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My name is, or rather was, Andrew Kynaston.
A while ago, I was a very important man in financial circles. Okay I
didn’t have many friends; you can’t afford close ties in the cut and thrust
of financial dealing but I made enough to be happy.
Women that I worked with, and a few of the men, thought I was vain, but I
didn’t really care about them. I thought they were just jealous of my success
and good looks…
And I was good looking, 5’11”, well
built fine black hair that was
always well groomed and cut. I
also had baby blue eyes and ‘pianists hands’.
Anyway, there was one woman who I really
liked, Hazel. She was well named as
she had hazel green eyes, a cute face topped with long ginger hair.
We got along fairly well and I had confided in her a few times. Nothing
she could really use against me you understand at least not in the everyday work
of the office.
In contrast the rest of the office had
always been really nasty to me. That was why I was sure that Hazel had the hots for me. Indeed, she would smile sweetly and her
green eyes would sparkle brightly as she talked to me.
That was what caused the row that erupted.
Our boss, Harry Cooper, had already been
pushing me about performance indicators among the other staff, mentioning that
some of the ‘dead-wood’ would have to be pruned after the next monthly
collation. I wasn’t unduly worried, because he was always threatening this but
it had never come to settle on me. I was always feeling smug when many of my
former colleagues had been culled by one of Harry’s purges.
So losing £170k in an important deal
because I’d been distracted by Hazel’s smile was not something I could
really tolerate at this stage. I
banished her from our dealing room, which didn’t go down too well with her or
the rest of the team who relied on her to bring them the research information
they needed.
When we finished that night, I watched for
her to go, because I felt sure, she would want some form of revenge.
A few months earlier I had confessed my
deepest desire to have a painting done of myself. It worried me now that I had
told her my big secret desire because she tried
to help me once about finding an artist.
This
was something the office would have used against me, as proof that I was
vain, I could see that. All I could do was hope that she wouldn’t use her
knowledge against me.
As it happened, four of the traders were
put on a month’s notice that evening and fortune had favoured me yet again. I
watched the other’s stop by the ‘Hit-List’ that went up on the notice
board at finishing time. I
was in no hurry to leave as I was still waiting for a contact in New York to
reply, so I was hanging around when Harry came up behind me.
“You’re slipping Andrew, and that deal
nearly cost us a fortune,” he said surprising me. “You mustn’t let sex get
in the way of a good deal, or I’ll be forced to let you go too…”
“It won’t happen again,” I replied.
“See it doesn’t!”
Christ was I in the shit! People that
Harry ‘let go’ were considered washouts and burned out cases. Being sacked
was a better option, at least then you could work your way back in at another
dealers. But to be ‘let go’ was
worse! The result was a golden
handshake of about £50 to 70 thousand pounds.
I know a sum over $100K sounds really good, until you hear the nickname
for the payment. It’s always been referred to as the ‘pension fund’
because that was where it was best to put it. In effect that’s what it was a
retirement pension, because anyone who received it had just been retired from
high level financial trading for life.
I determined not to let Hazel or any other
woman come between me and the real prize of a £100-200k bonus as the year’s
best trader. I was second last
year, to Harry himself, and was handed £75k which I salted away in some
future’s options. Those options tripled the money inside six months and so I
set aside that for my little nest egg.
Just as I was about to leave, my US
contact came online and we did a little horse-trading and a little ribbing. She
kept saying she was going to come over and make an honest man out of me so I
told her that I couldn’t afford it.
I was closing with Anne-Marie when I felt
a pair of soft hands on my shoulders, long thin nails digging, only a little but
still quite painfully into my neck.
“You shouldn’t have embarrassed me
like that Andi,” She said making the final letter sound like an I instead of a
Y like she always did when she was mad at me. This time she almost squeaked my
name and I groaned inwardly. Two shit piles in one day, I was thinking that I
would be glad to get home.
“Look I’m sorry Hazel,” I replied
honestly. “But you almost cost me a big deal, and you certainly cost me money,
which means the firm lost money, you know how much Harry hates that.”
“That’s the only reason that I’m not
flaying you alive,” she said stroking my neck with those long red nails of
hers. “That and the fact that I
have a wee challenge for you.”
“Oh,” I took her hands in mine and
swung round on my chair so that we were facing. “What’s that?”
“I’ve found you an artist who can
immortalize you on canvas.”
“So what’s the challenge?” I asked
soaking in her beauty.
“Well this artist likes to work from the
skin up, so you’ll have to be prepared to pose nude.”
“Hey, if he shows off all my assets to
best advantage, then no problemo.”
“Oh I’m sure he’ll capture your
likeness like you would never believe.”
Again a twinkle came into her eye.
