Night at the Art Gallery

Welcome to The Spot Writers. The prompt for this cycle is “someone falls in love at a museum”. (Does an art gallery qualify?)

Cathy’s writings are found in numerous print and online publications. She writes all genres but invariably veers toward the dark—so much so her late mother once asked, “Can’t you write anything happy?” (She can!) Check out www.writingwicket.wordpress.com for further information on her works.

 

Melvin is still alive and well—as you can fathom from this next episode...

 

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Night at the Art Gallery

by Cathy McKenzie

 

“Melvin, we should go down to the Art Gallery tomorrow. I think it’s still free on the weekends.”

“Art? What do I know about art?”

Marie laughed. “Not much, Melvin. But perhaps that’s why we should go.”

“I’m busy this weekend, Marie. I told you that. Andrew wants me to help him with his basement tomorrow. And don’t we have to take Jimmy down to the Valley on Sunday?”

“Darn, I forgot about that.”

He hated the look on her face. Felt sorry for her as if he’d let her down. She’d been nattering about that dratted Art Gallery for weeks.

A lightbulb went off. “Marie, turn to Channel 10. There’s supposed to be some sort of art documentary on at nine o’clock.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s only eight fifty-two.” The last thing he wanted to do was watch an art documentary, but it was preferable to traipsing through a gallery in person.

He loved seeing her perk up. Felt vindicated.

“Yeah, okay. Might be good.” She switched the channel.

They waited...

And then it started.

He couldn’t fathom half of what the narrator was saying. All gobbly-gook to him. What the heck did any normal person know of the Renaissance period or the—

Marie jumped.

“Look at that, Mel. That van Gogh. The colours are amazing.”

He peered at the screen. A blur of yellows and blues. He prayed his eyesight wasn’t going.

He glanced at his wife.

“I see, Marie. Interesting.”

He stared intently at the TV. As intently as she stared at the TV. Heck, they were in their living room—alone. Jimmy was upstairs (or was he at a friend’s?—he could never keep track of his son; thank goodness for Marie). Whatever, they were alone in the room. She should be fixated on him—Melvin. But, nope—it was all about this Van guy. Van Morrison? Hmm...

Then—

A flash on the screen: a woman.

His breath was sucked out of him. He froze...

“Who’s that, Marie?”

“Who’s who?”

“That woman. She’s gone now, though.”

“That woman who was in the painting a bit ago?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s Mona Lisa,” Marie said. “Perhaps the best-known painting of all time.”

“And what era would that one be in?”

“Mel, shh. If you’d listen to the narrator, you would know these answers.”

“Mona? That her name? Can you scroll back? You have us on TiVo, right?

“Oh, Mel, what in the world...”

He held his breath.

Yes! TiVo. She fiddled with the remote. And—voila! There she was!

“Stop!” He gasped. “Her name is Mona?”

“Yes, that’s Mona Lisa.”

“Lisa? Weird last name.”

“I think it’s probably her middle name.” She paused. “I wonder if she does have a last name. She’s only ever been known by Mona Lisa.”

He couldn’t answer. He was enthralled. It wasn’t her beauty, for was she that beautiful? No, it was the package: long dark hair, the smug smile as if she concealed some deep dark revelation—even her eyes seemed to say “I know what you did.” What did she know? Was she married with a lover, pulling a fast one over her husband?

“Melvin, what’s wrong?”

“Huh?”

“What’s wrong? You okay?”

“I’m fine, Marie.”

He was fine. But, even though not in a gallery, not looking at the “real thing”—though he definitely felt as if he were—he was in love.

“Can you buy reprints of these famous paintings, Marie? Reprints aren’t expensive, are they?”

“You mean prints?”

“Prints. Reprints. What’s the diff?”

Marie sighed. “Not much.”

“I think we should have one. What do you think?”

“Of Mona Lisa?”

“Mona, yes. Mona Lisa.”

“Melvin, we don’t need that in our house. No!”

Goodbye, Kailani, goodbye. “I think I’m in love,” he mumbled.

“What did you say, Mel?”

“Nothing, Marie. Nothing at all. Still think we should get a reprint, though...”

 

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The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/