It’s a quiet street that Maria’s brought me to, an unassuming American suburb. The house she just parked in front of looks like it should host a small middle-class family—I can imagine a couple of brown-eyed kids playing tag in the backyard under the watch of their careworn parents—but it turns out this blue-painted house with its cream shutters and neatly manicured lawn belongs to the supposedly gifted artist Maria wanted me to meet.

“This is it?” I ask Maria, still studying the house through the car window.

“Yep. This is Ava’s place.” She rummages in her center console for a lip balm and applies it in the rear view mirror.

I pick up the small portfolio I brought with and flip it open, checking that everything is safe inside. “It’s not what I was expecting.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. When I think ‘artist,’ I tend to think of a tiny studio apartment in the city, not a 1940s Ford executive’s family home.”

“Well, don’t be so quick to judge. Artists living in the city struggle pretty much universally. She’s got to be doing well to support herself in an area like this.”

“True.”

“And anyway, you live in the city. You’re surrounded by artists. So you project that stereotype onto every non-urban artist you meet.”

“That might be a bit of a stretch, but sure. I see what you mean.”

“Cool.” Maria grabs her sketchbook and purse. “Let’s go inside. I don’t wanna keep her waiting.”

We walk up the driveway together and ring the doorbell. A moment later, the door is opened by a bright smile and shiny brown ponytail.

“Hi, guys! Come in!” Ava beckons us through the door.

“Ava, it’s so good to see you!” Maria and Ava hug each other.

“Oh my goodness, you too. I’m so glad we could arrange this!” Ava beams and then turns to me. “You must be Jan!”

I smile. “Yes, I am. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” I shake Ava’s hand.

“Likewise. I’ve heard so many good things about you and your artwork.”

Ava invites us within and urges us to make ourselves at home. We sit at the kitchen table and chat over some snacks about recent projects and exhibitions and so forth. My attention keeps returning to the cleanliness of the house and neatness of the decorations and furniture. It’s a direct contrast to my own apartment, where everything lays about in hodgepodge piles and there’s no warm homeliness to be found.

Ava is all friendliness and cheer and childlike excitement, with no business or professionalism or shrewdness to be found in her ongoing display of hospitality. She doesn’t seem worried about work or anything else—a trait that is very unlike what I’ve seen in myself and other artists. Doing art for a living is pure stress for me—always worrying about deadlines and how and where I’ll be able to sell a sculpture I’m not even entirely happy with. The small talk has been going on for almost an hour, so I decide to cut to the chase myself. I want to find out what Ava needs from me.

I gesture to the binder Maria brought into the house. “Maria, may I see what’s in your portfolio?” I’m disregarding the discussion they were just having about the hike in paint prices, but I’m impatient enough to forgive myself for my lack of manners.

“Yeah!” She pushes the binder in my direction. “Ava, those are the drafts I was telling you about,” she added.

“Wonderful! I’d be happy to take a look at them,” Ava replies, then turns to me. “Jan, I hear you’re a sculptor. I have a client—and personal friend—who owns a supply store. She sells professional-grade art materials and her clientele is growing fast. She wants to create a department solely catering to sculpture and is looking for a talented artist like yourself to do some sculpting for demonstration and advertising. Is that something you’d be interested in?”

I like the idea. It is, if nothing else, guaranteed commissions for a while. And it might help me get my name out there, too.

“Yes, I’d be interested. How can I contact her?”

“If you don’t object, we could go to her store together now. You could meet her and discuss the finer points.”

I look at Maria, who nods.

“Sure,” I say. “Let’s do it!”

A half hour later, we’re sitting at another table in a clean and tidy room, but this time in the presence of a short woman wearing rectangular glasses and more sculpting supplies than I’ve ever seen at once in my life. Ava introduces Maria and me, and we get to talking. Before long I have myself a nice little commission deal. Six months of sculpting ahead of me. Nikki, Ava’s friend, informs me that there may be an opportunity for me to run a sculpture class here in the future, if all goes well. My heart leaps at the prospect.

I guess I’ll start here and see what happens.