Picture This

by Tobsha Learner

‘She is, but you’ve been so elusive these past few weeks.’

  ‘Stop exaggerating – you were travelling for two of those three weeks. So who’s going to be at this party?’

  ‘Everyone. The Guggenheim, Whitney, MoMA, Bilbao and Miami – and those are just the institutions. You can be as charming or as difficult as you like. They are expecting a show. Your reputation precedes you – I made sure of it. Now everyone wants a piece—’

  ‘And no doubt you’ll make sure they get it,’ she retorted. She was finding it difficult even to be near him. As she looked down she couldn’t help thinking how those hands had made love to Maxine – and possibly engineered her death. He really was like a Russian doll, she observed, appalled by his duplicity. Who knew how many personas were hidden within? Layer after layer…

  The limousine rolled to a smooth stop in front of a huge granite archway. Two valets in uniform stepped up to the car, along with a handsome young man in a suit holding a clipboard. As one of the valets helped Susie out, Felicity Kocak appeared in the huge doorway, in a fishtail evening dress covered in diamanté crystals.

  ‘Elie Saab, I’m guessing,’ Felix commented, appraising the dress.

  ‘You’re too good, Felix. But Elie does drive a hard bargain – I can’t wear it within a hundred miles of Los Angeles; apparently there’s only one other in the world and the owner plans to wear it to her next Oscar ceremony.’ Felicity Kocak stepped up to kiss Felix on both cheeks.

  He then turned to Susie: ‘Felicity Kocak, Susie Thomas.’

  ‘My guest of honour! I can’t tell you how exciting it is to have such a controversial figure here. Don’t disappoint us by not making a scene. I’m counting on it. So many of us are just waiting for you to shake us all up. And as for your last show… ’ She slipped her arm into Susie’s and led her into a reception area filled with mingling guests and waiters hurrying through with trays covered in hors d’oeuvres and champagne glasses. The party had spilled over into the pool area outside – a string quartet was playing in the middle of the pool on an island that resembled the massive seashell from which Botticelli’s Venus emerged – while several models dressed as mermaids and mermen posed in the pool itself.

  ‘ …I flew in from Dubai just to see it. So confronting and yet so arousing. I really think you’re redefining female sexuality single-handedly – or should I say single-digitally?’ Felicity joked, then winked flirtatiously. ‘You are such a naughty girl! Mind you, we all were, once upon a time… ’ She smiled lewdly, and to Susie’s faint surprise she discovered that she found the billionairess attractive, with her wide cheekbones, brown eyes, and a faint ironic tilt to the mouth aglow with a wry intelligence.

  ‘I wouldn’t say redefining as much as providing an articulation. I’m only a conduit.’

  ‘So modest! Now that’s a surprise. Tell me, is Felix treating you well? He’s a tricky bastard at the best of times, but pure genius.’

  Susie glanced across the room. Felix was deep in conversation with a clique of admirers, mainly female, monied and middle-aged – potential collectors, Susie assumed.

  ‘He certainly has strategy,’ Susie replied diplomatically. ‘You must have been thrilled to have secured the Hopper. I love that painting.’

  ‘You do? It’s on loan to the Whitney at the moment, but I have the perfect place for it in my Monte Carlo apartment. It needs minimal surrounds—’

  ‘—to match the flat planes of the work. I couldn’t agree more. You know, the figure I’ve always been fascinated by is Hopper’s wife, Jo. I mean, she was an artist in her own right, and a good one. I always had the impression she sacrificed her own career to promote his. I’m thinking about basing a new series of portraits around that theme – the female artist behind the great male artist.’

  ‘You love Jo Hopper? Then I have something you’ll like: several letters from her to a female friend, describing the very painting Felix sold me. They were part of the provenance.’

  ‘I would love to see them.’

  ‘Well, they’re here, in this house. I tell you what, I’ll show you – on one condition: we trade. I get first bid at the new works, and you get to see the letters.’

  ‘Felix will be furious.’

  ‘I know! What an exciting thought, being one step ahead of the infamous Felix Baum. What do you say?’

  ‘It’s a deal.’

