“I’ve always felt the Pre-Raphealite painters presented more of a…”
Damn. Why do I do this? I begin these sentences and have no idea how to end them. I stammer, searching for words, while invariably the woman across from me sits with a smug smile, waiting.
Think. Don’t panic. Don’t look her in the eye; she’ll see fear.
I stare at my food. Now she sees my bald spot. I blink several times like I’m in deep thought, this close to offering a profound observation.
Thank God the waitress appears.
“Yes, more water, thank you. Sarah?”
“No thanks, I’m fine. You were saying?”
To waitress – “What a lovely bracelet.”
“My boyfriend gave it to me.”
“Well, it certainly sets off your…” Damn. Did it again. Sets off her what?? Calm down. Now you’ve got BOTH of them waiting. Fiddle with your fork. Shift weight. Think. “Sets off your necklace.” Whew!
“Yes it does. Let me know if you want dessert.”
“Dessert, Sarah?”
“Not right now. I’d still like to hear your take on the Pre-Raphealite school. We spent half a semester at Pratt examining their influence.”
Screwed. Idiot. Why did I bring up art? Get me on folk music from the sixties and I blow this woman out the door. Damn.
“Well…as I was saying…this group offered a more…realistic perspective on Europe…France, especially…post Renaissance…in terms of…” Deadenddeadenddeadend. Concentrate! “……in terms of the harshness of the ethnocentric class warfare that precluded the creative aspirations of that period vis a vis art versus commerce…”
Deal with THAT, woman. She sips her wine quietly. I think I pulled it off.
“Elaborate.”
Sadist! I hate this woman. She’s enjoying this. Where is that waitress?
“I would’ve assumed as an art major, you’d be able to fill in the blanks.” I smiled.
“Actually, I had mono part of the semester and had to take an incomplete. I missed that whole ethnocentric warfare thing.”
I nod. She could be lying. I remind myself the only reason I’m with her is you can bounce quarters off her ass. I could fake a dizzy spell. Excuse myself to the bathroom, pull the fire alarm. No, that’s the act of a coward.
“All you need do is examine Gauguin’s early work, which perfectly illustrates my theory.”
“Would you include Renoir and Monet in that category?’
“Dear Sarah, how can you employ a word like ‘category’ when referencing genius?”
Got her off balance. Wait – she’s forming that vicious smile, coming in for the kill. I must escape!
“Uh…excuse me;” I say. “I need to use the facilities.”
Freedom. Recoup. Strategize. She calls to me as I walk away.
“Louis. The fire alarm is in the other direction.” –Joe Del Priore