“There’s nothing special about me.” She said.

“’Course there is. You got the body of -,” Donald paused, “a princess. And the mind of a genius.”

“I could be a deformed princess, y’know. You’re bad at flirting.”

Donald grinned at the girl, grinning back at him. She was right about that.

Lorie was the perfect girl in most ways; she was smart and dignified, but she had a sense of humor. She hated propaganda (Donald found this unbelievably attractive) and not for silly reasons like wanting to be punk; she really researched it all up. Not only that, but Lorie had a killer body. She was built like a model, and this made Donald get a rise out of anything Lorie did. Lorie’s hair was bright blonde, and she had bright hazel eyes that were bright and happy, like her. The only thing she had that Donald didn’t want had just walked into the room.

“Hey, Lorie, that Griffin dude called me back.”

A boyfriend.

“You serious? What’d he want?”

She really called him ‘just a friend’ but, hey, it’s never really like that.

“He said they’re having a gallery next week and invited me and a friend. You wanna come?”

“What about Rachel, though?”

Reagan’s eyebrows shifted.

“She’s busy. She’s gotta get her hair done then. She plans it fucking two weeks in advance, the idiot.”

Reagan Davis. The only guy Donald knew who’d bleach his hair orange-yellow for a Halloween party and keep it afterwards. Reagan was a disturbingly down-to-earth guy. He’d drink as much as the next guy, have few girlfriends, sleep with most, steal some, lose some. He had a job (Reagan was an ‘alternative artist’), and was getting far with it. Donald wasn’t sure why he didn’t like Reagan. He just didn’t.

“Hullo, Reagan.”

“Hey Donald.” Reagan said quickly.

Well, Donald thought, goodbye Lorie. Goodbye, I’ll see you sometime in the next month. You’ll be starting your senior year, right? Donald pondered on this, I guess I’ll just see you sometime before you begin and I leave. Bye now.

Donald stood up and after bidding the two goodbye, he left the house, flagged a cab, and left his hometown for the bigger and better thing his parents had promised him. Even though he knew he’d probably never see Lorie again he still felt obligated to try. After all, Lorie couldn’t spend her entire life with a lifeless, artsy loser.

---

“I need a smoke.”

“Me, too, but we gotta stay in here. Remember?”

Lorie rubbed Reagan’s shoulder with a reassuring smile. She glanced around the hall, full of people with more money than how much she and her mother had ever made in a lifetime. The people who were willing to give some to Reagan.

“Mr. Griffin keeps telling me he’s gonna get to me,” Reagan muttered, “but he hasn’t. I dunno if the old geezer’s still interested.”

“You know how the old people are. Especially the old… loaded people.”

Reagan snorted, putting the martini glass closer to his lips till it was empty; again.

“You really should see a psychologist about your need for booze.”

“Shut up. I’m waiting for this dude to -,” he froze, “what time is it?”

“I dunno.” Lorie didn’t have a watch, there were no clocks.

“I gotta go outside around ten thirty; fresh air.”

“Yeah,” Lorie said, not looking at him. She focused, instead on the table nearly fifteen feet long, covered with food that seemed too pretty to eat but to tasty to pass up.

“Reagan?”

“What?”

“I’m gonna go – I’m gonna get me something to eat, okay?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

Reagan stood still where he was, new martini glass at hand thanks to the many waiters, while Lorie hurried over to the food stand. She wondered if it would be rude for the swanky dress she donned to get a loose thread. Lorie was an impulsive eater and since the dress was extremely fitted, any slight bulge (especially in her stomach area) would cause detrimental damage. She decided to eat as slowly, intricately as she could.

After a few minutes of gluttony she turned on her heel to find that Reagan had gone. She puckered up the courage to ask someone the time; ten twenty. She tried to figure out where the nearest patio or courtyard was by asking around some more. Lorie followed one man’s instructions to a courtyard with flowers everywhere, but no Reagan. She continued to search for him but couldn’t find him anywhere.

