The Sinner's Corpse

'You tell me why this sculpture is worth $750,000.'

'Friedrich, darling, I have one word for you: Mirren.' That did it; for him there was no turning back. He chuckled deeply, his handsome brow furrowed earnestly.

'Why do you taunt me. You know that was a true lapse in my judgement, yet you never let me forget.'

'Of course you know the exact painting you turned down last year sold for triple my price at auction two weeks ago.'

'$740, and you join me for dinner.'

'Deal.' It went easier than I thought. The Mirren coup had worked better than I had ever hoped for. The auction brought me a profit of $1.2M and I was rolling with delight. The thought of that money making its way to my account caused ripples of pleasure to roll up and down my spine. It was better than sex. 'Where are you taking me?'

'Schroeder's, of course.' Friedrick was one of my oldest clients and one of the best. He had been buying pieces from me since I first started in this business ten years ago. His was one of the most sage voices in the art world, and having him as a client cemented my reputation as a superstar.

'Schnitzel, my favorite.' I looked at him cattishly, licking my lips and raising my brow.

'I knew you would approve. I will have my driver pick you up at 10.' I stood from my chair and reached across his desk. He took my hand between his and gently turned it so that my palm faced up. He ran his finger down the sensitive skin of my hand and lightly kissed it. 'Of course, you could occupy your time here, with me, for a few hours.' The combination of a fantastic sale, a glass of the finest scotch to be found anywhere in the world and his thick German accent made the proposition tempting, but I could not risk it.

'Thank you Friedrick, but I have some paperwork to do.' I turned and left. '10 tonight.' I looked at him over my shoulder. 'Don't be late.' I left his office, closing the door carefully behind as I walked out. When I reached the foyer, I smiled briefly, letting the success watch over me. I floated down the steps and lightly stepped into the limo. As the scenery of Berlin flashed past my window, I pulled out my phone and dialed the office.

'Kimball Rothstein.'

'Meg, tell Jacob it's done.' My favorite words.

'Done, anything else?'

'Do I have any messages?'

'No,' I heard some papers shuffling.'but we did receive some photos you might be interested in.' More unsolicited submissions. Usually garbage, but we had found a few promising artists this way. 'Would you like me to email them to you?' I thought about it, but decided to wait.

'I'll be back tomorrow morning, just have them on my desk.'

'They'll be waiting for you.'

'Thanks Meg, call me if anything comes up.'

'Okay, enjoy Berlin.'

Travel was never completely enjoyable, but this sale went a long ways towards that end. $740K for a complete unknown. Granted the piece was huge, a large bronze, but this cemented my instincts about the artist. Once a work of art makes it into a major collection, the possibilities for an artist's commercial success are endless, and we had an exclusive with him for the next five years. The car pulled into the hotel and I stepped out. I floated to my room and pulled threw my briefcase on the dining room table. So much work to do; appraisals, import/export documents, shipping...it never ended, but the money... I looked at my cell. I picked it up and dialed a number.

'Hello.'

'Lotta, are you busy now?'

'Never, when you are here.' Her voice rolled over the words gracefully.

'I would love to see you for a few hours. Let yourself in.'

'I'll see you soon.' I pressed the end key and began to undress. A shower would be just the thing to calm me. I pulled off my turtleneck and skirt, black of course, and walked into the bathroom. I turned the knob to hot and watched as the steam began to accumulate in the large, richly marbled room. I unfastened my bra and looked at myself in the mirror. I studied myself closely and decided that while I was a little older, I was still as sexy as ever. I was dark, never had to tan, but my eyes were blue. A few wrinkles had found their way to my eyes and my breasts were not as full as they once were, but men still wanted me ferociously. My nipples hardened at the thought and I pinched them slighly, causing them to pinken. I stepped gingerly into the hot abyss; the water poured over me and I let myself relax completely. The money had aroused me and I let my hand drop to between my thighs. I heard the door open and close and I showered a few more moments and turned the water off. I grabbed a towel a quickly dried myself before stepping out into the room.

She was pouring herself a drink at the bar and I sat on the sofa, waiting like a child for confessional.

'How are you, Grace?'

'Well, and yourself.'

