by A B Turner
Once we were face to face, he still eyed me with some suspicion,
“You don’t look familiar at all,” he began, “And I know everyone who is someone.”
I looked straight back at him,
“Well, I’m no-one, so don’t let it bother you, you can’t remember me.”
He grinned,
“Oh, the country girl is a feisty one,” he teased, I wanted to ask him how he knew I wasn’t really a local, but he seemed way to ‘knowing’, so I just smiled,
“That’s me,” I was about to introduce myself when he raised his hand to silence me, while shaking his head slowly,
“No! I don’t want to know the name someone else gave you, they’re invariably completely wrong and don’t capture the truth of a person at all, so for now..” he paused and looked me up and down again, “yes, I think Feisty will do for now, but you can call me Cyrus, thankfully, despite being married to basically a lump of talking clay, my mother had otherwise excellent taste and captured me instantly.”
He carefully brushed the dust from his perfectly tailored jeans and asked me where I had been going, when I said the library, he groaned,
“Not the place for you at all, do you work?” he asked, I told him about the burger joint and all the other terrible jobs I’d done, he looked on in obvious disgust, when I’d finished, he took my arm,
“I’m going to rescue you, “he insisted, “I shall be a knight and you’re my damsel in distress, although I’m not great with heights, so there will be no tall towers so no need to grow your hair Rapunzel.”
I laughed,
“But you don’t know me at all, how can you just get me a job?”
Cyrus winked,
“Keep up darling, I told you, I know everybody and..” he leant over to my ear and whispered, “I do mean know.”
By the afternoon, I had begun my time there as a nobody, which wasn’t exactly what Cyrus had promised, but the pay was good and the place itself seemed like somewhere real for me to start and make my dream happen. I stood at the doors offering brochures or sometimes, during one of the events, walked around guests with a tray of drinks, while silently praying I wouldn’t either bump into someone or drop the whole lot in the middle of the room. When everyone had gone home, I was supposed to be left alone to clear up, but Cyrus nearly always stayed to keep me company although he flatly refused to touch anything that might have come in contact with anyone else,
“I blame my mother,” he explained, “She was absolutely obsessed with cleanliness and everything being perfect.”
“That’s why she had you,” I interrupted, as I staggered through the gallery with a large tray of used wine glasses,
“Exactly, my darling, anything less would have been a terrible disappointment for her.”
As I stood at the sink, in the backroom, carefully washing each glass in the warm, soapy water, he perched on the counter and regaled me with stories of his travels with his mother, it seemed like they had been just about everywhere.
“But what about your father?” I asked, Cyrus sighed,
“Well, he was a lump of clay, but luckily not only did he have a bad heart, but he was absolutely loaded, so it was inevitable really..” his voice trailed off, he seemed almost sad, but I was way too involved in the story to not pursue the ending,
“What was?”
Cyrus looked up at me, obviously surprised I hadn’t completely understood him,
“That she’d kill him..”
When I gasped he roared with laughter,
“Not murder, darling, she just screwed him to death, she was an adventurous, wicked woman and the poor man didn’t stand a chance, but he did die with a smile on his face.”
It was my turn to laugh, I wagged a soapy finger at him,
“You’re making this up!”
He recoiled in horror,
“I tell nothing but the truth, my darling, as long as it’s not about me.”
From that evening, our relationship just developed and it was no exaggeration to say, he changed everything about me, from my clothes and hair, to making me believe, I could make anything happen.
So it was really because of Cyrus, when I walked through the heavy glass doors, I was a somebody, a force to be reckoned with and, there was no hiding from the fact, I loved it, just as he’d probably always known I would.
“Good morning, everyone,” I called, “I hope we are all well and ready for a busy day.”
Caroline scurried up to me, her tiny face dwarfed by her large glasses, her white blonde hair tied back in a perfect ponytail and as always, she was dressed head to toe in black which only exaggerated her slender frame.
“Good morning, all the crates arrived early this morning,” she began, her voice little more than a whisper as if she believed everything she said was somehow top secret information, “But I thought I should wait for you before opening anything, as Cyrus said, you had the plans for the exhibition.”
“Yes I do, Caroline, is Cyrus here yet?”
She hesitated and was obviously anxious,
“Is everything alright?” I asked, trying not to make her obviously agitated state any worse.
“He seems a bit, well, emotional,” she answered weakly, I sighed heavily,
“Is he in the office?” I asked, she nodded quickly, “OK thanks Caroline.”
I reached into my bag and gave her the plans, along with instructions to start opening the crates, before I walked through the gallery towards the office. Before I had even had a chance to open the door, I could hear Cyrus wailing,
“Woe is me.”
I opened the office door and couldn’t help but smile at the sight which greeted me, there was Cyrus, holding a small hand mirror close to his face and visibly grimacing at his own reflection.
“Woe is not you,” I began, I was about say something else but he jumped up from the desk, glared at me and then began jabbing his chin,
“Look at it, it looks like I’m growing a second head out of my own face!”
At first, I couldn’t help but laugh, but as there was no way of missing his distress, I took his hand and pulled him closer to me,
“Let me have a look,” I said kindly, as I peered closely, all I could see was the tiniest red spot and even that was only really visible when I was only a matter of a few millimetres from his face.
