Aa Nn 2

"Look at the elegance of that statement," said a pretentious man in a gaudy azure suit to the woman hanging from his arm. "I've studied conceptual art, you know? From Duchamp to Banksy, I've enjoyed them all."

Without breaking for breath he continued, "Precisely because they all are meant to prove a point. Show a weakness. Right a wrong."

The pretentious man waved one arm in front of himself, simulating a flowing river, "All those movements of their time, of our time, it's all down to us here. Now. Right at this moment. What do you think Carla?"

One corner of Carla's mouth turned upward. But not in a smile. Her lips formed a slanted diagonal line downward. Was it a look of contempt? Chagrin? She opened her mouth but the man cut her off.

"Art is not just paint splattered on a canvas or graphite on processed strips of wood. It is not just sculptures..." at this point, his gaze wandered below her chin where her ample bosom was constrained by a wave of glittery red. His eyes snapped back to her face, a face overcoated with foundation and shade and blush, with lips painted a deep red which now pouted at him. "... it is the objects around us, the everyday things, that give meaning to our plight, our struggle, isn't that so Carla?"

"I mean just look at it," he says, pulling Carla's shoulder close.

Carla could see the man's dark hair reflected in the lens, standing next to her in the reflection.

The camera was aimed at the viewer, the audience, if you will, an installation placed right next to the work of art that was its companion.

Carla looked left and reread the placard a third time.

"Pertinacity -

The state of persistence, tenaciousness. Please be advised the art is an active piece. Ketchup, raw egg white, and beer will occasionally drip or be poured over it. Do not be alarmed."

Carla looked down at the stupid thing. It was just a horizontal window into an empty room, but right in front of the glass separating the gallery from the room, was a cactus. You couldn't even see the top of the cactus, that was how short the window was, barely a foot up and down, but over five feet wide. Ridiculous.

Carla stared at the cactus. The different liquids snaking their way down the various different grooves of the cactus didn't even look like ketchup or raw egg white or beer. Something was off, but she couldn't quite place her finger on it.

She took a breath to ask the dark-haired man to leave, but he had already curled his arm through hers and was nearly dragging her away to the next installation to prattle on about nonsense. At least, she thought it was nonsense. She hadn't heard a single word he said. She hadn't agreed to go to this art gallery because of his glittering personality. In fact, it was his money.

She had stopped pretending to give a shit. In fact, she had wondered if he might even be into men. And that would just make her his beard.

Carla desperately wanted some kind of physical intimacy, but the pretentious man was oblivious. Maybe intentionally so. He did not require her to be exclusive, but Carla felt it would be too exhausting for her to juggle two men. One who paid for everything but didn't want her, and another who she just wanted to fuck her brains out. Carla found herself at the next exhibit already and she heaved a sigh, which the man didn't even register.

-

On the other side of the wall, behind the glass of the art piece called "Pertinacity," a strange man could be seen sitting comfortably in a theatre seating. The whole seating area was elevated, and could not be seen from the other side of the glass. His demeanor was relaxed and a smile played on the corner of his lips. From his point of view, a large screen took up most of the wall. It displayed a live stream of what the lens captured on the other side of the wall, replete with audio. The strange man had just listened to the whole spiel about art and witnessed Carla's discomfort.

What tickled this strange man, alias of Figgis, was that just below the screen, a woman with auburn hair and hazel eyes was tied suspended. Her arms were pulled in either direction by nylon rope. Her knees were pulled up and spread painfully, bound with several loops to her arms.

A glittery pink ballgag adorned her drooling mouth and a harness around her shoulders bore the brunt of her weight. The rest of her weight was placed upon the cactus, which was impressed into her pussy.

The woman's eyes were slits and her head drooped from exhaustion.

"Figgis" nodded his approval and his words boomed out, "That's a wrap."

He presses a button on a remote control device in his hand and a blind slowly rolls down to cover the window.

"My finest work, don't you think?" The man said to what appeared to be an empty theatre. But two tendrils of smoke filtered lazily through the air in the back, source unknown.

"Figgis" walked slowly and deliberately down the steps until he stood in front of his art piece. He reached up and grabbed the woman's face with one hand. She groaned.

"Not bad, my pet," he said quite literally.