|Conversation: Julian Howard & Slade Montague|
Conversation: Julian Howard & Slade Montague
Aug. 31st, 2006 @ 03:27 pm
|I'll get it started soon, and keep it up as well as possible. If it's too slow, we can go ahead.
No, he's not dead. He's still alive and kicking back in Italy.
I laugh. "Well, aren't you optimistic?" I ask teasingly. He does not have much faith in the draw of his shop.
"It does sound nice to be Adonis," I say. Again,
I add silently. I glance out at the road, suddenly caught by the stream of my life. I doubt he could be aware of how much favor my looks have won me; I often forget, myself. I'm fairly sure that even Mr. Tyler hired me more for my looks than my personal skills or my ability with paints. Though I doubt this Slade Montague can bestow the favors of Penelope, maybe he can provide friendhsip or support, as did Bernardo. At least, I conlude, he can make me feel nice. Modeling always does.
"I'll be by around ten, then," I say, leaving my reverie as suddenly as I entered it.
Oh my god, I just came all over my seat. Your icon is so sexual it burns my eyes.
His eyes blank and the tiniest self assured smile haunts his lips, though only momentarily. He is a million miles away for a few seconds, and then seems to come alive all at once. Julian flesh flushes in one swift moment that seems to inflate his whole body at once. Suns rise and set in his eyes, and clarity clears the irises.Wish I could stop staring
"Ten then, on Thursday. I shall see you then Mr. Howard."
I give him a gentleman's bow, however, my lock on his eyes never falters or falls, until I stand erect and nod my head in customary fashion. My hand embraces the skeleton of the door, as I turn back slowly and speak softly, so only he could hear.
"Thursday is my favourite day of the week."
I pass him one farewell smile, and close the door behind me.
I'm... glad? Yes. I'm glad! You can check out the original Here Guh. So hot... anyway, back to matter at hand.
He bows as he takes his leave. I know of few men who still follow such formal procedures. On some it seems stiff and old-fashioned; on him it seems strange and oddly beautiful, with his strange hair falling before his eyes and his eyes smiling. I like it.
"I'm glad," I respond with a smile. "Until then."
I watch him as he moves down the street. A highly trussed-up woman with a very ostentatious hat almost trips over her own feet when he walks by her. He's nothing if not unusual.
I'm still laughing when I see that the same lady and her slightly concern-looking husband are heading for my front door. I pull my face straight. Until I get off work tonight, I remind myself, I am nothing but a diffident gallery boy.
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