“It’s really not that bad, I promise you.”
For a moment, I could see his large, soulful brown eyes searching my face, obviously looking for some kind of sign, I was being truthful. When he had obviously mentally confirmed the truth of my statement, he relaxed and smiled,
“Perhaps I did over-react slightly,” he said sheepishly, I laughed again,
“No really? But that’s so unlike you!”
He chuckled,
“I know! I’m usually so quiet and unassuming, anyway, how are you today, gorgeous?”
“Not as gorgeous as you sadly,” I replied, “But not too shabby today, thanks.”
Cyrus beamed at the compliment as he always did, but the fact was, he really was probably the most attractive man I had ever seen, let alone met in person. He was tall, slim with closely-cropped hair, classic Mediterranean good looks which he always insisted he had inherited from his mother. The only real heartbreak he had ever caused me, was when I finally realised he was gay as it obviously meant, despite our closeness, it would never go any further. Despite this revelation, one drunken night, I had foolishly confessed I’d once had a huge crush on him and he never failed to mention it when even the slightest opportunity arose, but that was a small price to pay for the level of fun he had brought to my life.
“So what hedonistic delights do we have today?” he asked, while I sorted out my belongings in preparation for the day’s tasks.
“We are doing this exhibition, remember? That German artist, whatshisname,” I paused, as I tried to remember the name, before it seemed to come to me, “Gustav Lederhosen,” I said triumphantly. Cyrus giggled,
> “I think you mean Ledermann, although why your brain is focusing on tight leather shorts is infinitely more intriguing.”
I rolled my eyes and laughed,
“Don’t confuse my brain with yours.”
Cyrus scowled, and tried to insist his mind was only fuelled by intellectual stimulation and not on seedy innuendo, which even he couldn’t say with a straight face. I quickly scanned my desk and once I was sure I was fully prepared, we went out into the gallery, where Caroline was feverishly working on opening crates that were, at least, twice her size.
“You’ve got to hand it to her,” Cyrus whispered, “She might be small but she’s mighty.”
Caroline looked up,
“I’ve made a start,” she began, “But I’m struggling a bit with these crates.”
I quickly reassured her, she was doing a tremendous job but perhaps it would be best if she called Jack as he had the proper tools. Almost as the words came out of my mouth, I could sense Cyrus was about to make some tasteless comment, so I turned to him and shook my head, a move he greeted with a mischievous wink while mouthing ‘spoilsport.’
As Caroline scampered to the office, I noticed Cyrus was now checking his reflection in the glass door,
“Er, can I ask what you’re doing?” I asked, without breaking the gaze between himself and the reflection,
“Well, if Jack is making an appearance, I need to be ready,” he replied thoughtfully, I shook my head,
“Oh there’s no hope with him, sweetheart, Jack is completely straight,” I realised too late, I had spoken far too knowledgably and there was absolutely no chance Cyrus would have missed my tone. As I’d feared, he spun and round and eyed me suspiciously,
“How would you know?” he asked, walking quickly towards me, so cutting off any escape route, before I could even begin to think of a response, he feigned shock,
“Oh my dear! You’ve been nailed by our carpenter, haven’t you?” he paused, “Come to think of it, that sounds positively like a religious experience!”
Despite myself, I couldn’t help but smile,
“I refuse to comment owing to the fear anything I say might incriminate me,” I replied, before ducking past him and walking to the far side of the room, but I should have known better. When Cyrus caught even the slightest whiff of any gossip, he was on the trail like a hunting dog on a rabbit,
“Come on, gorgeous, tell me all the gory, salacious details,” he asked, reminding me of a whiny child hoping for extra treats, “You know you want too.”
I looked at him with wry amusement,
“You know something? I really don’t, it was a while ago and the whole situation only happened because of the reckless consumption of too much tequila, a fact I deeply regret.”
Cyrus roared,
“You regret? Hah! That my dear, I highly doubt, there are whole villages in Mexico which are funded by your tequila habit, in fact I have absolutely no hesitation in saying the good people of Saint Jose Cuervo are probably erecting something in your honour, as we speak.”
I was about to respond in kind, when Caroline seemed to appear out of nowhere between us, she looked first at me and then him, then back to me, with more than a hint of anxiety,
“Jack is coming as quickly as possible,” she said.
“How very unfortunate,” Cyrus said with mock innocence, I chose to ignore the obvious double entendre and thanked Caroline before suggesting she take a break until we could open more crates. As was her habit, she nodded and scurried into the back room, as we watched her go, I noticed Cyrus cocked his head to one side,
“Do you think she’s on something? She’s always so jumpy.”
“Perhaps it’s being anywhere near you, have you considered that?” I joked, “If she was on something to cope, I wouldn’t blame her.”
I saw his mouth start to open to respond, but I turned away and picked up a catalogue which had been left on the top of one of the crates and started to flick through the glossy pages.
