There I was walking like a flimsy piece of cardboard doll, without a soul, without a purpose. Correction, a flimsy cardboard doll whose soul and purpose in life has been stolen by a hoodlum of a guy. I never knew that betrayal could hurt this bad, I never knew that loving could really destroy a maiden heart.
With my checklist on hand firmly placed on top of my clipboard, I walked over to the front of the Monet on loan in our gallery. It was one of my duties as an assistant director to spot-check each and every art piece on display in the gallery.
Staring into the lighthouse in the distance, it reminded me of the day we went on a boat ride through the waters of Venice. It felt like the world didn't matter, it felt like we were in our own world following our own current.
The streams could not take us away as we were traveling against the current.
I thought that my eyeglasses became blurry and I took them off. While holding the brim I wiped it with the lens cloth on my pocket. But my vision remains blurry even after cleaning off the lenses of my glasses. Oh, yeah, that's it. Tears could really make that to your eyes.
"What do you see here? Does it really stir that kind of emotion?"
A voice came out of nowhere and I hurriedly tried to wipe my tears with my hand. I forgot that I was holding my clipboard and it fell to the ground. As I bent down to pick it up. A white handkerchief obstructed the way and the board was picked up by a guy. He was still extending the handkerchief and I took it out of pity.
"I love this piece as well, but it reminds me of the anger between calmness. It does not garner any tears from me. Unless you're crying because of another reason. Whatever it is, I am sure that he's not worth it."
The nerves of this guy! How could he judge the situation, how was he so smug to think that I was crying over a worthless guy? It doesn't matter that it's the truth, I just don't like him thinking that I look like such a girl who's got poor taste in men.
"Excuse me?!" I snapped at him as I took a peek at him.
Piercing blue eyes, medium-length hair of wooden brown which was covered partially by his fedora which was slightly slanted towards his right. He looked really dignified in a well-pressed suit and his shirt, dashing white accentuated by a thin black tie. Given that we were at the gallery, he looked like he belongs to the place of works of art.
He smiled at me and I stared at him.
"My apologies. I didn't mean to assume. I just didn't know how to approach the finest piece of art in the gallery, and it's much harder when that piece of art is crying."
Given that his face was adorable, I can't really be impressed because the line he just used was horrible. It was just terrible that I let out a chuckle. I couldn't resist my laughter. It was just too much.
"That line. Does that work? Like at all?" I say while still trying hard to control my laughter. I wiped my eyes, but this time those were tears from laughter. The good kind of tears.
"It just did. I made you laugh, didn't I? Mission accomplished I say." he confidently said.
I checked everything on the list upon checking the painting just as he easily checked the boxes of an outward gentleman. Looks may be deceiving but I know his type. I knew from the get-go that he's trouble. He also ticked all the boxes of a guy any woman should be wary of.
Maybe his line really worked since I was not feeling so down after having quite a laugh at his trying-hard remark. I moved on to the next painting on the wall.
"Ah, the Ballet Rehearsal, a Degas. Exquisite," he said.
I am not gonna lie, I was a bit impressed. From the way he dress, which was really sharp, to his smile, and to the gentleness of his voice, add into it his class and knowledge of art, I can really say that this guy was no ordinary man. But I tried hard to keep it in my skirt and between my lips.
"You know art huh? That's nice." I remarked.
"Ah, I dabble in the art trade. I'm Neal. Neal Scotfree." he said as he extended his hand for a shake.
"Mindy Saint-Pierre. Assistant Director of this gallery. So what do you do Mr. Scotfree?" I asked.
"Neal, please. Just call me Neal." he insisted.
"Alright, so Neal. What do you do?"
I could not forget the look on his face as he was absorbed in the monochromatic work of Edgar Degas. He was serious, he was lost with the paint and the brushstrokes in the painting.
"I'm an art thief." he said nonchalantly.
And in hindsight, I should have believed him, I mean I really did believe him, but I should have taken that as a huge warning sign not to indulge with him. But I guess, I was just powerless with his charms.
Hi there!!!
How have you been? I hope that you have been well today, even better than yesterday I hope.
Anyhow, this is the first part of a short story inspired by a song I was listening to while I was taking a morning jog around the park. When I heard the song, I wanted to really just stop and proceed in writing. I was just that excited about it. Although it really played much longer in my head, I just tried to make it simple, short, and sweet. I don't want to run another series in this profile. It's hard keeping up with all of them in one go, so I hope you enjoy this one, and I'll probably release the next and final part, later or tomorrow.
I really appreciate you being a part of my journey here, and I hope that you strap in for the long ride and we enjoy each other's company, and with that...
Cheers!!!
Author's Notes
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Series : Random Articles
Title : The Perfect Crime
Published : 25-Nov-2021
Author : © RBReferences:
Image 1 : googlearts.
Image 2: fb.com
Image 3 : Wikipedia.org
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