Evan met the love of his life while he was on an awkward date with someone else. It had been arranged by a professional matchmaker. His date was Liz, and she managed accounts at a corporate medical sales company. Her profile suggested a beautiful, intelligent woman, so Evan decided to give the date an honest attempt. <\/p>\n
They went to a seafood restaurant and the art museum downtown. She picked her teeth at dinner and discussed her dog\u2019s lengthy veterinarian history. Evan tried to be interested. He tried not to stare at her cleavage, which served as a landing place for bits of food throughout dinner. He tried to ask her about music, philosophy, sports or anything else, but she kept veering back to her damn dog. He tried, and that was what mattered, wasn\u2019t it? That\u2019s what he would tell people later: he tried. By the time they arrived at the museum, he was already counting the minutes before it was socially acceptable to part ways. <\/p>\n
Her heels clacked on the white tile floor. The corners of her mouth were still stained with au jus from her prime rib. Yes, she had ordered prime rib at the city\u2019s finest seafood establishment. He should have met her at a chicken wings restaurant.
\nIn the bright museum lights, her black dress was obviously faded and stretched beyond its capacity on her stomach and hips. Chopin\u2019s Nocturnes fell like soft rain through the speakers, and Evan tried to let the music absorb his negative feelings. <\/p>\n
\u201cUgh, I hate it when the pictures are blurry like that,\u201d she said, pointing at Monet\u2019s \u201cWater Lilies.\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s Impressionist art. It\u2019s supposed to look like that,\u201d Evan said, barely able to disguise his disgust. \u201cYou\u2019ve heard of Monet before, right?\u201d Please say yes.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, duh. I\u2019ve heard of him,\u201d she said with an eye roll. \u201cI just think it\u2019s stupid that we\u2019re supposed to stand here and praise something that looks like a child did it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you being serious?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah. I mean, ok, so my friend Caroline went to one of those drink and paint places. You know, the kind where you bring a bottle of wine, and they tell you what to paint. Well, her wine was French, and the class was for a Monet painting, which she thought was fun because Monet was French. So the instructor was this absolutely fine specimen of man, but he was gay, not that she minded. He was just eye candy for the evening, you know. So they start drinking and he tells them what to paint, one stroke at a time. And Caroline was totally sloshed by the end. I mean just wasted. She had to take a cab home, and she said the cab driver smelled like marijuana. So they\u2019re painting and getting drunk, and at the end, her painting looked almost just like this. So why should I respect it if my friend Caroline, who couldn\u2019t paint to save her life, could go get toasted with a class of other ladies and a gorgeous gay man and come home with basically the same thing?\u201d<\/p>\n
All of her stories were like that, meandering and full of extraneous details. <\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t even know what to say to that,\u201d he said as they wandered away from the Impressionist exhibit.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, here\u2019s what I suggest. Say this: \u2018Hey Liz, let\u2019s leave this boring museum and hit a night club and go dancing.\u2019 That sounds pretty good,\u201d she said with a horse-toothed grin. <\/p>\n
\u201cHow about this? Hey, Liz, why don\u2019t you leave this museum since you find it boring? Go find a nightclub or whatever you want. I don\u2019t think this is going to work out.\u201d<\/p>\n
She frowned and tilted her head to the right. <\/p>\n
\u201cFine,\u201d Liz said. \u201cYou\u2019re a terrible listener, by the way. You should work on that before your next date.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then she spun on her heels and clacked out of the museum. Evan wandered to other exhibits, his sense of relief growing with each new room. Why was it so hard to find a good date? The women his friends set him up with tended to be one thing or another: beauty or brains, sports or art, fashion or philosophy. The women the matchmaker set him up with were bottom of the barrel types who were so desperate that he couldn\u2019t tell what else they were. Or they were so classless that he couldn\u2019t imagine any man of taste wanting them, like Liz. They were all so damn talkative. He\u2019d barely said a word the entire evening. She hadn\u2019t even asked what he did for a living. <\/p>\n
Evan plopped on a bench in the sculpture hall and gazed around him. And that was where he saw her. At first it was curiosity that drew him to her. She stood alone under an arch in the wall, a Roman style toga draped over her body, carefully arranged so that the right half of her torso was exposed. He circled her looking for a plaque or some indication of her name and creator.
