analyzing her work. “You don’t need all of this,” she adds, pointing to the stars. “Not when the moon holds the answer. Let it do all the talking. Let the title remain there, stark against the moonlight.”
    I give the design a double take, following the path her gaze has set. I stare at it long and hard, considering her suggestion. “You want my job? You’d be good at it.”
    “Ha.” She leans back and resumes stacking her paperwork, taking a deep, resigned breath. “It seems I’ve already chosen a career. Whether I’m good at it is yet to be determined, though.”
    “Considering the workload on your plate, I’d say you’re pretty