The Contract

Alex stared at the wall and tried to disassociate from everything going on around him. The elevator music that the art gallery was playing worked to help him drift away.

“You see that human stick insect over there wearing Gucci and Jimmy Choos?” said Diane

Forced back to reality he began to look around, trying to see where his agent was pointing. Alex knew very little about fashion, men’s or women's. He knew the name Jimmy Choo, but not what this person made. Everyone he could see was dressed the way one might expect for the opening night of a new art exhibition, chic casual. You want to look fashionable and wealthy, but not like you are trying to look fashionable and wealthy. Casual classy or informally infamous. Alex had found a suit in a charity shop and was trying to make it work with sneakers and a baseball cap.

“Do you mean Margaret?” he asked.

“Yes, darling. You need to go over and speak to her and pretend that you desperately want to get into her pants.”

“What, why?!” he asked.

“Because she loves that darling, and she’ll write you a good review in that rag she writes for.”

The Artistic Review was, in fact, one of the most highly regarded art and society magazines in the country. A few good words in its pages could really open doors for him. Alex knew he had to play the game he just wasn’t very good at this part of it. He wasn’t good at any part of it, he had just wanted to paint and somehow he had ended up here. His anxiety took over and he started scratching at his neck before stopping himself and forcing his hand into his pocket. Then he saw something alarming.

“Oh, that person is touching a painting.” Alex said pointing.

Diane spun around and zeroed in on the culprit. It was an older gentleman with a balding head, a beige suit, and tiny glasses. He had a flute of champagne in one hand and was wildly gesticulating while poking at a painting on the wall with the other. Diane’s heels sounded out a death knell as she stalked across the gallery. Alex turned back to the wall and hoped he would be left alone. The untouched champagne flute he was holding was becoming an issue also.

He looked up and saw that Margaret was still nearby, so he summoned up the dregs of his anxiety addled courage and walked over.

“Good evening,” he said by way of opening.

“Alex, darling!” said Margaret.

Her eyes travelled up and down him, appraising.

“You look tense.”

She was right, it was being the centre of attention, or rather his art being the centre of attention, that was making him tense. He tried to be clever.

“A kind review from you would go a long way to easing my tension.” he said

“Is that all it would take from me?”

Her smile was playful as she licked her lips. Alex smiled and hoped it looked sincere. There was a silence between them that was just getting good and awkward when the strange man in the dark suit appeared. As scary as he was, he was a port in stormy seas.

“Hello, sir. Can I help you?” said Alex.

“I wish to be purchasing your painting.” said the Strange Man.

His accent was thick, Eastern European maybe?

“Of course. If you speak with Diane, she arranges all purchases from my collection. Which image did you have in mind?”

“I believe it is named the Sophie.”

Alex twitched as he heard the name of one of his early portraits. One that he had specified should not even be on display let alone for sale.

“Sorry, did you say Sophie?”

“Yes, it is on the wall.”

The man gestured towards the back of the room.

“Excuse me.”

Alex pushed his glass into Margaret’s hand and went looking for his painting. When he found her he paused. There was a small group of onlookers pretending to admire it and squawking at each other. Alex pushed past them and grabbed the edges of the painting. The squawking became louder as he started trying to get it off the wall.

“Stop!”

“What are you doing?”

“Someone call security!”

Alex had managed to free it on one side. He felt the customary shame of being an artist who did not know how pictures were actually hung in a gallery.

“Sir, take your hands off that painting!”

Alex stopped. That was either a very well spoken security guard or….he turned to look. It was the old man in the beige suit with no hair and small glasses.

“Now? Now you have an issue with people touching paintings?”

The old guy just stared at him.

“Relax old-timer, I painted this one.”

He tried to get the other side of the frame to come away from the wall, but it was surprisingly stubborn.

“Alex!!”