But she kissed me then and I didn’t think to worry about it. We kissed
and petted on my chair for a while before going home.
mM
A week later I sat at my desk, looking at
the Stock Market futures when a note in a pink envelope was dropped onto my desk
by one of my colleagues.
“From Hazel,” he said as he walked
past and then he looked at me
enviously.
I ripped open the letter.
All that was inside was a post-it note with an address in Kent and a
train ticket for Saturday. At the head of the address was a name; Silas
Turnstill. I wondered if there was
anything else. Sure enough, on the back of the post-it were a few lines from
Hazel.
‘He’s expecting you at 11:00am so
don’t disappoint him.’ She cautioned. ‘He’ll take it out on me if
you’re late!’
I stuffed the envelope into my pocket and
got on with my dealing. I was
really determined to make a fortune and prove once and for all that I was the
best dealer in the building…
I was waiting on the results of some money
brokerage in Singapore when the system went down, and I mean vanished
completely. The entire city had
just been hit by a massive power-cut and almost all the computers in the office
went blank as a few emergency lights kicked into life.
I had the sense to have a secure power
supply installed next to my computer, unfortunately, someone had disconnected
it, so my computer had died with the rest.
I really wanted to ream someone a new one
and shouted, “Which one of you arseholes fucked with my machine!”
Then suddenly the power came on again. All
the systems in our area rebooted and we went back to trading. What I didn’t
notice at first, was that my terminal wasn’t really communicating with the
outside world because someone had pulled the link. It was an accident, of
course, someone blundering around in the semi-dark of the blackout, but it meant
that by the time I sorted the trouble my window of opportunity had long gone and
I was stuck with ¥2,000,000 that was worth less than I bought it for.
I knew I was in trouble then. What with the warning the week before, I was looking at a disaster of Black Monday proportions. I
tried to cover it up by using my own savings; even my house went onto covering
up the error. The only thing I
didn’t touch, because it had already cleared, was the payment for the
painting.
By the end of the day I seemed to have
covered the loss and my tracks, and I breathed a sigh of relief. My personal
‘Black Thursday’ was over.
Next morning I arrived at work feeling
that I could get onto the system and make back my losses and reclaim my money.
When I arrived in the dealer room however, Hazel was waiting for me with
a very serious look on her face. Beside her was the office security guard.
I shivered and went cold.
“Harry wants a word Andy,” she said
quietly.
I spent the next few hours in his office,
the knawing fear growing in me as he detailed and logged every little scam,
cream-off and dodgy deal I’d ever done in the last two years, then he came
down to the quick with suddenness.
“To put it bluntly Andrew, you’ve now
proven to be a liability,” he continued with his tirade.
“I can’t take the risk of you doing a Barings to us.”
“What, you can’t be serious,” I said
comprehending what he said.
“Perfectly serious, your position here
is terminated immediately,” he said sitting there smugly. ”Since you were
trading illegally, our legal people will take steps to recover the damages, so
your flat will be repossessed after the weekend. All assets that you used to
cover your illegal trading are forfeit. I would advise you to contact a good
solicitor, and you’d best apply for legal aid too. Mr Kennedy here will watch
you empty your desk so that you only take your personal possessions. Goodbye!”
I walked back to the dealer room, which
was now quite quiet, and picked up my watch and my pens.
I had to leave my company laptop and the other things that had been mine
to use.
Hazel met me at the lift and she looked
disappointed, “You will go see Silas, won’t you?”
“Why?”
“Because I think you should do it,”
she said. “It might help cheer you up a little.”
“I can’t afford it now, I’m wiped
out,” I said, forgetting that I had already paid for the painting.
“You’re still worried about the
painting being sold off to pay your debts, don’t be, I’ve told Harry you are
giving it to me as I found the artist.”
I didn’t give her the courtesy of a
reply, which would have revealed my lapse.
I just wandered out into the rain.
mM
So there I was, a rainy Friday night, no
money, no job and a train ticket to a tiny little hamlet in the garden of
England for the next day. I went
home; at least I still had that for a few more days and raided my still well
stocked drinks cabinet. A whole
bottle of Tequila and a half-bottle of Vodka later and I was in state of
oblivion. The last thing I remember
thinking was, ‘At least the painting is paid for.’
The next morning, I struggled back into
the land of the wide-awake and staggered into the bathroom.
Knowing I was to be painted naked in a couple of hours, I decided to make
the most of the facilities and had a hot shower. I don’t know why I did it,
but besides having a very close shave on my face, I also shaved my armpits, legs
and chest. I realise now that it must have been some sort of geas, but it
somehow just seemed the right thing to do at the time.
I found my travelling bag and gathered
together a couple of shirts, a tie, two t-shirts, some jeans and my second best
Armani before taking a taxi to Victoria Station.
