A Portrait of the Artist

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When she reached the gallery, she was impressed to see what a large crowd the opening had drawn. As she walked in the door and began to squeeze her way through the crowd of people sipping wine and nibbling on hors d'oeuvres, she looked at the photographs she saw hanging on the walls and was surprised at the high prices.

As she moved from one work to the next, she was also surprised at the quality of the images. It was hard for her to believe this was Clint's work. She had always thought of Clint as run-of-the-mill wedding photographer, yet the number of red "sold" tags seemed to indicate that others had a different assessment of his talent. "Why did I underestimate him?" she wondered.

She also noted that none of these works seemed to have been done while they were married. None of them were familiar to her. That absence somehow made her feel as though he'd erased that period – and her -- from his life.

Just then, looking across the room, she spotted Clint's tall handsome figure surrounded by a group of well-wishers. As she began to make her way in that direction, she noticed an attractive brunette clinging tightly to his left arm. Drawing closer, Susan suddenly halted in shock. The brunette was Jennifer! Her old friend was staring into Clint's eyes with a look of devotion. Jennifer's remark from their luncheon so long ago that some other woman would snap Clint up in a hurry suddenly popped into her head. "I never guessed she was talking about herself," she hissed angrily.

As she watched, she saw Clint turn to Jennifer, and Susan recognized the expression on his face all too well. "That's how he used to look at me," she whispered. Her eyes began to sting and water, and, not wanting anyone to see her distress, she turned and quickly walked out of the gallery.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Although it had been several days since the encounter in the gallery, Susan found that her emotions were still raw. She felt almost as bad as the day she found the divorce papers on his desk after her arrest. A sense of loss and anger mixed with guilt and envy to stimulate an inner monologue that circled in her mind, producing a series of unanswered questions.

"I know I didn't treat him very well, but, damn it, he didn't have to dump me the first moment he heard I was in trouble. Sure I was screwing around with Charles, but Clint never knew about that. If only we could have talked, maybe I could have changed his mind. Why would he never talk to me? How could Jennifer have betrayed our friendship? She warned me, but I never thought she would do that to me. The minute I was down, she must have pounced on him. Damn her. And damn me, I really screwed everything up."

As she sat in her apartment feeling sorry for herself, she was startled by the sound of her doorbell. Peering through the peephole, she saw a man wearing the familiar uniform of the delivery service and carrying a large package. She opened the door. "Ms. Cayce?" he asked, and when she nodded he handed her his electronic tablet to sign, then gave her the package.

After closing the door, she examined the package, which was wrapped in what appeared to be brown butcher's paper. On the front beside her name and address was a brief hand-written note:

"Saw you at the gallery opening last night. You should have this. Clint."

Her mood brightened as she tried to read between the lines of his note. From the shape and feel of the package she felt certain that this was one of Clint's photographs. Why would he want her to have it? Could this be some kind of peace offering, perhaps even a first step toward a possible reconciliation?

Like a child she tore at the paper, unwilling to take the time to remove the tape. As she did so, the first image she revealed was a face -- her face! But she looked so strange: her face was twisted into a grimace. She'd never posed like that.

She continued to tear at the wrapping until it fell away to reveal the entire photograph. The image was a little fuzzy; it was clear it had not been made with a high quality camera. Nevertheless, there was Susan, nude, facing the camera in a crouching position. Her face was exposed because the hand that clutched her hair was pulling her head back. Unmistakably, she was in the midst of an orgasm. Looking more closely, Susan could make out the figure of Charles, standing behind her in the hotel room, thrusting into her writhing, willing body.

"Oh my god!" she cried out, unable to believe what she was seeing, unable to comprehend what it all meant. Where could he have gotten this obscene photo? When did he find out about her affair? How much else did he know? The implications began to pile up too quickly for her mind to digest.

Just then, she noticed the title of the photograph on a small plaque at the bottom. Through her tears she read,

"Take it, Bitch, take it."

She screamed.

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AnonymousAnonymousabout 1 month ago

Good story. Hate that he ended up with Jennifer who was complicit with his ex by keeping her affair secret. LM

AnonymousAnonymousabout 2 months ago

So we have this supposedly top of her class graduate, who's happily married. OK, I get that she could have an affair, but the second such a person discovered the fraud behind her AP, the shine and respect would have evaporated like a morning mist.

Even if she had stuck by him the second she was picked up by the feds she'd have had the intelligence to plea deal.

Its utterly pathetic the way female characters are at one portrayed as being Inteligent go getters who put their career first while at the same time being utterly moronic and slaves to their pussy.

Its crap and just comes across as the writer have a small dick.

nixroxnixrox3 months ago

5 stars - I like this story.

She was the star of her own destruction.

Poetic justice and KARMA caught in one picture and without using 1000 words. hahaha

HighBrowHighBrow3 months ago

Well done, but I was looking forward to a confrontation.

6King6King3 months ago

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

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