That shriek was unmistakeably Diane. Alex gave up and turned to face the room. He had to keep one hand on the picture to prevent it from falling. The noise of the commotion had attracted more of the guests to come over. He started to turn red as he saw the telltale lights of a dozen camera phones trained on him. Oh, he definitely looked like a crazy person now. At the head of pack was Diane, who had even gone so far as to remove her sunglasses, something she never did. They had even joked about it, her taking a shower with them on or appearing with them on in her driver’s licence photo.

“What are you doing?” she asked

“Diane, I told you not to display this one,” he tried.

“That is one of your most beautiful paintings! People need to see it! You are an artist! You will display your work!”

“Not this. Not this one. This is for me,” he said.

“It’s already sold,” said Diane.

“Then un-sell it.”

“No.”

They stared at each other. The growing audience was waiting to see what would happen next. Diane was not yet done with her scene.

“It is literally my job to squeeze art out of the artists of this world. In my time I have done many things, short of physical bodily harm, to achieve that goal.”

Alex scoffed. Diane paused for only a moment.

“That painting is sold. The money is transferring as we speak. Now put it back on the wall before something bad happens!”

Alex pulled at the frame once more and was rewarded with a sickening crack of wood. He turned and began frantically checking the canvas for damage. His blood pressure returned to normal when he found that only the frame was damaged, the image was unharmed. With the painting in hand he decided to escape. Having scoped out the exits earlier he darted for the nearest one. He was out in the alley and legging it down the street leaving shrieks and gasps in his wake.



Elliot stepped off the bus and began shivering from the cold. He hadn’t planned to work this late so had no jacket to fend of the cool evening air. He dug his phone out of his pocket. The podcast he was listening to had ended and there wouldn’t be another episode for two weeks. He decided to give his ears a break and put his earbuds away. He walked the few blocks from the bus stop to his place passing a Frothy Cup o’ Joe coffee shop. He waved at the attractive barista wiping down the tables. She did not wave back.

“We’ll get there,” he said to no one in particular.

He stuffed his hands back into the pocket of his hoodie and hustled his way to the door of his building. When he arrived at his apartment he found the door unlocked and sitting slightly ajar. He thought for a moment before speaking.

“You in there, I have a gun!” he called out.

“No, you don’t,” came a voice from inside.

He could also hear that the TV was on. He decided to risk it and went in. He found a man in a black suit and a baseball cap, lounging on his couch, watching his television. Against the wall, next to the television was a painting with a damaged frame.

“We’ve been over this dude, you don’t live here any more,” said Elliot.

“I should never have moved out,” said Alex

His words only slurred a little.

“Is that my beer?”

“Yeah, you should buy more.”

“You should buy your own. What happened?”

Elliot wandered into the little kitchenette that was basically just one side of the living room of this shoebox apartment.

“What do you mean?” asked Alex

“You have a “post – disaster” vibe right now.”

“I had a gallery show.”

“Congratulations. I guess my invite is in my Spam folder?”

“I sold a painting.”

Having found no beer, Elliot was forced to settle for a soda. He joined Alex on the couch.

“Again, congratulations. You’re a real artist now, right? I mean, that’s what they say. What’s she doing here anyway?”

Elliot waved his soda can to indicate the painting.

“Thought I had seen the last of her,”

The portrait of Sophie smiled it’s innocent smile at them from across the room. Elliot scowled at her in return. Alex carried on regardless.

“Diane…”

Alex turned and leaned closer to face Elliot.

“There is this woman called Diane, she is my manager and runs my shows and what not.”

Alex sat back.

“Diane displayed Sophie at my show and some guy bought it.”

“Great!” said Elliot “Wrap her up and ship her the ‘eff’ out of here.”

“What?”

Alex looked bewildered at Elliot’s reaction. Elliot tried to explain.

“You remember Tim?” he said.

“The guy with mail order Russian bride?” asked Alex.

“Yeah, cleaned out a dollar store that one time using his credit card.”

“Yeah. Tim and her broke up.”

“Oh?”

“She took everything.”

“Were they married?”

