I watched the homosexual artists staring at the framed painting of Monet that was on the wall. It was lovely.
"The New York Museum of Modern Art is enjoying it, Charles".
"Yes", David smiled.
I watched them with interest.
"Oh, who are you?", Charles stared at me.
"John", I didn't smile; I watched the painting.
"You're at the party?".
"Yes, I am discovering the new World".
"You're a Beatnik?".
"I don't belong in society. The bourgeoisie can continue on their way, and enjoy their apple pie and cream; the elite can also enjoy their apple pie and cream...but in a different way".
"Yes, we agree on that. Does Art interest you?".
"Art is for the senses...".
"Yes, you can feel the power of the painting".
"Yes, it's beautiful. Well, I'll see you soon. 'Bye!".
"'Bye!".
And I left them alone...And reached the other Beatniks...who were smoking cigarettes...And getting high on stronger things that caused them to freak out.
***
I watched Alison.
"There you are. You met my brother and his partner".
"Who's your brother?".
"David".
"Oh, I met them; I mentioned I admired Monet".
"Yes, France's greatest painter".
"One of the best".
"Yes, I'm wasted".
"I see that".
"We got heroin, marijuana, and other drugs".
"I don't want to die".
"And cocaine".
"Let me have some, please".
"Good, because you need to relax, honey".
And, as we snorted the cocaine up our nose on a mahogany table, Mary also did the same...and hid her jealous streak from us...while we indulged our excess behavior to the full.
***
Page 6
YOU ARE READING
The Artists A Beatnik novel
HumorRobert Helliger. 11 November, 2013. All Rights Reserved. Author's note: This novel was formerly called 'The Intellectuals'. But the last word was too long, so I changed it to 'Artists'. In New York, 1954, a group of artists become Beatniks...And di...
