by Jon McDonald
“Hey what say I take you to some place better for dinner tonight? Good home cooking. I know the owners. Real nice, and like family. And they really care about what they serve. My treat.”
“Okay, I guess,” Luther replied, trying to hide how pleased he was.
Gregory and Luther were inseparable. They studied together, ate together, worked on Gregory’s sets together, and only reluctantly parted when it was time to go back to their separate dorms to sleep.
Luther had not been able to tell Nils about this new friendship. He was still waffling on about Hilda, and how he just knew it was going to work out any day now.
◘ ◘ ◘
It was only a simple student diner adjacent to the university. Luther had passed it almost every day on his way to class, but he had never even bothered to look at the menu in the window. Gregory led him inside, and they found a free table by a side window that was private and secluded.
“You gotta try the ratatouille. It’s fantastic,” Gregory enthused.
“The what? Rat pittuti?”
Gregory laughed. “No, no. Try it, I guarantee you’ll like it.”
“I don’t know….”
Stelly, one of the owners, with her big grin, came over. “Hey Gregs, how’s it hangin’ doll?”
“Humpin’ and thumpin’.”
“You go.”
“Whatcha got that’s extra special yummy tonight?” Gregory smiled up at her.
“Oh hon, got stuffed cabbage to die for.”
“Yeah give me that, and for my friend here let’s have an order of your famous rat pittuti.”
Stelly burst out laughing. “Okay, one rat pittuti, and one stuffed cabbage coming right up. Drinks?”
“Got any of that Napa hooch hidden in the back?”
Stelly gave a knowing nod. “Might be able to scrounge up something drinkable you might like.” She retreated to the kitchen.
“She’s sumpin’ else, huh?” Gregory grinned.
“She likes you,” Luther commented shyly.
“And what about you, Luther?” Gregory tilted his head and leaned in towards Luther, trying to catch his eye directly. “You like me too, don’t ya? Just a little? Huh? Don’t ya? Huh, huh?” He leaned forward and chucked Luther under the chin.
Luther blushed. “Yeah, you’re a great friend.”
Gregory leaned back in his chair. “Ho, ho – just a great friend? Nothing more?”
“I…. I don’t know…maybe.”
Gregory carefully studied Luther before launching into a subject they had never discussed before. He wasn’t sure if it was the right time or not, but decided to just go ahead and jump right in the deep end. “You ever been with a guy before?”
Luther shook his head and couldn’t look Gregory in the eye. Then he shyly asked, “Have you?”
“Yep.”
“Oh.”
“Shocked?”
“Maybe a little.” He thought, then asked, “You been with a lotta guys?”
“Not too many. Mostly saving myself for just the right one.”
“And how do you know when you’ve found the right one?” Luther looked up now, engaging Gregory’s gaze directly.
“Think I already have.”
◘ ◘ ◘
Luther was sitting silently across from Nils’ desk with just the faintest smile. Nils studied him intently. Something seemed different about Luther today. There was a new flavor of peace and serenity. He suspected something had happened. “How’s it going with Hilda? Any new developments on that front? It sure has been a long time since you two started dating,” he finally spoke.
Luther was shocked when Nils mentioned Hilda. He had nearly forgotten about her. For a split second he couldn’t even remember who she was.
“Yes, something’s happened – but not with Hilda.”
“Oh really, do tell.”
“I met somebody I really, really like.”
“Oh yeah? And…?” Nils, smiling, leaned in closer to try and catch Luther’s expression.
“But it’s a guy…
“Uh huh. And why am I not surprised at that?”
Luther blushed. “And I think we might be going to have sex.”
“Well now. Isn’t that just grand. I hope you guys have a really, really great time.”
◘ ◘ ◘
And they did.
And Luther discovered that he was definitely at the far other end of the continuum.
