Pop Art- A Smoking Fetish Ghost Story
This is based on a true story about my former colleague, John. Well to be honest, he was actually my former boss. He was the most amazing person, who had a thing about art, well we used to. I really still do. Working together we both had a passion for brilliant art. His obsession, which he, over time, instilled in me, was an amazing thing about modern art. The Andy Warhol style Pop Art paintings. John actively avoided anything that used a conventional brush or engraving.
After several years it is now finally time. I really need to get this story off my chest, it has been sitting there like a growing weight on my shoulders. As it all happened a couple of years ago now, and as such, the dust has now properly settled. I believe all the skeletons are out of the cupboard, and I can now properly give justice to the story. As to tell it straight. I believe that it's a ghost story worth telling.
It all starts in the gallery A2 that we worked in, just off the local high street one Monday morning.
October - Three Years Ago.
"Yes! But I am very sorry, but we just don't accept hand drawn lithographs from the 1860s, however important and historic the mansion house was. You see, as a gallery we like to focus on colour and show the pictures of the Pop art era." John Tenby-Williams stated then nodded as he then intently listened. His ear squished to the handset as he stroked his greying designer stubbled chin. His spare hand twiddled and stretched white cable which, having done this over the years, now twisted and knotted all the way until it reached the handset on his designer white desk. "Yes, I understand you believe it's a valuable family heirloom..." his voice more than hinting boredom at the direction of the conversation.
John nodded again and zoned out to the voice on the other side as he opened up his email as a distraction to the phone call that had been going around in circles for the last ten minutes and hummed to himself. "Yes of course I am listening..." He lied as he pulled his chair forward and leaned forward and stared at the screen and smiled, "Oh wow, a rare colour triptych!" He stated out loud "Yes, sorry, yes, I know yours is a single black and white picture. Again, I must apologise, anyway maybe we should talk again another day?" He tilted his head and focused again on the screen. "Bye-bye." He smiled as he focused on the screen, his eyes darting across taking it all in as he put the phone down loudly back on the cradle.
He rubbed his chin once more and looked up and across his picture lined gallery "Phoebe have you seen Gerald's email?" he bellowed across the empty room.
"Err, no, should I have?" the blonde Phoebe Ashbeck, his busty and, if I might be biassed and say, rather gorgeous business associate, called back from behind her desk. My desk, I mean her desk was in the opposite corner of the white walled picture gallery. Positioned so that whichever way the visitors went, we could see them.
Phoebe blinked her perfectly applied blue mascara laden eyelids a couple of times, then hurriedly clicked her mouse, and closed Instagram and looked across the room at him.
"You will see the email in the group box about the stunning triptych from an unknown pop artist, not sure about the theme though?" John again bellowed loudly, projecting his voice across the room as if he was performing at the Globe Theatre and needing to reach the back of the stalls during a gale, rather than me on the other side of the room.
Phoebe nodded slowly as hummed to herself as she stared at her screen and waited for her computer to reopen her inbox. It was taking longer than it should have done. Once the screen had sorted itself out, she studied the details, "Oh, wow, yes, those three cigarette packs, the gold, red and green colours are vibrant, gorgeous, aren't they, really well done?" She shouted back across the empty gallery.
"I'm concerned it's the wrong sort of theme, the woke brigade will go mad, will people complain to us?" He shouted back.
"They can't, it's very of our time period though?" She bellowed back, "It would fit in here?"
The walls of the gallery were full of several pictures from the 1960's and 70's with garish prints of several household products.
"True, but he is asking 20k though, very expensive?"
Phoebe nodded and took a deep breath. "Oh, go on John, you know that someone will love it and you could sell them for twice that in here?"
"Are you sure?"
"Put them on the back wall, you sold that large fluorescent yellow Stabilo Boss. There is now plenty of room!"
"You think Pheebs, are you sure?" His voice came across quieter, showing that he was less than convinced.
Phoebe confidently nodded. "Yeah, John, go for it, it will be easy money, how many prints of that rusty screwdriver did we sell on the lead up for Father's Day?" She smiled and studied the photo on the screen, before she unminimized her tab, and went back to scrolling through pictures at the slim and sexy celebrities sunning themselves on Instagram.
***
"You were so right Phoebe, I know it's taken us all day to get them safely up, but now they are, they do look just right on that wall. Just as you said they would. I still wouldn't want to smoke them though!" John chuckled to himself as he spent a few seconds as contemplated the images, and they both took a ceremonial step back from the wall and looked up the three large prints contrasting as they were lit by their individual spotlights against the bright white gallery wall.
The prints were of an unusual topic, they were of Marlboro cigarette packs printed in the style of Andy Warhol, an almost bad take on his ketchup bottles and soup cans, but just three large identical packs but splashed with the red, gold, and green print colouring across them.
"I don't like to boast, but did you know John, I used to smoke the lights, the almost goldie looking pack when I was in Sixth form." Phoebe replied smiling as she pointed at the packs.
"Really?"
"Yeah, they were, umm, yes, I know that they are truly horrible things, but it was the best thing for a pretty girl like me to do."
John shook his head as he tutted then smiled and nodded. "You may have mentioned it once or twice before... anyway I am so glad they banned smoking inside, remember being in those smoky rooms back in the day?"
Phoebe shook her head "No John, I don't...I am too young, I'm of the outside smoking generation!" she smiled sweetly as they both took in the prints.
"Lucky you!"
Phoebe bounced in her red heels "Yes, I am from the shivering outside in a short miniskirt and no coat because I am in the too cool and sexy brigade." She grinned, almost fluttering her eyelids once again.
"Silly you!" he tutted as they both in unison tilted their heads as they studied the three large packs on the wall.
"John, do you remember that hand being above the pack of reds in Gerald's email?" She asked, still tilting head whilst taking in the picture.
"Hand..." he looked confused as his head slowly moved as he turned his eyes slowly looking up to the left at the pack now with a hand and delicate long presumably female finger now touching to the top of the pack. His mouth dropped with confusion.
"Yes, that one." She said pointing.
"Eh, what, right, err, yes, I can see it, it must have been, a painting can't grow a hand over night, can it?" His head spun so he was looking at Phoebe and away from the painting.
"True, of course, talking of night, good night, John, got to get home!" Phoebe stated as she turned and bustled herself across the room as she headed back to her desk, sighing as she bent her knees as she picked up her black handbag then stood up, straightened herself out and headed for the front door.
John waved goodbye as the bell above the door frame rang out and stood there staring at the picture for a good five minutes, before he went back to his desk and sat down, opened his email, clicked on the attachment, and winced. However closely he studied the pictures closely, he zoomed in on it. There was no speckled 'pop art' hand above the red pack of cigarettes. Just the three colourful cigarette packs side by side.
***
"Look, as I said the other day, we really don't take mezzotints, or lithographs of old buildings. You might be better off with the town museum; they might take it?" John questioned with exasperation. "No, I am truly sorry, but I doubt they would pay for it, they will complain about the budget. Yes, you have a good day too!" John sighed, shook his head, and put the phone back on the cradle blinking in disbelief. He pushed his metallic rimmed glasses up, his nose rubbed his fingers against his eyes and took a long deep breath.
"Sorry to interrupt you, John, but are you messing about with the new cigarette pack prints, again?" Phoebe enquired as she strode across the room, her heels loudly clacking on the white polished tiled floor. Her arms firmly across under her large chest.
