The abduction of Ms. LoveLove-Lahore

Antonia Lavariti LoveLove-Lahore was en route to Les Galleries XYX to submerge herself in the extravagance and pretentious hobnobbery that lacquered high profile events such as the one taking place there that evening. The gala held double-whammy weight: not only was it an opening for the eagerly-anticipated new work of acclaimed painter Jack the Horse – it was also a 50th birthday celebration for the city’s beloved mayor. Years back, Antonia and Jack the Horse had been lovers. His real name was Damien. Although she thought his nickname sounded more appropriate for a boxer, it (at least the ‘horse’ part) apparently referred to his Chinese zodiac birth animal – relevant because his paintings borrowed heavily from the icons of Asian astrology. (Antonia, of course, had her own, more intimate theory about the etymological beginnings of Damien’s moniker.) She was not a fan of his art. His canvases offended her in an almost visceral way… the whopping swaths of red and yellow screaming ugly. Fine art in general wasn’t her thing.

In any case, she could care less about Damien, or the mayor. Antonia had left the lab early to attend the soirée because she just loved to schmooze shamelessly with the ridiculous art-world patrons… the millionaires and billionaires who’d long ago run out of ways to spend their dough. And as much as she enjoyed reorganizing molecules in semiconductor polymers, she refused to stay sequestered in that sterile lab, eye glued to microscope, every damn night. Her favorite thing at these functions was to hook in the suits with outrageous lies; they always believed her. It was beyond her comprehension, how such naïve schmucks came by so much money.

Ms. LoveLove Lahore arrived at Les Galleries and flounced through the double glass doors. The room was deep, pristine, refulgent with white surfaces and crystal chandeliers. Twenty-five-layer vanilla cakes stretched halfway to the ceiling. In her hoop-skirted alabaster organza gown, Antonia might have camouflaged with the cakes and walls… but pink peony lips gave her away. Then after a couple trips to the bar, rainbow pousse-cafés (one in each hand) fixed her even more noticeably in space. Less than ten minutes in, she was gesturing with them to three overwhelmed but enraptured businessmen, spooling out a fantastic tale of how she was once near-gored by a crash of Javan rhinoceros.

Suddenly, through the polite laughter and tinkling glasses, barged a giant of a man: seven feet tall, broad as a barn, ebony-skinned, mustachioed… wearing top-hat and coattails. He stormed across the room to Antonia. Upon reaching her, he smacked one pousse-café, then the other, out of her hands, shattering them across the floor. Wrapping a solitary arm around her waist, he swooped her up and hauled her horizontally out of the gallery. Every attendee in the place stood motionless, gaping after them in perfect silence.

~ by kingzoko on November 26, 2013.

3 Responses to “The abduction of Ms. LoveLove-Lahore”

  1. So fun Hannah – I love it! Want more!

  2. Fun, fast and quirky. Always entertaining.

  3. ha! great story Hannah!

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