Tuesday, April 1, 2014

A Gallant Night :Blogging from A to Z letter A

Lucinda stood in the gallery and sipped her wine as she gazed at the veduta. The landscape was timely done in earthy oils. The artist expressed great elocution in his work. As she moved on through the gallery, she found another painting. This one seemed so real, as if the man standing at the parapet could tumble out of the work.

Applause erupted as the artist raised his glass in a toast to Phillip Glazer. Pronounced fee-leep glass-a-er. The shmuck probably wasn’t even French. Lucinda had a premonition that all the artist’s efforts to impress the great critic were all a fallacy.

In her mind’s eye she could picture the review in which uppity Philip would eviscerate the young artisan. At the very least sever an artery.

With a sigh, she moved into the exhibits. Lucinda couldn’t help a quiet laugh as she passed a couple. The gentleman was trying to impress his lady friend, badly. He stood back from the painting with a distant expression. Then proclaimed that the artist was ocular. Oh yes, the young man had a vision alright. A vision of getting that little girl between the sheets.

A huge landscape caught her eye. The view was from the bottom of a gorge. Near the end of the great trench was a cave, coming out of the gaping mouth was supposed to be a bear. After another sip from her flute, she decided the artist should stick to landscapes only. The bear looked more like a hamster.

Next was a classic view of the medieval hero Robin Hood. The outlaw stood in disguise lined up with the other archers. Arrow knocked ready to fly true and win the legendary contest. With a grin, she entertained the notion of being able to step into the painting and blow in his ear as he let fly. Let’s see him make that shot.

An odd coupling by the same artist the next painting held a limo in the Nevada desert. A man dressed forties gangster style stood against the side of the car. He might have been attractive, but for the horrendous scar down the side of his face. Something caught her eye and she started to laugh at the artist’s morbid sense of humor. A man’s shoe lay just under the edge of the limo’s trunk. The scared man wasn’t really alone in the desert after all.

In the next exhibit she found the scene of an interior of a house. A woman stood in the background hands on her hips. A man cooked over an old wood burning stove, he was apparently her husband. The poor man was tall and thin, obviously worked to death by the shrew.

The next piece was a collage of calendars. It was quite impressive how he managed to encapsulate so much history into the piece. There was a calendar from the year JFK was assassinated the date circled in red. Little pictures of historical events speckling many of the dates.

Lucinda actually liked the Florida landscape. The beach with its white sands seemingly stretched on forever. Palm trees bent to shade a group of sunbathers as the waves licked at their feet. A dog with a Frisbee in his mouth ran along the shore, which made her a smile.

Hanging next was a peep inside a brothel. Ladies enticed men with their unmentionables and pretty smiles, with hope to make a few dollars that night. Some were dancing, others drank, a few couples locked in romantic endeavors, but all laughing and gay. All but one. At the corner window seat a woman with long golden locks stared at the moon. Her sapphire eyes held a longing, perhaps of dreams lost. 

Lucinda sighed as someone behind her made loud comments. She had lost patience with the crowd growing in number and noise. The wine no longer able to quench her thirst, she poured it into the potted tree. Lucinda glanced around as she slipped the flute with its gallery charm that dangled from the stem into her purse. On her way out, she over heard Fee-leep tell another patron the artist should have stuck to flipping burgers.

The valet brought her car and Lucinda tipped him before she drove away. On the way home, she listened to Mozart drift through the speakers. Once inside her apartment the illusion was shattered.

She toed off her shoes, then walked to the wall by her dining table. Lucinda pulled the flute from her purse and set the glass on a shelf turning the charm to dangle from the front.

She stepped back and looked at her collection. There was a glass from almost every gallery in New York and LA. Since the move to California, Lucinda had found the Beverly Hills posh galleries a lot of fun. It was her little escape from her mundane life as a post office clerk.

Once a month she would dress to the nines and walk among the beautiful people. Experiencing the world in their eyes for a couple of hours, tasting fine wines, foods she would never be able to afford. Walking to her bedroom Lucinda took off her dress she’d saved for six months to buy it. There were three fine gowns in her closet just for her little trips.

As she slipped on the less glamorous oversized sleep shirt, Lucinda thought about the gallery and all she had seen tonight. Her gallant night out, her name for these outings. As she rested her head on, her pillow Lucinda made note to check the listings for next month so she could plan her next gallant night.  

Part of the Blogging from A to Z Challenge 2014 


Anonymous said...

Interesting story. I didn't expect it to end the way it did. Look forward to your other posts.

Susan Kane said...

Have been to many wanta-be gallery openings. I feel Lucinda's pain.