A Not So Lonely Planet by Karina Kennedy

Author:Karina Kennedy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: A not so Lonely Planet
ISBN: 9781627785259
Publisher: Cleis Press
Published: 2021-04-25T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

How Not to Win An Argument

AT THIS POINT, IF: you have managed to sabotage a group artistic endeavor.

YOU SHOULD: keep your head down, stick close to your friends, and say little.

DO NOT: wait until the artist is drunk and follow him alone into the library.

Library, Casa di Pavone: Friday, 11:12 p.m.

I slip stealthily into the silent oasis, away from the noise of the after-dinner party. Frantonio has a half-finished bottle of Brunello in his hand, and he’s perusing titles.

“That fountain mess was not my fault,” I say with quiet indignation. At the sound of my voice, Frantonio turns and gives me a tired, bemused look.

“You? No. Go away. Out.” He points to the door and turns back to the shelf.

“Excuse me? I am not a dog.”

“No. Dogs piss on trees, not people,” he says coolly, without looking at me. Wow. He’d avoided me throughout dinner and afterward. Was he really that mad? “You completely ruined my photo shoot.” Yes. He was.

“You’re being melodramatic.” He doesn’t say anything, just ignores me and continues to search the shelf. “I read about Virginia Oldoini. She was considered influential because she directed these weird, fantastic photos. She was in charge. Not bullied into it because she was put on the spot.”

“She had a disciplined respect for detail and patience for perfection. You could learn from her.”

“You took a bunch of photos before it all fell apart. Why are you so bent out of shape? Because somebody’s left butt cheek or kneecap was slightly in shadow?” He takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes, but still says nothing. “People had fun,” I say. “Everyone left laughing and screaming. You got your pretentious porno photo, but you’re still pouting.” At this, he suddenly turns on me, his face flushed—from the wine or temper, or both.

“Pretentious?”

“Yeah. Pretenzioso. Pompous, overblown.” His eyes narrow, but I’m on a roll.

“I’m an artist. I won’t be judged by a naïve American girl whose idea of art is using digital stickers on her iPhone.”

“You don’t even know me! I’m an artist too. I’m a writer.”

“Really? What have you published? My work has shown all over Europe.”

“Yeah, Regina showed me the book from your Paris exhibition. It was lazy and uninspired.”

“That’s not what the critics said in the culture section of Le Monde.”

“I’m sure they didn’t. You’re so used to people blowing sunshine up your ass all the time, you couldn’t see that your Spencer Tunick bird bath was about as profound as my mother’s Noah’s Ark quilt.”

“You didn’t seem so unimpressed with me last night on your knees,” he snaps.

“I didn’t know your head was harder than your cock!” I snap back. We’re nose to nose, nostrils flaring. He stares. I stare. I can feel my heart beating, blood pumping. There is anger, but there is also incredible sexual tension in the fury. I know he feels it too. For a millisecond, I actually think he’s going to grab me and kiss me. But this time, he does not. He simply shakes his head, gives a defeated chuckle, and retreats.

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