\nAs he walked around her, Evan studied her features. The delicate curve of her breast and up-tilted nipple was superbly crafted. Her waist formed a gentle concave slope to her hip. Evan sucked in his breath. Her face was exquisitely carved with high cheekbones, eyes that were neither too round or too almond shaped, and wisps of wavy hair were sculpted into bands atop her head which cascaded down to frame her face. She was perfection in white marble.<\/p>\n
\u201cI wish I knew your name,\u201d he whispered. \u201cI wish I knew anything about you. Where you\u2019re from, who made you, anything.\u201d<\/p>\n
Did she tremble? Was there warmth emanating from her marble curves? Perhaps it was his imagination. A raspy alto female voice interrupted the eerily eloquent violin strains of Ravel\u2019s Berceuse sur la nom de Gabriel Faure, startling Evan. <\/p>\n
\u201cAttention visitors. It is now 9 pm, and the museum is closing. The museum will reopen at 10 am tomorrow. Thank you for visiting and have a wonderful evening.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tomorrow, Evan thought. Tomorrow I\u2019ll come back and see what I can learn about her. He walked slowly away from her, looking back often. The security guard was too busy scrolling through his phone to notice the strange look on Evan\u2019s face.
\nThe next morning, Evan returned, and after casually strolling the other rooms as long as he could stand it, he hurried to the sculpture hall. The bench was too far from her for Evan to study her features with the attention she deserved. When he asked the burly security guard to move the bench, the guard laughed in his face.<\/p>\n
\u201cSure, buddy,\u201d he said. \u201cAnything else you\u2019d like to rearrange in here? Want me to move the sculptures around too?\u201d
\n
\nThat afternoon, Evan called his CFO and made the quarterly inquiry. His accounts were growing as usual, and company profits had never been higher. <\/p>\n
\u201cHave we made any sizable charitable donations this quarter?\u201d Evan asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot yet, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease set up a meeting with whomever handles donations at the art museum.\u201d <\/p>\n
By the end of the week, Evan was a \u201cFriend of the Museum,\u201d the security guard had been relocated to one of the painting rooms and replaced with a more apathetic colleague, and the bench was next to his beloved statue. Evan spent all of his spare time there, sitting beside her. Sometimes he sat in silence, and sometimes he whispered to her about his life, his work, his hopes, and his loneliness. His childhood, his opinion on politics, philosophy, and even art dominated their conversations. Over time, his talks became more confessional.<\/p>\n
\u201cI hire prostitutes sometimes,\u201d he said to her once. \u201cDon\u2019t worry; they\u2019re clean. I pay a premium price for women of a certain class. A man gets lonely sometimes, and they don\u2019t mind being used.\u201d<\/p>\n
The statue had no response but the usual cold indifference. She didn\u2019t judge. She didn\u2019t mock. She didn\u2019t preach. If only she would send him the faintest glimmer of that warmth from the night they met. A tremble, half a movement, anything to let him know she was not an immutable mute. Perhaps she was waiting for a sign that he was worthy of her.<\/p>\n
The next time he visited, he leaned forward and softly said, \u201cThere are no more prostitutes. Not for me. I\u2019ve closed my dating profiles too.\u201d He cleared his throat and glanced around the room. No one nearby. \u201cIt\u2019s only you for me now.\u201d<\/p>\n
He stared at her until his eyes burned for the need to blink. Just as his lids began to drop, he glimpsed the faintest quiver in her neck. Didn\u2019t he? It wasn\u2019t just the lack of saline in his eyes, the strong desire to see life in her, was it? He stood at arm\u2019s length from her and studied her for the next hour. No movement.<\/p>\n
On another occasion, he said, \u201cIt\u2019s amazing what money can do. I\u2019m always in awe of the intangible things I can buy. Things you\u2019d think would be priceless. I\u2019ve bought the love of women\u2014but not anymore of course, as we discussed\u2014I\u2019ve bought the trust of judges and the interest of politicians. Most importantly, I\u2019ve bought the loyalty of my employees. And it was all so cheap, so insignificant compared to what I would have spent for the same. Last year, I gave a half of a percent raise to everyone in my company, and they would have made me king if they could. No other local companies were giving raises with the recession and all. Half of a percent, and they worshipped me. In turn, they\u2019ve made me a much wealthier man this year. Truly amazing, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n
Nothing from her. Not a quiver. No warmth. Just the same coldness. The same apathy. <\/p>\n
\u201cYou disapprove? I didn\u2019t have to give them anything. I was a hero in a time when no other companies were doing anything. It was on the news, for crying out loud.\u201d<\/p>\n
Silence.<\/p>\n
One evening, after a nearly three hour visit, Evan leaned as close to her as he dared with the guard in the room and said, \u201cPerhaps you don\u2019t understand how wealthy I am. Without even feeling it, I could double the salary of my entire payroll. I could even buy you and take you home with me.\u201d He paused and considered this, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm. \u201cIn fact, maybe I will. In my parlor, there is a large space next to the fireplace. I could put you there, where you\u2019d be warm. Then I could talk to you all night. We could even touch.\u201d<\/p>\n