The Opening
The last of the evening light softly illuminates the voluptuous petals of the waxy magnolia blossoms, making them look like they are lit from within by candles – white with a blush of peach overtones. Laura sits at her dressing table, staring out of the leaded bedroom windows of her Atlanta mansion at the magnificent tree, as it shimmers like a regal ghost in the fading light. She turns to her mirror and fastens a freshly picked magnolia blossom above her left ear. She studies herself. A handsome woman in her early forties, she is dressing this evening for the erotic art opening at her gallery. She is dressed in a simple, tailored, grey dress with a black and silver leather belt. She struggles to fasten the clasp of a black onyx necklace around her neck. She sees her husband, Mark, looking at her through the bedroom door. He is dressed in a Valentino tuxedo, and adjusts the cuffs of his shirt, but does not offer to help her with the clasp.
“Are you ready?” Laura asks.
“The car is here.” He turns to leave.
Laura watches him disappear from her mirror.
The chauffer, a handsome, dark Italian in his early twenties, dressed in a grey uniform, grey silk tie and a cap, leans against the limousine, smoking. The front door of the house opens and Laura and Mark appear, ready to leave for the opening. The chauffer snaps to attention, and quickly extinguishes the cigarette. He opens the rear door for Mark and Laura to slip into the back seat. As Laura settles, she catches the chauffeur’s eye, and he smiles discreetly. Laura quickly looks away. The driver gets into the car, adjusts the rear view mirror so he can watch Laura, and drives away.
Laura stares out of the passenger window. Mark looks out his window. The chauffer tries to catch Laura’s eye again, but she refuses to look up. They drive on in silence. Laura finally looks up, and sees the driver staring at her. She locks eyes with him for a brief moment, but then leisurely looks away, refusing to take on any guilt for the moment of contact.
At the gallery, Randy, the caterer, is arranging a riotous bouquet at the food table. The servers are busy prepping and putting out the food, and the bartenders are opening bottles of wine and champagne. Behind the bar is a large painting of rare and imagined flowers. The bouquet spurts from an ejaculating phallus.
The limousine pulls up in front of Laura’s gallery. A sign in the window announces the exhibit of Erotic Art, opening this evening. Laura and Mark emerge from the car. The driver tips his hand to his hat as Laura emerges. She does not acknowledge him.
The couple enters the gallery. The opening has not yet started. Mark immediately heads to the bar. Laura walks over to Randy, as she surveys the room.
“Randy, the food looks wonderful, and the flowers are exquisite.”
“Thank you.” Randy reacts to her beauty and places his hand on her arm. “But not as exquisite as you are this evening, Laura.”
Laura smiles coolly and withdraws her arm, turning to greet the first of the arriving guests.
The guests fall into two groups – the evening dress crowd – and the artsy crowd, more eccentrically dressed. It is an international evening, and one can catch conversations in German, Japanese, French, and English. As the guests file into the gallery they first head directly to the food table or the bar, but as they pass through the gallery they sneak surreptitious glances at the erotic art, too embarrassed to address the art head on until they have either a drink or a plate of food in their hands.
Laura is both cool and inviting at the same time. She is much admired in Atlanta art circles, and seems to know everyone on a first name basis –
patrons, artists, or press.
◘ ◘ ◘
There is a sculpture of a man and woman making love. However it is somewhat abstract and a couple are examining the artwork, trying to figure out who is doing what to whom, and what part belongs to which body. As the couple examines the work they go through considerable contortions themselves, trying to make sense of it. They end up looking rather like the sculpture itself.
◘ ◘ ◘
A young punk girl with bright red, spiked hair approaches a larger than life rubber sculpture of a limp penis. A sign says ‘Touch Me”. She smiles and tentatively touches it. It begins to rise accompanied by some rather strange sounds. It rises to full erection, then there is the sound of an explosion and it begins to recede and become flaccid again with the sound of a sweet sigh. She reacts with some surprise, amusement, and embarrassment. She races to fetch her girlfriend and they try it again together. It goes through its little show, and they collapse into a frenzy of cascading giggles.
