I was in the Distillery District a couple of days ago really enjoying the environment. The ambience, the people, the cobblestone, and one of the greatest coffee shops in the city Balzac’s. (This is what Yorkville wanted to be like a few decades ago)
After spending a couple of hours talking the future with a friend of mine. I split off on my own and started to wander a little bit. Why did this guy Worts who owned this Distillery, commit suicide I thought. They were shipping off his Whiskey by rail to the whole continent; he was probably rolling in dough. What a great time to be rich in the late Eighteen Hundreds. My thoughts started to flow.
I stuck my head into what looked like a restaurant that did some great healthy gourmet takeout. Instead I saw that this area was only the beginning of the journey to come, behind a curtain lurked a wild looking art gallery that was filled with all these eclectic looking humanoids.
As I approached the gallery. A woman dressed in a beautiful white gown revealed herself asking me “are you here for the showing.” At first my ears thought they caught the words “are you here for the affair” which made me smile for a nanosecond .
Now, in these kind of moments, I usually just back away and shrivel up, but for some reason I leaned closer and whispered “yes” “and what a beautiful location for it”
She pulled back the curtain slightly with a smile and ushered me in. I assumed she knew that I was a fake; however she was taking some pity on me for giving it the old college try.
I turned down some sexy looking champagne to drown my world in mineral water. Good choice. I began pondering the price tagged fixed to each of these works. 10,000 for the old woman, 20,000 for the mermaid seemingly emerging from some sort of oyster like world. Then these three works that took up a whole wall. All abstract visions of the same HORSE, almost as seen from under the water or something. Interesting. I wondered what the astronomical price tag would be. Why think price I warned my ridiculous ego. Think art.
Standing in front of this three painting bonanza was this woman. Here we go.
At first I was somehow fixated on the way she was standing. There was a certain confidence, mixed with the flowing whimsy of a dancer, she could move forward for a closer inspection or perhaps leap away at any second.
I am here for the art I thought. Bullocks, no you are not, you are a freeloader, and the fact that some semblence of spontaneity and synchronicity brought you into this space at this moment, move forward and take a closer look, you base pervert. Calm down.
I moved beside her and smiled at her when the opportunity presented itself. Oh lord. Her look didn’t move, it stayed fixed on me, for what seemed like a minute or so. I was feeling anything but confident. I felt slightly ill. STAGGERING AESTHETIC BEAUTY and a powerful prescience; if she speaks and she is in any way genuine, I may have to kill myself.
She speaks………….”So do you get it”?
I look around quickly but I am the only person in range of what I judged at the time as the most profound comment I had ever heard”
“If I say that it reminds me of a Jackson Pollack, would you know that I am extremely shallow?” What the hell did that mean, you idiot!
She laughs at my piercing wit. “I used to ride when I was younger so I am still fascinated with the whole horse/girl thing”
“Hmm. But I bet you never rode a pony like this on LSD” Oh god will somebody muzzle me, why the drug reference.
“No never” “But I’d like to”…………
I look at her a little closer. How old is this woman. Or is she a woman. She is dressed in a fantastic short length evening dress with high heeled shoes that could pass for some sort of art in themselves. I never did make it into the Bata museum. She isn’t wearing any makeup and has deep green eyes. Yet. How the fuck old is she? She looks 18. Or is it that I feel 100.
I take a stroll up to the price tag, turn quickly with a smile to her. “Take a guess”
“UH for the whole wall…..15,000”
“Actually no (I mumble), it’s a mere $21,000, good try though"
Rick my god you pathetic human being, will you say what is on your mind. Break through this BS or you will regret it, perhaps you will be happy just to go back to your books and…….. Time is stopping, for god sakes, speak you douche.
“Can I say something to you?” Oh shit, did that come out of my mouth?
“Sure, whatever.”
“I am Rick by the way”
“Samantha”
Get to the punch line you of this bad performance. Swallow. But she looks exactly like a young Nastassia in Cat people, shut up and speak.
“You are unusually attractive, which is wonderful for me to take in, but I can’t help but wondering how old you are, and why you are here alone, and maybe I should shut up now”
Oh shit. No wonder I can’t even get a date with a pony.
“Thank you Rick. You are too kind. Well, to answer your question, I am 21 going on 40. And….I am not really alone, well anymore than usual, my husband is the guy at the other end of the room behind the apple computer”
I take a quick look at the guy, trying to be cool. I know I am supposed to just love my fellow man but this is going to be impossible. How did this foolish looking GIRAFFE of a person with some really BAD GLASSES, ever land a lifetime of Samantha.
“Oh he looks….interesting, I would of never, I mean…you don’t look…..I didn’t feel…..married from you”
“Yes I hate to define myself that way, but I am one of those woman, been married a couple of years, now, you?”
“Um no, no, I am single” “ Yeah,I am trouble” “The woman actually are cautioned about going out with guys like me, their mothers have taken the course and caution them to steer clear.’ (Yeah but if I can ever get you Oceanside young lady)
She smiles. “Trouble, you don’t look like trouble Rick, you seem…….ok”
“And you don’t look married”
I touch her bare back briefly. Oh shit. I would move to Siberia for one night caressing that back.
We walk into the other room and linger over the many paintings exchanging small talk. Time has definately stopped. You know it when it is happening. Hold on.
I feel pretty comfortable and am somehow diffusing the aura of pure energy that is blasting me out of the room every time she looks at me. Why is this so difficult?
White light, white heat I think. My monkey mind quickly wonders to the free concert that Iggy Pop is giving. Come back. She is speaking.
“Hey man, Rick, I don’t usually do this so quickly, but you and I seem to really get along, and I would like to hear more about your play and things, but I got to bolt. My lord is calling”
I look over at the impatient GIRAFFE that is sizing me up in the background. FOREVER IN MY BACKGROUND
“Let’s exchange emails” I blurt out.
“Perfect”
She reaches quickly into her purse.
We do this rapidly and then just before she leaves, I look deep into her GREEN EYES.
I am really saying Thank you. Thank you for resurrecting me from the dead.
If life was only speckled with more moments like this, it might be worth the angst.
She leans over. What the hell. OMG. Is she going to KISS ME?
“Like the French” She smiles
“Sure”
We kiss on both cheeks; she touches my shoulder and is gone.
I am HIGH. High on life. I am not dead. But why am I still staring at these FUCKING HORSES.
Out on the streets something feels different. I can’t put my finger on it. My mind doesn’t want to try.
Coming from an open window, high above me, I hear the old INXS song "dream on black boy, dream on white girl", man I haven't heard that in years, but if feels right.
To be continued……………………………..
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