Lorie wondered if Reagan would’ve cared if she found him; he wouldn’t. So she decided to find the kitchen and learn what time the real meal would begin. Lorie found the door that read ‘kitchen’ after some more wondering and asking people. When she entered, however, she was disappointed to see it was dark. Empty. She’d never in her eighteen years, seen a deserted kitchen. Lorie stood for a few moments, in the complete darkness, alone.

Click, click.

She turned back to the door.

BANG!

“Hey, watch it!”

Lorie had cracked the door enough to cast light on the little girl who’d run into her.

“Me? You’re the one running through a kitchen!”

“So?”

“So. Shut up.”

The girl stood up and flicked the lights on (Lorie hadn’t thought of that). She got a good look at Lorie, who looked straight back.

The girl was young, but not very. She had pale golden skin and neck-length chestnut hair. She was staring at Lorie through pale tawny eyes.

“What’re you doing in here?” she asked.

“Looking for food.”

“Came to the wrong place. Better get outta here, now.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Suit yourself. When Rafael finds you he’ll kick your ass, though.”

“Who’s that?”

“Daddy’s servant-dude.”

“Where’re you going?”

“I’m going to Daddy’s veranda.”

“Who’s Daddy?”

“Why the hell should I tell you?”

Lorie was flabbergasted by the girl’s insolence, but got hopeful to find Reagan.

“Can I come with you? To Daddy’s veranda?”

The girl gave Lorie a confused look, but nodded.

“I need to know your name first, though.”

“Why?”

“So that if you molest me I can remember your name.”

Lorie grinned; she suddenly gained a respect for this spoiled brat.

“Lorie Strat.”

The girl nodded, seriously. Like Lorie couldn’t lie.

The girl turned off the lights and Lorie was forced to follow the shiny goldish hair in front of her. The little girl moved quickly, and Lorie was forced to move in awkward positions, as to not tear her dress. They weaved in and out of dark, unoccupied rooms; this girl knew her way around.

When they finally reached the veranda Lorie was taken aback by its size and emptiness. Except for the puffs of smoke coming from one end.

“Lorie?”

“Why didn’t you say you were coming here?”

“Well, damn, you were so busy gorging.”

The girl slipped out of Lorie’s sight, and was now leaning over the banister.

“You just have to smoke?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Don’t be like that!”

Reagan ended the exchange with a loud moan. Lorie looked over to the girl.

“Hey,” she said, “what’s your name, anyway?”

“Me?” she turned to them.

“Yeah, you!”

“I’m Nancy Griffin.”

“You’re Mr. Griffin’s daughter?”

“Yup.”

Reagan stared at the lanky, skinny girl. She looked like she was suffering the downside of puberty.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Eleven.”

“You look younger.”

She suddenly became very self-conscious, Reagan could tell, as her arms reflexively wrapped around her flat chest.

“So? You look like a thirty nine year old.”

“Bullshit, and you know it.”

“How old are you then?”

“Me and Lorie are eighteen, kid.”

“You’re not that old.”

“Never said I am.”

“You don’t make any sense.”

“You don’t make any sense.”

Nancy looked perplexed.

“Shouldn’t you be inside?” Reagan asked.

“No. This is my dad’s place.”

“So?”

“Listen, you, I should be asking you that! You’re the one with a bad bleach job!”

Reagan grinned stupidly, “Smart ass.”

“Up yours!”

Lorie giggled; she knew Reagan loved the back-and-forth of it.

Nancy turned to Lorie’s smile and frowned. She looked hurt, didn’t like the older people patronizing her probably.

“Fine then!” she turned on her small heel and stomped to the glass door she’d come through.

“Where’re you going?” Lorie called.

“I’m going back to the Main Hall. I don’t want to miss my dad’s art show!”

“Fuck!” Reagan cried. He ran past the girls, back inside. Lorie had forgotten about how Reagan had his own piece to sell. She followed Nancy inside and they found their way into the Main Hall in time to see an old man trotting off of a giant stage with a chest in his hands.

Behind him was a giant velvety curtain Lorie hadn’t noticed earlier. It covered the entire half of the hall. A fabric, blood red, wall.