I picked up the F.T. on the station, half
expecting to find my disgrace on one of the pages, but there was nothing. I
boarded the train and settled into the comfortable first class seat in the
compartment. I might as well make
the most of it, after all, I would probably be going to court quite soon to be
declared a bankrupt.
I arrived at the artist’s studio on time
and saw that it was a very well to do house near Harrietsham in Kent. I entered
through the main gate and saw the expansive gardens before wandering round the
house.
The main studio was a room that faced
south, but had windows to face both east and west, so there could be light in
the room for most of the day, although I noticed there were blackout style
curtains on all the windows.
A plain easel with a stretched canvas of
about twenty-four inches by eighteen sat near the main French windows, through
which I entered. Flanking it were
two tables cluttered with paint tubes, a palette, several painting knives and a
mass of brushes.
I took in the rest of the room quickly.
The north wall was painted a very pale grey-blue while a large mahogany
sideboard and desk took up a third of the wall on the left. On the right there
were racks, some of which had canvases clipped to them.
Against the centre of the wall was a
japanned changing screen.
My host, the artist himself, stepped
forward and shook my hand.
“Pleased to meet you Andrew, I’m
Silas,” he said warmly, indicating the stool beside the easel for me to sit.
“Just a few questions about what sort of painting you want before we get
started.” on
“I don’t understand,” I said
shrugging my shoulders, “I just want my picture painted. What type of painting
really doesn’t matter.”
“But you must have some idea of how you
want to be immortalised?” he asked.
I thought about it for a bit. After all,
if people were going to be looking at ‘me’ in the future, I wanted to give
the right image so his question wasn’t quite as daft as it sounded at first.
“Something historical I think,” I said
after a few moments thought. “Grecian
or Roman I suppose.”
“Nice period, any particular setting?”
he asked again.
“Something imposing,” I replied and
though again, “Maybe with the Parthenon in the background."
“Something that would show your sense of
service perhaps?” he asked, smiling curiously. “Sure,” I replied.
“I think I can provide a more than
adequate surrounding.”
“As long as I am the centre of attention
of the picture.” I reminded him.
“Naturally.”
Silence fell for a moment, then my host
extended his arm to show me further into the house. “Would you care for a
tour? And we must find somewhere for your stuff while you are here.”
I figured ‘what the hell’ so I said,
“Yes.”
I followed him round the house. The whole place was very modern, but with some very ‘old
world’ touches. Thick, leather
bound, books with heavy metal clasps sat on polished oak shelves.
In his lab, where he made his paints,
there were strange bottles with funny labels, but I didn’t want to upset him
by commenting on what appeared to be the ‘eye of newt’ and ‘brimstone’
bottles. It was bad enough that I
would have to find a new occupation when I returned to civilisation after he had
finished the painting. It was then that I remembered that the rail ticket had
only been a single.
Silas asked me to leave my gear in a small
box room at the east end of the house, which, I assumed, would be my room for my
stay, however long it took him to complete the picture.
We returned to the studio and he pulled
the screens away from the wall.
“If you wouldn’t mind getting
undressed Andi.”
I didn’t notice the inflection he made
to my name as I made my way behind the screen.
Slowly I undressed, glad that the air in the room was warmed by the
sunlight through the many windows.
“Not much to look at really, are you?”
he commented, as I emerged, naked, from behind the screens.
“Still, we’ll see what we can do on the canvass.”
Confused slightly by this, I went to ask
what he meant. Even as I opened my
mouth to speak he flicked his large paintbrush at me.
For a brief second I felt as though a
hurricane had enveloped me and then all I could feel was some kind of stiff
material at my back. A glance, outward, and I could see a figure, a giant of a
man, moving around. A few moments later and I realised that, although I still
seemed to be breathing and thinking, I was actually a painted figure on the
artist’s canvass.
“Far too much paint!” I heard his
comment like a booming explosion and watched, horrified, as a painter’s
palette knife descended towards me.
A chill touch of steel pervaded my body as
he scratched away some of the paint from my sides. A thinner knife descended,
flicked each way, and made two uneven semi-circles on my chest, which became
suddenly weighted and deeply shadowed.
“Oh and that little blemish must go,”
He said and all I could do was watch as a
thinner knife descended towards my groin.
Then his other hand moved a fine camelhair
brush to the same area, which dabbed once. Another brush descended, this time
touching my head and moving to my shoulders; a tingle passed through me and I
knew, on some instinctive level, that I was now a painting of a naked woman.
It was within that realisation that it
dawned on me that I was in a classic pose, my left arm curled back above my
head, while my right acted as a balance. My
legs braced for walking.
A brush, loaded, to my view, with a
strange earthy paint descended and moved on the canvas above my head. Even as it
completed its motion and moved away I became aware of another sensation, weight,
on my head and something cold and slightly rough in my left hand.
