The Artist's Way: A Prose Story
The Bitch!
She said she was glad I was dead--
Good riddance.
I'll get my revenge.
I was sad, in pain.
Despair!
I know not what depths.
I would have done anything.
I would have said anything.
The bitch!
She thinks she can move in.
Steal my man.
Not on my watch.
Not while I have the will.
And the artist,
Orchestrating it all,
Up and down,
In and out,
Just the way I like it.
I knew she wanted my money.
Who wouldn't?
But was I blind?
Was that all she wanted?
I loved him.
I really did,
But life goes on...
And when it doesn't
A memorial is in order.
She said, she wanted to commission a work.
Can you believe that?
But she wanted more than his hand,
His paint,
His canvas,
Well, she can't have it.
Oh, but she will.
Her dead husband,
Calling her to me,
With millions to spare--
Blonde and blue eyed,
She's just my type.
It was a mistake.
OK.
I admit it,
But once the forces are in motion...
I went to the gallery,
The reception.
I had seen his work.
He had a reputation.
But that reputation was mine.
Hard--and long earned.
In public,
In private,
It's all the same.
That's right my pet.
Show off what you've learned.
Long hair--dyed...
Tattooed and studs,
And a will...
More than her own.
Revenge! I thought.
Give her to him.
Down on her knees.
Her will not her own...
I watched,
The tattooed wonder at work.
Taking every inch.
Every way...
Her grimaces,
There--
Only for my amusement.
Can you do this?
How about this?
I like it this way.
He likes it that.
The show off.
The pitch.
The hook, line, and sinker.
The blonde gives me her card.
I give her mine.
Tomorrow at eight, then?
It should have been sweet.
Isn't that the way revenge is supposed to be?
But I could feel myself fading.
Eight sharp, I couldn't make him wait.
He was there.
She was there.
And a camera... laid bare.
Make her work.
Make her pout.
Blind her with flashes.
And in the end, this one here,
The shot with her legs...
The whore.
What a beautiful shot!
What a beautiful view!
This is the one!
This is the keeper...
You came in a car?
Leave it.
Payment is due,
When service is rendered.
A taker he takes.
A giver I go.
Fading...
Ever faster.
What is money?
I take the subway home.
Prepare for his coming.
As for me,
The night can't come to soon.
Show off!
I am Enraged.
Her, the other...
In white gowns...
A see-through.
I am his...
Not you...
"Dress her.
Make her look like you."
And she does.
Sarong, so beautiful,
So tight, and revealing.
And while they are gone,
He starts his commission...
"No canvas?"
"Just on the wall?"
But he makes no remark.
He carelessly shrugs.
"Is it a likeness?"
Oh, Evil.
He scares me sometimes.
In chalk,
And charcoal,
The ghost comes alive.
And then a tattoo...
On the woman--
My pay!
Circling up and around--
A thousand roses,
At bay.
I could see it then,
From where I perched,
As the needled hummed,
And his girl danced and twirled.
I wondered...
No, I knew.
He was binding me,
Binding you...
But that's why I dance...
And I dance,
Spinning my spell:
Come to me my love,
Come to me...
My love.
Got to love a dancer...
Got to love a prancer...
"Fuck it," that's what I say.
So I just take her,
Right then,
Right there.
And then it was over,
Just as it began.
With celibate rage,
I look on...
At my darling...
As my darling...
With no care in the world.
Ha!
What did he expect.
Bound I am--
To come out on top.
I wore out an old man
And a young one I got.
And there is the smile,
The happiness--
Content.
My partner,
My equal.
My last will,
Is spent
And do you understand?
Do you see?
Through the tattoos and piercings?
The clothing and sprees?
Master of all,
Victim to none.
Come seeking vengeance,
And thy will,
Will be done
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