Post by morgan on Apr 28, 2008 5:31:03 GMT -5
Morgans eyelids were starting to droop, and her head tipped forward to spill fine honey-coloured hair over her face. This was slowly but surely turning into one of the worst nights of her life. She'd been in the restaurant for the last forty minutes at least, turning a half-empty glass of expensive wine and glancing obsessively over the menu provided, always on the brink of ordering. A waiter watched with a sympathetic frown. He could smell a stood-up customer a mile away, and he wasn't mislead tonight... but he did wrongly assume it was a boyfriend. In fact it was a collector, a well moneyed businessman with no particular taste for art or culture in him, looking to buy into the brand of "Liebmann, rising star of contemporary art". Supposedly. Morgan Liebmann was herself feeling some doubt at this point.
She turned over the plan again in her mind, this was important because it helped her forget that she was being stood-up. The plan was solid, simple and bound to work: First, meet and charm the collector. Being rich he was bound to be well dressed, so she was accordingly stunning herself. Red evening gown, cut low in some exquisite and delightful way just unconventional enough to preserve the avaunt guard effect her dealer had insisted upon. His money bought the dress, so she wearing the dress could buy a future for his gallery. Second, dress helpless, innocent paintings in the sluttiest possible artist's statement and whore them out. This was the hard part, and Morgan was silently grateful that she wouldn't have to do this part if the collector never turned up.
The third part of the plan involved making lots of money and becoming the sort of artist that would be talked about in art-history classes for the next few centuries. That could wait until later. Her dark eyes drifted around the room, alighting on one chattering customer after another, and she stows their grinning faces away for later use. She might make a painting later about being abandoned in an expensive restaurant, she thinks, as glowing planes of colour crash together in her head with ferocious energy. Life's too short for this place.
She turned over the plan again in her mind, this was important because it helped her forget that she was being stood-up. The plan was solid, simple and bound to work: First, meet and charm the collector. Being rich he was bound to be well dressed, so she was accordingly stunning herself. Red evening gown, cut low in some exquisite and delightful way just unconventional enough to preserve the avaunt guard effect her dealer had insisted upon. His money bought the dress, so she wearing the dress could buy a future for his gallery. Second, dress helpless, innocent paintings in the sluttiest possible artist's statement and whore them out. This was the hard part, and Morgan was silently grateful that she wouldn't have to do this part if the collector never turned up.
The third part of the plan involved making lots of money and becoming the sort of artist that would be talked about in art-history classes for the next few centuries. That could wait until later. Her dark eyes drifted around the room, alighting on one chattering customer after another, and she stows their grinning faces away for later use. She might make a painting later about being abandoned in an expensive restaurant, she thinks, as glowing planes of colour crash together in her head with ferocious energy. Life's too short for this place.