The Woman Who Fell To Earth

Chapter 18

Art's heart flickered as he watched her go. He figured he would never be comfortable watching her disappear. There was always the fear that he would wake up, or she would never return.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He repeated David's voice in his head You are incredible, Arthur Starfire until he believed he could do it. He'd show this woman his best self, just like talking to the strangers on the train, on the street. She's just a human being who craves companionship, too. Why not with him? Sure, he was bald and a little overweight with eczema, but he had a nice job, a fine home, a brilliant roommate with impeccable fashion taste. He could do this. He took another deep breath and walked determinedly to Angie, smiling when he caught her eye. "Wow, you look amazing," he said.

Her red lips formed a toothy, open smile and he waved briefly as he approached. "You found me," she shouted above the masses. "Where's David?"

"I found you, but lost her," Art responded. "Actually, Jodi stole her away as soon as we arrived. We will catch up with her eventually...I hope," he added hastily. "I can't believe there are so many people here."

"Of course it's crowded," Angie said. "You didn't tell me it was a Jodi Ronson exhibit."

"Who's that?" asked Art. "I mean, I thought she just worked at a thrift shop."

"I don't know about that," said Angie, "but I do know she's one of the most up and coming artists in the city."

Art looked at her sideways. "I thought you weren't really in to art," he said.

"I'm not into politics either," she retorted, "but I know who Robert Kennedy is."

"She's that famous?" Art asked.

"She's quite well known. At least around here. And you got a personal invite!"

Art thought about this. "Not me," he admitted. "Pretty sure it was David who got the invitation."

Angie was about to say something to defend Art, but realized, too, that a personal invitation from Jodi Ronson would not have happened had it not been for David.

Art offered his arm. "Shall we?" he asked.

Angie gratefully accepted, placing her red-tipped fingers gently on his forearm responding, "We shall."

They made their way through the horde and into the gallery, but the artwork was blocked from view due to the intensified crowd. People pressed elbow to elbow, servers in metallic mini dresses, platform boots and platinum wigs maneuvered through the bodies carrying trays of champagne and canapés. Art managed to snag two glasses before they were carried away and swallowed by the wave of people. Techno music thumped like a rave. Art knew making conversation in here would be a fruitless effort. He nudged Angie and brought his mouth to her ear. "The performance art is in the lower level. Want to see if it's less people-y down there?"

She nodded her agreement and they looked for the stairs, working through the bodies like a living maze. The path to the lower level was marked by an electric orange, spiral staircase. The descended to the depths, where the music, voices and lighting dimmed to a bearable level. There was no music piped to the lower level, but the upper level's volume was so high, music did find its way into the performance space.

Art and Angie approached with trepidation. They were expecting a piece like Shia LeBeouf's "I am not famous" paper bag head, or something of the sort. What they were not expecting was a large metal cage in the middle of a concrete room. Inside the large metal cage were five human beings, three female, two male, all five nude. All five marked with paint to resemble wild animals: a female with black stripes like a Grevy's zebra; a male tinted orange with black Bengal tiger stripes; a yellow male with black cheetah spots and malar stripes under his eyes; another female with a blue and red baboon face; the last male standing tall with the bold tan patches of a reticulated giraffe.