Gallery owner Nellie, a giving yet neurotic New Yorker, brings together a mismatched cast of characters in the opening of Ryan Whittaker’s debut, a phallic show. Little does she know that she is setting the scene for odd and unpredictable relationships, much like Shakespeare in Midsummer Night’s Dream. The frenzied, magical mix-up is an outrageous farce with a deep moral message: there is a RIGHT place for everyone in this world and love and friendship cement us in it.
The Art of Change is a funny, smooth reading romance, which deals with bridging differences in gender, education, social milieu, in an insane but pragmatic, modern fairytale, set in New York City. The twists of the plot are written without an ounce of cynicism but simply acknowledging that life is neither here nor there, neither black or white and all can be dealt with in real friendship and love.
Out in the gallery, the umbrella bin was overflowing as people started trickling in from the rain.
A nice crowd, thought Pino. They will need to unwind and drink and eat. Enter
“Aurora, what are you doing? Stop looking at the people and come help me!” he ordered, and although Aurora immediately came over, she couldn’t take her eyes off Cynthia, the artist’s girlfriend.
On the other side of the room, Cynthia was following Ryan with her gaze, as he went from painting to painting, scrutinizing each one, as if he had never seen them before. She was infuriated by his bloody remarks on their sex life. What sex life? Making love to him was like putting on a performance! A warm, touchy-feely woman! No, sir, she was not going to end up barefoot and pregnant with no life, like his mother in Oregon! She was a fast-paced go-getter, and this is the way it was going to be.
Aurora looked over at the door. A navy officer with an umbrella big enough to cover a battalion walked in with a very close friend, or so it seemed, as she was almost his age and holding on to him for dear life. Aurora approached with a smile and offered them a drink.
“Thank you very much. Much needed with this kind of weather outside. What are you showing here tonight?” Aurora blushed, but the teased-up, helmet-haired German lady exclaimed, “Honey, look! A self-propelled torpedo!”
The officer looked at her, eyeballed the torpedo painting across from him, took another sip, and asked her, “Is that what they are?”
“Yah, this one over here is not intact. It looks cracked like a war leftover, and— turn around, check this one out—this one is crashed, destroyed, perhaps damaged by the passing of time.”
Readjusting his glasses, he walked closer to the broken torpedo painting, then took a step back and burst out, “What the fu—boooooom! Ha ha-ha ha! Come along, Mrs. McCouifer, I’ve seen plenty of torpedoes in my time but nothing like these.”
She squeezed his arm as he whispered something that made her scalp and hairdo move back and forth. “You have a torpedo like that at home? Where did you get it? Is it buried in the backyard? What do you mean you’ll show it to me tonight?”
Pino was waving to Aurora to come and replenish her tray. The general grabbed her to place the two empty glasses on it.
“Wait, please, I will bring some more,” Aurora said, trying to please Pino with her eagerness to serve. She smiled at the uniformed man — she had always had a crush on regalia and uniforms. Sometimes she would look with childish adoration even at hotel doormen.
The gentleman, straightening his military jacket, turned to her and made a declaration, like a state of the union address, to all who happened to be next to them. “These are pink torpedoes, I hope you know.” And smiling to his audience, he clicked his heels and took the whacky-haired lady and marched away.
“Weird peoples, Pipinousco, weird, very weird general and companion. And very very weird hairs tonight. Look at this older lady.” Pino followed his wife’s gaze to an elderly couple approaching them.
The short lady with a haircolor not found in nature stood in front of the first painting by the door. She shook her head in dismay and quickly moved on to the next. When she took a step back and saw them all, side by side, she scurried away to the next, which was half erect . . . almost ran to the next, which was three-quarters erect, and was covering her eyes by the time she had gotten to the fully erect penis . . . and then had to run off and find a chair to sit down and fan herself. Her husband offered a hankie to mop her brow.
“Where is the painting with the ejaculation?” she asked him, laughing. “Nellie is probably hiding it in the office because it’s still wet.”
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Kelly Andria is the pen name of two very close friends who decided to write a story to make people laugh. The two authors, although different in many ways and viewpoints, have a lot in common. Both Greek Americans coming from conservative vibrant families, they learned to speak and act as they believe. Fair but always kind. Their passion for art, food and romance led them to become authors of a comedy that redefines the “boy meets girl” norm. The wacky one of the group knew that they had the stories in them. The other half quickly became convinced as their quirky characters took shape and form and gained a voice of their own.
Amazon Kindle Edition: http://www.amazon.com/The-Art-of-Change-ebook/dp/B008PEXGQ8