AAA Detective Story - Checking out the Surrealist - Part 5

 

The room is quiet aside from the sound of the fluorescent lamps. Lena’s shoulders droop for a moment. “I haven’t used that name in a while. How did you know?”

Ken points to a covered couch. “Can we sit, if we are going to talk?”

She nods and removes her paint smock, hanging it on a hook near the canvas she was working on. She is still wearing the same plain looking dress from earlier. Ken stands by the couch and waits for her to sit before he does.

“So, Mister Cooper, how did you know and who are you working for?” She asks in an almost resigned tone.

“I’m employed, as I said earlier, by a wealthy man who wishes to purchase some of your artwork. But as you know, there are people claiming to be someone they are not and sometimes selling other people’s work. I was hired to make sure that ‘Charles Pauline’ was real and not some sort of conman…..He’s fake but you are real.”

She slowly nods. “Ok. So, what are you going to do with this information? Sell it, extort something from me? Try to use it to control me?”

Ken goes almost wide-eyed with the accusations. “No. You misunderstand. I won’t do anything with it. But if you explain to me, why the deception, I will tell my employer that Charles Pauline is an artist worth investing in.”

She leans back in the couch for a moment, her small frame looking as if it was about to be swallowed by it. She notices the cigarette pack in his pocket. “Puis-je avoir une cigarette?” Her voice sounding soft and almost lost. He pulls out the pack and hands her one, then flips open the Zippo. She slowly inhales and then coughs, before leaning forward and inhaling again. This time she slowly exhales a small cloud. “You know you Americans got me smoking again. After the camps.”

He lights himself one. “So, the last article I could find on you was in May of 1936. What happened to you after that?”

She explains that she went to Spain to fight with the Republicans, then fled to Paris. When the Nazi invaded, she and her lover Angelique were arrested as communists, and forced into the labor camps, where Angelique died.

Ken finishes his cigarette. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I suspected it because of your art. But I’m sorry for what you endured.”

She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “Damn you for making me remember her. Damn me for thinking I could forget her and replace her with Isabeau.”

Ken lets her sit in silence for a moment, the smell of burning tobacco, and paint, mix with the sound of the lights. Then he breaks the silence “So why have Charles be the figurehead?”

She goes into detail how, after the camps she was helped by the Refugee Agencies, where she met ‘Isabeau’ and ‘Charles’ who were aid workers. She needed to paint but didn’t want the spotlight or fame. Charles and Isabeau agreed to help her.

“What are their real names?” Ken asks quietly.

She slowly shakes her head, “It doesn’t matter, because they are now Charles Pauline and Isabeau Herrera. The painter and his model.”

“And you are just Lena, their assistant.” Ken nods. He then stands up. “Ok. I’ll tell Mister Huddler to buy whichever paintings you will sell him. He’s a good man, and I won’t tell your secrets.”

She stands up, drops the cigarette and puts it out on the concrete floor. “Ok, Mister Cooper. Do you wish to model for me?”

Ken nervously swallows. “I’m not really one to get naked and be ordered about. But I will help however I can, being I interrupted your work.”

“Bien. Which paintings does your employer want copies of?” She asks as she walks over and puts the smock back on.

“He really liked ‘Circumcised Banana’ and thought about buying ‘Vulva on the Half-Shell, with Clitoris’ for his wife.” Ken says as he removes his necktie, and shirt.

“Interessante. Ok, reproducing copies of those is not difficult. I am satisfied with my models, though….” She says as she pauses and looks at Ken’s crotch. “Pull down your trousers. I wish to see your penis.”

Ken does as she asks, but he is still soft as he holds it.

“Remove your shorts and sit on the couch.” She says in a more commanding tone. She picks up her palette and brush and moves to a blank canvas. “Now slowly stroke it. Move the foreskin up and down.”

At that point Isabeau and Charles return, carrying a bottle of wine and a few glasses. “Lena, I thought you might be thirsty. And….Oh.” Isabeau stops for a moment. “Is he tonight’s model?”

Lena sets the palette down, and pours a glass of wine, then gives it to Ken. “Drink a bit, see if it helps you relax.” She then pours a glass for herself, sips it and sets it by the palette. “Isabeau, can you sit on the chair, and masturbate? I think it will help excite Mister Cooper.”

