Home > culture, emotion, life, Morality, seduction, society, storytelling, strangers, Uncategorized, writing > THE LAND OF MILT AND HONEY – 2


Chapter Two

          The night was warm and humid. Honey Freed had two more days of shooting her production in this town, and she was lonely for home. She had a tuna salad and a Perrier sent up to her room. She ate alone and watched television news. She went to bed at nine-thirty, but was unable to sleep. She tossed and turned a few times and became fed up with wasting her time in bed. She rose, dressed, and went out into the night for a walk.

There was a gentle mist in the air. The street lamps glowed with brilliant haloes that reflected in the street. She was unfamiliar with the small city, with no known place to visit. Without really planning it, she wandered toward the site where she had been shooting a scene. The lights were on in the Art Gallery Communicate, like a brilliant lure amid closed, darkened stores. Honey Freed, moth like, was drawn to the light.

Through the storefront window, she watched several people mount paintings on the white walls. All the paintings were obviously by Milton Korn. His style was unmistakable, although his subjects and his media varied. There appeared to be several large sculptures that were covered by sheets. A few smaller statues were being placed on pedestals.

Honey was eager to get inside and see each painting properly. She went to the door and tugged at it. It rattled, but did not open. The woman to whom Honey had spoken earlier in the day, came to the door. She waved off Honey, and spoke through the glass door.

“Come back tomorrow,” she said. “We’re closed now.”

“Would any of you like coffee, or something to eat?” Honey said. The woman inside turned, and said something to the others. Honey could see them look up, smile and nod. The woman turned back to Honey.

“It seems to be yes, thanks,” the woman said.

“I’ll be back in five minutes,” said Honey. She strode away purposefully, heading for an all-night donut shop she’d noticed on her walk.

Within five minutes, Honey returned with a boxed dozen assorted donuts, and a cardboard tray of coffees, some sugar envelopes, sweetener envelopes, and cream tubs. The owner let her in, and declared a coffee break. People took seats on the floor and on some chairs and chatted.

“Which of you is Milton Korn?” Honey asked. Milton said nothing, while all the other men pointed at him. “I am fascinated by your work,” she said. “I hope to get a break in my shooting schedule, so I can come to your vernissage.”

“Thank you,” Milt said. “What kind of shooting is it that you do?” Honey crossed the room to take a seat on the floor beside him.

Milton Korn fascinated honey. He was tall, lean, and good looking, in a tousled, unkempt way. Honey looked at his work, and back at the artist, and decided that she was going to know this man, very well.

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