Page 26 of The Muse
“No, but your opinion on art is untainted, and therefore you’ll be able to stop me being quite as critical as I normally am. As you know, I’m quite good at being an arsehole. Shaun Anderson probably doesn’t deserve my wrath.”
A disgruntled laugh pops out of her as we cross the pathways and head towards the stewards. “But I did?” she snips.
One of the guys nods at me, as I hold up my press card for him, and opens the gate regardless of the queues beside us.
“I'll admit, not entirely,” I eventually answer. “But you did perform with far more passion the next time around.” My hand swats her arse, pushing her forward because of her little temper. “And that was probablybecauseof my criticism. You're welcome, by the way.”
Her mouth opens to retaliate just as the man himself arrives in my eyeline.
“Scott?” Shaun says as we approach. “I’m surprised you’re here. Not really your cup of tea.” I hold my hand out and shake his. He’s right. It’s not, but I seem to be doing a few things that aren’t normal lately. Including a little madam who is currently glaring at me.
“Well, hopefully, you’re better than you used to be, Shaun.”
He looks at Seffi. “Still being an arsehole, is he?” She nods.
I wish I could disagree.
When both of them have finished whatever bloody giggling session they’re having, he crouches down and reaches for her feet. She scuttles backwards to me, surprised.
“It’s a nature piece. Apparently soothing. Go with it,” I say, reaching for my own shoes.
“Really?” she replies, watching as I roll my jeans up.
“Yep. Shoes off. Walk the feeling rather than just visualise it.”
Her hand rests on Shaun’s shoulder, delicate legs holding firm, as he slips her shoes off. “I don’t know whether you’ve noticed, but I’m not overly keen on my feet,” she whispers.
“Why not?” I ask, grabbing her hand again. “They’re the backbone of your art. They should be the one piece of you you adore.” My fingers wiggle in her face. “I wouldn’t be an artist without these. You wouldn’t be a dancer without those.”
Her eyes go wide. “You’re an actual artist? I thought you were just a critic.”
Shaun laughs. “He's an exceptional artist. Certainly better than me. Or was.” I glower at him and then watch as he laughs some more. “Anyway. Today is about my work, not his. He’s had enough shows of his own, and as he’s been kind enough to bring someone lovely to walk through mine, can I at least know your name?”
“Seffi,” she says in reply.
“So Seffi. You walk forward without fear, follow the path, and use all the stimuli to feel the pieces around you until it ends. Yes?” She looks confused but smiles anyway. “Also, use your own judgement. Don’t let him sway your opinion. Art is for you, not others. He’s too miserable for this anyway.”
I huff and move us forward, absolutely sure I'm too miserable for anything here today. Her included. “Alright, Shaun. Get out of the way so I don’t remember that last remark and cloud my own judgement,” I mutter.
“Before I do, can we get a date in the diary? It's been a long time.”
“Why not.” I pick out my phone and chuckle, scrolling to find an empty evening that doesn't involve more new artists. “Next Saturday? Sevenish?” He nods and then turns back to let us move onwards.
“Scott?” I look back. “If it’s a shit review, don’t print it,” he calls.
For him, I probably won’t.
“Friend?” she asks as we approach the start point.
“Sort of. Two years in Paris together. He rented my spare room.” She turns back and looks him over slowly. It's a little too long for my liking, frankly. My brow arches and I spin her back to me. “Date?”
She laughs again and focuses on my face. “I was just wondering about your life over there. Sorry.”
“You will be if you keep looking at other men. I’m still thinking about putting you over my knee.” More giggling falls from her mouth as she glances at my cock.
My eyes roll, a smile spreading on my face. “Concentrate, Seffi. Serious?”
“You're the one talking about spanking me.”
