The Artist and the Actor – 6

 

Friday afternoon, Colin stood in front of his closet, trying to decide what to wear to the opening. He was damned if he would go the tux route—not that he owned one to begin with—but his normal sweatshirt and jeans were not an option, either.

 

He had slacks in black, grey, and blue, coordinating shirts, and vests. After due consideration, he opted for the black slacks and a poet's shirt, with a teal paisley, double-breasted vest that set off his coppery-red hair.

 

"Fashion maven is me," he said with a laugh as he looked at himself in the mirror. He figured he was outré enough that Thomas wouldn't chastise him for not going with something more formal. After all, he'd done that a few other times, and Thomas had come to accept that he was incorrigible when it came to dressing 'properly' for an opening.

 

He checked the time and decided he'd better get moving if he wasn't going to be late. Making certain he had what he needed; he set the alarm on the security system, locked up, and took off.

 

* * * *

 

Colin and several of the gallery's best patrons stood in front of his newest painting.

 

"This is definitely a change from your normal style," one woman said, cocking her head to one side and then the other as she surveyed it. "Is it the start of a new genre for you?"

 

"I doubt it," Colin replied. "It's an experiment, nothing more. At least for the time being."

 

"It's definitely edgy," a man in full tuxedo regalia said. "However, I much prefer ones like that." He pointed to the painting next to it.

 

"I disagree," a man said from behind Colin.

 

Colin recognized the voice and spun around to look at the handsome, dark-haired, bearded man, asking angrily, "What the fuck are you doing here, Shane?"

 

Shane smiled, replying softly, "Language, Colin. You don't want to shock prospective buyers."