The Lovers

The young docent, Simone, led her group into the final gallery of the tour. They gasped at seeing the museum’s most popular painting, ‘The Lovers,’ by Veneer. It depicted a young couple realizing their love for each other.

Eyes shining, as if in worship, they couldn’t look away. The tour group strained against the velvet ropes. They wanted to enter the painting. Exclaiming, they pointed at details, like the doves nesting in a branch above the reclining figures. And the raven watching from the shadows of the verdant foliage bursting with flowers. Cell phones captured pixilated images of the masterpiece. Simone never understood why people took incessant selfies in front of that painting. Tourist’s faces did not enhance the image.

Seven other masterworks adorned the walls in the massive room. Visitors felt they only highlighted the magnificence of The Lovers.

Simone loved all the paintings on display, and The Lovers most of all. She envied Carl, the security guard, who spent his days ensuring the safety of these paintings. No one knew Simone also envied the paintings spending their days with Carl. Simone wanted to spend her life with him.

Though she loved guiding daily tours of the museum, Simone most desired an endless tour of Carl. She saw him as the most beautiful masterwork. Tall, athletic and with chiseled features, she saw him a mortal equal of a Greek god in a trim uniform. His watchful eyes revealed a tenderness and warmth she’d never seen captured in marble.

After completing her presentation to the group, she stepped beside him. Simone did this at the end of each tour. They nodded a greeting. After years working side by side, they knew each other’s rhythms. She conducted four, one-hour museum tours daily. Carl stood, the watchful sentry, always at his station. Simone craved something deeper than casual greetings and gossip about museum politics.

She followed his stare at a woman sitting on the bench in the middle of the gallery.

She asked, “What’s her story? Where’s the guy? I see them all the time.”

“They’re a couple. He’s late. Meet here at lunch most days. Look at her. She’s Exquisite. Belongs in that painting. With me.”

“Really?”

Without breaking his gaze, he nodded.

She sighed. “I find her too… too… I don’t know. Refined? Too perfect to be real.”

Carl murmured, “Perfect works for me.”

Simone leaned in. “But will you work for perfect?”

He looked at her, questioning.

She gestured to the painting. “That couple sipping wine could be anyone. They aren’t perfect, except for each other. Fans project themselves onto that blanket. A fantasy they believe. They want it.”

He said, “True. I’d be thrilled to picnic with her.”

The man usually seen with the woman on the bench entered. His name was Morten.

The woman, Amanda, sighed as he plopped down beside her. “You? Again?”

Morten rolled his eyes. “There are other benches. Please find one.”

“I was here first. I’m always here first. Find another squatting spot.”

“Oh, here first. Time’s up. Don’t you have a job to get to?”

They glowered at each other. She turned away. Morten looked at ‘The Lovers,’ in awe.

He murmured to Amanda, “You’re here every day. You obviously love art. I wish I could paint like that.”

She pointed at the ceiling. “Imagine what it took to paint that.”

“The ceiling? Are you joking? Two men, a scaffold and a bucket of white. Big deal. Done in a day.”

She looked skeptical.

Morten pointed at ‘The Lovers.’ “I meant that painting. It’s perfect.”

“Never noticed it. Not that big on all the ‘art.’ You know…? Most of it is trash. Officially sanctioned graffiti. Gives doodling a bad name.”

Morten muttered, “Vulgarian...”

Concerned, Amanda touched her ears. “You mean like Mr. Spock?”

“This isn’t happening…”

Amanda continued, “I’m here on break. It’s quiet… uhm… usually. Even with a crowd, they whisper. Ever notice how this bench sits perfectly under the AC vent? I love it.”

Morten couldn’t believe it. “You pay admission every day for the ventilation?”

“Annual membership has its perks. Whoever designed it is a true artist.”

Smiling, she shut her eyes and turned her face to the draft.

Morten said, “I’m serious. I study art and this painting is so deep.”

She looked at it and nodded seriously. “Yes, profoundly mediocre. I thought students of ‘art’ came to learn from other’s mistakes. What not to do…”

His mouth dropped. “Are you really that dim? Do you have any idea…?”

“Ever used a camera? Digital technology is amazing. It’s crazy. A good photographer could capture that in less than a second. It took this guy how many hours to paint it? At a penny per brush stroke, he wouldn’t break even for less than…”

“Never mind.” Morten shuddered. “I can’t talk to you. You’re incapable… beyond comprehension.”

“Of course. I’m not in that secret club putting one over on rich sophisticates spending like drunken sailors proving they get it.”

“There’s no club…”

“Then you’re one of the fools… Sorry, I mean ‘sophisticates.’”

Seething, Morten turned his attention to the painting. His favorite painting. He imagined a yipping toy poodle sat beside him.

Amanda tapped his shoulder. Startled, he recoiled.

“You still here?”

She smiled. “Know the difference between a museum and a mausoleum?”

Morten looked for a guard. He saw Carl standing by the gallery entrance. “Uhm…”

“The spelling…” She cracked up and stifled her laugh when everyone looked at her. She whispered, “I made that up.” She looked about. “I mean, these are the definitive artists of their time? Sheesh! Not one I’d put over my couch.”

Morten made one last attempt. “Why are you so obnoxious?”

“Me? Every day I’m minding my business and you come to convert me to your cult, worshipping smears on canvas.”

Standing with Simone, Carl stepped toward Amanda and Morten. “He’s upsetting her.”

Simone touched his arm. “She doesn’t strike me as the distressed damsel type. I’ll bet she’s never wandered windswept moors. Maybe it’s their first quarrel. They’re not shouting. Let them work it out.”

Carl kept his eyes on them. “But it’s…”

“They’re passionate. Hardly indifferent. Give them time. You’d only be intruding. And gain nothing.”

“I’ll walk around. Let her know I’m there if she needs me.”

“I’d wager you’d have a better chance with me, than her.”

Carl looked at Simone. Her words made no sense. “It’s that hopeless?”

“Timing, my friend. Timing…”

He set his jaw and nodded.

Simone continued. “Since working here, have you ever seen the whole museum? I could give you a tour. Even let you see the restricted areas.”

She’d piqued his interest. He glanced at the painting and the bickering couple. Amanda stood and exited the gallery looking amused. Simone saw Carl’s yearning.

After an audible sigh, Morten moved to the center of the bench. He stared at ‘The Lovers.’

Carl said, “I hope I can find true love.”

Simone touched his arm and looked into his eyes. “I’m sure you will. I have one last tour this afternoon. Maybe I’ll see you later?”

She smiled at him. He returned it and watched her walk away. Glancing back, she made a little wave.

He nodded. The room felt warm. He checked the thermostat. But it hadn’t changed.