Page 29 of Make Me Scream

“Eugene, please do the honors,” Lane says.

The guard takes a black, rubber glove out of his pocket and slides it on. Then he drives his fingers into Tabitha’s pussy. She moans, closing her eyes and tilting her head back as much as the cramped case will allow. Within seconds, she climaxes, howling and shaking so much her case rattles against the stage.

Holy shit. I could tell Galleria Carnale was something else when I got here, and that sex was key to the art on display, but I didn’t expect they’d make someone orgasm live in front of so many people. They don’t stop with her, either. One by one, Eugene works all of Lane’s “exhibits” with a vibrator, his fingers or — in Gig Economy’s case — a feather.

As soon as they finish, the audience gives one last round of applause and starts heading for the exit. Apparently, lifedoesimitate art.

I wait for Lane to say goodbye to his fans — more than a few are women interested in what he has planned for his next show, which sends a twinge of anger rising up my back. However, he sends them on their way, then directs the gallery staff in caring for the models and breaking down his stages.

I should have spent the time texting Joel some updates, but found the whole display absorbing. It’s the nuts and bolts of the art world one doesn’t see until they’ve been behind the curtain, so to speak.

When all is finished, at last Lane comes to me.

“I’d invite you for a cocktail but you said you’re not much of a drinker. Want to go to a diner? Dino’s is close.”

A glass of wine might not be so bad, actually… but I am famished.

“Sure, sounds great.”

Mental note: get a fake ID.

“So, what do the other professors think of you doing art like that?” I ask as we walk.

“We have a bit of a rule among faculty: if it’s not your thing, just be polite or don’t mention it at all. Rush likes his classical media, but he accepts the broader pursuit. Art can be dirty, provocative, disturbing… as long as it isn’t bad. Derivative. Shallow. Amateurish. Quality over form.”

As Lane said, the diner’s only two blocks away. It’s busy and loud, but there’s room for us, and a host seats us immediately.

Lane doesn’t even look at the menu the waitress hands him.

“Coffee and a slice of apple pie, please.”

“Coffee and…” I say, scanning the list. “You have a chocolate cake?”

“Sure. I’ll put that in.”

“I’m really glad you came to the gallery,” Lane says as the waitress leaves. He lays his hands on the table, one covering the other. “I wanted you to see ‘Awakening.’”

My cheeks warm.

“I’m glad I did,” I say, trying not to fidget. “I’ve been painted before, by my roommate, Joel. And they’re beautiful, but yours was different. It wasn’t just… appreciation. There was…”

“Desire.”

Yeah, that’s it.

He doesn’t blush or look away, as if regretting being so blunt.

“What was it that convinced you to attend the show tonight?” he asks.

The waitress returns with our coffees, giving me a moment to try and think straight.

“I saw you,” I say. “At Askew, that night. After the fire alarm. You had a phone in a bag.”

He leans back, sipping his coffee.

“You knew the sprinklers were gonna go off,” I finish.

“No. I gave security a decoy phone so I could keep mine on me. I don’t like not having it.”

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