“No, he just came home from work one day and she had taken all of his things. And I mean all of it. She took his underwear for God’s sake.”

“Your point?”

“That break up was still better than you and Sophie.” said Elliot pointing at the painting.

Alex was starting to sober up, but Elliot wasn’t done.

“This picture is the anchor keeping you in your misery. I mean, it’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but it’s got to go. It’s like a ghost haunting you or something.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while. Elliot wondered if he may have gone too far.

“Did you sell any of your other paintings?”

“No, just this one.” said Alex nodding at the canvas.

“Oh. Didn’t you promise not to do that?”

“What do you mean?”

“You remember.” Elliot pulled out his phone. “To prove how much in love you were you signed a contract with Sophie to never sell.”

“I remember that, but we wrote it on the back of an old sketch-”

“Which Garcia and I witnessed for the two of you.”

“Where is this contract?” asked Diane from the front door.

“JESUS!!”

Alex jumped out of his seat and landed on the floor. Elliot just looked towards the newest intruder in his home.

“I guess I have an open door policy now, come on in” he said.

Diane, seeing Alex struggling to right himself, addressed the other man on the couch.

“I need to know about this contract.”

“Sure, why not? I guess I am an info desk too. This picture is Sophie. Sophie is Alex’s old girlfriend and it’s actually a very good likeness. As an example of his crazy, stupid love he wrote up a contract pledging to never sell the painting.”

“Is it legally binding?”

“Could be, it has witness signatures on it.”

“Where is it?”

“Well, Alex got a copy, so, wherever he keeps that. And Sophie got one too. She might still have it.”

By now Alex was sitting on the floor and had recovered a little of his composure.

“What the hell are you doing here?” asked Alex.

“Looking for you, and that,” said Diane pointing at the painting.

“Did you put a tracker on him or something?” asked Elliot.

Diane gave the painting a quick once over to and seemed satisfied it was undamaged before turning back to him.

“Where is your copy of this contract?”

“I don’t know.”

“You are most definitely lying.” said Elliot

“Dude!” said Alex. “You are supposed to be on my side.”

“Should’ve kept me a beer.”

“Where is this Sophie person?” asked Diane.

“That I don’t know.” said Alex

“Yeah, that’s true.” said Elliot. “After the break up, she split. No one knows where she is and no one has heard from her.”

“I’m calling my lawyer.” said Diane

“Your lawyer is going to pick up at-” Elliot looked at his watch. “Ten o’clock at night?”

“If he knows what’s good for him.”

Diane began a heated conversation with her phone while standing in the bedroom.

“So, where is your copy of the contract.” asked Elliot

“It’s in my desk. Back at my studio,” said Alex

Elliot looked at his friend, uncomfortable in his formal wear, trying to find some comfort in a stolen beer. From the bedroom he heard Diane explaining just how little she cared about interrupting a birthday party.

“It is good to see you man,” said Elliot. “I wish you would come and visit more often. I mean, I know the lonely artist image is a thing, but you actually have some friends.”

Alex looked up at him. Elliot continued.

“I miss you man. I miss hanging out. I miss the games night we used to have.”

“I’m sorry I-”

Diane cut him off.

“Alex! I need you to get me this contract. This painting is sold and we need to make sure it stays that way. Come and see me tomorrow.”

On that final word she spun around and marched out of the apartment. She didn’t close the door behind her.

“Do you think I should sell this?” asked Alex

“Either that or burn it,” said Elliot “I’m starting to think the damn thing is cursed.”

Alex shook his head.

“It’s not cursed.”

“Really?” said Elliot “You painting this coincided with the break-up that messed up our whole friend group. Hell, it’s only been here for a few hours and I have lost all my beer and that scary lady now knows where I live.”

Elliot heard snoring from the floor next to him. He pulled out his phone and fiddled with it until the case popped off. From inside the case he retrieved a small slip of paper. He read out a number as he punched it into his phone.

“Hello? I know I know, but it’s important. It’s about Alex.”