Sever

work of art.

芸術作品
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"For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream."
—van gogh
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INTRIGUING.
A work of art staring back at another. His eyes swept over the tapestry, slowly, as if re- creating the shot in his mind. The intricate detail of the thread, the weaving of generations coursing, among the colourful antiquity sewn through, the story of integrity and leadership drifting amongst the acres of his mind. Until he moved on. When all went astray. The components lost amidst other thoughts, but hadn't ceased... yet.

And he advanced to another and another, steadily braking at each frame. And I too followed fascinated by his seeming interest for tedious craft. For all I cared he seemed more compelling than the art itself. He dressed quite simply however, with a white, vintage MJ top tucked effortlessly into a pair of camel trousers, a style many couldn't pull off, still, he wore it with flair.

As he rested his hand beneath his lips, fingers curling on his cheek, he stopped at one, one I couldn't recall the name to, but knew it's pure presence was from none other than Van Gogh. He gazed at this one however, unlike the other works, as if meeting with an old friend. He photographed the painting in his mind once again and stared at the flow of the oil paints, the vast reflection of the Starry Night Over the Rhône as he smirked to himself.

Leisurely peeling his eyes from the artwork and rotating slightly to face me, I took notice of his considerably striking features, setting him apart from the rest of the nation: his ebony hair parted in the centre, a contrast to his bold eyes daring to meet my gaze; his curved nose adding to his fiery countenance as his cherry lips parted slightly. A simple piercing was situated on the lower lobe of his ear.

A distant ringing could be heard but I was too enticed by him, unaware that the vibrations were coming from my own pocket. Breaking of the stare, he politely pointed to my left jeans pocket, before walking off. Looking down, I clicked the home button on my phone.

'Oh shit.'

Lucas Cadieux was walking towards me with such power, yet such grace, and an indecipherable expression painted on his face. He stopped. Took a breath. And began. 'You dare not answer my call, is my call not important to you, is the business not important to you? We're trying to secure a partnership, not with you slacking off from work to gaze at a rather calloused boy!' The tone and speed of his voice gaining strength at every sentences break.

'You've only been here a month yet you seem to think it is OK to drink some champagne, marvel inside the Musée D'orsay and waste time. Pierre De la Rue could be coming any second.' His thick French accent was now starting to come through. 'Get your act together, or you could potentially lose your job!' He strode off oblivious to the many indescribable expressions that had been directed at him.

I straightened the crease in my skirt, gulped down the liquor and fixed my posture. Lucas was right, getting distracted wasn't part of the plan. My intention was to secure the business plan with Femme Fatale, they were a powerful company, one that could wield enormous influence within the corporations. Despite all, my mind wandered to the man.

Upon gazing at the Albert André (as it said on the plaque and not from my knowledge) I waited rather impatiently for the industrialist. 5 minutes. He hadn't come yet. 10 minutes. I tapped my foot impatiently. 15, 20 minutes. Yet no resolve. At this point I started to wonder where Mr 'Work of Art' was. Or why I had downed that drink. 30 minutes. Where was Lucas? I continued to walk around the museum, the art so monotonous managed to intrigue certain individuals. 40 minutes.

The museum became bare and uninhabited, the only people left were a sole elderly woman who'd been there since before I had come and had collided with me several times (whether by accident or on purpose was unbeknownst to me), a couple along with their child and a security official who'd been patrolling since supposedly this morning, seeing as he had been grouching about his long hours for God knows how long.

50 minutes.

At long last, Lucas came striding in with Pierre De la Rue. A tall, elegant gentleman, exactly how he'd seemed in his portfolio. He wore a polished, grey suit with a black undershirt tucked roughly in. It seemed like Lucas and Pierre had gotten more than acquainted in the time I had to mercilessly twiddle ones thumbs. Nonetheless I had a role to uphold.

'Bonsoir, Monsieur De la Rue, I've been waiting for your attendance.' I shook hands with him, courteously, but slowly demolishing his career in my mind. 'Bonsoir Madame, have I kept you waiting?' Only an hour you dimwit but I've decided you're unworthy of my torment. 'No, not at all, shall we continue this at Les Climants, I've heard the food there is quite impressive.' Of course the first place my mind ventured to was a restaurant, I felt deprived of proper good food.

'So I've heard you acquired a new manager for Femme Fatale. Is it true?' I crossed my fingers in front of me, Lucas had left long ago stating he had an urgent matter to attend to. 'My darling not to be at all prudent, however this sounds more like an interview than it does for small talk.' Mr Del la Rue stated.

Pierre Del la Rue was a tall man in his 40s, a puissant man, but with no special acquisition except business, though he was known in the management world as 'L'amant des femmes.' The lover of women.  His coloured hair was slicked back and parted to the side, even so, streaks of grey managed to reveal themselves. 'Well I am trying to secure a partnership with you.' I said, spiralling the tagliatelle.
'Straightforward I see... sexy' He said to himself.
I retched, 'I'm sorry what?' I had stopped swirling.
'Oh no my dear, I'm just running through concepts for our new parfum line.' He ran a hand through his hair, 'But please dearest, tell me more about yourself.'
I composed myself and passed it off as a misunderstanding, though I was starting to repulse his pet names, there was at least a 20 year gap between us.

However I concluded small talk would be the safest option, in order to get him on board. Time passed moderately and the dimly lit restaurant was starting clear out. I'd have to say, talking with Mr Del la Rue was enlightening to say the least, but I'd have much rather stayed at home, in the comfort of my apartment. 'Well, it's been a pleasure conversing with you, I believe we have a deal, however it is getting rather late, goodnight.' I said as briefly as possible.

'How about I take you, where do you live?' The man was really digging his own grave.
'Ah, thank you, however I'm alright travelling alone. I'm sure your wife is anticipating your arrival as well.' I grabbed my handbag from the floor, urging to leave this hellhole.
'My wife would be more than thrilled to see you too,'
'I'm not sure exactly what you mean.' I was slowly edging away from him, loathing to meet his eyes. A new aura had come over Pierre Del la Rue, all fidelity dissipated.

'He means he's yearning for you as his mistress, mademoiselle.' Perusing my eyes, I took note of the white, vintage MJ top tucked effortlessly into a pair of camel trousers.

Mr 'Work of Art'.
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