'I am good.' She sat her drink on the coffee table in front of me and removed her trench coat, throwing it carelessly over a chair; she was wearing a devastating blood red dress. Let me tell you a little about Lotta before I continue. She was a partial product of the Hitler perfect race experiments and if he were alive, he would be fiercely proud, though pissed at her parentage. Her grandmother was a Swedish shopgirl and her grandfather some German soldier. They bred and her mother was raised in a small town in East Germany after the war. She escaped to the west and married a Jew, the result was Lotta. Her skin is a milky white, her hair is platinum blonde, her lips are full and red, and her body... She sat next to me on the sofa, took a drink and rested her hand on my thigh. 'What will we do tonight?' She leaned over and lightly nibbled at my ear.

'We will be staying here for the next hour. Then I will go meet a client for dinner.' I could tell she was disappointed.

'Such a shame. I wore this dress just for you.'

'If you wore it for just for me, then not going out shouldn't be a problem.' She laughed and put her drink on the table. I forgot about the sale just as she rested her lips on mine. I could taste the scotch on her tongue as she pressed it deeper into my mouth. She straddled me and ripped the robe from my shoulders, pulling it to my waist. I gasped as the cool air hit my body. Suddenly I had to see her naked. I pulled free from the robe and reached around Lotta's back to her zipper. I couldn't unzip it, so I pulled the stiff material to her waist. Her breasts were as beautiful as I remembered. Large, with light pink nipples that turned almost red when she was aroused. I pushed her onto the sofa and pulled the dress off completely, ripping it in the process. She was naked and I stood to drink her in. She was so incredible to look at.

'Stay there.' I instructed and walked into the kitchen. I reached for the only thing there; a bottle of German sparkling wine. I removed the foil and walked back into the living room. 'I love champagne.' Lotta was beaming as she uncorked the bottle. The wine came flowing out and she put the bottle to her lips. She took a swig so large that a drizzle came out of the corner of her mouth, running down her body. I stepped to her and licked it off her nipple. She took another drink, with more coming out; I dutifully licked it off her. She poured the rest of the sweet, bubbly wine down her breasts and I pushed her to the floor, licking her body like a cat drinking milk. I ran my tongue over her stomach and around her belly button, then I make my way to her breasts, licking each nipple, then biting it, causing Lotta to squeal. I sat up and straddled her torso; grinding my pussy into hers. The feeling was sensational; I could feel her clit touch mine and a ripple of pleasure ran through my body. If you've never shaved your pussy you should, if you do, you know what I'm talking about. I was ready to cum, but Lotta pushed me off.

'Wait.' She pulled me to my knees and stood in front of me. She ground my face into her pussy. 'Eat it!' she ordered and I ran my tongue over her clit. She pushed my face closer and I shoved my tongue deeply into her cunt. She collapsed on her knees in front of me and grabbed my breast, squeezing my nipple. Leaning over, she bit the rosy mound and then began to suck, at first lightly, then with more force. I tried to bring my hand to my clit, but she pulled it away. 'Not yet.' She ordered and then slapped me. She walked over to her purse and pulled out a dildo. It was huge and black. She put in on the table in front of me, then walked back to her purse to grab a cigarette. Then she walked onto the balcony and smoked for a few minutes. A couple in a nearby apartment saw her and looked embarrassed, the man couldn't avert his eyes; Lotta smiled and waved. When she returned I was on the sofa. She walked towards me and grabbed the dildo. She extended her hand and helped me up, then led me into the bedroom. 'On the bed.' Meekly, I walked to the bed and got on my hands and knees. She murmured to me in German as she ran her fingers around my pussy.

'Fuck me.' She tsked at me and began humming. I could feel the bed move as she crawled behind me and filled my pussy with the gigantic dildo. I moaned and almost collapsed on the bed. The large rubber object moved in and out slowly at first then she pulled it out and ran it around my asshole. I wanted it so bad, but she just teased. Finally, when I couldn't take it any more she pushed the entire dildo in and I fell on to the bed. She rolled me over and kissed my lips, then she ate my pussy like apple pie and I came all over her face. The release was magnificent and I rolled over to look at her. I ran my fingers down her body and found her wet cunt. I crawled to it and licked her clit until she came. She moaned and thrashed beneath me until I saw her eyes glaze over and she fell asleep. I looked at the clock and gasped, it was already 9:45.

