The next morning, Katie honked her car’s horn from Frankie’s driveway, and ten minutes later, the front door opened and Frankie drifted out into the mild December sunshine. She offered Katie an apologetic half-wave and hurried over to the Beetle dressed in a long flowing skirt, a purple tank top, and a pair of well-worn Birkenstocks. She was getting settled in the passenger seat of the convertible when the screened front door slammed and Harry flew out of it, dangling her keys and clasping a light jacket.
“Thanks, hon! You, sir, are a prince among men.” Frankie grinned, holding her palm out, and Harry dropped the keys into it. He bent down with the jacket and kissed her goodbye, and she reached up to cradle his face in her hands. Katie watched their display of affection, feeling a tender tug at her heartstrings. There was an inkling growing inside her, a hint of wanting that she’d been pushing away, afraid of where it would lead.
“Well, someone’s got to look after you,” he said. “Don’t forget, I’ve got a double, so there is no need to come rushing back home.” He pulled back and said to Katie, “You two have fun at the Farmer’s Market.”
“There’s an art show a few blocks down I’d like to check out, too,” Katie said, winking at Frankie needling her. “Especially now, since I know you have the time.”
“Dammit, Willey!” Frankie cried, thrusting one fist up in the air in mock frustration as they watched Harry reenter the house. She buckled her seatbelt, then turned toward Katie and whined, “Do we have to? Those things are always filled with hoity-toity snobs discussing things like the use of light and the symbolism of the subject. I’d rather stick needles in my eyes!”
“Consider it your penance for making me wait, you drama queen!” Katie laughed at Frankie’s semi-accurate description.
“Please address me as Your Highness,” Frankie teased, folding her arms across her chest playfully. Huffing in frustration, she quickly accepted her fate. “Fine, but you’re buying me margaritas before exposing me to the torture.”
“Deal.”
Frankie grinned and took a quick journey down memory lane. “Remember that time you dragged me to the Dali Museum? God, that man was a nut ball.”
“But you love nut balls!” Katie said. “Of all the balls, they are your favorite.”
“Second favorite.” Frankie snickered.
“Eww.” Katie chuckled. “You should thank me. Being exposed to art makes a person more cultured and well-rounded. I thought you, of all people, would appreciate Dali’s delightful eccentricities… The waxed mustache, the melting clocks? What’s not to love?”
Frankie laughed in agreement. “Dude was a flamboyant legend, but to be honest, I was hoping the show would have focused more on the orgies.”
“Orgies?” Katie questioned, and her face flushed a pretty shade of pink in embarrassed surprise.
“Yeah, he was famous for hosting them. Did you know Cher was invited to one once? Apparently, she picked up a painted rubber fish with a remote control that wiggled back and forth when she clicked it on.”
Frankie lowered her voice several octaves, trying to channel her inner Cher. “She said, ‘This little fishy is funny. Uh-huh.’” Frankie smirked, flipping her frizzy red hair over her shoulder. It was a dreadful impression, mimicking the singer’s contralto tone. “Dali didn’t skip a beat and answered, ‘While it might look like a children’s toy, I’ve heard it’s quite delightful when placed on your clitoris.’”
Katie burst out laughing, which made Frankie snort. “You made that up!”
“I did not!” Frankie said, making a cross over her heart with her index finger. “It was a true story they told us at the yearly kick-off meeting during my brief stint as a sexual health and wellness consultant at Pure Seduction.”
“Oh my God!” Katie laughed. “I forgot about that!”
“It was short-lived,” Frankie admitted. “Maybe I can unload some of the vibrators I still have at Lauren’s bachelorette party.”
Katie laughed. “She would kill you. And I’d probably let her.”
Frankie rolled her eyes. “At least, at the Dali museum, we can entertain ourselves by counting the penises.”
“Um, I believe they are called phallic symbols.”
“See? That’s what I’m talking about,” Frankie whined. “I like to call ‘em like I see um. Phallic Symbols? Pfft!” She huffed her outrage. “They are wieners. Schlongs. The Ye Olde Grande Meat Sword.”
Katie laughed at her vivid description of male genitalia. “I am simply trying to educate you in the arts and expose you to culture.”
“Harry already has the exposing thing covered,” she said with a snort.
“Of course he does,” Katie remarked, giving up on her attempts to reason with Frankie about the value of appreciating art. “I will say the man has done a number on my best friend. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this relaxed and happy.”
