Page 5 of Sweet Thing

CHAPTER 2

BOYS KEEP SWINGING

Simeon paused outside the Franzen Gallery. He scowled in frustration. The advertising poster for the exhibition completely covered the front window glass and prevented him from looking in. The poster read: EMILY RAVEN UN: DONE in large silver gray Josafin Sans font on a charcoal black background. Sim knew that Emily’s work was highly collectible, and that his curiosity would get the better of him.

The glass on the entrance door was also papered over, to prevent anyone peeking before the gallery was ready. Simeon attempted to open the door but found it was locked. He wanted to see what was behind the door so knocked on the window, and then pressed the buzzer. A distant, German male voice inside the gallery called out “We’re closed.”

Sim insistently rang the bell again, and then heard footsteps heading toward the door and the clunking metallic sound of it being unlocked.

“Was?” Alex Spielmann barked as he saw the tall, pretty, near elfin-looking young man standing outside the gallery. Simeon looked down at Alex—a slim, stylishly attired, slightly exotic looking man.

“Sorry, I’m a friend of Pieter Bayer. He said Emily’s exhibition was opening today. Have I missed it or am I early?” Sim asked in his ‘sunshine and buttercups’ voice, playing the dumb model card to a tee.

Alex Spielmann was twenty-two, and his tanned olive skin, cropped dark brown hair and green eyes reflected his mixed European/Turkish ancestry. After years as his mother Monika’s assistant, he was now curator at the Franzen Gallery. Emily’s show was the first he’d curated alone.

Simeon glanced past Alex and into the large, open plan white-walled gallery space. His eyes nearly popped out of his head at what he saw. Simeon barely heard Alex’s reply of:

“Sorry, we open at six p.m. You are welcome to come back in three hours.”

“OH, MY GAAH'D!” Simeon exclaimed hysterically as he pushed past the startled curator. Simeon strode into the Gallery toward a nude portrait of Pieter Bayer. His heart beat a mighty, thudding rhythm in his chest and he broke out in a sweat. Simeon had never seen such a beautiful, evocative painting in his life. Pieter was laid out on his belly on an unmade bed. He looked ’tumbled’ as if he had been well and truly fucked. His head rested on a crooked arm, his long blond hair draped across the pillow, and he stared out of the painting with lust-glazed eyes. Simeon’s gaze traced the sinuous line of his ivory-skinned back, and over his pale buttocks to corded parted thighs. The image was Simeon’s wet dream. It was as if Emily read his mind and painted his most precious desire. The painting was titled ‘We Are Undone.' Simeon certainly was! He just had to buy that painting.

“How much?” Simeon barked insistently at Alex.

“Ahhh. That’s not for sale; it’s from the artist's private collection.” The curator explained.

“NOH!” Simeon pouted. He stamped his foot like a petulant child and turned to aim a glare at Alex when he saw the second nude of Pieter. Again, the work took his breath away. Pieter was naked, curled up like a little boy on a blue, wing-backed chair. His blond hair was mussed up, and his arms wrapped around his legs. In the position he sat, nothing was left to the imagination. Pieter’s eyes were open, and it looked like he had been sleeping, and his name had been called. Emily captured him at the moment of waking. It was a deeply intimate portrait, filled with love and comfort. Simeon rushed over to stare at the painting with wide, amazed eyes. He tried to remember his tidal breathing technique; tide goes in, tide goes out, as he looked at the A3-sized watercolor titled ‘Our Awakening.'

“How much?” Sim asked again, this time, his voice was low. He could not take his eyes off the painting for one second.

“That one is for sale; it’s priced at two hundred thousand Euros,” Alex announced as proudly as if he had painted it himself.

“I’ll take it!” Sim said automatically, Alex gasped.

“You did hear me right, ja? Two—hundred—thousand—Euros—” he mouthed as if Sim were a half-wit.

“I heard you, do you take Platinum card?” Sim asked, nonchalantly prizing a thin leather wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, and then offering a silver-colored credit card. This time, it was Alex’s turn to have his eyes out on stalks.

“Oh my God! Is this real? This is amazing, Mr.—?” he stuttered.

“Duchamp. Simeon Duchamp.” Sim held out his pale, elegant hand, and Alex shook it avidly. Sim’s dark eyes perused the curator with predatory intent; Alex’s gaze softened. He blushed awkwardly and let go of Sim’s hand. Alex strode across the polished, gray, concrete floor to lock the gallery door. He did not want such an attractive sale to get away from him.

“I’ll sort out the paperwork straight away. Please follow me to the office, Mr. Duchamp.”

“Oh, Alex. You must call me Sim.” Simeon offered playfully. He was now buzzing inside with happiness and feeling decidedly horny. As Alex walked away from him, Simeon watched his small tight backside, clad in black jeans wiggle as the man moved. Simeon’s brows raised and mouth hitched with a secret smirk.

Alex led Sim down a white-walled corridor to enter a large office. A vast picture window overlooked a stunning interior courtyard garden. The walls of the office exhibited a display of small works on paper and canvas, and there was a line of shelves which housed files and books. The office was furnished with a desk, computer, a black leather sofa, and coffee table. Sim slouched on the sofa and brushed his floppy black bangs from his eyes.

“Would you like tea, coffee?”

“Do you have water?” Sim enquired.

“Sure”, Alex left the office and returned with an espresso for himself and a bottle of chilled water for Sim. The scent of Coffee set Sim on edge. In the old days, he used to down espressos until he felt like bouncing off walls, but wasn’t allowed caffeine anymore. He sipped from the bottle of water, his mind stuck on the beatific image in the painting he was about to purchase.

Standing at the office desk, Alex leaned into the keyboard and speedily typed the invoice up on the computer, shaking visibly as he typed. Sim put the bottle of water on the coffee table, stood up and began to nose around the office.

“Can I have your address, email, and phone details please Mr. Duchamp.” Alex requested. Simeon reeled off his personal details.

“So are there any more paintings of Pieter in the exhibition?” Sim enquired, finding a box of ‘Emily Raven UN: DONE’ exhibition programs. He picked up a copy and flicked through.