Charles takes a sip of his wine and leans against a crate, just watching and keeping out of Lena’s field of view.

Ken watches as Isabeau sits, opens her robe, spreads her legs, and slowly rubs herself. He watches as the light catches her opening lips, as she moves her fingers up and down. Her palm resting on the trimmed dark pubic patch. Ken licks his lips. He understands why Charles was so happy to be licking her. Her pussy looks so tasty.

He hears Lena say softly. “Bien, look at the color…. Nicely shaped tip.”

Ken glances at Lena. “Non!. Focus on Isabeau. Keep stroking” He focuses on Isabeau as she also now plays with her beautifully hard nipples. “Magnifique.”

He continues to stroke the same tempo that she moves her fingers. She then parts her lips and works two fingers in and out. He hears her breathing as she closes her eyes and fantasizes about some lover. Ken’s cock is so hard now, and he feels the slickness of his precum. Isabeau’s face goes flush and her thighs close around her hand as she moan loudly. Ken shoots his load all over his hand. “Bien, Magnifique.” He hears her say.

Charles walks over and hands Ken a towel. As he wipes himself off, Ken glances at the painting. The sides of the banana skinned penis have semen dripping down it. There are outlines on the foreskin banana for something to be dripping down it too.

Isabeau stands and covers up again, then slowly walks to Lena. “Do you need me to stay, mi amor?” Lena turns and kisses her on the lips. “Non. I have work to do. You and Charles gave me enough for the earlier one, and now you and Mister Cooper have given me what I want.”

Ken looks at her. “Is there anything else?”

Lena turns, “Non, we are done. I might title it ‘Banana with Cream’ ”. She says with a wicked smile.

The next day the sky is cloudy as a cold weather front moves through. Ken has the windows open but didn’t cancel the day’s ice. “You never know how the weather can change.” He explains to the delivery guy.

 Joan comes in, in a happy mood. “Well I didn’t have to bail you out last night, and apparently Pete teaching the band his mouth exercises have helped keep some of the band member’s girlfriends and wives very happy. Though the drummer keeps protesting.”

Ken pours his second cup of coffee and smiles. “And because Pete’s happy, you’re happy.”

“You know it, Boss. So how did it go?”

He sits back down. “It went okay. I’ll call Teddy in a bit and tell him to buy whatever he wants.”

She fills her cup too. “So you figured out what was bugging you?”

Ken sighs for a moment. He could tell Joan the truth, but she’s the biggest gossip in the building. He could say nothing, but she’d keep bugging him until she got an answer, so he decides to do what he does fairly well, give her a half-truth and hide the rest. “Charles works with both Isabeau and Lena to make the paintings. It is a collaborative effort. Together they draw inspiration from each other.”

Joan sits down, her skirt riding up showing a mouth-shaped bruise in the inside of her thigh. “So which one was in the camps?” She asks.

“Lena. She was a communist, arrested, and put in a labor camp for the war.”

The light in Joan’s eyes goes out as she pictures the frail brunette as a prisoner in one of the paintings. “Is she gonna be okay?”

Ken smiles, “Yes. She’s going to be fine. That’s why she works with Charles and Isabeau. They help each other.”

“Do you need me to get today’s paper?” she asks after a few minutes.

“Sure. Tell Pop, “Hi” and remind him he can come up for a cup of coffee anytime he wants.”

She grabs her purse, “Ok. Be back in a minute.”

While she’s gone, Ken picks up the phone and calls Theodore’s direct line. They talk for a bit as Ken tells the same story he just told Joan. “Yes the artist is real, but it is just more of a collaborative effort than one man. Buy what you want.”

“Thank you. You will get your monthly retainer and a bonus.” Theodore then hangs up.

Joan comes back up with the paper, and half a pack of camels. “Pop said that his wife found the open pack. You paid for them so they’re yours. I didn’t think you liked Camels Boss.”

He takes them from her and puts them in the desk drawer.

