Maris Parings
tied a small, quivering dog to a parking meter, gave it a kiss on the nose, and
breezed in through the museum’s doors. Reena saw her gliding past the Artwork as if on little wheels.
What was she
doing here, and in the same soiled dress from the night before? Maris Parings was not
here for the art. She
slipped Reena a
business card and was pointing at her organizer with a flexings vine of a finger. Her eyes were
swimming all over Reena’s
uniform and behind each smile she had another one waiting in reserve. As Maris’s eyes
examined Reena she suddenly had a
flash of the night before, hands rushing
all over her body, grabbing flesh. Reena blinked herself out of it.
Maris plan was to use Reena for a fashion shoot, a last-minute brainstorm
on Maris’s
part, and she
was more than willing to break her contract with Woman because she was so sure that
Reena’s gawky,
asymmetrical physique, day-old-bread skin (blemishes included), and somewhat
lost-looking face would really make the underwear come alive this season.
This campaign
would be their best ever, and would speak to a generation long numbed by
swollen breasts and lips, jutting hips, machine-flattened tummies and
picture-perfect hair. The fall-winter line would hit the market with a
poetic-realist slant, and the bras and panties would come off even sexier if
the body wearing them wasn’t so over-determined in advance by the product it
modeled. It would have the energy of an encounter, and would therefore involve
people and produce a more exciting, even catastrophic relationship between the
skin and eye. The images would reinvent Reena as a knockout, in her own way, the kind that
nobody saw coming. But most exciting of all, we would be making that
once-in-a-generation leap into a seemingly unknown form of seduction. We will
use very little make-up and flat, natural lighting. It will be photographed by
that upstart son of a gun dealer, Bjarne Mayhem. If his naked party polaroids
no longer wowed the art world, his almost-naked billboards might still cause a
car crash or a crush or whatever.
Reena shrugged her shoulders and looked not entirely moved by the proposal; it
seemed that deep down she
had really only wanted to reenact the previous night. Nether-the-less she deliberated for a
long minute, shooting glances at Maris figure as she thought it over. She couldn’t help
wondering if Maris
was insane. As soon as she got her yes, Maris was gliding out again, part curious museum goes and into the
throbbing spring air.
Love is a red
heart. And lust a bright red, sheer g-string. A single trumpet blare. In front
of this panty, the brain goes right back to sleep. Little, low self-inflamed flame. Stamping out that space of
itself in high wattage spectacle, shame and dollar amounts. While taking in the
landscape, the eyes put their hands at the sight, blocking as if to stop the
sunlight.
Was it true:
did Reena Spaulings love Maris?
Reena decided to throw caution to the wind; she left her post, 15 minutes
earlier than her
break allowed. She
was taking a big risk, a risk not only to her job, but also to her pride. Reena caught up with Maris just before she reached the
main door and grabbed her arm,
“This
way” she gasped
at Maris,
and pulled her
toward the staff door down the corridor. Hurrying faster, Reena noticed that Maris did not even
hesitate to question her
actions; soon it was difficult to tell who was leading whom. Slamming through
doors, sliding past other gallery workers Reena knew exactly where to lead Maris. There was a
small back room near the staff locker-room that nobody used anymore, since the
locker-rooms had been rejuvenated the year before; and most importantly, the
room could lock from the inside.
They reached
the room and hurriedly shut the door behind them the dull click of the lock
weighted with so much expectation, anticipation; suddenly all of Reena’s courage began
to fade from her
and she stopped and stood still, as Maris backed away from her. Her chest was rising and falling
rapidly, Reena’s
breathing too, had lost all sense of rhythm. She takes a step forward, but Maris hand rises
in a gesture for her
to stop. Did she
really expect Reena
to take control of herself
and this situation before it goes any further? Doesn’t she see that she can’t? Doesn’t she see that she has tried?
Maris can see in Reena’s eyes that she has no intention of stopping on her own. Her body shudders
as her arms
fall to her
side. In two steps, Reena
is standing in front of her, pulling her onto Reena,
and kissing her
with the hunger brought on by the hours she had spent thinking of her since last night. Hands inside her shirt, sliding
up and around to her
back, ripping her
shirt from flesh, Reena’s
mouth feasting on her
nipples.
Reena realizes that Maris is pushing her. Not pushing her away, but downward. Reena knows
immediately what she
is asking for. Reena
tries to take it slowly, she wanted to revel in this moment, knowing that tomorrow she would remember
exactly every second of this encounter, but Maris wouldn’t have it, forcing her head down further.
Without pause Reena
slides Maris’s
pants off, and slinging them away from her; somehow her trousers had got lost in the minute or so
they had been in the room.
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