Copyright ZZ (AK) "What the hell is it?" she asked with a quizzical look. She brushed
aside an errant lock of her stylish mane with an impeccably manicured
and lacquered hand as she looked at him. He didn't answer at first; he
hated having to explain everything to her.
"It's my latest work. I'm supposed to submit it to the art gallery tomorrow."
"That's not what I mean, silly. What's it supposed to be?"
What's it supposed to be? He couldn't believe his ears. What a
philistine, he thought. He had taken her to numerous museums and art
exhibits over the last few months; he had tried to inculcate some
culture. His efforts had obviously been in vain.
"What's it look like to you?" he asked at last.
"Well ... I don't know. Give me a hint."
"No hint. Just tell me what you see."
This time she scrutinized it more carefully, looked at it from different angles and even touched it.
"I know!" she announced triumphantly. "It's a mutant clutching a weapon! Right?"
Wrong, he thought. How could she possibly be so artistically
myopic? Anyone with an iota of intelligence could figure out what the
statue was. He had spent months creating it. That it was a masterpiece
there could be no doubt.
"You're hopeless," he finally announced. "I don't know what to do with you."
Her look of jubilation soon turned to one of scorn.
"I'm hopeless? You pretentious flake! You're the one who's
hopeless! I'm no fucking art expert, but that thing is garbage to me. I
don't know why I even try to understand this modern art crap."
"Crap? I've told you...."
"Don't bother trying to explain it to me. I've had enough; I'm sick of your lecturing! I'm leaving!"
"No, don't go. I - "
"Go play with one of your statues. I'm going to go find myself a real man."
He watched her storm out of the room and heard her slam the door.
He winced; the burly realtor next door had already warned him about the
noise! He carefully wrapped the statue in newspaper and placed it in a
box filled with Styrofoam packaging. His would be a fairly long drive
to the gallery. Despite what she had said he was confident that his
statue would be well received and create the kind of exposure that
would lead to another wealthy buyer. He had already enjoyed his most
lucrative year ever.
He would first phone her though, in order to make up with her. He
knew that her threat had been an idle one. She knew well enough that
her lavish tastes in clothing and jewelry were well beyond the means of
the average guy. Her desires varied, but he usually gave in to them. He
didn't mind submitting to her whims, particularly when she was wearing
latex or leather. She was the kind of woman he had always wanted.
* * *
"La Deesse Avec Fouet is brilliant," the curator later told them. "It is exceedingly generous of you to lend it to us for the exhibit."
The artist smiled knowingly. He had known everything would turn out nicely. The curator turned to the woman.
"You must be very proud of your ... husband madam?"
"Oh yes. Definitely. My baby is a genius. That's why I love him."
"I must say, madam, the resemblance is striking."
"Resemblance?"
"Yes, as soon as you walked in I realized where your husband's inspiration had come from."
"Ah! Yes ... well of course! I keep telling him to hire a
professional, but he seems to be satisfied with little, old me." They
all smiled warmly and walked toward the reception in the other room,
the new alligator-skinned stilettos clicking sharply on the marble
floor.
Copyright ZZ (AK) |