A few days later, as Ken is in the office, reading in the paper about “M. Charles Pauline and associates are leaving the city for their next stop in their tour of North America.” He hears a knock on the door and Joan answers it. He hears a familiar voice say “I have a delivery for Mister Cooper, courtesy of Mister Huddler.”

Ken gets up from his desk, telling Ramon to bring it in there. Ramon carries in a large flat package wrapped in brown paper, secured with twine. Once it is flat, Ken cuts the string. As they unwrap it, there are two paintings and a note.

“Mister Cooper, as we agreed here is the bonus you requested. Monsieur Pauline said there was a second painting that you were to have too. It is an interesting piece, more to my tastes than yours but I was told it is a gift for you. T. Huddler”

He folds the note and looks at the paintings. The first is the lamp with the fish for a light. Ken smiles at it. On the back it says #22 of 50.

He gives it to Joan but she is looking at the other one as she gasps and Ramon comments “Oh My.”

Ken looks at what is obviously his erection, with jism dripping along the sides, facing a banana with chocolate sauce dripping in the same pattern. On the back is written “Banana Crème” #2 of 10.

“Ramon, did Mister Huddler see this one?” Ken asks.

He smiles, “I assume he did. He was in the back with them as they wrapped them up. I stayed in the gallery. It is a very nice piece. Almost nicer than “Circumcised Banana”. This would look amazing next to it.”

While Joan hangs the first painting, Ramon takes a thick envelope from his jacket and places it on the desk. “This is for you too. Mister Huddler said it is your retainer and a little something extra. He told me it was ‘fraud insurance’.”

Ken pockets the envelope without even opening it. “Thank him for me, Ramon. Is there anything else?”

He notices that Ramon slowly licks his lips as he looks at the painting. “No. But it is a very nice piece. I hope you enjoy it.” He then turns and leaves.

Joan returns to Ken’s office. “Gee, Boss, that looks a little like yours.” She says with a wink and a smile. “Any idea where you’re going to hang it?”

He wraps it up in brown paper. “I’ll take it back to my apartment and find somewhere for it.” He reaches into his pocket for the envelope, “Here, count it and take it to the bank.”

She finishes counting it and puts it in her purse. “That’s a nice bonus we got.”

Ken sits back down at his desk, picks up the newspaper, then glances at the wrapped painting. “Yes it is.”

(I hope you enjoyed “Checking out the Surrealist”. If you enjoy this; Leave me a Comment. If you enjoy my writings follow and subscribe. Come back next Friday for a new story. Be Seeing you….)

AAA Detective Story - Checking out the Surrealist - Part 4

 

After Ken and Joan return to the office, he takes her notes and adds a few of her comments to his notebook. “Joan. Did you hear Isabeau speak?”

She thinks about it, “Yeah Boss, what of it?”

“Did you notice an accent? Something that made her sound foreign?” He asks as he writes “Lena — accented English”

“Not really, but I only asked her how much a couple of those painting cost.” She replies.

“So if she is the model who inspired all of his work, they would have had to meet in Paris, Madrid, or London?” He says as he sits back and pulls a fag from pack in his pocket.

“Maybe she’s an American who did modeling in Europe. Maybe she was a WAC, a Nurse, or a volunteer who stayed to become a model?” Ken writes Isabeau’s name then starts writing versions of it, Isabelle, Elisabeth, Eliza, Bessie, and Betty.

“You might have it, Joan. Maybe she came to Europe to help with the wounded or refugees, encountered the painters, who offered to paint her. She liked the work and that’s how we got here.” He takes a drag on his cigarette and blows smoke from his nose.

He picks up the phone and dials Mister Huddler’s private number.

“Mister Huddler’s office. How can I help you?” Ramon says in a friendly, but professional tone.

“Hi Ramon, I need to speak to Theodore. It’s about last night.” Ken says in a tone that matches his.

In a moment Theodore’s voice comes over the receiver. “Mister Cooper, what can I do for you?”

Ken notices that Teddy’s tone is a bit more business-like. “Mister Huddler, last night when we heard Charles speak, did you detect an accent?”

There is a pause for a moment. “Not really. There was that ‘showman’s’ tone of voice, but not the accent of non-English speaker. I assume that when he studied, he improved his English to better attract British and American patrons.”