  ‘Brilliant! Come steal me away after I’ve done the obligatory rounds and we can have a little girlfriend moment.’ Felicity’s voice dipped into a sexy huskiness as she caressed the back of Susie’s neck.

  ‘I’d love that,’ Susie answered, then headed straight out to the pool bar for something far stronger than champagne.

  *

  Susie sat at the bar nursing a Bloody Mary, watching the Puerto Rican bartender as he deftly mixed drinks; his curiously Renaissance-like beauty contrasted strikingly with this modern setting. A small island of space had opened up around her, while behind her the chatter of the guests rose and ebbed like waves hitting the shore. She sat there, relishing her solitude. She didn’t feel like socialising or doing the obligatory networking. It was suddenly overwhelming. She folded her arms over her womb; she knew she wasn’t showing yet, but the pregnancy gave her a new susceptibility, a transparency she was acutely aware of. To counteract the sensation, she pulled her digital camera out of her handbag. Swinging back to face the bar, she took a photo of the barman as he reached up for a glass; he looked particularly handsome in profile, his delicate dark features reminiscent of a Raphael painting. She turned back to the party and took a photograph of a short corpulent bald man in tight chinos and an open shirt, who looked vaguely familiar, as he bustled his way directly toward her.

  ‘Wow! Caught by Susie Thomas’s camera! What an honour.’ He settled next to her, climbing up onto a bar stool, his legs swinging free of the floor. ‘Tequila and soda on the rocks,’ he ordered, then turned to face her. ‘But why aren’t you swinging with the rest of the animals? I wouldn’t have picked you as the retiring type. How’s your boyfriend treating you?’

  Wondering where she’d seen him before, Susie answered carefully. ‘He’s not my boyfriend.’

  ‘You’re right; Felix Baum is nobody’s boyfriend. He’s probably nobody’s son either, like fucking Jesus. There’s so much bullshit written about him.’ The man held out his hand. ‘Marty Hoffman, Felix Baum’s nemesis, or so he likes to think. But really we’re not even in the same ballpark. If he’s Lenin, I’m Trotsky.’

  Susie stared down at his hand with its thick, podgy fingers pressed through a row of clunky rings. ‘Go on, shake it,’ Marty insisted. ‘I’m a total whore for your work, but I concede that Felix is prettier.’

  She shook his hand (which was sweaty), then had to extract her own as he held on to it longer than she wanted. ‘I know your gallery, Mr Hoffman. You have an interesting stable. I like your eye.’

  ‘Eye? You’re a bad liar, Ms Thomas. Another reason to like you. I talked to your London reps; you could have signed with me.’

  ‘But I didn’t.’

  ‘Like I said, Felix is a whole lot prettier, and luckier. I mean, who would have thought there were all those undiscovered Hoppers out there just waiting to be found? The trouble with Felix is that he’s promiscuous. I’m not. I like to stay with an artist, build something solid underneath them, something with longevity. We live in fickle times, Ms Thomas. Fame is more ethereal than ever. Is that you, Ms Thomas? Are you going to end up on the editing-room floor of history, a lost pixel in the ad break?’ He reached into his pocket and extracted a card, then opened her clutch and slipped his details into it. ‘An alternative to pretty boy. You’ll need it.’

  Just then Felix pushed his way through the crowd.

  ‘So I see you’ve met Marty. Marty is one of the most eminent gallery directors on the East Side’

  ‘And he’s just leaving,’ Marty announced, slipping off the bar stool. He lifted Susie’s hand and kissed it. ‘See you later, princess.’


  They both watched him walk off. ‘Sorry about that, I should have been there to protect you,’ Felix said.

  ‘What from? I liked him.’

  ‘Be careful; he’ll try and steal you from me. I’ve had four artists defect to his gallery. I retaliated by stealing his top guy. I guess we have a love–hate relationship, but we respect each other.’ He moved closer. ‘What’s wrong? You’ve been so remote since I got back.’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ she lied again, looking down into her drink. ‘You know this can’t amount to anything. I’m leaving straight after the show; you’ll be circling the world and the art fairs for the rest of the year. Is that what you want? A text relationship? Mutual masturbation over Skype?’

  ‘You do that?’ He grinned wolfishly.

  ‘No.’

  He reached over to grab a cocktail cherry from the bar, and slipped it into her drink.

