Chapter 15

Lindy called Holly when Joe began driving back to Stella’s studio, Joe telling them he’d be staying home. Holly waited in front of the loft apartment door. Joe unlocked it and handed Lindy his car keys. Lindy gave him a brief but loving kiss before the two women headed out.

Instead of heading to the drafting table to continue his work on the bar scene, he grabbed his medium sized pad and began drawing the female version of Midnight Cowboy, even pausing to find the movie on Amazon, small on the wide screen monitor of his laptop, but big and rich in sound from Stella’s speakers.

An hour later Stella arrived at her studio, hands full of the bags of her profession. Joe helped her with them.

“Midnight Cowboy?” she asked.

“I got inspired to do a new version, with females the main characters.”

“Would you mind starting it from the beginning and putting it on my TV?”

“I’ve already rented it on my account.”

“I’ll pay for it.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve always loved this movie,” Stella commented when it stated again.

“Me too.”

“What other movies do you like?”

Joe chuckled. “That would be a long conversation. I’m a bit of a movie nerd.”

“Well maybe some other time then.”

She gazed at Joe’s drawing on the drafting table. “I really love your art, Joe.”

“It’s hardly art.”

“Maybe not high art or fine art, but who cares. It’s really wonderful.”

“Thanks.”

“I thought you worked with computer graphics.”

“Not for my comics. I have a pretty nice copier for them.”

“And where is this equipment?”

“Stored at the office building where Stuart has a room he’s setting up for the animation suite.”

“What kind of room?”

“A small conference room unfortunately.”

“Why not set up here? There’s plenty of room.”

Joe looked at the studio filled with paintings resting against walls and three easels with canvases at various levels of completion. Stella was a prolific artists. “Is there?” he chuckled.

“Of course. I can clean things up and use the front part of the loft. You can set up in the middle and the back part is living space with my little make-up studio in where it is.” Her barber chair, vanity and storage rested in a wide corridor between the sort of loft apartment set up Lindy and Joe used and some large windows.

“Why aren’t you selling all these paintings?”

“I could just store them.”

“What about a gallery?”

“Gallery space is expensive if it’s located where people look for such things.”

“You could make this a sort of gallery.”

“I don’t think so,” she chuckled.

“Here me out.”

“Okay,” she perked up. She’d found Joe to be a clever and talented young man.

“Do you know any gallery owners?”

“I might, but I rarely manage to get a gallery show.”

“But they’re not all about showing one artist are they?”

“No.”

“How about you get them to exhibit maybe two of your paintings. They’re for sale of course, and when they sell, you replace them. But you could also make available a private showing of your work, this work, including these great paintings hanging on the walls.” She had four huge paintings which basically covered the walls.

“How?”

“You could provide a card. Maybe two cards, one a business card and the other more like a mailer. You have a site?”

“I do. It doesn’t generate hardly any sales. I hate what RGB screens do to my colors.”

“Of course. I can probably improve that and your site. Or Lindy could. She’s got an eye for site design. Anyway you can put the site address on the cards, and also a phone number where you can be reached, maybe dedicated specifically to sales, or maybe an email address dedicated to it. The gallery could give prospective buyers these cards if they’re interested in seeing more of your work, which they can view on your site or just come over. And you set up appointments.”

“What would the gallery get out of that?”

“How well do you know the owners?”

“One’s more of a friend than the other, but...”

“They’ll still need incentive.”

“Yes.”

“And they wouldn’t trust you to report the sale honestly.”

“Nope.”

“How much are your paintings worth.”

“At least ten grand. I’m looking for 50 for the large ones which is probably why they’re still here.”

“Or you’re not out there enough to find the right buyers. So we’re talking at least a grand for them if they make a sale.”

“More like three to four.”

“Holy shit.”

“Some take half.”

“For hanging a painting?”

“Yep. Of course if they didn’t they wouldn’t sell.”

“Well, at least there’s more incentive.”

“Except the buyers could easily bypass the gallery.”

“Of course.”

“How about what you said about improving the RGB color. I imagine you could improve the printing as well.”

“Up to a point. The colors would have to be within the gamut of the printer?” He looked a question.

“I understand gamut: what colors the printer is capable of printing.”

“Unless it’s fine art lithographs, but that would be...”

“Expensive. And why put all that effort into a reproduction which couldn’t possibly, even with the color matching, be as visceral as a painting which, with the textures of the brush strokes, is a lot more three dimensional than people think, definitely not flat like a print.”

“So what are you thinking?”