Ken writes down Teddy’s thoughts. “That’s a possibility sir.”

“Mister Cooper, do you still suspect some kind of fraud?”

“I wouldn’t call it fraud, but there’s something wrong. I’ll get back to you when I figure it out.”

“Please do. And Mister Cooper, if the artwork is genuine, you will have the one you wanted in your office soon.”

“Thank you, Sir. Have a good day.” Ken finishes and hangs up.

Joan walks over to the fan and enjoys some of that ice cooled air blowing on her. Ken looks up and realizes that under her thin dress, she has a thick bra, supporting her. He chuckles to himself for a moment.

“What’s funny Boss?” She asks.

He blows a cloud of smoke into the air. “Just thinking about what your brassiere is covering.”

She puts a protective arm across her chest. “You saw them once and that was enough. These are for Pete now. Oh, I forgot to tell you. I talked with Marcy and the girls last night. They was all surprised to know that cunnilingus is a regular thing. I told them that the Greeks and Romans did it for their women. They didn’t believe me until Miss Julie, apparently overheard and came over. She told us, that not only did they do it in ancient times, but guys who’s been to Europe do it too.” She steps away from the fan. “So when they finished their night, Pete was all smiles because the ladies were giving their guys the what for.”

Ken leans back and finishes his cigarette. “So Pete was a little more gentile on you last night?”

“I wouldn’t say gentle but after he warmed up his mouth again, I told him I wanted to do that fil-a-whats-it on him. Like you said yesterday Boss, an even exchange.”

He sits up and looks at her. “That’s what I’m missing. What’s being exchanged? What’s he get out of it.” He flips through his notes.

“What do you mean Boss? Pete got me to suck his dingus. Fair’s fair.” Joan says defiantly.

Ken shakes his head. “No. I’m talking Charles Pauline. If he isn’t the artist, what’s he getting out of it. If he is the artist, what’s the deal with Lena?”

“That little woman at the gallery? Isn’t she his manager or something? Isabeau seemed to follow her directions.” Joan says as she pours some water into her empty coffee cup.

Ken quickly draws a triangle in his book, he labels each corner; Charles, Isabeau, and the top of the triangle is Lena.

“So, what’s next?” Joan asks as she sits down.

“I’m going back to the Gallery tonight, after they close.”

Joan looks a little worried. “I hope you know what you’re doing. I don’t think we got money to get you out if you get pinched.”

He gets up, grabs his hat and jacket, “I’m going out. Enjoy your night with Pete, and tell Miss Julie I said ‘Hi’.”

She stands up. “You don’t want me to come with you?”

He shakes his head as he heads for the door. “Nope. Besides who’ll get me out if the coppers nab me?” He says with a wink and a smile.

The afternoon sun is hot, as Ken drives around. He sees which hotels are near the gallery and sees if a Mister Charles Pauline is registered as a guest. None of them have him nor Isabeau or Lena. Though he doesn’t have last names for them. It’s possible that they are in a hotel farther away from Bryce Gallery, but he takes a chance that there is another option. “The Gallery was an old factory, so what’s in that back section. Isabeau said it was the Studio space. It might have more back there.” Ken says as he parks the car in a secluded part of the parking lot. With the window’s rolled down, he sits back, puts his hat over his eyes and takes a nap.

He wakes up all covered in sweat. He pulls a handkerchief from his glovebox and wipes himself dry. He checks the time. It’s after 8 and the sun is down. The sky is an inky blue with a line of dark orange on the horizon. The parking lot looks empty, and he notes that the lights are off in the main building.

Ken gets out of the car and slowly walks around to the rear of the building. He doesn’t know what type of alarm they have, but the gallery probably has something on the front door.

At the rear of the main building is a smaller building. The windows are aglow with lights, so there is something going on. Ken continues walking quietly, and looking for a rear door. Eventually he finds one. He slowly and quietly turns the handle….click..it is unlocked. Ken, as quietly as he can, slips in through the door, and makes sure it is closed behind him. The room he’s in is the old feed stock store house for the papermill. There are boxes and crates, stacked three high. A few of the crates are open, and Ken sees that they have wooden slats in them. These were used to ship the paintings. The shipping labels read that they were from London, England, which tracks with his research. Maybe he is barking up the wrong tree. Everything points to a good artist trying to trying to make a name for himself. He stops and freezes, when he hears voices.

