The Contemporary Adventures of Carter and Aria

At the museum, Annabel Wynn confessed she would fuck a Greek sculpture.

“If it were socially acceptable,” she said. “They are literally perfect.”

Carter Bixbaum knew there were more important things than a perfect man, say, a real man. Also, the last time she had craved a Greek warrior was during High School, when her Spanish teacher had tried to make her students as hot as she was for Apollo.

“Because real men are overrated,” she joked but Annabel glared. “It’s not that. Look, what would you choose between a sculpture and a clown? Cause the dudes I’ve been dating are clowns and well, life isn’t that funny, okay?” Annabel touched the sculptures like she was seeing naked bodies for the first time. “A perfect sculpture, too. You can’t tell whether they spent more time working out the abs or carving them.”

Carter touched them too but immediately understood she would not find this fulfilling, much unlike her friend. She lacked the carnal appreciation that artists and Annabel had for anything in a museum. “Okay, maybe Mr. Perfect here is better than a clown,” she said, snapping Annabel back into Greek-less reality. “Maybe I would but it would have to love me back.”

“Yes, that’s the point.”

“Okay. It’s just I had to make sure because I know my body isn’t like that.” Carter touched her body and everything that was inside of it that shouldn’t, namely the double chocolate muffin she had had between breakfast and lunch, and all the beer she’d been chugging all week like she wanted to be a truck driver as much as Annabel wanted a Greek sculpture. She thought, someday she would touch her body like it was art. “I like Canadians.”

“What?”

“Canadians? Because you said you like Greek status, I like Canadians. They are just so nice.”

“Sculptures. Statues are like the Statue of Liberty and nobody wants to fuck the Statue of Liberty.”

“And they play Hockey,” Carter concluded. Suddenly, she couldn’t understand why there weren’t any Canadians in her life.

The two walked into an empty gallery and Carter was relieved. At least they wouldn’t argue about what they would fuck.

“This is it,” said Annabel. She extended her arms like she was being crucified. At first Carter was confused, there being no art and all. Were empty walls considered artsy now? She wouldn’t be surprised. Literally anything could be contemporary art. Before she became an art critic though, she understood what Annabel had meant and felt bad for taking so long. This was where Annabel would host her exhibition, tomorrow night.

“This is Happiness? It’s enormous!” Carter gasped and Annabel looked confident. Carter knew Annabel had been collecting pieces for an art exhibition and it seemed like she would last forever. Her hunt had started less than six months ago and she would inaugurate the exhibition tomorrow night. Carter was impressed and effectively happy, but she was also jealous. So she had a job and a new little apartment, with a hot tub and all, but she still wasn’t editor in chief, which was a position she had been not only craving but pursuing for a long time now.

Carter wrote for Alternative, a little magazine that had started out as her college thesis and was now published every week. It was little because its articles were mainly about Social Sciences and the Environment and Gender Studies, which were subjects only hipsters, communists and non-economists read. She was responsible, had good spelling and never plagiarized, and she had even been one of the magazines founders. She however, still lacked "experience".

Now she was beginning to think this experience was just another way of saying "kissing a large amount of ass".

So she was still a mere writer whose articles were revised and improved by the so-called editors, her competition. The worst part was probably the fact that these editors were actually very nice people, and not your average bitter and fat boss that you’re supposed to hate. They were about her age and some of them were even pretty, and they let her write whatever she wanted.

Annabel’s exhibition was about happiness. Although she wasn’t the happiest person ever (today was obviously the exception), she had come up with this idea a while ago. She had argued it was something that people were interested in almost as much as sex, but sex exhibitions were overrated if not polemic and she could easily be mistaken for a pervert.

“It’s so big! The Board said it’s a really good project and they gave me all this space!”

“I have never seen so many empty walls in my entire life,” Carter agreed. The Board was Annabel’s equivalent of editors, except they appreciated the work she did.