“Oh, these are a bit depressing,” I said as my eyes scanned image after image of what appeared to be a combination of some kind of BDSM and torture. Cyrus looked over my shoulder and shuddered,
“He’s obviously not a very happy boy, our Gustav,” as I turned another page, we both gasped at picture of a couple clamped together with barbed wire,
“I think I can see why,” I said, “That has got to hurt.”
Cyrus chuckled,
“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.”
I looked at him in disbelief, hoping for some kind of explanation, but he just winked at me. Somehow despite Caroline’s intense need to hide away with her obvious embarrassment, as Cyrus shamelessly flirted with Jack, after over eight solid hours, we had managed to put together the exhibition. It was still only a work in progress, but the actual hard physical work was done, by the time we all collapsed on to the enormous velvet scatter cushions which thankfully punctuated the marble floor. For several minutes, we just sat in silence, our eyes moving from one piece to another which now adorned the normally blank white walls. Most of the images seemed to be illustrating an almost dark, disturbing side to the artists’ mind, there were more torture scenes depicted and a particularly huge painting of a bombed city strewn with disfigured corpses. It was Caroline who surprisingly broke the silence,
“They’re stunning,” she began cautiously, “But I’m not sure I’d like one in my own home.”
“Especially that one,” added Jack, pointing to another sizeable portrait of a nude man having his penis being consumed by what appeared to be a pack of rabid wolves.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle to watch Cyrus visibly wince,
“I know exactly what you mean,” he replied.
Once more there was silence, I wasn’t quite sure why, but being surrounded by quite so much grotesque imagery was starting to make me feel intensely uncomfortable, so leaning on Jack, I stood up and walked back over to the discarded crates. As I peered inside, I noticed one last picture was still carefully wrapped and stored between two large wooden dividers.
“Seems we missed one,” I said, more to myself than to the others who were still sprawled on the floor.
“Let’s hope it’s as cheery as the rest,” Cyrus groaned, “I’m assuming image of gruesome raccoon suicide in the Black Forest.”
Jack looked puzzled, he pushed his huge tanned hand through his thick, curly hair,
“Do they even have raccoons in Germany?”
Caroline shifted towards him until his towering frame almost cast a shadow over her lithe body, she gazed up at him, as she started to explain everything anyone had ever known about the lifestyle of the average racoon. Jack seemed as engrossed in her explanation as she was in telling it, so much so, I noticed Cyrus make a deliberate move away from them, as if even he knew, he might well be intruding.
In an obvious effort to break the mood or, at least, change the subject, he urged me to take out this last picture. Having expected something as vast as the others, I nearly toppled when I lifted the frame from the dividers, as it turned out, it was no more than a metre long and about half as much wide. I rested the frame on the workbench and gingerly lifted the tape and slid off the several layers of bubble wrap. When the last piece fell to the floor, I gasped which caused the others to jump up and come over to me, clearly expecting something really horrifying. But instead, we were faced with a simple landscape, lush and green, a small white house lodged in a gently-sloping valley with forested hills in the far distance. The whole image was one of calm, peace, a version of the ideal country home, right down to a small dog slumped on the front doorstep of the house.
“Are we sure this is by the same artist?” I asked, Caroline leant into the crate, reaching in so far, she was in danger of falling headlong into it, before she emerged with a folded sheet of paper. She read aloud, this painting was indeed part of the exhibition but was to be placed at the very end of the display, so it would be the last thing the viewers wou
ld see in the gallery.
“Perhaps he wants people to not go home and have Godawful nightmares,” suggested Jack, Cyrus nodded his agreement,
“Leave them on a high.”
I wasn’t sure why, but there was something about the picture which took all of my attention, so much, I barely noticed Cyrus speaking to me until I felt his hand on my arm,
“Hey sweetheart, wherever you are, I said it was time Jack and Caroline went home, is that alright?”
I glanced up at his face, there was genuine concern in his eyes but I wasn’t entirely sure what was the cause,
“Of course,” I replied, hastily adding my thanks to them both for all their hard work, after they had left, Cyrus carefully locked the doors behind them and walked back over to me.
“So are you alright my darling?”
I nodded,
“I think it’s just been a long day and a lot of those pictures are pretty disturbing,” I replied, hoping I sounded truthful even though I was far from sure, I was telling the whole truth. Unfortunately for me, Cyrus wasn’t convinced,
“Hmmmmm, maybe…but could it be, my little country girl, this picture has brought up a memory or two?”
I was about to refute this suggestion, but one look at his face made it pretty clear, he knew he was, if not wholly correct, definitely partially accurate.
“Maybe,” I answered as nonchalantly as I could manage, “Anyway, let’s put this thing up.”
I walked past him and walked to the very back of the gallery where there was a blank wall, as I started to put the fixings up, I could feel him behind me,
“Let me help,” he said quietly as he took the picture from my hands, I knew he was watching me and despite our closeness, it made me feel uncomfortable because I knew a question was coming,
“You don’t talk about your home very much,” he began tentatively, “I mean, you tell me about your countless lovers, your drunken exploits…”
“That’s not true,” I interrupted in a blatant attempt to deflect the conversation, “I don’t need to tell you because you’re always there, probably under the bed at the time, recording every sordid moment for posterity or a sex tape, whichever comes first.”