Page 58 of Thirsty
The show, calledNeed: A New Perspective, began with a collection of paintings and mixed-media pieces. Each had a cluster of guests grouped around it discussing its merits, and servers were passing glasses of champagne. Charlie grabbed one and raised his eyebrows at Lorenzo.Ready?
He shook out his shoulders. It was just an art show; nothing had to be awkward.
Naturally, many of the paintings were erotic—classical oil paintings and faint, haunting watercolors. There were mixed-media pieces showing pornography and erotic art films, and sketches of the same woman, over and over again. Lorenzo couldn’t always spot which pieces had been created via the succubi’s powers, which had been hewn with other magic, and which were simply enthusiastic amateur attempts. If magic were truly intent, the intent behind the assembled exhibition so far reminded him most closely of that cake memecongrats on the sex. They turned a corner and found a massive field of balloons assembled to look like a strip club, complete with strangely enticing balloon dancers. Charlie chuckled when he spotted it, glancing back at Lorenzo with laughter in his eyes.
They passed into the next room and found a performance piece: a man and woman cuddled together on a soaking wet bed, the man sobbing into the woman’s chest, while water poured onto them from the ceiling, draining into a deep circle around the edges. It was tremendously loud, and a faint mist from the water floated over the entire room. People stood along the sides and watched silently.
What the...?Charlie mouthed to Lorenzo.
Lorenzo shrugged. They made their way into the next room.
It was large, but held only one exhibit on a slightly elevated platform: a vintage photo booth with a red velvet curtain and flashbulbs all along one side. Charlie smiled as soon as he saw it.
They drew closer to get a good look. Lorenzo asked, “Can you go in? There’s no sign.”
Charlie looked at him. “Do you want to take some pictures?”
Lorenzo hesitated. “I’m just kidding,” Charlie said quickly. He looked back at the photo booth. “Why is this even at an art exhibit about sex?”
“I don’t know,” Lorenzo lied. “What’s next?”
The next room was the sculpture room, and it took some getting used to. Every time Charlie was startled by something or burst into laughter, Lorenzo felt like he was being tugged a little closer to him, a little more irresistibly drawn in. Nothing here reminded him of last night, not really; every piece was sophisticated or outrageous or elevated—sharp edges and refined palates.
Last night with Charlie hadn’t been anything like that. It had been primal, dirty, and raw.
“So,” he managed, when they were mostly through the sculptures. “What do you think?”
“About this one?”
“About all of it.”
Charlie took a deep breath. “You were right,” he said. “It is stupid, sexy art.”
Lorenzo laughed, and Charlie grinned in response.Dangerous, Lorenzo thought, and tried to control the errant fluttering in his chest.
Thankfully, they seemed to be near the end of the exhibit. They turned a corner and found an empty white room, but on the far side was a doorway—or at least, thick black curtains that presumably covered the exit. Lorenzo glanced at Charlie, who shrugged. They pushed past the curtain.
And they were inside the car crash from last night—everything, all of it, the starry night and fiery wreckage, the scent of blood and smoke in his nostrils, and the taste of Charlie’s skin on his—all of it contained inside an empty room. Lorenzostumbled backward, shocked. It was sort of like being inside his own memory, but at the same time seeing it from afar; like the way light warped through a crystal, it was real but not real at the same time, and it changed every time he blinked. It was as weightless as an image projected on a wall, but it was still burning hot like the twisted metal of his car, and he could almost feel Charlie’s hands on him, the searing heat of Charlie’s skin.
And then they wandered through a second set of black curtains, and found themselves in another empty hallway at the rear of the crisp white gallery. “Oh my god,” Charlie wheezed.
A docent waved at them. “Thank you for coming!”
“What the hell was that?” Lorenzo demanded.
“Oh, our final exhibit—a one-second fully immersive sexual fantasy, pulled from your own subconscious,” he answered. “One of our senior spell-bringers put it together. What did you think?”
They didn’t attempt a response, and made their way swiftly out of the gallery.
Out on the sidewalk, Lorenzo gave the valet their ticket. Charlie didn’t meet his eye when he turned around. “Uh,” Lorenzo said, “this is awkward.”
“Yeah, I know,” Charlie said, sounding nervous. “And I didn’t—”
“No, we couldn’t have known they would re-create our memories from last night,” Lorenzo reassured him.
Charlie frowned. “Last night?”
“Yes?” Lorenzo took a step toward him. “In that room, it was—it was like last night.” He abruptly lowered his voice, because it felt like his words were suddenly touching Charlie somehow. “On my car,” he said softly. “Wasn’t it?”