His fingers quivered, and his hand reached out to her. The security guard cleared his throat and nodded at the \u201cNo Touching\u201d plaque on the wall behind her. Evan clenched his fist and lowered his hand to his side. <\/p>\n
The next day, he contacted the museum curator. The statue had come from the private collection of a patron who wished to remain anonymous. There was no hope of purchasing her. <\/p>\n
That night, he went to visit her, discouraged by the dead end, he\u2019d encountered. He stopped at the door to the sculpture hall. The security guard was obviously bored. <\/p>\n
\u201cIf I give you a thousand dollars in cash, will you give me an hour alone in here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat? Of course not! I can\u2019t do that. I\u2019ll get fired.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, you won\u2019t. I\u2019ll make sure of that. And if you do get fired, I\u2019ll hire you myself. A thousand dollars not to work for an hour. Think about it.\u201d<\/p>\n
The guard studied Evan\u2019s face uncertainly.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not a test. I\u2019m not going to turn you in or anything. Look, here\u2019s the money,\u201d Evan said, pulling out a thick stack of crisp bills. \u201cPut this in your pocket and leave. I can\u2019t steal anything in here. It\u2019s all giant sculptures.\u201d<\/p>\n
The guard took a deep breath and exhaled. \u201cOk,\u201d he said, pocketing the money. \u201cJust don\u2019t do anything weird.\u201d<\/p>\n
A moment after the guard left, Evan was standing in front of his mysterious ideal woman.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve done it,\u201d he said softly. \u201cI\u2019ve doubled the salary of my entire payroll. For you. Do you approve?\u201d<\/p>\n
He waited. She didn\u2019t change. Nothing about her showed approval or disapproval in the slightest. For several minutes, he stood his usual arm\u2019s length from her. He swallowed, a slight sweat beading at his temples. Glancing behind him to make sure he was alone, he stepped closer.<\/p>\n
He leaned an inch from her ear and whispered, \u201cThere\u2019s been a snag. You can\u2019t come home with me yet. Your owner won\u2019t sell. In fact, next week, you\u2019ll be moved to another museum. I don\u2019t know how yet, but I\u2019m going to find a way to stop that.\u201d<\/p>\n
The guard was still gone. Alone with her, his heart raced. His hand shook and reached towards her face, stopping millimeters from her cheek. After a final glance around the room, he grazed a finger across her cheekbones. The marble was cool to his touch. Breath caught in his throat, chest exploding in rhythmic pulses, he traced her jawline and the curls in her hair. <\/p>\n
\u201cI know you can feel this,\u201d he whispered, lips grazing her ear. \u201cI remember that first night. You were warm. You trembled next to me. I know you want me.\u201d<\/p>\n
His index finger slid down the right side of her neck to her shoulder. Did she seem to warm a bit? Was that a smile tugging at the corners of her lips? <\/p>\n
His body was inches from hers. He cupped her breast in his hand, massaging the nipple. Evan took a final step towards her, pressing his body against hers. His hand traveled down the curve of her side. Gripping her waist, he placed his lips on hers. They were warm, more than warm; they were burning hot. The toga shifted, and her skin softened under his fingers. <\/p>\n
Evan\u2019s brown eyes met her blue ones. Some of her dark curls loosened and fell to her shoulders. Her strong pink arms gripped him. Inhaling sharply, Evan tried to step back, but he couldn\u2019t move. His lips remained locked on hers. His heart was in his stomach, and he couldn\u2019t feel his feet. <\/p>\n
Still gripping him, she rotated them so she was facing the wall and he the room. The toga trailed behind her, grazing his pant leg. Finally, she pushed him free of her and stepped back.<\/p>\n
The sweetest voice he\u2019d ever heard said, \u201cYou disgust me.\u201d<\/p>\n
She ran from the room, her bare feet hardly making a sound on the tile.<\/p>\n
Evan reached out his arms and tried to lunge forward. Her words stung like a thousand needles all over his body. He couldn\u2019t move. The numbness in his feet had worked its way to his waist, and he was so cold. She had vanished, taking all of his warmth with her. <\/p>\n
Eventually, the bench was put back in its normal place. The former guard returned to his post in the sculpture hall. When visitors inquired after the title and creator of the \u201cDesperate Businessman\u201d sculpture as they called him, they were simply told that the information was confidential.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Evan met the love of his life while he was on an awkward date with someone else. It had been arranged by a professional matchmaker. His date was Liz, and she managed accounts at a corporate medical sales company. Her profile suggested a beautiful, intelligent woman, so Evan decided to give the date an honest …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":31281,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,1449],"tags":[1450],"class_list":["post-51912","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-19-spring-2016","tag-the-colored-lens-19-spring-2016","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/51912","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/31281"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=51912"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/51912\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":139532,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/51912\/revisions\/139532"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=51912"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=51912"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=51912"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}