by Elle Pryor
Icy autumn air exposed the crowd’s
breath as they congregated outside the main entrance to the gallery. The pale,
lemon sun shone dimly in the cloudless sky offering no heat. A shorn carpet of
grass flecked with frost lay before a huge tan building like a giant’s welcome
mat.
Dying, vanilla leaves on the
skeletal trees seemed to brush small crests of cream waves onto the dull, dirty
waters of the river behind them. Tug boats grunted downstream scratching lines
of surf in their wake.
A clown unicyclist peddled around
his audience. Dressed in a blue and white striped sweater he held out an upside
down purple beret for donations, his arm swaying as he cycled. His nose was
false and made of crimson rubber and his lips were enlarged with burgundy
lipstick.
People pulled their hands out of
woolen gloves and searched inside their pockets for money. Coins were thrown
his way and he saluted solemnly like a soldier at the people who donated.
Lorenzo said that he could ride a
unicycle but Claudia raised her eyebrows in disbelief. He smirked and lit up a
cigarette, dense smoke floated into the crisp air.
“It is cold,” he muttered.
When the clown and the unicycle
jumped up and down, they both clapped and Claudia took some money from her
purse and put it into the upside down beret.
The clown dismounted and bowed before her, his head almost touching the
floor. She reciprocated with a curtsy and a few people laughed. The attention
made her shy and she grabbed Lorenzo’s arm and steered him towards the gallery.
“I did not know you could perform,”
he said ironically in an Italian accent.
Ahead of them towered a colossal
stone building, a castle of industrialization that once protected machine from
nature. The canvas of the sky molded its contours into hard, distinct shapes as
if it were outlined in charcoal. Instead of turrets though there was one huge,
square chimney stack. It once spewed black fumes but now the disused factory
had been turned into an art gallery.
Inside, Lorenzo picked up a free
brochure and they read it together as they rode the sparkling escalator to the
first floor. They stopped in front of a reclining nude,
“An Italian painter,” Lorenzo
boasted, grinning.
Claudia replied that she preferred
Spanish painters. He shrugged as if her opinion was of no importance, spun on
his heel and then replied with his back to her, “She looks like you.”
Surprised, she looked again at the
painting and wondered whether Lorenzo thought about her naked body.
They lived on the same floor of a
multi-tenanted house. Their homes were tiny single rooms containing two small
hobs, a sink, and a fridge. Everyone on their floor shared the same bathroom,
which is how Lorenzo and Claudia first met. He was waiting outside after
Claudia had just finished a hot bath. She was shiny and pink as if she had been
to a sauna, steam emanating into the hallway when she opened the door. On the
bath tub she’d left a bottle of bubble bath which had smelt like an herb garden
watered with freshly squeezed orange juice.
Lorenzo was in London to improve his
English, while Claudia had moved there from a small town in England. She wanted
a permanent job instead of the series of temporary ones she had been filling
since she arrived. She wasn’t fussy, she didn’t care who she worked for because
she wanted only to be able to apply for a credit card and borrow some
money from her bank. Lorenzo was
enjoying himself but he mentioned often that he missed Italy. He had only lived
in London for two months and in another five he would return to Milan. Spending
Saturday together visiting the attractions of London had recently become a habit
for them.
Lorenzo was growing impatient; there
was a new video art installation on the third floor that he wanted to see.
However when Claudia stopped in front of a gnome made entirely of cigarettes,
Lorenzo walked back to the sculpture to also take a closer look.
“I was just wishing that I could
smoke,” Lorenzo said laughing.
“How much do you think she spent on
cigarettes?” Claudia asked.
“A lot, cigarettes are very
expensive here,” replied Lorenzo.
There was no light in the room where
the installation was housed except the glow emanating from the huge wall-length
films. Angels moved slowly across the
screens surrounded by water and bathed in light. The room was full of the sound
of moving water. Claudia and Lorenzo sat down on the floor in front of one of
them. They silently absorbed the scene. Bubbles moved across
the screen and then rushed upwards. An angel contorted into different shapes, suspended
and soaked in water with a red fiery light enveloping him. It was as if they
were at an aquarium where angels instead of fish were housed.
Lorenzo leaned toward Claudia and
whispered into her ear, “Can I kiss you?” his voice accentuated the s in kiss and his breath was warm on
Claudia’s cheek.
She wasn’t expecting this and the
shock made her reply, “No,” as firmly as she was able to, her cheeks suddenly
becoming warm.
The room was so dark she could barely
see him. He didn’t respond verbally but instead moved away from her. She took a
quick sideways glance at him but was unable to see his expression. He suddenly
stood up and brushed imaginary dirt from his trousers, “Shall we move on?” he
asked politely and without waiting for a reply he strode quickly towards the
exit.
Claudia realized she had offended
him and wished that she’d refused with more consideration. Her discomfort was increased as they left the
room. The first work they encountered was a black and white painting with the
word ‘NO’ painted in huge letters across the canvas.
Claudia stared at it and immediately blushed
with embarrassment. Lorenzo saw the painting too and he crossed his arms and
frowned. They continued wandering through the gallery, but they didn’t speak to
each other, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Lorenzo walked a few steps
ahead, his nose lifted slightly in the air.
Before leaving, they decided to have
a coffee in the café. As they waited in
the queue Lorenzo became less aloof and Claudia laughed readily at his jokes,
to encourage him to talk. At the counter they decided to buy a muffin each,
both choosing the same flavor. They sat at
a table next to a window with a view of a baroque cathedral. Scaffolding
surrounded its white dome and spire; it was either being cleaned or repaired.
Lorenzo took a sip of his coffee and
grimaced, “In Italy they would be ashamed to serve coffee like this,” he said.
Claudia was enjoying hers but nodded
in agreement, wanting to please him so that he would forget that she rejected
him. They began to discuss the angels; Lorenzo said that he preferred video art
to paintings and that soon nobody would use paint anymore. As she listened, she
noticed a tear in the sleeve of his sweater and she decided that she would
offer to sew up the hole. Between the edges of the ripped cloth she could see a
beauty spot. As her mouth filled with the bitter taste of coffee she began to
wish that she had kissed him.
© 2010 Elle Pryor. All rights reserved.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Elle Pryor is a new writer with
forthcoming publications due in South
Jersey Underground and Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal. She lives in Pensacola, Florida and is
currently working on a novel.
