The Art of Love by Anne Whitney

Author:Anne Whitney [Whitney, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Anne Whitney
Published: 2013-06-16T04:00:00+00:00

Before Derek can even dump his bags and say ‘hello’, Viridian drags him into a corner of the studio and sternly warns him not to bring up the topic of Fitz and myself, or he will “suffer greatly”. Wide-eyed, he nods and turns to give me a hug, bags of hot food and clothes slung across his arms.

“I do like that skirt on you,” he says, laying out steaming foil packets crammed full of goodies. “I must say, I am very good at my job.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any sweat-pants lying around at your job, would you?” I ask. The look Derek gives me is one of pure horror, as if someone just died. “Is that a no?”

“I can’t believe you would even ask that. I feel so dirty. V, hold me!”

“Sorry, but wearing short skirts and pants I practically have to be sewn into every day can be a little exhausting.”

“Fashion is exhausting!” He exclaims.

“Where have I heard that one before?” Viridian asks, dishing out plates for the three of us. “Unfortunately, sweetie, the rest of the world may not be ready for some of your more exhausting choices. I have no idea how you convince some women to wear the stuff you pick out.”

“I haven’t heard any complaints from you, V.”

“I know better.”

“Less talk, more food!”

We share the multiple packs of what I have been informed is Vietnamese food. Whatever it is, I heartily approve and gobble up whatever is offered to me. My appetite has been practically non-existent since I came to New York, but right now I’m starving and my stomach greatly appreciates such fantastic flavors and textures. Viridian and Derek chat away about tonight’s performance and his plans to “mentally fuck everyone in the room” and I am happy to sit silently and listen, appreciating the chance to just enjoy their company in a way I haven’t done before. They're just so much fun to be around. It can be tiring at times, I imagine, but it’s also very entertaining.

“That hula-hooping bitch started doing Bjork!” Derek yells with exasperation. “Bjork! At Legendary! And it wasn’t even the cute musical style song where she goes ‘Shhh’ a shit-ton; it was one of those artsy songs with like a keyboard and some animal noises or something. I don’t think they were real instruments; it might have just been cats. Anyway, so she’s got Bjork screeching like a human sacrifice, and then there are strings of cheap looking pearls being flung over her while she’s in the worst fitting body suit ever. And then she has the gall to call it art! What a pretentious bitch!”

“She sounds very familiar,” Viridian says, holding back a laugh.

“Why does it all have to be art?” Derek asks with his mouth half-full of noodles. “Can’t I just dress up, lip-sync to Kylie and fondle a totally willing participant without someone trying to tell me how it symbolizes my daddy issues or the human condition?”

“Fuck Freud!” Viridian exclaims.

“Yeah, fuck Freud!”

Derek’s phone goes off in his jacket pocket to the tune of Cher (of course), and he quickly answers.

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