◘ ◘ ◘
In another section of the gallery a group of provocatively dressed, very realistic manikins are huddled together in a close group. A number of guests stand around studying them. It is very difficult to tell the manikins from the guests. A man cannot resist the temptation and reaches forward to touch one of the sculptures, not quite believing it can’t be real. Next to him a woman, also mesmerized by the reality of the exhibit, reaches over and squeezes the breast of another of the figures. However it is a real woman, and she reacts with shock and surprise. The woman doing the offense is thoroughly embarrassed, and profusely apologizes to the startled woman. They both see the humor in it and begin to laugh.
◘ ◘ ◘
Mark observes Laura engaged with her clients, and leans in towards a young woman studying a multi-breasted earth mother statue.
“Etruscan, I would surmise.” Mark comments.
“What?” The young woman turns towards Mark.
“Very early art from the ancient world. Earth Mother often depicted with many breasts. Meant to promote abundance - healthy harvests - all that sort of thing.”
“Rachel,” the woman says, offering her hand.
“Mark.”
“It certainly is a relief to know that women like that existed only in ancient times. I would not like to be outfitted with all those appendages today,” she smiles coyly.
◘ ◘ ◘
Two lesbians are walking casually through the gallery. They come upon a marble statue of a phallus. They pause for a moment, examining the art work. They look at each other with mild disgust and walk on.
◘ ◘ ◘
Roland Blaze, art critic, for The Register, is accompanied by Cash, his much younger protégé. Laura passes by, nodding to Roland as she passes.
Cash smiles at her and turns to Roland, “Who is that gorgeous woman?”
“That, my dear, is Laura, the gallery owner. Affectionately known in the art world as the Ice Queen.”
“Oh really? And why is that?” Cash asks, staring after her.
“Because, my child, as far as we know, no one has ever been able to melt that arctic heart of hers.”
◘ ◘ ◘
The artist, Stephan Brook, is standing with a couple who are examining his abstract, non-subjective painting.
The husband turns to Stephan and asks, “How do you figure this is erotic art? I don’t see anything erotic about it.”
“It’s called Libido in Santa Fe.
The husband seems unconvinced. “Hum.”
Stephan pushing for a sale continues, “You see, the explosion of red coming, as it were, into the yellow expresses the latent fear and loathing that the modern male feels for the post-feminist female.”
The husband and wife step back to consider the painting more carefully.
The wife pauses for a moment, and then says after great consideration, “I don’t know, honey. I think that libidos in Santa Fe have more green.”
◘ ◘ ◘
Laura has a brief moment between chatting with guests. She grabs a glass of champagne, and scouts the room for Mark. She sees him chatting with the attractive younger woman who is holding on to his arm and smiling. Laura pauses, and then turns away.
◘ ◘ ◘
A handsome young man is examining a painting with focused attention. To his left a young woman is studying him. And to his right another young man is also studying him. The handsome man gradually realizes he is being stared at. Slowly he turns to his left and examines the woman, then turns to his right and examines the young man. He smiles slyly to the young man and moves on. The woman is left alone as the young man follows the handsome man.
◘ ◘ ◘
Laura is with a couple who have just bought a painting. Laura is placing a red dot on the corner of the wall card. The painting is a very erotic abstract flower painting – depicting what appears to be a floral vagina. The man is very pleased with the painting.
“I think you are going to be very happy with this,” Laura adds. “A very wise investment. The artist had a sold out show in San Francisco recently. And already her works have appreciated more than two hundred percent in the past two years.”
The wife seems less than convinced.
“Yes, an excellent investment,” the husband agrees.
His wife uncertainly asks, “But where are we going to hang it?”
“How about over the fireplace,” her husband replies, all smiles.
“How about the laundry room,” she suggests, with somewhat less enthusiasm.
◘ ◘ ◘
After the transaction is completed, Laura looks up when a young man in his twenties appears at the entrance. He is dressed casually, and is darkly handsome and brooding. He surveys the room, sees Laura, and starts towards her.
