When I published 'The Artist and the Acrobat', people asked for more about the characters. That episode and this are part of the back-story, told in flashbacks, that I've been building for a novel I've been writing for the last 2 years, tentatively entitled 'Sun, sea, sand and...'. It's about a woman called Laura, with Gabriella (from 'The Artist and the Acrobat'), as women in their 30s, trying to make a go of a business at Angelo's villa after the artist's death. I'm getting on well with the main plot, so from time to time I do 'back-story' episodes like this, and there will probably be more on this site before the main novel gets published.
This story takes us back to when Laura, then 21, first decides to move away from Angelo and Gabriella after nearly 2 years as model, muse and mistress. It is set in Carnivale week in Venice. I've always been intrigued by Carnivale - the costumes and masks give it a strong undercurrent of illicit sexiness. One February, I hope to actually get there - if I can ever afford it! (But the city - and the women - are still beautiful at any time).
I was unsure whether to use British or American vernacular for this, as the two key characters are from opposite sides of the Atlantic. I stuck with British because most of the novel is told through Laura's eyes, and a style-change would jar. Please let me know if you enjoy it. I now have around 100 pages of the novel in a fairly advanced draft, and I'm just taking the plot in a new direction, so previews are available if anyone wants to volunteer to edit it!
________________________
Laura felt that she hadn't smiled so much on a single evening for years. Partly it was because she was genuinely happy, but partly because, as one of the joint exhibitors, she had to be nice to her potential customers. Angelo had planned it all quite carefully; two enormous rooms in a beautiful, slightly decayed palazzo in San Polo, not far from the Rialto bridge, in Carnivale week. His paintings and hers interspersed on the walls, so that she could be sure that her work would be seen. And so far, it seemed to be working. All the guests were in costume and masks, which made it rather difficult to tell who was who, but as Angelo had organised the guest list to contain mostly very rich and discerning art lovers, in some ways it didn't matter.
After three hours she was getting rather tipsy on a diet that had consisted mostly of bellini and spritz. She had found buyers for six of her pictures -- pretty good for her first exhibition - whilst Angelo had (unsurprisingly) managed to sell eleven. The prices were also good -- she had netted around $7,500 on the night, though of course Angelo could command that for a single work, and was looking at around $100,000 for his works. Many of the guests were American, although there were quite a few wealthy Italians present. One or two of them, she felt, seemed as though they might be from the wrong side of the law, but that was hardly surprising in Italy, and where the money came from was none of her concern.
"Buona sera, signorita" said a voice with a rather strong American accent to her left. She turned her fixed smile towards what would most likely be another fat, wealthy oil-man. She was very pleasantly surprised to see a tall, very handsome man of about her own age, in nicely-fitting Renaissance costume and a half-face mask. His smile was broad, even and white in the way only Americans seem to achieve. His skin was tanned, his hair long, wavy and a little sun-bleached, and his outfit was very fetching -- a black satin and velvet surcoat over a white silk shirt, with tight black velvet breeches tucked into shiny black knee-length boots. Above the black, crystal-studded mask, a broad-brimmed hat set off the outfit wonderfully. She was instantly reminded of Donatello's 'David', the wonderful, shyly erotic sculpture that she had seen in Florence; slim, tall and with a very similar hat.
He complimented her pictures and asked if she was the artist, in rather halting Italian. She replied in the same language that she had spoken almost continually for the past two years that yes, she was indeed the artist, that it was kind of him to speak so nicely of her painings, and was he also enjoying Angelo's work? His blank expression made her giggle a little, and she repeated the question in English. "Oh -- your English is very good!", he remarked. "It should be", she replied, adopting the accent of her native Yorkshire. "I were bloody born there!" They both laughed.
She introduced herself and extended her hand. To her surprise he took it, raised it to his lips and kissed it. "Very pleased to meet you, Laura. My name is David Meredith".
"David?" she asked, incredulously. "How strange!"
"Why so?"
"I was just thinking that you reminded me of the sculpture of David by Donatello. You know, the one in the Uffizi".
"I'm not sure that I do. My folks sent me here to study Renaissance art, but I'm afraid I prefer more modern works. I'm proving to be a pretty poor student."
She smiled at how he pronounced 'stoodent'. "So where are you from?"
"My folks have a place in New York where they tend to live for most of the year, but I hate the climate there. I spend most of my time in their house in Santa Monica. I've been studying fine art at UCLA, but this semester I've been encouraged to study the works at first hand here in Italy".
"And have you learned a lot?"
"Oh yeah! I've learned that Italians drive atrociously, that it rains a lot in Winter, that you have to walk a lot in Venice and that Italian girls are some of the prettiest in the World."
"Don't let my friend Gabriella hear you say that. She's conceited enough already." Laura thought about the effect that Gabriella might have on David if he saw her. The brazen tart was showing off her insanely long legs in black patterned stockings and suspenders, visible below the hem of her almost indecently short skirt. The bodice of her black satin dress worked like a corset to push her full, olive skinned breasts up and almost out. Only her long black cloak rendered her sufficiently decent to not outrage everyone at the event, but even then, her long, black lustrous hair, huge eyes and sensuous mouth were enough to turn heads without even a glimpse of the impressive body below. Best to steer David well clear of her.
Laura's outfit was modest by comparison. A tight-fitting silk sheath in a soft russet colour offset her pale complexion and spiky blonde hair quite dramatically The neckline plunged between her modest but firm breasts, and the 'Cinderella-style' zigzag cut of the skirt gave tantalising flashes of her slim thighs. Revealing as it was, it was meant to be sexily elegant compared to the incitement to riot that her fiery Italian friend was wearing that night. A black velvet choker set with pearls, ankle-strap high heels set with pearls (that were beginning to hurt) and a matching half-face mask with freshwater pearl trim (essential in Carnivale week) completed the outfit.
"I'm more interested in you -- and your work." He held her gaze for long enough to understand that his interests were not academic. "Can you tell me a bit about your paintings? And also, I've been dying to ask - is that picture over there of you?"
The picture in question was one of Angelo's many nude studies of her, Gabriella or both of them. They sold very well, mostly to wealthy old men who probably masturbated over them. Angelo's figurative work was coyly erotic -- at least the works he put into exhibitions. One or two of the works back at the villa bordered on the pornographic, as he regularly painted his two muses 'at play'. A modelling session would begin with an almost classically-posed diorama, from which he'd make some cursory sketches. He would then encourage them to relax, get close, enjoy the touch of each other's skin -- and before anyone knew it, she and Gabriella would be engaged in some very steamy lesbian activity. Angelo's brushes would move like lightning, capturing the essence of the activity before him, and he'd usually insist on at least a blow-job at the end of the session, as the girls would have got him very excited. Several of the finished works adorned the bedroom they usually shared.
