THE SEDUCTION OF ART
I
tugged nervously on the hem of the expensive new dress, the lady at the
boutique had said, “Fit me like a glove and accentuated my best features,” and
entered the room filled to overflowing with rich and glamorous art enthusiasts.
The
product of a small no-nothing town, I was new to the big city with its
whirlwind of activity, lights, and glitz; but I shoved my own insecurities
aside when the company handed me the invitation; this was my new beginning.
Conscious
of a few heads turning as I strolled through the gallery, I clutched the small
evening bag tighter in an effort to still the niggling edge of doubt and began
to wonder if the sexy, new dress with its draping backline had been a mistake.
I
did not hear him approach as I stood staring at the painting with is vibrant
mishmash of colors, swirls, zigzags and bleeding crimson black, just the
whisper of his words carried on the soft scent of his cologne, “The most
beautiful work of art in the place,” he said.
I
turned to see who, in their right mind, would call this painting beautiful, but
the intensity of his gaze robbed me of my voice as he lifted my hand from the
clutched bag bringing it to his lips, “I
was speaking of you,” he said.