“That was beautiful Mr. Leslie.” A man with a microphone was saying, “Before we let anyone into the exhibit I just thought I should tell you all; this is the beginning of a new era. The start of a new thing.”

“What’s he talkin’ ‘bout?” Nancy whispered.

Lorie shrugged.

“Without further ado – Purpurrot zwecklos Schönheit.”

The curtain fell and the other side of it was revealed. Lorie almost gasped.

Behind the curtain there were giant canvases, enormous sculptures. They filled the hall and no more could be seen past the bend farther down the hall. Lorie instantaneously scanned the crowd for a tuft of blond hair.

“Reagan!” she called out once the crowd of spectators began to crawl towards the monuments, around the curving hallways, to stand and comment on the art.

“Reagan! Reagan!” she called.

“Reagan!” she heard Nancy’s higher voice behind her. They stayed close, swaying in the large dark mass of people, infatuated by the pictures. The pictures were gigantic up close, going high up to the ceiling. They showed, in intricate detail, too, things that Lorie wouldn’t have thought up if she’d been stoned out of her mind. Paintings of machines crushing in on a person, women intertwined with tubes and wires. They were mostly sadistic, cybernetic, and cold. At the foot of some canvases, the artist was standing. Most of the artists were clearly in their thirties. They all looked messy and tired.

The sculptures Lorie and Nancy ran by weren’t any different. The only difference was that it was 3D. Nancy constantly covered her eyes while she hurried by them, holding Lorie’s hand.

Lorie couldn’t understand what kind of exhibition Reagan had been invited to, but she was regretting the invite. The people around them, however, seemed if anything excited by the artwork. They were chatting animatedly while staring at a painting of a small girl getting fondled by some robotic looking thing.

“Lorie, look!”

Lorie’s eyes raced towards where Nancy was pointing, to a statue shaped like a naked man with deformities and a young woman making love standing up. Lorie was grossed out.

“What about it?”

“Ew, not that, it’s Reagan!”

Sure enough, underneath the giant was Reagan. His bright orange-yellow hair shined underneath the statue. People crowded around the stand he was elevated. He was grinning, ear to ear, like a fool. Lorie and Nancy went toward the crowd reaching out for him.

“What inspired this?” someone was asking.

“My parents.” Reagan answered calmly.

“And what about the painting?”

“A girlfriend.”

“How much would you sell it for?”

“If it’s ten bucks more than how much it took to make it then maybe… y’know? Gotta make a living.”

The crowd laughed loudly at this. Lorie and Nancy frowned. Reagan caught Lorie’s eye and raised his eyebrows. Nancy saw this and felt sick for a moment. She also felt slightly creeped out by Reagan’s eyes; icy, clear blue. For a moment she couldn’t tell he had pupils.

“Ten grand!” someone called out. Reagan’s face reflected pleasure, but he didn’t take that man’s offer.

Nancy’s eyes crept up the canvas that harbored the painting inspired by a girlfriend. A dark-haired girl hidden underneath a pile of trash with her face uncovered. She was holding a bird in a hand that wasn’t underneath the pile. Something about it made Nancy think it was supposed to be romantic, but she wasn’t sure.

Lorie was waving to Reagan.

“Let’s get outta here!” she called.

Reagan made a not-yet face and turned back to the people crowding around him. From the hunchback statue which seemed to be thirty feet tall, and the near forty foot painting, to the six foot tall Reagan, Lorie lost herself in the mesh of things.

“Lorie,” Nancy’s voice came out of the crowd, “Lorie, I really don’t wanna be here. Everything’s black.”

“Huh?”

“All the pictures. They’re black and white. It just seems creepy. Let’s go back to the Main Hall. It’s yellowier there.”

“Yellow… yeah.”

Lorie turned on her heel and, before returning back to the Main Hall, glanced at Reagan. He was smiling at some old lady who was kissing him on the cheek. He looked up. For a moment he and Lorie were staring each other straight in the eye, and she saw his eyes flicker; sorrow. They returned to their cool and composed state promptly. He grinned a see-you-later, and turned back to the old woman.

Lorie and Nancy rambled back to the yellowier place