My dress still needed to be ironed, but there was no time. I saw Lotta's dress on the floor and inspected where it tore. Not too bad. I pulled the red satin frock up over my breasts, zipped it and inspected myself in the mirror. I looked great. Just enough time to put on some makeup and throw some euros on the bed. I made a mental note to order a new dress for Lotta as soon as I got back. I grabbed my keys, took a quick look at myself and ran out the door. The car pulled up as I walked out the grand entrance.

Friedrich was a very wealthy man and well known in Berlin. His father had been a count and his father, the nephew of the Kaiser. As a result, he could reserve a table anywhere he pleased. Schroeder's was one of these places. There had always been a burlesque and a hofbrau was added later to entice customers to stay for a while. These days the club was hot with the young German jet set. It reminded them of their childhoods; food and beer, with a shot of naughtiness. I walked in the front door and was shown to Friedrich's table near the stage. He beamed when he saw me and stood while I sat.

I lightly took my chair and looked around a bit closer. Nothing ever changed here; the frosted deco chandeliers told that story all too well. The seats were covered in well worn red silk velvet and the tiles on the floor had surrendered their original color years ago. The smoke filled the room and distorted the dull colored murals on the wall.

'I hope you don't mind, I ordered some bier for you.' Ten years and the man knew me better than my mother.

'Heffe, my favorite. Thank you, Friedrich.' He smiled at me and turned his attention to the performer as she descended from the stairs and perched precariously on the edge of the stage. I looked at him for a few minutes and my mind went back to the first time I saw him.

He was younger then, but as men often do, he never bothered to show his age. His hair was dark, streaked with grey, his eyes were deep brown and his smile was large and warm, just as it was when I was working at an antiquities gallery on Fifth Avenue. It was a small outfit that catered to rich tourists, but occasionally we would acquire something rare and beautiful. One day a large German man walked in and asked to see our best piece. I showed him a Ming dynasty jade object. The work of art was not large or ostentatious, but I knew that it was quality, the imperial mark told the story of its extraordinary history. I was eager to make my first sale and told the man everything I knew, from the material to the period surrounding it's creation. He was fascinated, bought the object with little negotiation and invited me to dinner. We went to the finest French restaurant in New York and then to his apartment. After we fucked, he told me that he had a friend at a major contemporary gallery in SOHO that he would contact on my behalf. I was ecstatic. He sent me back to my shithole apartment and I didn't hear from him for six months. When I did, it was Kimball Rothstein, telling me that they had an opening as a gallery assistant. When I asked if Friedrich had anything to do with it, my boss smiled and said 'You must have been spectacular.' I took it as a compliment and worked there ever since. It was ten years of hard work, long hours and little in the way of a personal life, but last year, I made partner and now I was hot shit. Friedrich benefitted as well. Each time I find an object that is in his taste, he gets first crack at the best price.

I smiled and looked around me. Friedrich was the only client I ever slept with. Early on I realized that men didn't respect women they could fuck, only the ones they couldn't.

'She is remarkable, no?' Friedrich smiled and motioned towards the stage. The girl was beautiful. All blue eyes, blond hair and endless legs, usually my type, but she was no Lotta; I secretly hoped that she would be there when I returned and then I remembered I was wearing her dress. Friedrich beamed and clapped wildly as the performance ended. No wonder, when the show was over, the girl walked to our table and sat on Friedrich's lap. He introduced her to me and I shook her hand. I spoke a few words of German that I had picked up and turned to concentrate on my drink. A few moments later, after an animated conversation she stood and went backstage, in an obviously foul mood. I smiled at Friedrich and lifted my glass to him.

'Not bad, old man.' He laughed and tapped his glass against mine.

'I would rather have you.'

'Your memory is fading if you would choose me over her.' I was immensely flattered and with the beer, the smoke and the wash of beautiful people around me, I felt a warm feeling deep in my stomach.

'Oh, she is fantastic, but you...' I thought about it; going to his mansion, spending the night with he and his girl... but no.

'You know I have a professional reputation now.' I needed to avoid thinking about it, the temptation was unbelievable.

'I won't tell.' I was sure he wouldn't, but somehow, someone would find out and this sale would be tainted. The evening passed too quickly and when the show ended Friedrich took my hand and kissed it again. His lips brushed their way up my forearm and into the crease of my elbow. He leaned towards me and whispered into my ear.

