Posted by: writingwitch2013 | April 29, 2013

Gallery 8




  “I see you are admiring ‘Hope’.” The voice boomed as it moved nearer.  “It speaks to me too. Get’s in me ‘ed.”
 The owner of the voice appeared at her side so Bea looked up at him.
  “Darren Clarkson.” He placed his hand on his chest in a theatrical gesture. He was obviously waiting for her to reciprocate, but she had no intention of introducing herself . She did, however, take in his appearance. Good looking, neat, obviously took care of himself, his shoes where cleaned to shining perfection and his business suit was  good quality. He smelt nice too, probably expensive aftershave, it was a shame that his voice was so crass.
 Undeterred by her lack of response, Darren carried on.
  “The poor girl in the picture has been blinded and is destitute with no hope of  things getting better and she wants to leave this world.” He turned to Bea and to make his point he said, “It’s like, you know, ‘stop the world I want to get off’ sort of thing. In this painting she is on the edge of jumping off and ending it all. She has no hope.”
 He nudged Bea in a pally way, like two conspirators, so she moved slightly away from him. He was invading her space and attracting unwanted attention in her direction.
  “That faint star there in the picture,” he pointed to it in case he hadn’t made himself clear, “it’s all symbolism, you see, that’s what she will become when she leaves this world; another star in the sky. Sad,isn’t it, that…” His mobile phone started blaring out ‘ Your sex is on fire’.
 ‘Typical,’ thought Bea, ‘that he should choose a loud statement as his ring tone.’
 Darren tried to ignore the ringing and carry on his analysis of the art work, but Bea was looking pointedly at the direction of the noise coming from the region of his groin.
 He was probably the type of person who annoyingly kept their phone on in theatres and quiet train carriages,” thought Bea, “and then let it ring a while before doing anything about it. Bea, who, desperately wanting him to take the call and move off, started to say, “Hadn’t you better…” Just as he reluctantly dragged the offending article out of his trouser pocket and looked at the screen.
  “I’ll have to answer this.” He told her. “Important client.” He walked a few paces away from her and spoke loudly into his mobile. “Mate yeah? You picked the wrong moment to phone mate.” Then, to Bea’s disgust, he proceeded to talk numbers and strategies,  right there in the middle of the room.
  She wasn’t alone in her disgust. She could tell by the faces and body language of her fellow gallery visitors, that they too wished him out of the room. As if in answer to their prayers a Gallery guide appeared at his side and quietly asked him to take his call outside. As he moved towards the door, Darren turned and mimed a ‘see you in a minute’, before walking through into the corridor.  Bea could see him talking with his hands, while leaning over the banister. She sighed with relief.

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