He can’t make out what’s being said, just that one voice is female and the softer one seems to be male. He hears what sounds like a slap, and then the female voice yelling “Down on your knees! Mets-toi à genoux et lèche-lui la chatte! Do you understand?!”

Ken slowly moves between the crates to the other end of the building.

There is more light in that area, and he sees easels and canvases set up. He can smell the acrylic and oil paints. “This must be the studio area, that Isabeau mentioned.” Ken thinks.

“Oui! That’s it…. Lick her. Put your face between her legs. Utilise ta langue!” the female voice commands.

Ken slowly peers around a stack of crates and sees a naked man on all fours, Isabeau, naked too with her legs spread, and Lena painting. The exaggerated tongue on the canvas looks like it is being devoured by an open vulva which looks like a cross between a vagina and a mouth.

“That’s why! She’s the artist!” Ken says aloud and everyone stops and looks at him.

Lena puts down her paint brush and palette, grabs a rag to wipe her hands and then yells “Come from behind the Crates! Come here now! Vite Vite!”

Ken steps into the light. “I’m sorry to interrupt you while you are working. But I had questions…”

“And now you have answers!” Lena shouts at him.

A soft voice from behind her asks “Should we stop and take a break?”

Lena sighs, “Oui, Charles, get dressed. We’ll stop for now. Isabeau, you can put something on too, if you want.”

Ken notices that Isabeau’s pink nipples are hard and tasty looking, and definitely the inspiration and model for some of the erotic art pieces. She gets up and grabs a robe. She then walks over to Lena. “Can I use the toilet, while we’re taking a break.”

Lena places a gentile hand on her neck, “Oui, mon amour. Do what you need.” Then kisses her lips.

As both Charles and Isabeau leave the studio area, Lena looks at Ken. There is a fire in the eyes of this small woman. “You have interrupted me and distracted my models. I don’t know if I want to scream at you, or have you get naked so I can paint you.”

Ken leans against one of the crates feeling a little shocked. “It makes sense.” He says, then pulls out his note pad and pen. “You are Charlene Paulis.”

(I hope you enjoyed Part 4 of “Checking out the Surrealist”. My plan is to do this in a few parts over the next couple of days. If you enjoy this; Leave me a Comment. If you enjoy my writings follow and subscribe. Come back for Part 5. Be Seeing you….)

AAA Detective Story - Checking out the Surrealist - Part 3

 

As the sun tries to shine through the hazy, humid morning, Ken opens the windows to his office, then pulls off his shirt, before it gets too wet. His t-shirt will get wet enough. Then he walks over to the basin. The water from the melted ice block is tepid. He dumps it down the drain, then picks up the phone and dials the operator. “This is the Operator, how may I help you?” a high-pitched female voice asks. 

“Yeah, please connect to Mike’s Ice and Oil.”

After a moment she says “Sir, we have a Mike’s Oil, Ice, and Fuel Company, is that who you mean?”

“Yes, please.” He says as he sits down. The phone rings and then another female voice says “Mike’s Oil, Ice, and Fuel, how can I help you?”

The operator says, “We have…”

Ken speaks up, “Thank you Operator, I’ve got it from here. Hi, this is Ken Cooper of AAA Detective agency, and I want to place an order for an Ice block to be delivered to my office for the next few days.”

“What size do you want? 10 pound, 20 pound, or 40 pound?” She asks in a professional tone.

He thinks about the basin and how yesterday’s 10-pound block was the right size. “A 10-pounder will do.”

He can hear her writing down his information, “Will you be paying cash for that in advance or bill at the end of the week?”

He pulls the folded stack of bills from his pocket. “I’ll pay for the week when he brings up today’s order.”

“Very well, sir. Thank you for calling Mike’s Oil, Ice, and Fuel.” And then she hangs up.

Ken hangs up the phone and then turns on the fan. The air in the office is still and thick, even this early in the morning. He then makes some coffee and reviews his notes from last night.

