Page 3 of Their Courtesan
Chapter 2
SETH
No matter the form of artistic expression, there was one common enemy: the blank page. A sign from the art gods that someone was a useless piece of shit who didn’t deserve to create anything, let alone something profound and meaningful.
This is what I gave up medicine for.Seth Christens sat at an outdoor café, staring down at a large sheet of blank drawing paper. He held a pencil in his hand, but no matter what seat he sat in or whom he gazed upon, he was trapped with a blank mind that refused to conjure up an image worthy of his hand.
What a cruel joke. For three years Seth had been a full-time artist, whatever that meant. When a man had built a sizable fortune being “the gynecologist of the stars,” as well as living off the established fortunes of his extended family, he could spend his days drawing pictures if he damn well pleased. God knew Seth had been miserable in his previous profession. Ironically, he wasnotenthused about staring up wealthy vaginas all day. Half the time there was a head coming out of them.I thought I would find meaning bringing life into the world.Such a noble profession, delivering babies was. Too bad Seth went back to his townhouse every night thinking of nothing but getting drunk and jacking off.
Retiring to become a full-time artist was supposed to be fulfilling. Indeed it was, in many ways. Since then, he had five shows, the last three being all his own. Whether he was drawing portraits or still life, plenty of people commended his efforts and even bought the occasional print. Seth would never be famous, probably, but he was already rich as fuck and didn’t care about fame. It was supposed to be aboutartistic expression.Whatever that meant by now.
Artistic expression didn’t mean shit when he had a blank piece of paper mocking him.
“Still fighting with your muse, I see.” His best friend sat next to him at the table. Zack hadn’t brought his art book with him today, but he had that look on his face that said he shot a three-pointer elsewhere in the café.Playboy.Seth wouldn’t dare tell another man what to do with his sex life, but Zack was the type of guy who could use, “Hi, I’m an artist,” to his eternal advantage. For one thing, he was a man of many mediums. Drawing, painting, pottery, sculpting,knitting…there wasn’t something that Zack wasn’t willing to try, whereas Seth was firmly entrenched with pen, paper, and paints. (Sometimes he went wild and used watercolors instead of oils.) “Would you at least let me buy you a beer? You’re depressing me. Or maybe it’s your muse depressing me.”
Seth flipped his book shut and slammed it on top of his duffel bag. “I didn’t give up medicine to sit here and watch you flirt with half the women in a café.”
“Sure you did. Because you didn’t ‘give up’ shit. I’ve known you since you were pissing and moaning about delivering yet another baby when all you wanted to do was use amniotic fluids to paint your next great masterpiece.”
“I’ll pretend that made sense, and then further pretend I didn’t hear that.” Zack loved to speak without thinking. Somehow, it endeared women to him.If I did that, I’d get slapped.
He could get any woman he wanted, if he played his right cards. Like being rich. An angsty artist. The fact that he knew his way around a woman’s body.The one good thing to come from my education.Lots and lots andlotsof anatomical experience.
Yet he quickly became bored with whatever woman he was with. They were either well below his intelligence level, only interested in what he could give them, or… well, he couldn’t put his finger on it. He blamed his artistic mind, that often argued with the more logical, doctoral side. Women were beautiful. The way they moved, laughed, and made love. Except that magic quickly wore off once Seth got to know them. He’d say it was the type of women he dated, but they came from all sorts of backgrounds. Medical women. Socialites. The waitress at the corner café… oh, wait, Zack had dibs on that one this week. The way they traded winks when she walked by said as much.
“I’ve fired my muse,” Seth said, referring to nothing in particular. “I need to find a new one. Something to get me out of this funk.”
Zack was distracted with the waitress again. What was it? His casual clothes, even though he and his family were worth a collective billion dollars? The scruff on his face? Oh, it was probably the most expensive thing about him – his cologne, which he swore could get any woman wet between the legs. Seth wasn’t sure about that, not that he had extensively tested it. Then again, his education had rather destroyed the romantic notion of women and “getting wet.”
“You need toloosen upis what you need to do.” As soon as he had a round of cool beers ordered, Zack turned his full attention to his friend. “You’ve been in this so-called funk for months now. It’s amazing I even got you out of your house, you fucking introvert.”
Ah, yes, the introvert and extrovert, such great best friends. “I haven’t been really inspired to do much of anything lately.”
“That’s why we need to get out of here, man. I don’t know how much you care, but I’m thinking about heading up to the mountains in a couple of days.”
“The mountains?” That was not like Zack at all. Seth could not imagine his friend hiking, camping, or doing anything that would require that kind of gritty manliness. To be fair, it wasn’t Seth’s bag either. He loved the views, though. In fact, that may be what he needed to get out of his funk.I need to see some real views. A sunset. A valley. Anything.Perhaps his next phase would be scenes. Those were big right now, right? “I could be game for that. My cousin has a lodge we could stay in.”
“Hell no, I’m not talking about shacking up in some underused ski lodge and wearing sweaters around the fireplace. You didn’t let me finish.”
Their beers arrived. Seth had to refocus his attention from his work to the conversation at hand, which was not easy when a million other conversations were going on around them that fine spring day. Traffic noise. Birds. The clatter of utensils and plates. Seth hated such cacophonies. This was the man who couldn’t even listen to music while he worked. Absolute silence. It was a necessity.
“All right. So finish.”
“I’m talking about going to that brothel.”
Seth barely had beer on his lips before he was prompted to spit it out.
“Calm down. It’s not arealbrothel. That’s what everyone calls it. You’ve heard of the Château, right?”
Seth couldn’t believe they were having this conversation in public. He sat back in his seat, crossing his legs and his arms in the hopes that nobody around them would think he was actually apartof this conversation. “I’ve heard about it in passing.” Anyone with enough money and the right connections heard of all sorts of things. Like that one BDSM club right beneath their feet that catered to every depraved taste a rich enough man had.I don’t think I’m depraved.Others may beg to differ.
“Basically it’s this ‘house of pleasure,’ or whatever they call it. My friend Brian went a month ago and said he had a blast. The girls there are really hot and know their stuff, if you know what I mean.” What a stupid grin. Too bad it was infectious.
“Not sure how I feel about paying a woman for sex.”
“You don’t technically, you pay for their ‘time.’ They’ll hang out with you, wait on you, let you see their tits…”
“I’m failing to see the difference here.” He may not be talking about red light districts around the world, but Zack was definitely close to saying “Tickle your balls, lick your balls, and make your balls blow.” Seth tightened his legs. Been a while since he went out looking for some ball licking. “Sounds like a brothel to me.”
