"Patrick! I didn't know you were in this thing!"

"In it to win it," he replies.

"Been a long time, man -- when was the last time we got together?"

"Um, Luke's wedding -- no -- Katherine's last show."

Jesus, Katherine's last show. I was in town for a fairly good stretch that time and had been chasing this girl around kinda sorta. It was dumb, one of those things where you spend a lot of time pretending you are not interested in each other and finally get to believing it yourself after a while. Lame given the alternatives.

I'd just come off a migrane and run into Patrick at the door with my date for the night by my side. She mostly came as cover just in case I didn't know anyone but Katherine. That was pretty much the case and even Katherine didn't know I was there. I figured I'd surprise her after I'd seen her work. I could compliment the pieces that I liked and she'd get all happy and hopefully at the end of it we could all sleep together, though my date wasn't that type.

I'd run into Patrick having a clove cigarette out front of the place and he invited me to catch up in the alley where we smoked a little something the Scorpion's owners would rather not read about and went inside to see what was what and get some free food and wine.

Patrick ended up running into someone else he knew and wandered off -- pot will do that to you, leave a friend in the mire. I was left to peruse her work.

I'd only ever seen one other showing of hers at this weird space that seem to come and go. Coffee, music, antiques. The shows provide them something interesting to put on the walls between showings, maybe sell one or two but mostly just a source of cheap art for the place.

Everything there had been pretty mellow. Trees, seascapes, a couple of portraits.

Here, though -- man, something else. A lot of the same pices, confirming how I figure things would sell. And then there were the new pieces.

Did I ever mention that she was a vegetarian? No? Well, here was a rather stark painting about that. Big sad clown face over big red bowl of meat stew products. Boo hoo. Look at the murder in my bowl. Kind of lame, but in case you wondered whether she was an eco-vegetarian or a poli-vegetarian, nono, she's one of those psycho-vegetarians, and maybe that's art or apt or both.

A couple of other pieces. Some racier portraits drawn from life, female nudes. Yes, the idea of a girl I was chasing sitting around for long periods of time with a naked woman in her presence did good things for me. This good feeling suddenly sank like a rock when I saw her last piece.

It was a nude of herself, done in the most intimate way possible and in a manner leaving no detail to the imagination.

Here's how it goes:

First the artist steps out of their clothes. Next, the artist covers themselves over in paint. I imagine this is rather erotic for all particpants in the process at this stage. Conceptually, I like it because its slickness and nakedness and painting all together which is kind of hot in a lot of ways. Then, though, see -- you press your naked body up against the paper and get a print of what it would look like if you were to give someone a naked hug with all that paint.

This was a scenario -- without the paint -- that I had conceived of a great many times and had kind of been putting on my agenda.

The weed and the vacuum left by the headache crept up on me then and somehow I was sucked into every detail. In my mind's eye I could conceive exactly the firmness and true shape of her breasts. I could tell the delicate nature of her pubic hair and its not altogether unpleasant fullness. I could see how her nipples lined up and their size and erection -- paint tells you a lot about how it is supplied. There was little left to the observation and it came crashing down how this was as close as I'd ever get to getting her like this and how everyone in the room was going to take a piece of this home.

It came crashing down on me all at once and I wanted out. Out out out. Fuck this painting and fuck this gallery and fuck her for spreading herself this way with anyone but me. I stumbled out the front door just under her gaze. Who knows if she saw me and if she did what she felt.

How amazing she looked that night too. Her hair was done loosely, hanging like a red waterfall over rocks, tied back with a garland. Her outfit was simple but clean and stunning. She looked like a poor villiage's princess on festival day and how I wanted to join her but knew I could not even to cuddle with her.

"Man such a train wreck -- if you'll pardon the current situation."

"Not at all," he shouted over the whine of the train's commencement. "Let's plug in."