Unknown - Posed For Pleasure

Jessica, brow knit, looks back over her shoulder, to see the broadest man she has ever seen in her life approaching the podium, perfect white teeth brilliant In his deeply tanned face, hand out-stretched.

They shake hands to one side of Jessica.

“Armand, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world! “I admit, I had my doubts at first, but tonight, forget it.

“I acknowledge you as my spiritual leader!”

And, to Jessica’s surprise and Armands raucous laughter, Steve goes down on one knee, grasps Armand’s hand, and kisses his knuckles, exclaiming, “Your eminence!”

“Get up, ass hole! “Oh, Jessica, this is Steve, whom you may recognize as the reigning Mister Galaxy.”

“Mister… Galaxy?”

“Why yes,” Armand says, sharing Steve’s look of mild surprise, “that’s a rather prestigious-okay, okay, that is THE ‘prestigious title in the wonderful world of bodybuilding, which is also an art, and probably the purest example of art there is,”

“I’m just sorry I missed the first three lectures, Armand.”

“Not to worry, when the book comes out, I’ll see you get an autographed copy.”

“Gee! Autographed!” Steve aspirates, wide-eyed.

“Smart-ass!” Armand says, playfully punching Steve in the abdomen. “Come on along with us to my place, why don’tcha, Steve? “Little wine, little bread and cheese, little uh… conversation, and we can all get better acquainted.”

“I’ve got a better idea, Armand,” Steve replies, “what say we all go over to my place for the same thing?”

“If you insist. I think he’s trying to tell me something, don’t you, Jessica?”

“What I’m tryna tell him, Jessica, is that his place is a dump, a mess, a shambled.

“I’ve seen better living quarters than that done in cardboard in an alley! “I mean, have you been there?”

“Several times,” Jessica remarks, coolly, as they leave the auditorium, her in between the two men.

“Then you know what I’m talking about! “One of the people in my condo is trying to sell and I’m tryna interest Armand here, because I know he’s got the bread, but so far no response.”

And he reaches behind Jessica to rap Armand on the head with his knuckles and say, “Ey! Anybody home?”

And Armand reaches around in front of Jessica, slapping Steve lightly in the balls with the back of his hand.

Jessica hasn’t felt like this since she was thirteen, walking home from school with a couple of boys.

And she is unable to focus on her plans, even though Armand has given her the perfect opening.

She was all set to gear up her campaign, using his own discussion of means and media to suggest that he might wish to equip himself, in case the inspiration-which, as he so aptly pointed out, cannot be preserved-in case the inspiration does in fact strike at, say, three in the morning.

She can use that later-maybe.

But the evening has gotten out of hand, out of control.

She is on her way with Armand to this strange side of beef’s condo somewhere, and Armand is acting like an adolescent.

This doesn’t bode well, she tells herself, feeling frustrated, angry.

“This is absolutely… magnificent!” Jessica enthuses, “The view of the city’s skyline is breathtaking! “And the whole place is just… exquisite!”

And Jessica fairly pirhouettes through the condo’s vast, low-ceilinged, ultra-modern living room, with its recessed overhead lighting, its understated blues and greys offset by chrome and glass.

“Wish I could take the credit,” Steve says, “but I inherited the place from my father when I was eighteen.”

“Sorry,” Jessica says.

“Don’t be. Barely knew the guy. International finance type. Worked abroad, played abroad, died abroad.”

“Still, he remembered you well.”

“Or his lawyer did. Anyway, make yourselves comfortable. I’ll fix a tray of something or other and be right back.”

And he disappears into what Jessica assumes must be the kitchen.

“None of them are yours,” Jessica says, referring to the paintings that line two of the walls of the living room, the outer wall being a picture window, floor to ceiling, one side being occupied by a wet bar running practically its entire length.

“No, they aren’t.

“I didn’t become friends with Steve until-after.” And Jessica understands at once that he refers to the period after Darlene, that is, after he had painted his last painting and thus had none to sell or, for that matter, give away.

She also understands how very little she knows about Armand.

She flatters herself that she has a handle on his character, an insight into his soul, as it were; but tonight surely demonstrates the inadequacy of this, if she is to be able to influence, much less manipulate him.

Some casual acquaintance has been able to walk up to him after his lecture and break a pattern a month in the making.

“Very nice of you to be so effusive in your compliments to Steve about this, this, uh, non-location.”

She looks at Armand sideways, masking her surprise.

Because she meant everything she said; she is truly impressed and yes, dammit, the place is truly magnificent.

And look who’s talking, considering how and where he lives! “It is exquisitely well suited for what it is, of course,” Armand continues.

“Neutral background, pedestal and setting for the man himself, it is.

“There is nothing, nothing, nothing of Steve here-except himself.

“Place makes no statement, has no focus, dcor, furniture, arrangement, even the paintings on the walls geometric, impersonal.

“Here, there is but one work of art, and that is- “I uh, I picked up the cheese in Little Italy, the crackers are from Norway, and the wine is red from Napa, unchilled, if that’s okay.”

“Adequate, Steve, adequate,” Armand says, leaning forward and filling the clarets from the bottle.

“Oh? Mr. Thunderbird and Velveeta is pleased? I’m thrilled!”

They laugh.

And Steve flops himself down on the couch between Armand Jessica an arm over the back, behind each.

“So. Steve. Have y’thought it over, what we discussed?” Armand asks.

Oh, this is really great! Jessica tells herself. Not only are they talking across her, they are talking about something she knows nothing about.

“I have, matter of fact. As I say, I was really impressed tonight. You really know how to get the old creative juices flowing, old buddy.”

Except his own, Jessica thinks. And she was going to take care of that, before-never mind. She’s along for the ride, and all she can do is to ride it out-whatever “it” is.

“If you could tell me a little more-”

“Nanana,” Armand chides, “y’trust me or y’don’t. I want you for lecture eight, for the opener of the grand finale.

“You’re in or you’re out.”

“Maybe after I attend one more session.”

“Suit yourself,” Armand shrugs. “I don’t need ya, but it’d be kind of a little extra zing, y’know?”

This just gets better and better, Jessica thinks; not only is Steve to be a star attendee at the rest of the lecture series, but he and Armand have something-make that some things-going together of which she knows nothing and of which she is not a part-past, present, and, very probably, future.

Irene didn’t catch this flak, Darlene didn’t have to put up with this static, she is better than the two-~of them put together-and now, this.

Such bullshit, the whole thing, really.

She is half tempted-no!

In for a penny, in for a pound, as the English say.

Time to be clever, watchful, patient, not to give up and walk away in disgust.

Because it isn’t as though she has something better going for herself.