Just a mistake
Sue's Artworks
it a miss.
Just a mistake
Oh How Jenny had enjoyed herself. She had called Liz and asked to meet
her in
town for coffee. Liz had said that as the exhibition opened the next day she
was really
very busy, but Jenny was not for taking “no” for an answer she had something
“Terribly important” to tell her.
Jenny was the wife of her husbands best friend, she was one of those people
who
thrived on somebody else’s misery, always on the look out to turn her sad
little life into
a soap opera. She considered work to be beneath her “Now that our Grahams
Assistant Managing Director” and spent her days scavenging over the tips of
other
peoples metaphorical dirty linen, always looking for that little piece of
incriminating
tittle-tattle.
Liz had gasped in horror as Jenny offered to meet her at the gallery
instead, if she did
that they would never get rid of her. She had bitten the bullet and met the
nasty little
woman in Brooks coffee shop.
It was over bitter coffee .. and soggy Danish pastry that Jenny had told Liz
of seeing
Dave, Liz’s Husband and Lisa her best friend, having very cozy drinks
together at
“Richoche” a yuppie wine bar over on the other side of town.
Liz had tried to deny the accusations the spiteful goblin had made, first to
her, then
later driving back to the gallery to herself. She had suspected Dave of
having an affair
for some weeks now, Hell, she had even spoken to Lisa about it. The two
faced bitch
had assured her that Dave was besotted with her, and would NEVER do a thing
like
that.
When she got to the gallery, ripe for confrontation, Lisa had already left.
Everything
was finally organised for the next day.
Liz sat late among the exhibits, sipping more unpalatable coffee, and
running over in
her mind all the times Dave had been late, late meetings, late games of golf
with the
lads. She began to piece these together with all the times that Lisa had
said she was
leaving early, like two interconnecting pieces of a jig-saw they fit
perfectly. The
evidence falling into place, leading up to the previous night. Lisa leaving
to meet “a
prospective client” about a commission, what would have been more suitable,
than to
have met him at the gallery, where she could have shown him some of her
finished
work and work in progress?. Then there was Dave.
“No my darling, don’t bother waiting up, tedious meeting, followed by
tedious drinks
with colleges.. can’t say when I’ll be back ... very late ... likely to go
on ... horribly
boring... much rather be here with you” .
When had he become such a glib and accomplished liar?.
Liz had done so much for Lisa . How could she do this to her?. The
women had
met at art college and clicked, instantly becoming close and firm friends
almost
overnight. Liz had encouraged Lisa, ten years her Junior, and the less
accomplished
artist, she had guided her, watched her style develop, bloom. She took a
“big sisterly”
pride as her friends gawky adolescent strokes, took on the sophistication
and flair of a
talented artist in her own right. It was Liz who had passed over commissions
to her,
gave her the confidence to sell. Pushed her into the spotlight, until the
two women
completely dominated the local art scene.
When Liz had been offered this prime gallery slot, for the month of June.
she had
jumped at it. Then decided to split the hanging space with her friend. She
had plenty
of finished pieces to work the exhibition herself but wanted to share it
with Lisa.
“And anyway”
She had said stopping the flow of her friends protestations
“This way if we both leave `em wanting more, we can do it again later in the
year.
Give `em a chance to save some more pennies! “
The women had worked well together in the months leading up to the big
exhibition,
many late nights were filled. Paint splattered glass of wine in one hand
paint brush in
the other. Each woman furiously involved in her art, yet still breaking off
every few
minutes to talk about sex, or men , or sex. They had publicised, and
advertised, argued
over layout and which would hang where, stressed out and laughed together.
The
women had shared more than the odd glass of wine and coffee they shared
their lives.
Told each other all their hopes and dreams. Trusted implicitly. How could
she do this.
How could he do it. Liz had even told Lisa the other day about an affair
with a married
man, but had insisted it was over he was
“Just a mistake”
As she sat, Lisa became more and more furious. They weren’t going to get
away
with this. She played back all the intimate smiles that she had caught
flashing between
the two people closest in all the world to her, How could she possibly have
missed
seeing them for what they were?. She was such a fool, she had been so happy
that her
husband and best friend got on so well together. Had laughed heartily when
Dave had
snack up behind Liz and tickled her. How easily, how naturally, Lise had
turned into
his arms and hugged him close laughing all the time. How they must have
laughed at
her when they were alone together in bed. Had they been in HER bed?.
She rang Dave, desperately trying to sound normal and told him she’d be
late home.
One or two last minute details just to make sure everything was perfect for
the next
day. Now she was sure. There was no escaping that note of relief in his
voice, there
was a tone of
“Can’t get rid of you fast enough” in his voice.
With the air of a surgeon preparing for surgery, she donned her comfy paint
daubed
overall. She had a lot to do.
It was a beautiful day for the Grande opening. The press had turned out in
force and
were now held at bay by the thick curtain that the Lord Mayor would draw to
announce the opening of the exhibition. Dave had gone to pick Liz up . the
poor thing
did look peaky, when they finally walked in together, She full of profuse
apologies for
not being there all day . Twelve Sennapods in her morning coffee had seen to
that.
Poor unsuspecting Lisa had put her intimacy with the littlest room that
day, down to
nerves. Liz knew differently. Dave’s arm rested lightly against Liz’s
shoulders
supporting her and she turned into him just slightly. Dave’s wife stood
apart alone.