In a few more minutes, Joan comes in, wearing another thin summer dress. When the light is right, Ken can almost see right through it. “Good Morning Joan, isn’t it a little warm for nylons?” He asks as he fills his mug.

“Good morning, Boss. Coffee’s ready? Great. And No, these ain’t too hot to wear. During the war, we couldn’t get them, so I wore leg makeup. When the war ended and stockings were back in the stores, I told myself I was always wearing the real thing when I wanted.” She says as she pours herself a cup. Then she notices the pages of notes that Ken is flipping through. “So how did last night go, Boss?”

Ken circles a few things, “Paris”, “Madrid”, and “London”. He then writes “Fleeing the Nazi’s?”, “Post-war refugee?”

“So is his work any good?” Joan asks and then sips her coffee.

Ken isn’t really listening to her but responds “Yeah, good technique, strange ideas, and maybe some wartime trauma.”

“Wow, must have been some show. What’s this “Circumcised Banana” and “Vulva on the Half-shell, with Clitoris”?” She asks reading his notes.

He leans back for a moment. “Those are part of a collection he did, focusing on sexual body part. What time does the public library open?”

“Same as always, 9 AM. Why?”

He leans forward again, “Because we need…” There is a knock on the outer door.

“Let him it, that’s probably the ice man.” Ken says, as he slowly opens his desk drawer, just in case he is wrong.

Joan opens the door, “Oh Hi. Back again? You can put it the same place as yesterday.”

Ken hears the voice of the ice guy as he sets down the block on the basin. The fan’s breeze is instantly cooler. He then turns towards Ken. “The office said that you were paying cash?”

Ken stands up and pulls the bills from his pocket. The ice man counts them and then pulls a receipt book from his shirt pocket. He quickly writes out a receipt and hands Ken the carbon copy. “Thank you Sir. See you tomorrow.”

Joan closes the door as he leaves, and Ken shuts the windows again. r“Smart call, Boss. Are you getting ice for the whole week?”

Ken sits back down and finishes his coffee. “Yeah, I think the weather’s going to be hot all week.” He then looks down at his notes again. “So the Library opens at 9. In a little bit, we need to go there. Bring a pen and a note pad, we need to do some research.”

Ken explains how they are going to look at various magazines, art books, and newspapers to see what we can find out about M. Charles Pauline.

By Noon, Joan had gone trough stacks of magazines and books. Ken focused on the newspapers, especially the foreign ones. Joan found a few recent articles in an English Art Magazine, with photos of Charles standing next to a lamp with a fish on one side and a black and white scribble on the other. The article talks about a brilliant new French artist who studied in France and Spain, showing his art in London. Ken looked for any mention of him in both Spanish and French language papers. He’s not fluent in either language but he can look for names. He couldn’t find anything. In a couple of pre-war articles from Paris, he found a similar name, Charlene Paulis, but that was a woman. He couldn’t find any photos or descriptions, only that she was a new artist working in the surrealist style. “Joan, do you want to see the actual pieces of art?” Ken asks as he puts away his notebook, and set the binders of news articles on the return desk.

“What do you mean, Boss?” she asks as she gathers up her books too.

“There is a public showing this afternoon. I am going over, and I’d like your thoughts.”

“Ok. Do you want to see my notes?” She asks.

“Not yet. While we’re there, take notes on anything you see or feel.” He says as he heads for the door.

This time the parking lot is only a quarter full, but then Ken realizes “Of course. Most everyone is still at work.”

“What’s that, Boss?” Joan asks.

“I was just realizing what time it is and why there are so few cars in the parking lot.”

“Oh. Can we go inside?”

He sets his fedora on the dashboard. “I won’t need that inside. If you get chilled, tell me and you can have my jacket.”

She nods but looks confused. Just as last night, the cool air greets them as they open the door. “Wow, Boss, better than a fan with ice.”

He smiles and nods. He immediately notices that the reception table is gone, along with all of the serving trays. Some of the paintings have been adjusted too. He takes Joan’s hand, and leads her towards the alcove. “Follow me and tell me what you think.”

When he turns the corner, he is surprised. All of the sexually graphic paintings have been replaced. In the place of “Circumcised Banana” is a painting of black birds dropping bombs, the landscape is pitted and burned as rats wearing helmets and gas masks scurry for cover. The colors are blacks, greys, oranges, and reds. It’s titled “A Murder of Crows”.