“Like a brochure or a series of mailer sized cards, maybe something ongoing so that once a painting has been sold, there’d be new choices. Just the time taken with the color matching you would attempt, you wouldn’t have to do everything at once.”

“Okay, and?”

“And we provide the gallery as exclusive contact. We could do the same with the improved site. If it’s a problem having them know where I live, I could deliver selections to them. And maybe, if we find a dedicated buyer or maybe someone who really wants to see my big work, we can let the buyer come here with a gallery representative.”

“So the gallery would be like half owner of your work.”

“It’s the relationship most successful artists have with those who sell their work. In fact both gallery owners asked me to let them represent me, but I wasn’t comfortable with that ownership, but maybe its time I grow up. I have a painting at the Getty, but I’m not a successful artist.”

“You did gallery shows at both galleries?”

“Yes. They collected half of the sales of which, unfortunately, there weren’t all that many. Nevertheless there were inquiries, regrets I guess, which the owners told me about to reconsider having them represent them.”

“But they didn’t tell them how to contact you.”

“Of course not. Some figured it out I think via my web site, but then again...”

“Your website may have discouraged others.”

“Maybe. So, meanwhile, I can neaten up the stacks and store some.”

“The other problem is electrical, the power needed for the devices.”

“Who would know?”

“Stuart.”

“Give me his number?”

“He’ll be in class.”

“That’s what messages are for.”

“Yes of course,” Joe chuckled.

He gave her Stuart’s number.

“Sorry about distracting you,” Stella apologized.

“We distracted each other.”

“Start the movie again?”

“Okay.”

“Hello Stuart, this is Stella. Yes that Stella,” Stella chuckled. “I thought you were in class. How long do you have? Okay I’ll be quick. So you know Joe and Lindy live in my loft studio. And I heard you’re animation studio is cramped into a small office. What if you set up here? It’s an old warehouse converted into artist lofts. Both residential and business, which us artists demanded. There’s actually a boiler room since we have steam heat, but we also have very nice, though expensive, central air. Yes there’s street businesses, a small vegetarian restaurant and a terrible hippy gallery that sells tie dies and tacky psychedelic prints. Yes I think they print their own. Joe thought I should check on the power you’d need. Of course you can come by. I’ll let my wife know I’ll be home a bit later. See you then.”

“You sure about this?” Joe asked.

“I’m finding I quite like the company of young people,” she grinned. She looked up a number and called. “Hello Harrison?” she rolled her eyes at Joe at the pretentious name. “You still interested in representing me? Not a gallery show, but let me run something by you.”

Joe smiled and started back to work on his drawings, glancing at the large screen occasionally. He stopped early on and searched Stella’s name, finding her site. “Definitely needs work,” he mumbled to himself. “I’m going to need my equipment soon.” Once that distraction ended, he concentrated on his new comic.

A few hours later, Lindy returned home bearing shopping bags. After setting most of them aside in the large closet beneath the loft bed she hugged Joe. “I got some sandwiches. I figured you forgot to eat. I saw that look. Stella?”

“Sure,” Stella grinned, removing her smock and washing her hands in the industrial sink.

“Where’s Holly?” Joe asked as Lindy handed him his sandwich.

“Got appointments.”

“As in more than one?”

“It’s what cut our shopping short. She let Henry know when it’s safe to come home.”

“Are you talking about the hooker?” Stella asked, joining at the table.

“Escort,” Lindy corrected.

“Tomatoes, tomotoes.”

“Yeah. Anyway she put up her ad this morning and got like four phone calls out of it. One wanted her right away, but she wanted to hang with me which was sweet. She scheduled the other three for later. Well, one should be here soon. You should see her ad. She managed to deemphasize her face, and why not? And emphasize her slim hot body. Want to see?”

“Sure,” said Stella.

Joe brought over his laptop and Lindy found the site and then Holly.

“Holly Lund? She’s using her real name?” Joe asked.

“Her real name is Gretchen. It’s actually kind of clever, Holly telling me it was her dead friend’s idea. Holly Wood would be way too obvious.”

“Especially here,” Stella chuckled. “She does look hot. Doesn’t that disappoint the johns?”

“Not really. With her price they can’t expect perfection. She’s not ugly. And she does have a killer body.”

“Makes sense.”

“She’s not from here, she’s from Minnesota. Robbinsdale specifically.”

“It’s a more middle to lower middle class suburb,” Joe explained.

“But even there, Holly Wood would have been too obvious. So instead, Holly Land? Holly Lund?”