“Just picture it,” said Annabel. For someone who was usually busy thinking about reality, Annabel was being a dreamer. She probably meant picture the artwork, but Anthropology had been Carter’s major, so she pictured the people.

Everyone would be so elegant and judgmental and drunk. “Will there be booze?”

“Yes, but you make it sound like beer. I pre-ordered wines and vodka.”

Guests were supposed to look at the art but they would look at each other. She would find a hot knowledgeable hipster artist and make out with him and never see him again. That, according to her very ignorant mind, was what happened at artsy events. Maybe she shouldn’t let Annabel know.

“We’re moving everything in after lunch,” said Annabel interrupting her thoughts.

“Ah, I have to be at work.” Carter checked her watch and realized she actually had to be at work, now. Was being late the way she would become editor or what?

“How’s that going by the way?”

“Shitty. I feel like I’ve complained by whole life, but I’m still not editor. I think it’s personal.”

“Bitches,” Annabel sighed. “Soon they’ll realize you’re probably the best thing that’s ever going to happen to them.”

Carter smiled. “Thanks. I don’t mean to sound like a bitch myself, but I did help found the fucking magazine. I have a job interview next week though, just in case, you know, I’m not as good as you say.”

“Nonsense! But what job interview?”

“This guy that’s hiring anthropologists to do research at some university. It’s just an option.” It hurt Carter like hell to say option when she was already supposed to have a job and be good at it. "Option" was more like college, where you chose what you wanted to do. She was supposed to be doing that already. Take Annabel for example, standing in front of her triumphantly, amidst empty space that by tomorrow night would hold her success. “I know I’m not making it sound terribly interesting, but maybe something good turns out.” Truly she felt like a daughter convincing her parents about how she was totally not failing when she was. Annabel’s success outshone her.

Carter said goodbye and tried exiting the museum without having to walk through the sculptures. Annabel’s phone rang, and you weren’t supposed to answer it in a museum but this was her gallery. She did not recognize the caller ID and answered, not knowing what to expect.

“Annabel? Hey, it’s Joshua.”

“Joshua?! Hi!” Joshua’s voice did not sound like Joshua Langley. At, least not like the Joshua that had left for Lagos two years ago. While Annabel had been working here two years, recreating the elsewhere, Joshua had actually gone there and now he was calling her. Joshua was a close friend from High School and most of college. Then he’d gone all M.I.A and left for Africa almost mysteriously. Annabel knew she sucked at long-distance friendships so she wasn’t disappointed that they had not talked. She was however, excited and grateful that he called.

“Hi! Uh, so I’m back. I heard about your Happiness thingy, tomorrow.” As unexpectedly as he’d left he’d come back.

“Yay! Are you coming?” Annabel had to make it about Happiness. Yes, she had not seen him or heard him in like years, but it would be perfect. Also if he came it would be easier to catch up. “You can make like a big entrance and everyone will be even happier.” She deeply hoped Joshua would understand the pun.

“Oh, clever,” he chuckled. “Uh, yes I think we are going. It’s good to be back,” he added.

“Uh, you’re coming with someone else?” Annabel assumed Joshua meant a mysterious African girlfriend. “Just Adam. I hope that’s okay.”

“Oh, right.” It took Annabel longer than necessary to realize Adam was just Adam Bradley from High School, not suddenly gay Joshua’s boyfriend. They had gone to Lagos together. Annabel hadn’t asked many questions and did not want to ask them now, so she just assumed they were working together like she had two years ago. Joshua and Adam were, after all, very similar and also the closest of friends. “Sure, he can come". 

“Cool, I’ll see you, then. Uh, what can I wear?”

“It’s formal.” Annabel heard Joshua sigh through the phone. “Hey, I know you probably didn’t wear any clothes in Lagos, but there are guidelines here.”

“It wasn’t that hot. I remember you as a more politically correct person.”

“I’m just saying, it’s formal. So see you tomorrow,” Annabel smiled and this way they hung up.