“David, so you decided to join us after all.” She looks at his clothes. “But you’re not dressed.”
He laughs. “I thought artists were exempt from monkey suits.”
Laura glances nervously over at her husband who is still deeply engaged in conversation with the young woman.
“Well then, how about a drink?” She leads David towards the bar. “Oh, and I’ve got a possible sale of one of your paintings to the Eisenbergs. I’ll let you know when it closes.” She hands him a glass of champagne, then turns to leave.
He grabs her arm and turns her back towards him. “Don’t treat me like this, please.”
She avoids his gaze. “David….”
David reaches into his pocket. “Here, I have something for you.” He hands her a small box. She stares at it. “Go ahead, open it.”
“You’re embarrassing me.”
“How? You sell my work - I give you a little gift as a token of my…appreciation.”
Laura turns away. “No.”
David is suddenly very intense, “Why do you do this?”
“Because it’s inappropriate.”
“But you know how I feel about you,” he insists.
She struggles for a reply. “No, David, I’m leaving.” She turns, but he again grabs her arm, and turns her back towards him.
“No, first you open the gift, then I’ll leave.”
Laura looks around the gallery. Everyone seems occupied. “Very well.” She heads to her office and David follows her.
◘ ◘ ◘
Roland and Cash approach the “Touch Me” sculpture. Cash reaches out to touch it. Roland slaps his hand, “Don’t you dare,” he jokes. They laugh and move on, but as they leave Cash reaches out behind Roland’s back, and smiling, touches the sculpture. It begins to moan and rise.
◘ ◘ ◘
In Laura’s office she opens David’s gift. Inside the box is a very beautiful, ceramic perfume bottle. It is very old, delicate and obviously expensive. She is surprised and looks up at him.
“Why this is exquisite. Egyptian? Twelfth dynasty?”
“Very good. Exactly. You like it?” he asks.
“Yes, but I can’t accept this. It must have cost you a
fortune.”
“It’s probably worth a painting or two.”
She shakes her head, puts it back in the box, and holds it out for David to take back. “No, I can’t.”
But he doesn’t take it. She can’t resist and opens the bottle and takes in the fragrance. Her reaction is sudden and strange. “How did you know?”
“What?” he asks.
Laura smiles, “This is from your father, isn’t it?”
David hesitates, then answers, “Not at all. I know your tastes.”
“It’s the perfume he always gave me.”
David takes the bottle from her, and smells its delicate fragrance. He looks at her. He touches his finger to the bottle and traces the perfume behind her ear and down the side of her neck, then down along the edge of her dress towards her breasts. She doesn’t resist. In fact, she surrenders very softly. She doesn’t speak, but looks David in the eyes.
Laura speaks softly, “Thank you.”
David nods. “Now, as I promised, I shall go.”
Laura reaches out to David, “How is your father?”
“Fine. He speaks of you often.”
“Say hello to him for me, will you?”
He nods, then turns and leaves. She follows him out of the office. She watches as he leaves the gallery. She stands lost in thought. She closes her eyes, feeling the magical effect of the perfume. She traces along the line of her dress where he drew the line of perfume. She opens her eyes again and looks around the gallery. She notices things she did not see before. The sensuality of a black man’s arm as he pours wine. A man’s hand on the base of a woman’s back. A woman whispering into the ear of her female partner. Mark leaning in close to the young woman. The lushness of the flowers. The rise and fall of a woman’s breasts under sheer fabric.
“Can you tell me the price of that Brandise over there? Number eighty-three.”
Suddenly Laura is forced back from her reverie. She turns towards a man holding a catalogue.
“I’m sorry….”
“Number eighty-three. The price?” he asks again.
Laura stands looking at him, unable to answer.
◘ ◘ ◘
All of the guests have gone. The caterers have taken down their tables, and are carrying out the last of their equipment. Laura stands at the front of the gallery lost in thought. She watches Mark through the front window saying good-bye to the young woman, who then walks off down the street, glancing back at Mark before she disappears.