Private View

Private View

Status: Finished

Genre: Flash Fiction

Houses:

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Flash Fiction

Houses:

Summary

An art exhibition reveals a lot more than one visitor expected...

Summary

An art exhibition reveals a lot more than one visitor expected...

Content

Submitted: July 10, 2016

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: July 10, 2016

A A A

A A A


I’d worn green silk. He’d come direct from the office, day creased next to the curves of my diaphanous dress

As we walked my heart fluttered. He lingered. Uninterested really at first, he’d wanted to be at his club but was humouring the little lady.

Really, being seen to be out with me on his shoulder didn’t hurt his reputation. On cue a pop of flash. One for the Tribune tomorrow then.

They were mostly nudes. The centrepiece a wall filling colossus. He stood, lit a cigar in front of me. I could tell thoughts were machinating inside. He leaned forward to look at the price tag, too vain for specs in public. The artist joined us.

“My people need to talk to your people.” Irma was good she didn’t, like I would, tell him she didn’t have people. She nodded. Turned her eyes to the canvas and I did too.

I wondered if she, like me, thought of the day she’d painted it. Early spring. Warm. The smell of blossom and bird song floating in the open studio window. How afterwards she’d abandoned brushes and we’d embraced. Kissed and made love on the floor my husband now stared at.

My heart leapt as he stared at the picture with an intent usually reserved for the business pages. I felt then it was a mistake to bring him although deep down we wanted him to recognise. For things to be out in the open. Our furtive couplings so very ready for less secrecy.

“I don’t know art. But I know what I like and you’ve made this so damned familiar. I don’t know how in God’s sweet name you managed it but it’s like I’ve seen this painting a thousand times before.”

We exhaled as one behind him, her finger traced down my arm as he continued. 

“Most artists struggle. Do you struggle?” He asked her without turning from the oil streaked canvas. She nodded in response. 

“I guess, a little.” 

 “What do you need? Money? A studio? We have a big house. Would you move in? And forget money. Anything you need I can arrange.”

Irma gasped at the future, I couldn’t blink. 

“I think whatever this is.“ He waved his hand around the gallery and then pointed at us both. “I’d prefer it..." he tailed off but emphasised the it. Spat a little. “Under my roof.” 

And he left to go to his club, leaving us smiling, relieved, in a cloud of smoke from his Montecristo.


© Copyright 2017 NinaBellini. All rights reserved.

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