“Hollywoodland,” Stella chuckled. “Or Holy Land. That is kind of clever. And speaking of clever, let me tell you what your clever boyfriend finally got me to do.”

She basically went through the entire conversation ending with, “I got Jamison talked down to 40% competing with Harrison.”

“What’s with the pretentious names?” Joe asked.

“Comes with the territory, specifically the snooty clientele they coddle. Once we’re done here, I’m bringing over a couple of canvases.”

“But we’re not set up,” Joe pointed out.

“You fix up my site, including this,” she handed Joe the information of the gallery as her exclusive representative, “and I’ll let them know they can show it to buyers. I’ll bring in the paintings they want to see firsthand.”

“And the giant ones?”

“He’ll escort them here if he knows they have big pockets, and of course they’ll want to meet me. In fact any of his whales he’ll bring here to look through my stuff.”

“I still think we should do the printing and get better shots for your site.”

“I agree.”

“You have a photographer?”

“Yep.”

“Willing to listen to me?”

“Probably not. Oh wait! Of course! My kid! He’s studying photography much to the chagrin of my wife. She knows firsthand the struggles of a starving artist. He’s actually quite talented.”

“Does she blame you?” Lindy asked.

“In her way,” Stella chuckled.

“There’s still the problem of printing. I haven’t got my equipment yet.”

“What about Doug?” Lindy asked.

“Of course!”

“Means maybe doing him another favor,” Lindy reminded him.

“It’s still up to you, Lin.”

“Maybe bring some of that lube. That was pretty fucking intense.”

“What are you guys talking about?”

“I’d rather not say considering what you called Holly.”

“I’m not much for euphemisms, but truth be told I’m an old school lesbian women’s libber who thinks prostitution is just paid for rape, oldest profession or not. I feel sorry for the poor, desperate girls.”

“Do you think all men are rapists?” Joe asked.

“Potentially yes, given the vulnerability of women and the madness generated by testosterone and penises. But for a lot of them, it’s not just potential. But of course I have no evidence, especially not anecdotal.”

“You’ve never been with a man?” Lindy asked.

“Never been interested and fortunately with my looks and body and attitude, they’ve never had much interest in me. My lovely wife found beauty in me somewhere.”

“We think you’re beautiful too, don’t we Joe?”

“Yep,” Joe responded.

“Well you two just keep your distance. You with your temptation and you with your nasty penis.”

They laughed.

“When would you like Jordan to come over?” Stella asked.

“Maybe tomorrow morning if he can?” Lindy decided. “That way we could visit Doug later and I could invite him to watch us strip. And if we bring Holly along...”

“Stripping,” Stella sighed. “You really try an old lesbian,” but she managed a half smile. Joe could see she enjoyed the company of youth, however challenging they might be to her lesbian code.

Stella called her adopted son after they finished eating and he agreed to the early work. 8 they agreed. Joe’s call to Doug was interrupted by Brit calling him. “Let me call you right back,” Joe told Doug for which he had no reason to not agree. Joe imagined a Pavlovian reaction of Doug getting hard.

“Slimeball will meet us in a half hour,” Brit reported. “I’ll meet you in front of the school.”

“Okay,” Joe replied and the call ended. Just before he started calling Doug the buzzer sounded.

“Hey,” said Connie.

He buzzed her in and called Doug, who agreed to the visit the next afternoon. “Your evening free?” Joe asked while letting in Stella, waving his hand once he could.

“Uhm yeah.”

“Good. I’ll see you later.”

“Is...”

“She’ll be there.”

“Oh okay.”

Another unfortunate image of the skinny nerd’s skinny hard penis got interrupted by Connie pulling him into a kiss.

“We need to go,” Joe told her. She handed him her keys. “Doug’s good for tomorrow,” he informed Lindy. “I need to head to Hollywood High.”

“Early tomorrow,” she reminded him, sitting at the table with his laptop beginning work on improving Stella’s sight.

He nodded and smiled, thanking her silently for reminding him.

In the car, Connie asked, “What’s going on.”

“We’re getting the auditorium for Conspiracy’s showcase.”

“I remember. And tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I kind of lit Stella’s ambitions and we’re revamping her website and getting better shots of her paintings for it and some pamphlets or mailer type prints. Stella’s adopted son is coming by early to do the shoot, and later we’re visiting Doug, the sort of porno comic artist to get the prints done. After that Lindy wants to do the strip thing again. You can join us, with bells on?”