“It has taken some getting used to, that’s for sure,” Frankie agreed.
Katie hit the gas when the light turned green, and the breeze blew their hair back as they whipped down the roads toward downtown St. Pete’s Beach. It was a glorious warm winter day where the sun glinted over the rippling water like cut diamonds.
“Has Arlo, er, I mean Brody come back around?” Frankie asked.
“No,” Katie admitted, realizing that the statement made her a little sad. “Just a couple of texts. He’s giving me the space I asked for.”
“Do I detect a bit of regret?” She looked at her friend knowingly.
“Would it be weird if I said yes?”
“Not to me,” Frankie said. “Weird is where I excel. I live for weird.”
Katie laughed. “Maybe it’s a calculated move, you know, the whole absence makes the heart grow fonder thing?”
“He was always pretty intelligent, apart from barking at every little sound he heard.” Frankie leaned in and studied her best friend. “Do you want him to come around more?”
Katie chewed on the corner of her lip, considering Frankie’s question. “I might.”
“Then why don’t you reach out to him?” Frankie asked. “Men appreciate a straightforward approach. Maybe he’s sitting around waiting for a sign?”
“It’s just…” Katie hesitated. “I don’t want to get his hopes up when I don’t know what I want our relationship to be. If I even want it to be anything.”
“Ooh!” Frankie picked up on the shift in her demeanor. “Your relationship? I thought he was regulated to the friend zone.”
“He is,” Katie quickly backtracked.
“Life is short, babe. When you are offered a chance at happiness, you should take it.”
“I know you’re right. I just have too many conflicting emotions, not to mention the lingering weirdness about the idea of falling in love with my former dog.”
“He loved you then as that creature, and he loves you now as a human,” Frankie reminded her., “What more proof do you need of his love and devotion? It spans species and lifetimes!”
Katie laughed at the grandiose stance on the topic Frankie was taking. “For someone more cynical than I was, you sure have come around.”
“That’s what love does to you.” Frankie smiled dreamily. “It changes everything.”
Katie parked the car and pulled out two canvas bags she threaded over her shoulder, and they started walking down the sidewalks toward the sound of a strumming guitar. The crowd thickened as they neared, and Katie inhaled the scent of caramelized onions from the street vendors who were cooking up tacos for the early lunch crowd. Cafes’ patios were filled with people and spotted with dogs lying on the bricks soaking up the winter sun. Katie stopped to chat with a few of her favorite vendors and added a bunch of organic kale, papery bulbs of garlic, and spring onions to her canvas bags. Frankie hit up her favorites, too. First, the sugar cookie baker, and then, the kettle corn vendor, and they passed an open bag of kettle corn back and forth as they walked down the street, stuffing handfuls of it into their open mouths.
“Such a beautiful day,” Katie remarked, closing her eyes and tipping her face up to enjoy the rays of the sun. She stopped at a table filled with lemons and other various citrus. Picking up a plump orange, she sniffed it and said to the vendor, “I’ll take a dozen.”
They stopped for a kebab and continued down the side streets, darting around a man crooning into a microphone as they nibbled and giggled like teenagers catching up on each other’s lives. At a taqueria, Katie handed Frankie a margarita, a preemptive strike against the whining, and they stood on the crowded patio at a tall table and ate their weight in chips and salsa. “After this, you owe me a slow sojourn through the art festival.”
“Can we compromise on a medium-paced one?”
Katie raised her plastic glass and tapped it against Frankie’s. “Deal.”
They dropped off their heavy bags of produce at the car before heading down the street in the opposite direction. Under a multicolored balloon archway, the art show was already in full swing. They cruised down the blocked-off street, and Frankie followed without complaint, dawdling a few steps behind. At a jewelry vendor, Frankie stopped short and actually paused, bending down to look at a selection of handmade rings. Lit by a single spotlight, she leaned closer to them as a beautiful blonde asked, “Would you like to see anything from the case?”
Realizing Frankie had stopped following her, Katie turned, surprised to see her best friend browsing the stock of men’s rings. In shock, she rushed over and asked, “Is that what I think it is?” Frankie was holding a thick men’s band made out of a deer antler, studying it as if her life depended on it. The question made her cheeks pink up immediately.
“May-be?” Frankie’s response was uncharacteristically sweet and unsure, and it made Katie’s hand clamp over her mouth in shock. “We’ve been talking about it for a while now.”