Grasping the thing tighter gave me more sensations as I explored the rim
of a water urn with my fingers and felt the water slop within.
Terrified by the reality of the feelings
even though I could also tell I was, outwardly, only an oil painting, I wondered
what other indignities I was to be subjected to.
Each approach of the brush or knife was a torture of the unknown as I
watched the artist form a landscape around me.
A thin brush with off-white paint
descended to my body again, as the folds of an Ionic chiton were draped over my
naked form and then belted to my narrowed waist.
A warm breeze flowed past me as the larger
brushes made swathes of paint into houses, ground and trees. I could sense the environment developing about me, and feel
the ground beneath my feet.
I didn’t appreciate it at first, but
then, as he moved away from the easel, I noticed that the ‘real’ world was
getting darker. The figure of Silas vanished from my view and the room got
darker, until the stars and the moonlight lit the room with a faint blue-white
light.
The next morning, Silas arrived and
continued with the painting of the landscape around me.
I was strangely unworried by my position at that moment; I was wondering
what else was to happen when I noticed other movement. Silas looked across the room and then shook his head.
“Not yet, later.”
He sat back at the canvas and continued.
During the night I had tried to work out
what scale I was, as a painting. If the canvas was the twenty-four by eighteen
that I had seen, then I would have been about fifteen inches high, I would be
the centre of the painting. This
excited my ego, until I remembered that the image was one more associated with
the Zodiac sign for Aquarius than my rugged masculine form.
Even as paint touched the canvas, I could
sense the changes around me. I
couldn’t really understand why I could feel my surroundings, sense the warm
Mediterranean air and feel the sun’s heat on my hands and arms. I was still
immobile, and still aware of everything that was happening outside, away from
the canvas.
When he finally put his brushes down, I
could see Silas was very satisfied. I
could sense buildings behind me and, if I thought about looking sideways, I
could even glimpse a very ornate building.
The scrape of the stool made me look
outward again and I saw Silas moving to the French windows and then leaving the
room. Once again I wondered whether
I would remain female figure in a painting, what was the cause of the sensations
I could feel and why this had happened. True,
no policeman would ever look for me in a painting, but going into hiding this
way was too weird to contemplate.
Silas re-entered the room, with a
companion. I wondered what was
going to happen, especially once I saw who the second person was.
“Why she’s beautiful Silas,” said
Hazel as she looked down at my painted form on the canvas. “Who would have
believed that a miserable, selfish pig like Andrew could look so dainty and
adorable. She’s going to really brighten up the dealing room.”
I wanted to scream at that point.
I’d forgotten that the painting was promised to her and that I had no
way of denying what she had told Harry. The
thought of being leered at by the men in the dealing room, in my skimpy Grecian
costume, was almost too much to bear. I closed my eyes, and found that I could,
but I lost my balance.
“Steady now Andi.”
Silas’s voice seemed closer, and I felt
a steadying hand. Opening my eyes, I found myself, still dressed as a Grecian
woman, but full size, in the Studio.
“What’s happening?” I asked, my
voice, like my body, most definitely that of a woman.
“You are having a sustenance break.”
Silas replied, smoothly. “Every
48 hours you’ll emerge from the painting to eat and drink.”
“I’ll make sure that you’re
undisturbed in the dealing room when it happens,” smiled Hazel.
“But why am I a woman? What have you
done that to me?”
“You’ll discover in time what’s
happening, but you must eat and drink now, you only have two hours before you
return back to the painting.”
“What if I leave the room?”
“It doesn’t matter, you’ll return to
your painted state after two hours. Would you like to see your surroundings?”
I nodded and turned to look at my
‘home’. In the top right corner
was the hill with the Parthenon solid and complete at its summit. I saw the
houses that I had sensed were around me. Or rather around my form, now a patch
of off-white canvas with a water jug suspended in mid air, which was clearly the
focus of the picture.
Hazel handed me a glass of water and a
toasted bacon sandwich, which I hurriedly consumed.
That first time I concentrated on food and
not on my fate. I did ask one thing
though.
“Who knows that I will be in this
painting?”
“Just Silas and myself,” grinned
Hazel. “It’ll be our secret.”
I could feel my face wrinkling as the skin
returned to a paint-like consistency, and a second or so later I was back on the
canvas. I watched, once again
immobile and helpless, as the painting was glazed and put into a frame. The journey back to London was done in a brown paper parcel,
so I saw nothing of the trip. The
first I knew of my return to the dealer room was when Harry unveiled the
painting, the next day to the entire staff. My transition was complete, and I
got my wish, I was immortalised in paint and the centre of attention in the
dealer’s room…
End