With a few token knocks, I let myself into Jack's place. Of course it's unlocked, he never seems to actually lock his front door, since I guess his mind is just too focused on the art to think of things like closing doors. For a moment, I wonder if he manages to think of eating, drinking, or, say, showering, but I throw that thought away before long. At least I'm not aware of him stinking up the joint, so it should be fine, right? Instead, I should be focusing on the task at hand, namely that he sent me a text asking me to come over for some reason or another that he would not specify. And, well, since it's a lazy Saturday, I figure I might as well just drop by—it's just a few minutes walk, anyway—and find out what he's up to.
The living room shows no sign of him, so I assume he's going to be in his atelier and make my way over there. Sure enough, I can hear him scurrying about in there before I even get there, so when I enter the large room in the back that looks something like a strange cross between an amateur painting setup and an actual professional shop—quite appropriate, given his status as an amateur skilled enough to be dabbling in professionalism—I spot him kneeling on the ground, digging through a big chest of supplies for something or other, and it takes a while for him to take note of me being there. He enthusiastically springs back to a standing position and practically skips over to me before gripping me in a big embrace, which has recently become his preferred form of greeting for his friends. "Ah, Philippe, good to see you! I was just about to head out to City Hall for the exhibition, and I could use your help putting on the display. Would you please humor your poor friend?" he asks after breaking his hug.
Oh, right, the exhibition. This evening, there's going to be a bit of a display of local artistry down at City Hall, and of course, Jack—or rather, Jacques, as he now wishes to be called, that's still something I'm getting used to and him calling me "Philippe" reminded me of that—is going to be there as well, being the only artist in town known beyond its borders. I don't think he's actually been a part of an exhibition like this before, so I'm curious what he has planned for this. "Sure, what do you need me to do?" I reply.
After thinking a moment, he points towards a box, then heads there and grabs one side of it. "Help me get this into the car. Most is already at City Hall, I just need these painting supplies moved there in case someone asks for a quick sketch or such. Wouldn't want to disappoint a potential admirer, or even client, no?" he explains, and it does make sense. With a quick heave, we get the box out of the atelier and into the back seat of his car, and then we're off.
The drive to City Hall is short, and before I know it, we're parked at a small lot on the back side and carrying the box in through the back door entrance, dropping it off in a side room holding various bits, bobs, and some art pieces that haven't been set up yet. A few other folks are moving about in the nearby main exhibition space, getting things ready, but it seems Jacques, ever the enthusiast, has everything already finished up, so he asks if I wanted to take a look around before the crowds come in. While I'm sure there won't be massive crowds around here, the thought of being given my own little private tour of his most prized artworks sounds like a fun time, so I accept.
Over the next half hour, I am treated to Jacques's gushing and explaining while we make our way through the exposition hall. There really is something special about his infectious enthusiasm, as he spends time making sure I understand just how lovely the local grade school geography teacher was when she posed for a portrait outside the school, or how marvelous the sight of the nearby lake was when he painted it. Every subject he depicted is given rave reviews, like the time he spent making the painting was the most fun he'd had in ages, and I can't even say that it's probably not hyperbole—I'm inclined to believe him. But as we finish up with his last painting put up here, he asks me, "Say, Philippe, could you help me out with one more thing?" He then points towards the next room over, which holds a portable stage and a few dozen chairs. "On the opening of this exhibition, there will be a talent show of sorts there. I am scheduled to perform there, but I desperately need your help to put on the show I had intended! There is simply nobody else I would trust with this..."
There is a very clear earnestness in his words, as with everything else he does, that is just utterly disarming. While I do wonder what exactly would require me specifically, I don't feel like I would need to question that and just accept that he needs my help. So I nod my head. "Yeah, OK, sure, what do I have to do?" I reply.
A big smile comes across his face, and he grabs me by the hand, tugging me along. "Come, we still have to set some things up!"
Under his instruction, we set up a few things, namely a stand holding some pieces of paper with a blank one blocking sight of the other one—which I am told to not look at, it's to be a surprise—a couch for some reason, and a portable curtain which we place in front of the couch, blocking it from the audience's view. Then, he tells me to sit down on the couch with him, which I do, and while we sit down, I can hear people beginning to file in to this little makeshift theater setup. "So, um, what exactly is this performance of yours going to be?" I ask, slightly nervous now.
Now, Jacques is blushing slightly. "Well, er, this is going to be a display of the art... of love," he tells me. Wow, that kind of sounds like he wants us to have sex here in front of an audience. But of course there's no way that's what he means with that. ...at least, that's what I think at first, but as the silence between us goes on longer, I realize that this is indeed what he means. My expression must tell him I'm quite shocked at this, so he tries to explain. "Philippe, it was you that confessed to me your desires for other men, no? And I... can tell how you look at me sometimes," he says, and sure enough, that has me very much aware of his loosely-fitting shirt, sliding off of one of his shoulders due to the way he's sitting, hanging open and giving me a good view of his upper body... oh jeez, I am into him, aren't I? All this time, I thought of him as just a friend, but maybe... "Please, Philippe. If not for art... then for me," he finishes off his plea.
There is no way I can let him down now, can I? I give him a nod, and that darn smile comes right back to his face with clearly visible relief. We share one more moment of silence, and it's only now that I hear that the mayor has been talking all this time and has now finished introducing Jacques as the first event. With a tug of a nearby string, the curtain falls to the ground, revealing to me the full audience. Sure enough, it's about a few dozen people. And then, Jacques gets up and reveals the paper on the stand, which reads "The Art of Love", before returning to the couch with me. The crowd has quieted down in expectation, giving us their full attention.