“You have?” Katie flung her arms around her friend and pulled her in close for a hug. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to jinx it.” She picked the band up between her thumb and forefinger and held it in the light.
“Gosh, they grow up so fast,” Katie cried, mocking her with glee as she pulled back and bit one of her knuckles theatrically, “You’re making me tear up.” She let out an exaggerated distressed yelp, then began to blubber, and collapsed into another fit of giggles.
“Knock it off.” Frankie rolled her eyes. “And help me pick one.”
“Wait. You’re serious?” Katie’s eyes widened and a huge smile washed over her features.
“I’m going to propose.”
Katie shrieked, “What? You Are? Oh my God!”
“Shhh! You’re creating a scene!” Frankie’s face blazed red; even the tips of her ears were crimson.
“Go with your first choice,” Katie advised when she finally gott her excitement under control. Frankie studied it in the palm of her hand for a long moment before saying, “I’ll take it in a ten.”
“What? You even know his ring size?” Katie was astonished. “You are serious! Holy cow!”
“It’s not rocket science, woman.” Frankie explained, “I put a string around his ring finger when he was asleep.”
“Who are you?” Katie was taken aback.
“Still the freak you know and love.” Frankie offered the artist her credit card, who swiped it through a device and wrapped her purchase. Frankie tucked it into her purse and walked further down the street as if nothing important had just occurred. It took an astonished Katie a bit longer to pick her jaw off the concrete and join her friend. She laced her arm through Frankie’s as they strolled onto the next street that was lined with artists’ booths.
“A wedding?”
“Cool your jets,” Frankie warned. “We are not the wedding kind. We both decided an elopement was more our style.”
“Really? Where?”
“Well, Vegas is on the table.”
“Let me guess, at one of the drive-through chapels?”
“Maybe or an Elvis impersonator.”
“Honestly, that seems perfect for you both.”
“Yeah, throw in a Burlesque show, a crazy buffet with all-you-can-eat crab legs, and it’s my perfect day.”
“You know what?” Katie told her, “The big wedding is overrated. I love that you want to keep it simple. As long as I get to be one of the witnesses.”
“You know it!”
Katie stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and hugged her friend tight. “Look at you. Going all in. I never thought I’d live to see the day. I’m thrilled for you.”
Filled with happiness, they walked further down and Katie stopped at a booth where a man with thinning gray hair pulled into a skinny ponytail was speaking to a group of younger men in suits. “It’s transcendent.” He waved an arm back toward his booth, which was covered from top to bottom with luscious floral photography. Intrigued, Katie felt herself drawn closer to investigate why the men were so enraptured by the art.
“I need a new piece for my bedroom,” she mumbled to Frankie, who quirked her head to the side as her brow scrunched up in confusion.
Studying the photographs, Frankie spoke in hushed tones out of the corner of her mouth, “These don’t remind you of anything?”
Katie took a step closer to study a soft flesh-colored rose photograph. It was a limited edition and signed in graphite by the artist. The petals were curvy and layered in an oval opening that repeated, and the soft light made each petal luminescent and practically glowing. “What do you mean?”
Frankie dragged her by the arm over to one that was pink with a tiny circle at the top of the oval. “I can’t believe you can’t see it.” Frustrated, she circled her hand near the plum-pink circle of the engorged bud. “The little man in the boat?”
“What!?” Katie took a step back, horrified. “That’s ridiculous. You see genitalia everywhere you look, you dirty bird!“ She feverishly scanned the images closest to her. “No!” She walked around to the other side of the booth, desperate to find a photograph that conflicted with Frankie’s theory. An ebony-colored rose with a bright red “boat” made her cheeks flash bright red in embarrassment.
“These are floral va-gines,” Frankie hissed, her eyes dancing with unconcealed mirth. “Maybe I am a patron of the arts after all.” Katie tittered with laughter and Frankie snorted, leaning closer to each one to study them more closely. “He’s pretty good.”
Katie was intrigued and stepped closer to the artist, who was wrapping up a sale to a well-dressed businessman. “Be sure to take a photo of the installation and tag me on Instagram.”