“And my Steely Dan weapon?” she chuckled. “That’s strictly you, Joe.”

“And I very much appreciate it.”

“I noticed,” Connie gently rubbed his crotch.

“Did you still want to come?”

“To come is a verb. You ever heard that?” she continued rubbing.

“Uhm Lenny Bruce.”

“My trivia man,” she giggled.

“Hopefully not trivial.”

“Not that I noticed.”

“What’s got into you?”

“Are you going to keep setting things up?”

“How about this,” he moaned, his cock nearly fully erect. “We can go somewhere to make out, like a lovers lane. Just as long as I make it home by curfew.”

“Cute. I actually know a place.”

“Okay good.”

She patted his lap and left him hard. He sighed more in relief than disappointment. He wouldn’t put it past her to suck his cock while he drove, a dangerous scenario, especially with her skills.

“Aside from missing you and wanting you, big guy,” she finally explained. “I’m still scared about losing you because I’m a manipulative bitch.”

“I learned that before and I’m still here.”

“But it got kind of piled on.”

“And I’m still here. Plans came up is all.”

“You plan on saving everyone?”

“Whoever I can who deserves saving.”

“Including me?”

“I heard the ticking clock, the need for a child before it’s too late, and I responded to it and I’m happy I did. But if you need me to keep reminding you, I certainly don’t mind.”

“Good to know,” she laughed.

“This age thing, it’s a condition isn’t it, where someone, especially a guy, shouldn’t bring it up?”

“It’s a thing. Age is crueler to women than to men. Part of it is the loss of attractiveness, but mostly, at least to me, is fecundity. I don’t think a man’s sperm is effected by age, while a woman, even before menopause when she becomes officially sterile, her womb becomes less and less safe in developing a healthy child.”

“Which is why it’s not an issue with us. You brought it up, directly related to your age, and I’m fulfilling that desire. I disagree about attractiveness, especially with you. In fact I bet I prove it with the guy we’re about to meet. But I know you have to work out.”

“Yes of course.”

“Where and when?”

“I tend to be distracted by you when you’re around. Usually I’m up early. One of the main reasons I bought the condo is there’s a lap pool in the basement, a separate track for jogging around it, which I don’t use because I find it too jarring on my knees and hips, and a room full of weights and work out devices.”

“And you didn’t tell me! I love to swim. Didn’t I tell you I used to compete?”

“Even if you didn’t I could tell by your broad shoulders. I do need to work out more.”

“What time?”

“Six.”

“Damn girl. I guess I’m sleeping with you tonight.”

“Still want to go make out?”

“I thought being in high school might make it a fun fantasy.”

“I agree.”

They arrived at the school, Joe seeing Brit wave at them.

“Can I use the pool anytime?” Joe asked.

“The outside key gets you in.”

“Damn girl.”

They got out of the car, Connie laughing.

“Oh hi,” Brit said, disappointed seeing Connie.

“Don’t worry. I tamed her,” Joe said.

“As long as you don’t try to tame me!” Brit laughed. “Come on. Meet slimeball.”

“It would be a futile attempt even if I wanted to tame you, which I don’t.” Joe said while they walked.

“Damn right,” Brit agreed.

They followed her straight ahead, the sound and presence of youth around them, not a lot, since school had let out a half hour before, but a few lingerers.

Entering through double doors put them in the auditorium, with folded up bleachers on two sides and a proscenium stage at the back, straight and curved lines marked the floor for basketball, the post for the net closest to the stage apparently removed. “Preparing for graduation,” Brit explained. “There might be rain. Otherwise it will be out on the football field.

They followed her through a door to the left of the stage, seeing a small set of stairs leading up to the stage. “Slimeball has his office amidst his domain, meaning the auditorium, the thrust stage, the AV and stage lights and prop storage. All except the janitorial staff relegated to the basement. And the furnace and main fuse box and such.” She stopped talking a few steps from an office door, knocking on it.

A man Joe estimated to be Connie’s age opened it, tall, a little over six feet, and fat. He had a glaze of sweat on him, thus slimeball, Joe figuring a general lack of health from overeating and no exercise. “You’re here,” the man remarked.

“I said I would be,” Brit pouted.

Joe glanced around the moderately sized windowless room, a fan blowing from the uncluttered desk while being introduced. He notice Hollywood High sports pictures from over twenty years before, pictures of the man’s last glory days. An action photo of a young man nailing another young man made Joe figure him to be a defenseman, his size, maybe a tackle, a team photo dating his moment as 1999.