I am a participant in this year’s NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge. It’s my first attempt at fiction writing. The parameters provided for my challenge were to write 1,000 words maximum as a Crime Caper, set in a library, and include a sprinkler. I had 48 hours to write the piece. I received news last night (at midnight, ha!) that my work placed 13th in my genre in a larger pool of 3,500 applicants. Round two starts this weekend. While juggling retreat guests and menu planning for the upcoming week-long silent Buddhist meditation retreat, I’ll write the next flash fiction piece. I hope you enjoy my story.
AN UNKNOWN ACQUISITION
A struggling artist attempts to fulfill a goal of
creative retaliation on the eve of her 35th birthday.
“Make sure you don’t wire it, or it’ll set off the metal detector,” Eve said to Lela, as she threw on her jacket and headed out the door. “See you there. This is going to be badass.”
Lela replied sarcastically, “You know I never wire artwork for any show.” Lela was reprimanded and flat-out rejected more than once by galleries for her sloppy craftsmanship. This time it wouldn’t matter what they thought.
Lela sprayed her small canvas with a final coat of clear acrylic. She held it from the inner frame, carrying it carefully out of her studio apartment, into Bushnell Park, walking toward the Hartford Public Library. Lela’s boots felt heavy as she clomped along. This was a good idea, right? She hungered for accolades like ArtWalk, but her exhibition applications were repeatedly denied. She graduated from Hartford Art School seven years ago, and the sting of rejections made her question her choices.
“Shizzlecrap!” Lela muttered as a park sprinkler doused her calves as she exited the park. “Typical, spit-on by the city while I try to do something good,” Lela thought.
She imagined art reception guests admiring her work, “Look at this! Different and compelling. What juxtaposition. This is not a Viens. Where did this come from?” Perhaps her stealth-like-Banksy plan could finally get her some recognition.
Despite having been a satisfactory art student, Lela’s work was mostly overlooked aside from two un-juried shows and Open Studio at Hartford ArtSpace. Lela envisioned herself notorious someday, on the cover of Art News, a show at MASS MoCA, and a Forty-Under-Forty award from the Hartford Business Journal. She was pissed that not a soul cared, except Eve. Lela didn’t accrue $62,000 in college debt just to work at Blue State Coffee and run in circles with her artwork. Tonight’s intent was creative retaliation to a society that keeps its artists starving.
Lela had no contempt for Adam Viens, the featured artist. She admired his artistry for years and knew he was a rising force in the local scene. Lela met Adam once while tipsy at an ArtSpace reception, captivated by his intricate artwork. He might get a kick out of her intrusion in his exhibit, “Turbulent Genesis,” on display through the end of June.
Lela promised herself a decade ago to score an ArtWalk show before her 35th birthday, which was tomorrow, May 19. Her scheme aligned with the timing of Adam’s opening reception, a perfect place to hide in plain sight and fulfill her mission.
Lela approached the library doors as Eve strolled in from the south side of the city. Eve’s dress was mid-length, white with petite colorful fruits, open v-neck, and layers of smooth-flowing fabric against her soft, dark skin. This was in stark contrast to Lela’s Goth whiteness and all black garb: T-shirt, jeans, combat boots, and a snakeskin messenger bag, loaded with her painting. Waves of creative types meandered in, some for the art and others for the free wine. It was always a good time in Hartford.
“Dude, you look stunning,” Lela said to Eve. “Yeah,” Eve beamed. “Let’s go.” They walked into the library past the security scanner.
“Excuse me, folks,” the guard spoke, “Here for the art show?” They nodded. “Up the stairs and down the hall, follow the crowd.”
The library was quiet after hours, except on reception nights echoing with distant festivities. Lela’s palms felt sweaty as she ascended two flights of stairs. She noticed a large Tao LaBossiere goldfish tank mural through the glass walls on the second floor. There’s an artist who has a real impact. Lela wondered if she’d ever be recognized, something she obsessed about. Eve turned to her, “Remember our plan. Find the spot, flip me the bird, and I’ll do my thing.”
Lela slithered through the crowd, admiring artwork as she looked for appropriate placement. Adam’s art was abstruse mixed media, with layers of discarded fragments constructed to represent relationships and the human condition. Lela’s art, a small mixed media painting, had similar colors and symbolism as Adam’s work. Perhaps it would blend in here, in the far corner. People milled around nearby, and Lela hoped that Eve’s distraction would lure them away so she could install her piece. Lela locked eyes with Eve, now poised at the entrance near the food and wine. Lela lifted her right hand and flipped Eve the finger. Game on!
Eve slowly twirled, her dress slightly rising with each pirouette. She sang out garishly, “God money, I’ll do anything for you. God money, just tell me what you want me to. God money, nail me up against the wall. God money, don’t want everything he wants it all. No, you can’t take it. No, you can’t take that away from me. Head like a hole. Black as your soul. I’d rather die than give you control…”
All heads turned as Eve stomped her heels and belted Nine Inch Nails like a rock star. Art patrons assumed that Eve’s performance was planned. Some clapped and even sang with her.
“Bow down before the one you serve. You’re going to get what you deserve…” Eve crooned. All eyes fixed on her.
Lela rummaged her bag for the picture hanger, peeled off the backing, and pressed it hard on the wall. She carefully installed her artwork on the hook, heart pounding. With a deep exhale, Lela paused to admire her work and snapped a selfie for proof. No one witnessed her bold act.
Eve finished her song with uproarious applause and a respectful bow. Lela walked over. Adam approached Eve, smiling, “Hey, that was cool. I’m Adam.”
Eve flirted back, “We know.” Lela grabbed Eve’s arm and ran, stopping at the reception table to take some fruit as they dashed out the door.
“Hell yeah,” they said in unison.
©2019 Amy LaBossiere. All rights reserved.