  ‘Come back to my hotel room tonight.’ He leaned forward to caress her, then glanced over her shoulder. ‘Damn – Lizzy’s seen you and she’s on her way over.’

  ‘Lizzy?’

  ‘Elizabeth Jones, Guggenheim curator. You guys have history, right?’

  Before Susie could reply, the willowy curator was standing before them.

  ‘Felix, I thought you’d be here – and this must be Susie Thomas. We’ve talked but—’

  ‘— never actually met.’ Susie stood and shook hands with her.

  ‘I should apologise for the cowardice of the board.’

  ‘Don’t bother. I entirely get it – and in the end it didn’t matter . Tate took it, and the rest, as you know, is history.’

  ‘Tate made a good decision. Desire as Myth was absolutely breakout—’

  ‘— as the solo New York show will be. I expect you and your cheque-book to be at the opening, Lizzy. It’s the least you can do to restore your reputation,’ Felix deadpanned.

  Susie wasn’t sure whether he was entirely joking or not.

  ‘Indeed,’ Elizabeth replied, totally unflustered. ‘Can you tell me what the theme will be?’

  Felix cut in before Susie had a chance to reply: ‘There’s an embargo on that information, but it will be quintessentially Susie Thomas. That much I can guarantee.’

  ‘It’s okay. I can give a pointer at least,’ Susie interrupted and turned back to the curator. ‘Celebrity, the notion of the erotic gaze – how culturally specific is it in terms of art history, and finally New York itself. It will be homage to the city – good works for a serious institution. I won’t be covering New York for a while after this,’ she added, not without some irony.

  ‘Sounds ambitious, but perhaps a little broad.’

  ‘It won’t be. I’m appropriating very specific iconic paintings as a basis for reinterpretation and there’s a relationship between the paintings themselves. All of them involve sexual and more classically romantic themes, which I have, naturally, subverted.’

  ‘With your usual acidic wit, no doubt. You’re becoming a veritable movement these days. Of course, in Felix’s expert hands, the momentum will be unstoppable.’

  ‘That’s my intention.’ Felix smiled.

  ‘I focus on the integrity of the work. Nothing else matters,’ Susie retorted, sensing the curator’s cynicism.

  ‘Of course. You’re an artist,’ Elizabeth replied coolly, then turned towards the pool. ‘Now that you’ve mentioned the erotic gaze, are we convinced the tall blond merman is heterosexual?’

  The three mermen and two mermaids were lounging at the foot of the huge plastic seashell in which the string quartet played. The men’s bodies were absurdly buff, muscles rippling and shiny under the lights, while the mermaids, who all seemed to have cosmetically enhanced breasts, sported long, shimmering rubber tails into which they’d been tightly squeezed.

  ‘I can tell you the dark-haired one is definitely not,’ Felix cracked. ‘But I suspect you’re safe with the Viking.’

  ‘Come investigate, Felix. I know what a flirt you are,’ the curator insisted, pulling Felix away.

  ‘Go. I’ll survive,’ Susie told him, then watched as the two navigated their way toward the pool.

  *

  On the other side of the garden, Susie could see that Felicity Kocak had detached herself from the crowd and was giving instructions to one of the staff coordinating the event. She got up to make her way over, but then felt a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Don’t. Or if you do, realise what you have started.’ The voice was male and the accent German; she recognised it immediately.

  Susie swung around. A tall, thin man in his late twenties with a thick mop of dyed black hair, stick-thin legs in skintight leather pants, stared down at her.

  ‘Arno! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Ms Kocak plucked me from Berlin at the last fair. Apparently I’m artist-in-residence for her Florida house, courtesy of the Kocak Foundation. And you – you’re here for the Baum #2 opening, right?’

  ‘Three weeks to go and counting… ’

  ‘You’ll be fine. You always are, Susie. By the time I leave, you will be queen of the East Coast. Maybe you already are; the Americans just don’t know it yet.’

