So here's a start to a short story I'm currently pounding away on. I hope to add a lot more cigars and bourbon before I'm finished with it. Enjoy.
Girl with Pomegranates
I studied her for a long time. The way her hair cascaded down about her shoulders. Her coy little glance. The bored way in which she stood before me. Taking in the subtle curves of her well formed...well you get the idea. Normally I'm not a girl watcher, but when presented with a vision of beauty I have a tendency to oggle, just like any other warm blooded male.
I'd been made to wait in this little room with her. She made all the other decorations drab in comparison. Try as I might to distract myself with some other piece of eclectic hob snobbery that dotted the room, my eyes always returned to her. "She's a fake, you know?"
I hadn't heard the door open. I turned to see a little man with a pocket watch standing next to an over elegant chair. He made the chair look like a mountain as he climbed into it. Finally, breathlessly, taking his place amoung the posh looking pillows, he stared past me, at her, twirling his pinky ring.
"Is she? I wouldn't know." Trying to reclaim some of my disinterest, I pulled out my cigar and made motion to light it. The little man looked at me sideways so I just chewed on the end for a while.
"No well of course you wouldn't." He affected a British accent, the kind Hollywood had made vogue. It only enhanced his snideness. "See how her right arm droops just a bit to far left? Or how her nose is slightly crooked? Only a well versed eye would notice such things."
I like her nose. I thought about saying this, but knew it'd only make this conversation take more of my time. And as pretty as I might have thought she was, paintings just don't fire me up the way they do some people. Besides I hadn't been called in to talk art. The little man made mention of this before continuing.
"I'm sure my secretary informed you of our distress?"
"She might've mentioned something about it." I'd made the cigar soggy so I stopped chewing on it.
Checking his pocket watch, "Yes, quite." I could tell I was just as impressive to him as he was to me. "You want to find someone, basically"
He arched one of his little eyebrows. "I should say so. But perhaps a little bit more than that for certain. I want the man responsible for this brought to justice."
I played dumb. Sometimes they like it when you give them a chance to talk. He took the bait.
"Do you see that?", pointing to a small frame next to the large girl I'd been staring at when he came in. "A Van Dongen? And that one, a Renoir? A Verteges? A Mauldliani? Oh, yes they may resemble them in some miniscual way, but i assure you every one of these paintings, loathe as I am to call them such, was painted by just one man. A most dispicable man. A deplorable man. A very dangerous man." He took a breath. That last part interested me.
"How so?" I started chewing my cigar again.
The little man coughed and threw me an annoyed look for interrupting him. "He represents the very worse the art world has to offer. He's a shyster and every painting he makes devalues the work of the masters. Can you not see? Do you truly not understand?"
"Oh how can culture ever hope to survive?" He wasn't really asking me, so I shrugged again.