Another painting shows barbed wire fences, and dogs and pigs guarding sheep that are shorn. The faces are all exaggerated to looking almost human, with the guards looking lustful and hungry, and the prisoners vacant eyed and starving. The title of this one is “Safe at Home”. 

Where there had been twisted sexual organs, now there are images of war, prisons, and labor camps. Another painting that he stops at, shows stylized skeletons, lined up, extending empty bowl, as a grossly fat cook ladles drips that are blood red. It’s called “Food for the Hungry.”

Ken breaks out into a cold sweat. The artist was in one of the camps. He feels sick for a moment. He remembers what some of his buddies who liberated the camps in Belgium, France, and Germany, had told him. Skeletons who had been starved and worked to death. Women and men, abused in ways only twisted minds can dream up.

“Is this what you wanted to show me, Boss?” Joan quietly asks. “These are gross, and ugly, but so’s war.”

He swallows the burning sick in his throat and then writes down the titles of more of these.

Joan is writing too. She points to “A Murder of Crows”. “That one was in the London show.”

He looks up and sees that on her notes from the library, she has none of the sexually explicit items listed, but a mixture of the abstract, surreal, and war themed titles.

“When we get back to the office. I’ll look more closely at your notes.”

The other people in the gallery are slowly moving from painting to painting. Some gasp, or look confused. There are even a few who give a dry laugh, but none of them walk deeper into the alcove. They all seem to glance at the pain and ugliness and turn away.

Ken looks around for Charles but the only face he sees from last night is Isabeau. Though unlike last night’s barely there dress, today, her hair is in a bun, and she is wearing a blue and white polka-dot dress. The dress helps to cover her more luxurious curves, but it’s obvious to anyone who see her that she moves like a model. Today she has a clipboard and pen. Ken walks up to her. “Hi, aren’t you Isabeau? I was here last night. I’m Ken Cooper. My client wanted a second opinion about the paintings before purchasing any of them.” He extends his hand.

She smiles politely and shakes it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mister Cooper. I’m sorry but I don’t remember you from last night. But I’m happy to see that you returned.” She uncaps the fountain pen. “Do you know the names of the pictures that your client wants to buy.”

He steps closer and lowers his voice. “They were a couple of paintings that had been in the alcove last night.”

She knowingly nods. “I see. Do you know which ones?”

He nods, “I do, but I wanted to see them in the day, without champagne dulling my senses. Where are they?”

She leans in and whispers, “We moved them into the studio space. We didn’t think they were appropriate for the general public.”

“Who’s we?” Ken quickly asks.

A slightly flustered look comes across her face. “I mean Charles. He decided. It was his decision what to show to wealthy buyers, and what to show to the public.”

Ken nods. “That makes sense. Where is Monsieur Pauline right now? I would like to talk to him.”

Before she can answer, the small almost frail brunette, from last night comes up. “Is there a problem, Isabeau?”

Isabeau almost looks relieved, “Lena, this is Mister Cooper, a buyer. He has some questions about the special paintings from last night.”

Lena eyes narrow for a moment as if she is trying to remember something. “Oh yes. Last night you had a question about the inspiration for some of them. I’m sorry Charles is not here at the moment. If you are not placing an order, then please move along so others can.”

Ken nods, “Of course, Miss Isabeau is free to help anyone who needs her. By the way, Lena, is it? That is an interesting accent, you have. Is it French?”

She turns to go. “I have been many places, and my English pronunciations have suffered for it. Good day.”

Ken nods and then finds Joan standing in front of the lamp with a fish as a bulb. “I don’t get it, Boss. It’s called ‘How many surrealists does it take to change a light bulb?’ But there isn’t a bulb just a fish.”

Ken takes her hand. “I’ll explain it on the way back to the office.”

(I hope you enjoyed Part 3 of “Checking out the Surrealist”. My plan is to do this in a few parts over the next couple of days. If you enjoy this; Leave me a Comment. If you enjoy my writings follow and subscribe. Come back for Part 4. Be Seeing you….)