The Artist Pt. 01

The Artist

I originally entered this in the 750 word challenge in March and it was well received but the word limit left a lot unsaid and many readers wanted to know what happened next, so did I. I've called it part one as it's left me thinking of many twist and turns the story could take. Let me know what you think x

"As our most famous, living, past student we would like to invite you to be the guest of honor at our final year student exhibition."

Mulqueen smiled at the piece of paper, "Fuck they must be desperate."

He didn't get many invites these days, out of favor and considered more of a 'dirty old man' than the revered radical artist. He smiled again, was he a dirty old man? Probably, he'd certainly been a dirty young man or 'a game changing young subversive' as a fawning reviewer had once said.

Penny, the course director and exhibition curator, greeted him enthusiastically, embraces and pecks on the cheek rather than handshakes.

He found her almost instantly forgettable, only the sensation of her big boobs, pushed into his chest, lingering.

"This way." Penny said, leading him into the large exhibition area.

There were paintings, sculptures, installments, projections, every kind of art. He was bored; the artists were young and talented, earnest and enthusiastic, but he felt no connection. Maybe he was the washed up, grumpy old fucker that a recent, much younger, lover had said.

"There's just one more exhibit." Mulqueen followed Penny's plump ass, becoming more interested in that than the exhibition. "I'll let you view it alone."

He walked into a darkened room, spotlights shining on two figures about six feet away, a barrier stopping you going any closer. They wore plain white masks and were naked; their heads slightly bowed, stood back to back, skin to skin, on a pedestal, turning slowly.

The man was facing him, he was tall and broad shouldered but lean, as only the young can be. Mulqueen studied him; long limbs, sinewy, defined muscles, a nice sized, flaccid, circumcised penis.

The models were in profile; their bodies pressed together, their fingers interlaced, a feeling of oneness.

'And a nice pair of tits.' Mulqueen looked away, silently chastising himself for his stupid, childish thoughts. Had he really become this base parody of himself, the dirty old man parading as an artist? No he hadn't, this was beautiful, evocative art and he loved it.

The female faced him, auburn hair reaching shoulders that pushed into the man's back, an aura of pride despite the bowed head. Certainly young, but also womanly. Elegant, defined collar bones; smooth, toned arms; high, full breasts; flat stomach; wide hips; finely muscled legs; shaven. Beautiful.

He moved closer to the barrier and small lights came on, one behind the models hinting that someone else was there and another, a computer tablet, inviting the viewer to read.

"A collaboration between artist and models. A collaboration between mother and children."

'Whoa' he wasn't expecting that. He re-read the top line and looked at the scene again, trying to see the figure behind the models.

He read more, "Sensual and Natural or Depraved: You Decide."

Artist: Mother.

Models: Patrick and Siobhan, Twins.

"We invite you to put on the headphones and decide what sounds the models listen to."

He looked again and saw the blue-tooth earphones on the models. Placing the headphones attached to the tablet on his own head he heard, "Press1 for: it sounded like two people arguing, screaming and shouting. Press2 for: it sounded like the same couple having sex, grunts, groans, banging headboards and screaming orgasms included. Press3 for: the gentle sound of bird song played in his ear."

He looked at the screen, nervous and confused, checking to see if anyone could see him. He pressed 2.

Their heads shot up, their muscles tensed and their hands gripped tighter as the audio began. They reacted to the audio, small, barely perceptible movements. Patrick's glutes tightening as the man thrust forward or Siobhan's nails digging into Patrick's hands as the woman cried out with pleasure. It was intense and even the more obvious signs of arousal like Patrick's erection or Siobhan's erect nipples were so intimate that it was difficult to watch.

Mulqueen removed his headphones and tried to gather himself. He moved along the room towards the exit, closer to the figure behind the models.

A silhouette bathed in darkness, only the hands and a pad were visible, the artist's delicate hands lovingly sketching the models.

Mulqueen moved through the exit, his mind whirling, something familiar tugging at him.

Penny was beside him, "What's the artist's name?" He asked quietly.

"Isobel, she's quite remarkable. She attended this college previously but left suddenly twenty years ago. It was her who persuaded us to invite you. In fact she was insistent." Mulqueen froze.

Penny walked off, signaling for him to follow "We'll meet the President before we start the presentations."

He followed her in a daze, should he go back into the exhibit? Should he run out of the building as quick as he could?

"Hello Mulqueen, nice to meet you again." He remembered the President, a likeable, if rather ineffectual lecturer back then.

"You look like you could use a drink, what's the matter, seen a ghost? Or is this modern art all too much for you." Penny laughed at the Presidents little quip.

Does he know, does she know, does everybody know? Mulqueen felt hot, claustrophobic, his brain about to explode. Somebody placed a glass of wine into his hand, was he shaking?

"Drink that up, we'll get the presentations over with and have a proper drink and a catch up after."

He tried to remember the format of the day that Penny had told him earlier. A tour of the exhibition, say a few words, present the certificates, then mingle and be nice to the students and their families before the exhibition opens properly. How long had she said the exhibition would be on for? He couldn't remember. Would Isobel and her models be on display the whole time?

The room was busy. Small, informal groups of students and their families stood around chatting. As informal as the room was, the President, Mulqueen and Penny were stood on a little stage, a table with the certificates and a wooden lectern to their left.

He scanned the room, looking for a face he recognized. She wasn't there or maybe it was another Isobel. He suddenly felt deflated and confused, did he want it to be his Isobel and all that that could entail.

She entered the room, unmistakable. The eyes, the cheekbones he'd spent hours sketching, why had they split? He remembered their last conversation, her asking for commitment and him being a prick and saying he couldn't and saying he thought they should break up, adding some bullshit about 'it's not you, it's me.'

"Is that why you try to fuck everything on two legs?" Were the last words she'd screamed at him before slamming the door. She left the following week.

The ceremony was a blur, her not returning his stares or even looking at him until she came to the stage. Her only acknowledgment being an amused smirk as he handed her her certificate.

He thought she'd run out of the room but she didn't. Was she waiting for him?

What to say? How to start? She beat him to it, smiling, a twinkle in her eye, enjoying his discomfort.

"It's been a long time, how have you been?"

He tried for pleasantries but couldn't find one. "Are the twins mine?"

Her mind raced and then went blank, years of prepared answers deserting her, a meek "Yes," being all she could manage.

How should he feel, shocked, angry, happy? He just felt numb.

"Why now?"

"They always knew who their biological father was and I told them it was their choice if and when they made contact with you. They decided now was the right time." Biological father rankled in his head, was there another father, was he feeling jealous?

"Why like this?"

"That was Siobhan's idea. She thought it would appeal to your artistic aesthetic. I see a lot of you in her, she likes to shock. Patrick is more grounded but equally adventurous and talented. He designed the lighting and made the electric rotating pedestal."

Mulqueen was struggling to take all this in, his mind a whirl of conflicting thoughts and emotions, "Can I meet them?"

"Yes, later. Right now they have some more modeling and some more shocking to do."