AA and NN's Second Meeting
"Check out the sophistication of that statement," remarked a pretentious man clad in a showy azure suit to the woman linked to his arm. "I've delved into conceptual art, you know? From Duchamp to Banksy, I've enjoyed them all."
Without pausing, he continued, "Specifically because they all aim to convey a message. Reveal a flaw. Correct an injustice."
The pretentious man swinged his arm, mimicking a flowing river, "All those movements of their era, of our time, it's all about us here. Now. Right at this moment. What do you think, Carla?"
A corner of Carla's mouth upturned. Nevertheless, it wasn't a smile, as her lips formed a slanted diagonal line towards the bottom. Was it contempt? Chagrin? She opened her mouth but the man interjected.
"Art isn't only paint splattered on a canvas or graphite on processed lengths of wood. It isn't merely sculptures..." at this point, his gaze shifted towards the spot below her chin, where her abundant bust was bound by a dazzling red wave. His eyes quickly returned to her face, a face cloaked with foundation and powder and blush, with lips painted a deep red that now pouted at him. "... it's the objects around us, the day-to-day items, that lend meaning to our predicament, our plight, isn't that right, Carla?"
"I mean just check it out," he exclaimed, pulling Carla's shoulder close.
Carla could see the man's dark hair projected in the lens, standing beside her in the reflection.
The camera faced the viewer, the audience, if you will, an installation placed next to the artwork that was its companion.
Carla looked left and re-read the label a third time.
"Obstinacy -
The state of persistence, stubbornness. Please note the artwork is an active installation. Ketchup, raw egg white, and beer will occasionally drip or be poured over it. Do not be alarmed."
Carla examined the ridiculous thing. It was simply a square window into an empty space, but right in front of the glass separating the gallery from the space, hung a cactus. You couldn't even see the cactus's peak, as it was so short, roughly a foot up and down, but over five feet wide.
Carla studied the cactus. The different liquids seeming to be ketchup or raw egg white or beer didn't even look like it. Something was amiss, but she couldn't quite place her finger on it.
She took a breath to request the dark-haired man to leave, but he had already slung his arm through hers and was almost dragging her to the next installation to ramble about nonsense. Or so she thought it was nonsense. She hadn't caught a single word he said. She hadn't agreed to visit this art gallery due to his glittering personality. In fact, it was his finances.
She had ceased pretending to care. In truth, she had questioned if he might even be homosexual. And that would make her his cover.
Carla ached for some form of physical intimacy, but the pretentious man was oblivious. Maybe on purpose. He did not require her to be unique, but Carla felt it would be too taxing for her to juggle two men. One who paid for everything but didn't want her, and another she longed to fuck senseless. Carla found herself at the next exhibit already and she sighed, which the man was oblivious to.
On the other side of the wall, behind the glass of the artwork labeled "Pertinacity," a peculiar man could be observed sitting comfortably in a theatre seat. The whole seating area was raised and not visible from the other side of the glass. His demeanor was peaceful and a smirk appeared on the corner of his lips. From his perspective, a large screen consumed most of the wall. It showed a live feed of what the lens captured on the other side of the wall, complete with audio. The unusual man, named Figgis, had just watched the whole speech on art and observed Carla's despair.
What captured Figgis's fancy was that below the screen, a woman with auburn hair and hazel eyes was roped up. Her arms were pulled in opposite directions by nylon cords. Her legs were pulled up and spread painfully, bound with several loops to her arms.
A glittering pink ball-gag gagged her mouth and a harness secured to her shoulders upheld her weight. The rest of her weight was positioned onto the cactus, which had penetrated her vulva.
The woman's eyes were slits and her head drooped from tiredness.
"Figgis" nodded his approval and his words boomed out, "That's a success."
He pressed a button on a remote-controlled device in his hand and a curtain slowly descended to conceal the window.
"My masterpiece, wouldn't you concur?" The man said to what appeared to be an uninhabited theatre. Two wisps of smoke meandered through the air in the background, source indeterminate. [indeterminate]
"Figgis" sauntered sluggishly down the steps, stopping in front of his masterpiece. He extended his arm and gently grasped the woman's face with his hand. She emitted a moan.
"Pretty good, darling," he literally remarked.