Five
5. (9/18/2009)
the artist.
An empty apartment.
Enter a woman.
Dark hair.
Paint underneath her fingernails.
Thick-rimmed glasses.
Something foreboding.
She carries two paintbrushes and a roll of canvas.
She sets the canvas up on an easel.
She pins it on the easel.
And cuts the roll.
A buzz at her apartment intercom.
She goes to the small speaker on the wall, covered in paint.
ARTIST: Hello?
VOICE: MMMMBBDASDMMM
ARTIST: Come on up.
She paces.
Nervous.
She goes and opens the door a crack.
Decides differently.
Closes it.
Immediatley upon closing it.
A knock.
She opens the door.
ARTIST: Hello.
VOICE: HI!
Are you…
ARTIST:
Cindy.
Hello.
…
VOICE: Should I come in?
ARTIST: Oh…
Hah.
Duh.
Yeah.
Come on in.
Enter Crawford.
Crawford is in college.
He wears a polo shirt.
Fuck it. He wears two.
One on top of the other.
Collars popped.
He wears khakis.
The front of his shirts is tucked in, the rest, fashionably untucked.
He is, for all intents and purposes, an Adonis.
An Adonis working on a BA in economics.
And the Social Chair of his fraternity.
And on the rugby team.
CRAWFORD: Thanks.
ARTIST: Yeah.
CRAWFORD: So…
ARTIST: Yeah..
Uh… I have a stool set up over there that you can uh…
Get comfortable on.
CRAWFORD: Yeah.
Crawford goes and sits on the stool.
ARTIST: Do you need a …
CRAWFORD: Oh…
Sorry.
Crawford takes his shirts off.
Then takes off his pants.
He is now completely naked.
He is well endowed.
He’s even better looking without clothing.
CRAWFORD: Sorry.
ARTIST: No.
That’s…
That’s… wow.
CRAWFORD: Sorry?
ARTIST: It’s just that…
When you….
I usually don’t get people who look like you.
CRAWFORD: Like me?
ARTIST: I don’t usually get people to respond to my ads who look like you.
Fifty dollars is rarely enough money to attract people that uh… look like you.
CRAWFORD: Oh…
It’s not the money.
ARTIST: Excuse me?
CRAWFORD: Well…
I need to fulfill an art credit to graduate.
ARTIST: Oh.
You’re in college?
CRAWFORD: Yeah.
I go to state.
ARTIST: Oh…
Go tigers!
CRAWFORD: Yeah.
Ha.
ARTIST: HA.
…
can I get you something to drink?
CRAWFORD: Do you…
Do you have a beer?
ARTIST: No.
…
I have vodka.
CRAWFORD: That’ll do.
The artist goes to a tiny mini-fridge and pulls a bottle of vodka out of the even minier mini-freezer inside of the mini-fridge. The bottle is rather not mini.
CRAWFORD: There’s a lot of paint everywhere.
ARTIST: Hazard of the trade, I guess.
CRAWFORD: Yeah.
…
so you’re an artist.
ARTIST: Yep.
CRAWFORD: What do you do to make money?
ARTIST: I’m an artist.
CRAWFORD: No shit.
ARTIST: It pays the bills.
Sometimes.
CRAWFORD: Well this place can’t cost much.
ARTIST: Rent-control.
CRAWFORD: That’s not to say that it’s not a nice place…
Rent control…
That’s nice.
ARTIST: Yeah.
…
I’m going to set up, so you can…
Just sit there I guess.
She sets up.
CRAWFORD: Is there a pose you want me to strike?
ARTIST: WE’ll get to that.
CRAWFORD: I was up all night, nervous about this.
I thought of some pretty nice poses.
If you want to see ‘em.
I’ve got some.
If you’re interested, you know.
ARTIST: Oh.
Okay.
CRAWFORD: This is the pose I would make if I just won the vince Lombardi trophy.
He poses. Triumphant.
ARTIST: Most of our poses are a bit more demure.
CRAWFORD: Oh.
ARTIST: Yeah.
…
just sit there. Like you would naturally.
CRAWFORD: Okay.
He sits. Unnaturally. But trying his hardest to look natural.
CRAWFORD: So you do this often?
ARTIST: Yeah.
CRAWFORD: Seen a lot of…
Uh…
Dudes?
ARTIST: Yeah.
I’ve seen a bunch of dudes.
CRAWFORD: That’s gotta be awesome.
You think if I was an artist, I could see a bunch of chicks?
ARTIST: Probably.
I see “chicks” too.
