tangerine- and ginger-scented candles, I returned to the couch. In the flickering light of the candles, my thoughts came to rest on the painting over the mantel.
It was an original John William Waterhouse oil painting, Ariadne. It must have been worth a fortune; Menessos had sent me the painting after I chose not to stake him. Hanging it here above my hearth in my rural farmhouse was incredibly impractical, but I loved knowing it was here for me to study and daydream over. If I ever had time to sit and daydream, that is.
Documents concerning the insuring of the artwork, at Menessos’s expense, had arrived by courier a day after I’d received the painting. With it was a notification that some bonded professional group would be installing security devices. A phone number and an email address that was supposed to be Menessos’s private account had been included, in case I needed to discuss the matter. Though I suspected Menessos had something up his sleeve with all this, like maybe he was bugging the place to keep tabs on me, having the painting here meant so much to me it might be worth it. I’d finally let the security company schedule for next week.
In the painting, Ariadne reclined, sleeping, with jaguars at her feet, and in the distant harbor, a boat was sailing away. Though subdued by candlelight, I knew the red of her dress matched my room perfectly. The frame was almost decadent: thick ebony wood with gilded and elaborately carved corners. My poster frames had gold paint on the corners. Menessos’s wealth assured the gold on this frame was 24-karat gold leaf.
I thought of the tale … how Ariadne’s father, King Minos, demanded as tribute from the Athenian king, Aegeus, seven young men and seven maidens who would be devoured by the monstrous half-man, half-bullMinotaur. Ariadne fell in love with Theseus, the son of Aegeus who had volunteered to be among the sacrificial youth in order to slay the monster. She gave Theseus a spool of thread to help him find his way out of the maze of the Labyrinth where the Minotaur lived. Theseus slew the Minotaur and escaped, taking Ariadne with him to the island of Naxos. There, the gods shrouded his mind and made him forget her. He left while she slept.
I suddenly remembered something: Nana had done a Tarot reading for Johnny and the crossing card, the “current problem,” was the King of Wands. On Nana’s deck the King of Wands was pictured as Theseus. In my interpretation Menessos was the King of Wands: Theseus.
For Johnny, Menessos was a major problem.
Realizing that Menessos had sent me a painting with a woman who loved Theseus on it, a woman who gave up everything to be with him only to be abandoned, made a chill crawl up my spine.
“Thanks for the ride, man,” I heard Johnny say. He and Erik came down the hall.
“No problem.”
They stopped at the front door. “Sure you won’t stay for a beer?” Johnny whispered the last two words; Nana didn’t like the idea of alcoholic beverages in the house, so we kept the beer in the old refrigerator in the garage.
Erik laughed. “Nah. Gotta get home while Celia’s still awake or there’ll be no sex.” I smiled in spite of myself; I was glad my friend was loved.
“Ah,” Johnny said appreciatively, peering into the living room at me. “Pleasure with a special someone. Can’t say I remember what that’s like.” He made whiningpuppy sounds and gave me a sweet, adorable expression.
“Yeah,” I said. “I hear it’s just like self-pleasure only it’s sweatier and it’s supposed to take longer, but that’s not always the case.”
They both cracked up, but I hushed them with a reminder that Beverley and Nana were trying to sleep upstairs.
Erik said, “Good night. I’ll see you at Feral’s tomorrow for rehearsal.” Phil “Feral” Jones was the bassist for Lycanthropia.
“Right. See ya tomorrow.” Johnny shut and locked the door. Shortly, Erik’s Infiniti started and the gravel in my drive
It was an original John William Waterhouse oil painting, Ariadne. It must have been worth a fortune; Menessos had sent me the painting after I chose not to stake him. Hanging it here above my hearth in my rural farmhouse was incredibly impractical, but I loved knowing it was here for me to study and daydream over. If I ever had time to sit and daydream, that is.
Documents concerning the insuring of the artwork, at Menessos’s expense, had arrived by courier a day after I’d received the painting. With it was a notification that some bonded professional group would be installing security devices. A phone number and an email address that was supposed to be Menessos’s private account had been included, in case I needed to discuss the matter. Though I suspected Menessos had something up his sleeve with all this, like maybe he was bugging the place to keep tabs on me, having the painting here meant so much to me it might be worth it. I’d finally let the security company schedule for next week.
In the painting, Ariadne reclined, sleeping, with jaguars at her feet, and in the distant harbor, a boat was sailing away. Though subdued by candlelight, I knew the red of her dress matched my room perfectly. The frame was almost decadent: thick ebony wood with gilded and elaborately carved corners. My poster frames had gold paint on the corners. Menessos’s wealth assured the gold on this frame was 24-karat gold leaf.
I thought of the tale … how Ariadne’s father, King Minos, demanded as tribute from the Athenian king, Aegeus, seven young men and seven maidens who would be devoured by the monstrous half-man, half-bullMinotaur. Ariadne fell in love with Theseus, the son of Aegeus who had volunteered to be among the sacrificial youth in order to slay the monster. She gave Theseus a spool of thread to help him find his way out of the maze of the Labyrinth where the Minotaur lived. Theseus slew the Minotaur and escaped, taking Ariadne with him to the island of Naxos. There, the gods shrouded his mind and made him forget her. He left while she slept.
I suddenly remembered something: Nana had done a Tarot reading for Johnny and the crossing card, the “current problem,” was the King of Wands. On Nana’s deck the King of Wands was pictured as Theseus. In my interpretation Menessos was the King of Wands: Theseus.
For Johnny, Menessos was a major problem.
Realizing that Menessos had sent me a painting with a woman who loved Theseus on it, a woman who gave up everything to be with him only to be abandoned, made a chill crawl up my spine.
“Thanks for the ride, man,” I heard Johnny say. He and Erik came down the hall.
“No problem.”
They stopped at the front door. “Sure you won’t stay for a beer?” Johnny whispered the last two words; Nana didn’t like the idea of alcoholic beverages in the house, so we kept the beer in the old refrigerator in the garage.
Erik laughed. “Nah. Gotta get home while Celia’s still awake or there’ll be no sex.” I smiled in spite of myself; I was glad my friend was loved.
“Ah,” Johnny said appreciatively, peering into the living room at me. “Pleasure with a special someone. Can’t say I remember what that’s like.” He made whiningpuppy sounds and gave me a sweet, adorable expression.
“Yeah,” I said. “I hear it’s just like self-pleasure only it’s sweatier and it’s supposed to take longer, but that’s not always the case.”
They both cracked up, but I hushed them with a reminder that Beverley and Nana were trying to sleep upstairs.
Erik said, “Good night. I’ll see you at Feral’s tomorrow for rehearsal.” Phil “Feral” Jones was the bassist for Lycanthropia.
“Right. See ya tomorrow.” Johnny shut and locked the door. Shortly, Erik’s Infiniti started and the gravel in my drive
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