'I have loved only a few women, Grace,' the way my name rolled over his tongue made my resolution waver, but I resisted, 'my mother, the blessed Virgin,' He looked at me again and I melted, 'and you.' The last words languished on his tongue and I knew that he meant it. I drew away slowly; we stared at each other for a few minutes and he leaned back into his chair awaiting my response. It was at that moment that my phone rang and the spell was broken. I reached into the pocket of my coat and smiled apologetically.

'A moment, please.' It was Meg.

'What?' I sounded as displeased as I was.

'It's Jacob, he's had a heart attack.' Jacob was the Rothstein in Kimball Rothstein.

'No!' My head was swimming and I felt sick. 'I'm heading back right now.' I pressed the end button on the phone and turned to Friedrich. 'I'm so sorry Friedrich, it's Jacob...he's...' He looked at me with disappointment, but knew that I must leave.

'He was also a friend of mine. You will take my jet.' I knew that he wouldn't take no for an answer.

'Thank you, Friedrich.' I handed him a card with my personal number and address. 'Please visit me when you are in New York.'

He took the card, kissed it lightly and put it gently inside his breast pocket.

'Until I am in New York.' I took his hand in mine, briefly, and then left.

The flight back was unending. I paced the length of the jet incessantly and couldn't stop thinking about Jacob. He was the world's biggest asshole, but a great guy to work with. I knew that he had dealt with numerous heart problems in the past and most likely wouldn't make it through another serious attack. Meg would not have called if it weren't dire. I walked to the bar and poured myself a glass of scotch, drank it and had another. The warm feeling went straight to my stomach and calmed me slightly. I settled into the leather sofa and tried to do some work. I laughed when I realized that this was what Jacob would want me to do.

When the plane landed in New York, I jumped into the waiting car and ordered it to the hospital. I arrived just as they were disconnecting him from the monitors. Jacob was dead.

There was nothing I could do, so I went on to the gallery; it seemed like the most natural step. The immense space was empty and my footsteps echoed and I strode through the large main hall. This was my favorite time to be at work, but there was no joy in my being there. I passed Jacob's office and looked inside. All of his things were where he had left them. Papers and photos spread on the desk, his chair pushed back so he could rest his feet on the desktop... I walked down the hall and into my office. Sadness washed over me and then I saw the photos on my desk.

Meg had them arranged in neat rows of four; sixteen in all. The composition was strong and the artist had a definitive developed style. I looked for contact information, but it was not with the photos. Frantically, I tore through the piles of neatly stacked papers looking for the identity of this amazingly gifted artist. I rummaged through Meg's things knowing that with each tick of the clock, the chances of me representing this person dimmed. I picked up the phone and dialed Meg's number. It was two in the morning, but she understood that she was always on call.

'Meg.' I heard heavy breathing on the other end.

'Yes?' She knew I was the only person who would call her this early.

'Where is the contact information for this artist?' There was a slight pause while she gathered her thoughts.

'Um...there was none. No papers or anything, just the envelope under the door with your name.'

'Was it there when you arrived?'

'Yeah, crammed under the door.'

'Thanks Meg. I'll see you tomorrow.'

'Bye.' The phone clicked and the line went dead. How was I going to get in contact with this person? It was not unusual for us to receive submissions this way, but never anything of this quality and refinement. I looked more closely at the photos. They were terrible, but I could see the outlines of the human form; abstract but brimming with life. More exact than deKooning but less brutal and more graceful. The lines seemed to blur the distinction between abstraction and reality, inviting the viewer to look closer, to see what else each stroke might hold. I sank into my chair and thought for a few minutes.

Sleep would be impossible tonight so I went into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. There was a lot of work to catch up on, more than usual for three days absence. Maybe if I waited long enough another envelope would come through the door. I began to open letters, sign forms, prepare the appraisal for Friedrich, anything to keep my mind off this talent. Jacob's death became an afterthought as I poured myself into my work. At 7AM I caught a cab back to my apartment and peeled off Lotta's dress. My things were still in the Berlin apartment; I would have Meg contact the manager to have them shipped. I would also have her send Lotta a new dress and some flowers as an apology.