CRAWFORD: Awesome.
Gay.
ARTIST: What?
CRAWFORD: Oh. Nothing. I just thought.
If you have to look at chicks too.
I’d have to look at dudes.
Which means.
Well.
That’s just kinda gay.
ARTIST: If you liked it.
CRAWFORD: No.
I’m not into that.
I mean…
I’m not like…
Against it.
I just think.
I love chicks, okay?
ARTIST: This is a judge-free zone.
A pause.
CRAWFORD:
So what do you paint?
ARTIST: Canvas.
CRAWFORD: No, I mean, like what does your average painting look like?
ARTIST: Artist’s don’t have average paintings.
CRAWFORD: No, I mean, Like. What do your paintings look like?
ARTIST: Have you ever seen a painting by Bosch?
CRAWFORD: Nope.
ARTIST: It’s like a modernist adaptation of bosch paintings.
…
I don’t like to categorize myself.
…
I don’t like to specialize.
CRAWFORD: Really?
I used to think that too.
ARTIST: Why’d you change?
Try not to move as much.
CRAWFORD: Sorry.
I had to pick a major.
ARTIST: oh.
CRAWFORD: Econ.
ARTIST: I could have guessed.
CRAWFORD: Why?
ARTIST: Nothing.
CRAWFORD: No, why?
ARTIST: The way you carry yourself. The way you wear your clothes. That kind of thing.
CRAWFORD: Oh.
ARTIST: Oh.
CRAWFORD: I’m not just that, you know. I’m not just dow jones.
ARTIST: I’m sure.
CRAWFORD: I mean, I went to the ballet.
The opera.
My girlfriend took me to see wicked.
ARTIST:
CRAWFORD: So I know art.
ARTIST: Your girlfriend took you to wicked, huh?
CRAWFORD: Well…
Ex-girlfriend.
ARTIST: Because she took you to Wicked?
CRAWFORD: No…
‘cause she blew my brother at our engagement dinner.
ARTIST: Ah.
I can see why that wouldn’t work out.
…
…
CRAWFORD: …
Sorry.
…
didn’t mean to get all personal on you with that little tid…
…
bit.
ARTIST: No.
It’s okay.
…
I’ll tell you something personal.
CRAWFORD: No, you don’t have to.
ARTIST: No, I want to.
CRAWFORD: Okay.
ARTIST: I’m afraid I’m no good.
CRAWFORD: That’s not really all that personal.
Everyone feels that way.
ARTIST: No, I mean, like.
Well…
I’m afraid… there are so many artists that don’t really hit their prime until after they’ve died. Like people didn’t really appreciate them until they’ve died and I can’t stop thinking about how I don’t want that. I want to be liked now.
CRAWFORD: Well you could die, right?
ARTIST: Yeah, but that’s the opposite of what I want.
I want to be loved now.
CRAWFORD: Maybe you would be if you didn’t wear so much eye-shadow.
ARTIST: What?
CRAWFORD: Well, you look like…
I don’t know…
Dark.
ARTIST: I don’t’ give it much thought.
CRAWFORD: You don’t give it much thought even though you put that much time and effort into putting on eye make up?
ARTIST: Women in India get tattoos of make up so they don’t have to put it on.
CRAWFORD: You did that?
ARTIST:…
No.
CRAWFORD: oh.
…
ARTIST: This is shit.
She rips the easel down.
There is a breathless moment where she jumps on it.
He watches.
She looks up at him.
She rushes up to him.
Kisses him hard.
Steps away.
CRAWFORD: You probably couldn’t tell this by looking at me.
My favorite artist is Robert Rauschenberg.
My favorite piece of his is erased deKooning drawing.
He just erased a Willem deKooning.
It’s cool.
Because.
Well…
It’s like, someone put all of this effort to put something into existence, and this man’s art was to get rid of it.
It’s really interesting.
And you can’t do something like that anymore.
It’s hard to think of things happening like that.
ARTIST: I’m sorry for kissing you.
CRAWFORD: It’s okay.
…
you taste like cigarettes and pineapples.
ARTIST: I like both of those things.
CRAWFORD: Me too.
ARTIST: will you paint me?
CRAWFORD: I don’t know how to paint you.
ARTIST: Right.
But I mean.
CRAWFORD: Like on the.
ARTIST: Yeah.
The artist takes her clothes off and sits on the stool.
CRAWFORD: Okay.
Crawford paints the artist.
Both are naked.
Both are uncomfortable.
The painting is terrible.
Curain.
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