Loddy-Dah by Dolly Dennis

Author:Dolly Dennis [Dennis, Dolly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781550718324
Publisher: Guernica Editions
Published: 2014-12-02T16:00:00+00:00

At last, the long-awaited exhibition at The Gallery Den, a modest out of the way gem of an art gallery located on Greene Avenue in lower Westmount. Ulu and Loddy had just arrived, and both were making a beeline for the wine and cheese table when someone touched Ulu’s shoulder.

“Magnifique! Magnifique! You are so beautiful,” he said, then turned to Loddy: “And you, so brave.”

Dewey’s show with its biblical theme, Via Dolorosa, caused quite a commotion. “Sacrilegious! Pornographic! Hilarious! Provocative!” The reviews were good and bad. Fourteen photos depicted the Stations of the Cross and a naked Ulu played Jesus in each scene: from Last Supper to crucifixion. This last portrait sent everyone gagging on their Brie — Ulu with outstretched arms and blood dripping from a crown of thorns around her head like a bird’s nest. Woman crucified.

Loddy turned to Ulu. “What did that guy mean, so brave?”

“Didn’t you see the other room with Fury’s work and his students?”

“No. Like I thought it was only Dewey’s stuff.”

“Follow me and don’t be shocked.”

Loddy trailed behind Ulu in the crush of art connoisseurs who parted a path for them like the Red Sea. They were standing in the archway where Dewey’s exhibit ended and Fury’s began. A large sign on an easel, like a burlesque poster announcing the next performer, greeted them: Rubens’ Model.

“Oh. My. God!” A reluctant Loddy staggered to the middle of the room and pointed to The Blonde, arms crossed, lifting naked breasts, leaning against the canvas of Loddy portraying Venus and her Toilet.

“What’s she doing here?”

“Who, Loddy?”

“Don’t you see her?” She charged towards the figure, but as soon as Loddy reached for her, The Blonde disappeared like a burst soap bubble.

“You okay?” Ulu clutched her forearm.

“Don’t tell anyone okay?”

“Of course not. You can trust me, you know that, Loddy.”

“I’ve been, like, seeing this blond chick for a while now. She keeps popping into my life at the weirdest times. I must be going bonkers like Alma. You honestly didn’t see her?”

“Maybe you should get your eyes checked. Or maybe you should talk to someone.”

“Like someone at The Dougie? No way!”

“Maybe you just need a good vacation.”

“Or like maybe I just need a pill. Got anything?” She laughed. “Just joking.”

Then she saw. Loddy’s eyes darted around the room, zeroed in on the walls, back and forth, back and forth over the familiar canvases by Fury’s students. Some of the portraits were painted in the manner of Lucien Freud using a palette knife to penetrate thick wands of greens and blues into the skin of the canvas. Fury himself had sculpted a nude likeness of her, which was mounted on a platform in the centre, displayed like a hockey trophy — the Stanley Cup, to be lifted, celebrated.

“How dare he do that without my permission? No wonder everyone feels sorry for me.” She wheeled around only to collide into Fury who had been standing behind her all along.

“You! How could you? I thought those paintings were just for class.”

Those magnetic Italian eyes lured her once again, and then the dimpled grin.

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