The Lord Mayor took the podium. A hundred and fifty people gathered round.
A
better first night turn out than they’d dared to expect. The press
photographers had
their cameras poised waiting to click away for their front page spread in
the local rag.
“Now then before we start Ladies and Gentlemen. if I could first have
Miss. Liz
Hope, and Mr. David Taylor up on the stage please I believe they have a
little surprise
for a certain lady artist, who has a birthday this week. I understand there
has been
much plotting and scheming, and secret meetings going on behind this ladies
back .
good job they both love her isn’t it?”
Polite tittering from the audience.
Lisa’s feet had felt leaden as she had walked up onto the stage to accept
the beautiful
portrait Liz had done for her. It had taken weeks of sittings, her best
work ever, A
stunning portrait of Dave flanked by their two Red Setters. Lisa had cried
as she
hugged Liz, and told her she loved her. Liz had cried too, but for a
different reason.
Just a little mistake.
The Mayor had drawn the curtain and everyone had flocked into the
exhibition. Liz
had known it wouldn’t be long before pandemonium broke out.
Liz’s pictures were wonderful, beautifully lit, well displayed ready to be
received.
Lisa’s pictures were also well lit and ready to be received.
The look on Lisa’s face had been a picture itself , as she had walked round
her beloved
work in silence.
Liz stammered and stuttered “It was just a mistake ... it was just a
mistake”
She stopped first at the obligatory Still life “Bowl of fruit” in one place
the varnish had
been carefully removed, and the Banana replaced by a large Vibrator. Little
lines gave
the effect of the huge pink, realistically veined and headed, Penis
vibrating on top of
the fruit. Liz coloured in shame.
They moved onto “Lovers at dawn” a beautifully poignant picture of two
naked
lovers entwined in sweet embrace. She, was now covered in tribal tattoos.
He, had a
stick of Blackpool rock where his penis had once been, and was wearing a
“Kiss me
quick hat”.
Now onto her piece-de-resistance The abstract Liz had called “Confusion” At
first
glance it looked fine, but as you peered more closely the little primary
coloured blocks
formed two words .
“ You Arsehole”
These framed the perfect view of a large backside with pouting *mouth*.
Lisa walked round a second time. still not having said a single word shocked
into
stunned silence. Liz babbled out the whole sorry tale. The paintings. The
Senapods,
Jenny having seen them out having their celebratory “end of sitting” drink
together
everything.
Liz moved to the bench in the middle of the room. She sat and slowly bent
her head
into her hands, Her shoulders started to heave and when she looked up tears
were
running down her cheeks. She was laughing so hard that she nearly choked.
Soon both
Dave and Lisa had joined in too. People stood around looking bemused as the
three
friends hugged and laughed and slid down walls to sit on the floor in
hysterics. This
image, was the picture greeting them on the front page of the Leeston
Gazette the
next day.
The exhibition was a great success. The write up in the paper was
spectacular. Both
women sold out, but Miss Liz Hope was acclaimed the most brave, radical,
trendy
artist of the decade. People were already placing orders for her next works
of “unusual
contemporary” art.
Michael Breslau
in my nostrils and lots of paintings on the wall. He's very good and very
opinionated. This tale resonated with me more than it might have for
someone not so raised. Still, I enjoyed it.
Mike
In article <7t2nk7$9u9$1...@nclient13-gui.server.virgin.net>, "Sue's
Artworks" <sooz...@virgin.net> wrote:
>Don't think this will offend anyone, but if of a delicate nature, best give
>it a miss.
>
>Just a mistake
> Oh How Jenny had enjoyed herself. She had called Liz and asked to meet
<snip>
Sue's Artworks
Seem to think we have a god given right to say what's on our mind,and then
sit back wide eyed with wonder when people don't like it. It's as though
transposing thought into a picture is a very honest thing, and so it follows
through into speech. I try very hard, to never hurt anyones feelings.
Knowing the sparks that have danced off these walls between my sons and I, I
can well imagine the *Fun* you've had with your Dad. There's a Ng, for fine
art binaries. It makes me twitchy, because it takes forever to D/L and we in
avaricious England (That's the sin, not a place) get charged by the minute
for online use, I find myself looking round the computer for a previously
unseen crank, to speed the process up a bit. Anyway On there they post
everything from the grand masters, to stuff that someone finds inspiring.
Beautiful. I would never in a million years post, Putting my clumsy, in your
face, subtle as a sledgehammer stuff next to a Renoir ... er I don't think
so but I love to look. I'd like to see something of your dads. I never tire
of looking at talent (Ooer missus)
Anywaysywoosy, its three am, and time to be assertive. I'll brandish my
sword and shout "Back ye fiend insomnia. Be gone" I hear Mr. Koontz
calling.
Sooz
Michael Breslau wrote in message ...
>Sooz, my father is an artist - I was raised with the smell of turpentine
>in my nostrils and lots of paintings on the wall. He's very good and very
>opinionated. This tale resonated with me more than it might have for
>someone not so raised. Still, I enjoyed it.
>
>Mike
>
>In article <7t2nk7$9u9$1...@nclient13-gui.server.virgin.net>, "Sue's
>Artworks" <sooz...@virgin.net> wrote:
>
>>Don't think this will offend anyone, but if of a delicate nature, best
give
>>it a miss.
>>
>>Just a mistake
>> Oh How Jenny had enjoyed herself. She had called Liz and asked to
meet
><snip>