“Hello there,” he said, turning to her with a tight smile and offering her his hand. Katie pressed her palm into his, and when it connected, the colors of the photograph intensified. She was temporarily blinded by several pops and bursts of light. It took a second for her eyes to acclimate to the vision that spun forward like a movie. She glimpsed the exposed back side of a young woman, who arched her back and glanced over her shoulder, biting on her bottom lip. Feeling dirty, Katie yanked her palm away from his, eager for the image to dissipate. She laced her hands behind her back to avoid any further contact.
“Are you okay?” he asked her. Katie blinked several times, trying to clear the offensive flash from her head. Stepping back from him, she swallowed what felt like the bitter burn of whiskey in the back of her throat. She was grateful when another group of men wandered over, drawn to the photographs like moths to a flame. Sensing Katie wasn’t going to be opening her wallet anytime soon, he quickly moved over to an easier target. “Greetings, my good men.”
Katie wandered back toward Frankie. “He’s part of my assignment,” she whispered, her lips close to Frankie’s ear.
“Really?’ Frankie asked. Katie reached down and pulled a card from the stack on the table. On it was a formal portrait of the man she’d just met with the name D. Sebastian Kincaid listed underneath it. There was a QR code that led to his website and his social media handles. Katie folded the card and dropped it into her handbag to research later, eager to put some distance between them.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said, walking back to the car. Each step she took eased the load of bricks stacked on her chest.
“You’re so preoccupied,” Frankie remarked. “What did you see?”
“It was a photo session, I think,” was all she could bring herself to say. She needed to do more digging and didn’t want to speculate around Frankie.
“He gave off huge creeper vibes.” Frankie chattered as usual as they slid into the car and started the drive home. “Obviously, he’s very in tune with his target market.” Frankie made a gagging face and scrunched up her nose. “Pretentious douchebags are his specialty.”
Later that evening, Katie pulled the card from her bag and scanned it with her phone. The QR Code led her to a minimalist website with a rotating slideshow of his best work installed in opulent homes and modern offices.
She clicked on the tab labeled “About the Artist.” The page loaded, revealing a black and white photo of him standing ankle-deep in the ocean leaning on a view camera mounted on a tripod. The photo was taken probably ten years prior when his hair was significantly darker and thicker than she remembered it being that afternoon.
Next to his name, a quote appeared in tasteful italics.
“Kincaid has unlocked the portal to an erotic realm where flowers and femininity entwine, transcending the societal boundaries of sexual norms."
Meet D. Sebastian Kincaid: A Maestro of Arboreal Allure
In his work, blossoms metamorphose into symbolic declarations of femininity, capturing the very essence of nature's most intimate secrets.
His large-format photographs, meticulously composed, unfurl with unrestricted grandeur, revealing a secret tango between his lens and the luscious folds of Mother Nature's most guarded treasures. Behold, the orchids that whisper mysteries and the prim and proper tea roses that blush with clandestine tales.
Kincaid’s stunning creations are hailed as a testament to the profound coupling between the sacred and the sensual. Each timeless photograph is an explicit pixelated sonnet, capturing the elusive beauty of ripened botanical femininity.
A Collector's Wet Dream
Lord Archibald Wallingsford, a collector of the sublime, declares, “Kincaid’s flora is an exquisite fusion of botanic mystique and visual indulgence, an opus that resonates with whispered sensuality.”
Kincaid has unlocked the portal to a realm where flowers and femininity copulate, transcending the boundaries of society’s prudish restrictions.
Whether one views his scandalous creations with awe or bemusement, there's no denying the audacious brilliance that unfolds in each limited-edition photograph—a passionate testimony to the ephemeral beauty of nature and the provocative depths of arousal.
“He’s a real piece of work,” Katie said aloud, chuckling at the pretentious tone of his autobiography. She fired off a link to Frankie and, in less than a minute, her phone rang.
“Luscious folds of Mother Nature's most guarded treasures?” Frankie barely got through the sentence before snorting with laughter. “Holy shit! I bet he wrote that himself.” She started in again, giggling as she delivered another zinger, “Delicate curves of chlorophyll passion? God, that is rich!”
“I know, right?” Katie agreed. “He’s ridiculous.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“I’m not sure.” Katie dismissed the specifics, not wanting to jeopardize her assignment. She redirected the conversation. “More importantly, when are you going to propose?”
“TBD!” Frankie cried. “Get off my back, woman! I’ve only had the ring for a few hours. I haven’t figured it out yet.”
“Me neither,” Katie whispered under her breath.