Meghan was excited to have been invited to the art show. As a fifth year art student at the prestigious British College of the Arts, she felt she had finally paid her dues...or at least enough of them to score entry into the private showing of the talented and rumored widely eccentric, Hoss. Arguably, the most unrestrained and prominent painter of the last century.
Hoss's paintings were renowned for being disregardful of moral restraints. The subjects of his paintings were entirely composed of naked grossly obese people in personally compromising and perplexing behavior. The paintings Erin passed, lining the long hallway to the main gallery were a series of 500 lb naked cowboys performing rope tricks, branding cattle and riding bucking horses. Meghan took her time through the hall, stopping at each piece of art to admire, if not the content at least the highly skilled technique.
Turning the corner, she saw him, an obviously overindulged man with a large, bulbous nose and lofty gray eyebrows sitting at the midst of a raucous group of fawning art collectors each vying for the slightest attention. He was slouched uncomfortably in the corner of a hard Eames mid-century couch, itself a piece of art. Unaware or uncaring of the damage a man of his size could do to such a delicate piece of furniture, he rolled from larded cheek to cheek on the frail piece of furniture as questions about his paintings were fired at him from each side. He had a dainty little drink in one hand and Meghan was unsure whether he was drinking it , or spilling it, but he kept grabbing one after another each time the tray passed by....
What a disgusting creep, Meghan thought as she edged closer and closer to the artistic icon. He was now belching profusely and expounding loudly about the virtues of naked ranching, She was both repulsed and fascinated. She was close enough to hear him explain to one of the mindless disciples, as if to a child in primary school, that his paintings were “Certainly not of grossly FAT or overweight people – These are figures of “fleshy volume” as pure as nature made them.”
Meghan rolled her eyes.
Several women were already fawning over the crude and pompous swine and he was eating it up like the cob roller he was.
Meghan knew this would be easy. A man with an ego as large as his potato shaped carcass, would be an easy mark for her classic Irish beauty. Straightening her spine, she brushed her shoulder length strawberry tresses over one eye. She knew it made her look sexy and mysterious.
She took a long slow calming breath and fixed her resulting exposed ice blue peeper on her prize.
At first, he didn't see her. His view was blocked by a young suited art curator eager to be noticed by the big man. She move just two inches to the left and then stood completely still. The room swirled around her - whispered conversations, loud laughs, clinking glasses melted into a din. She stood quietly. Waiting. She knew her power. It would only take a moment.
There. His voice stopped mid sentence. A single drop of moisture slid down his temple across his fatted jowl.. She could hear the plink as it hit the rim of his current girly cocktail.
Her gaze was fixed on his eyes and his eyes were fixed on the one blue dot in a red twirly sea of free-spirited mane.
When the rest of the entourage realized they were not getting any answers to their questions from the big man, they melted away like ice in summer, into the far reaches of the gallery
Hello. He said. His voice was strangely soft and inviting.
Meghan almost returned the greeting with a smile. But no – that would not be in her best interest. If she was to get what she wanted, she must not stumble in her well rehearsed script.
His eyes were still on her – waiting for a response. But she neither gave one or moved an inch. Instead she slowly turned on her heel and walked away. This was enough for today. She had made her own introduction and tomorrow the next step in her plan would take place.