  ‘How are the wax body casts going?’ Susie had met the laconic German artist at a bar several years earlier during the Cologne Art Fair. They’d got drunk together, shared a hotel bed, but, as far as she knew, hadn’t had sex. She’d liked his sardonic wit and his art. Back then he was making wax models of what he imagined to be the corpses of Second World War soldiers in fake battle scenarios. They were powerful, disturbing and strangely reminiscent of the volcanic casts of Pompeii. He would then put wicks in them and they would burn, slowly melting away like candles. Like memory, was how he’d describe it.

  ‘Oh, I’ve grown out of all that geo-politico shit. Now I just do ponies.’

  Susie looked at him, puzzled. He shrugged. ‘Dead ponies fucking, natürlich. They sell better. Animals are very popular.’

  Susie glanced back over at Felicity.

  ‘She’s an animal. A lovely woman, but an animal,’ he added softly.

  ‘We all are.’ Susie smiled, leaving him at the bar.

  ‘I miss you already,’ Arno called after her before ordering a double vodka.

  *

  ‘Darling!’ Felicity looked back at the mingling party guests. ‘I haven’t forgotten. The canapés are still being served and the dance band doesn’t come on until one. I guess if I’m going to sneak away, now is as good a time as any. I have an office dedicated to my collection in the annexe – let’s go!’

  Giggling like an overexcited schoolgirl, she took Susie’s hand and led her across the sweeping lawn.

  *

  It was like stepping into a forest filled with naked figures from a warped Grimm’s fairy tale. The installation was a forest-scape of artificial trees and green leaves on a floor of fake grass with life-like mannequins of naked pubescent teenagers without genitalia. Grotesquely, each figure had a double torso, arms and head springing up from the waist – as if they were Siamese twins somehow involved in a perverse act of intercourse with each other. And each of these figures appeared to be exploring the forest innocently – bending to pluck a flower, looking at a branch, striding across the grass. It was disturbing, profound, erotic and at the same time a bizarre play on the notion of the Garden of Eden and mankind without guile. Susie stepped into the middle of it in wonder. She’d only seen the installation once before, at a London gallery, but here, housed in a building designed especially for it, it was astoundingly powerful.

  ‘Sometimes I just come here by myself and sit among them. It’s really spooky, but somehow inspiring,’ Felicity whispered reverently as if she were in church. ‘Mamet would have hated it, of course, but widowhood has been very liberating. Felix thought I was mad to buy it, but it’s already tripled in value, so maybe I wasn’t so stupid after all.’ She saw Susie’s face fall. ‘Not that collecting is ever about investment. It’s about patronage and about being part of history �
�� perhaps even contributing to it, in a way, by preserving and promoting contemporary art that’s often not recognised as such at the beginning of an artist’s career. But you are, my dear…’ she stepped closer and Susie could smell her perfume – an exotic musk that was undercut with something very human and pungent ‘… great already.’ She reached out and trailed her hand down the inside of Susie’s wrist.

  For a moment Susie contemplating seducing her. She wasn’t unattractive, but there was something acidic and pinched about her – as if some vague unhappiness had marked her features. And then there was the added complication of Felix’s relationship with her, which Susie suspected might not have always been as platonic as it now appeared.

  She plucked Felicity’s hand off her arm. ‘I’ve always found love far more complicated than sex, but lately it’s been the only thing I’m interested in. You’re beautiful, Felicity. You can have whoever you want…’ It was only a half-lie.

  ‘And I usually do,’ the collector retorted. ‘Oh well, I guess it’s good for the soul to hear the word no occasionally.’ She snapped back into the mode of professional hostess. ‘So, you want to see the Jo Hopper letter, right? The office is this way…’

  *

  The letter was dated March 21, 1961, and the blue ink lettering had a precision and control about it that seemed to describe the psychology of the woman. But it was the paper it was written on that interested Susie more; it had the exact colour and texture of the pages torn from the first editions in Felix’s library.

  ‘Fascinating, aren’t they? She sounds so dedicated and protective of him, yet it was a fraught marriage… ’ Felicity Kocak said breathlessly, standing over her.

  They were in the small office that was adjacent to the annexe housing the installation. It contained a desk and a wall of filing cabinets, all of which, Susie guessed, appeared to hold indexed information and filed papers on the entire Kocak collection. Felicity had produced a box file filled with newspaper clippings on Girl in a Yellow Square of Light and several letters that formed the provenance of the painting.