High Art: A Short Story

By Andre Farant

High Art is a darkly humorous tale of revenge in the style of The Cask of Amontillado.

Included with High Art is a preview of my first novel, Deer Lake, available as of February, 2012.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andre Farant
• Release date: Mar 4, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466083950

Andre Farant

I studied English Literature at Carleton University. Since then I have developed an indescribably aimless resume. I have worked as a security guard, a Court Services Officer, a model, an actor, a teacher of English as a second language, a project coordinator for an NGO, and a Research Officer with the Government of Canada. I have eaten whale in Iceland, live octopus in South Korea, and beaver tail in Canada. I am a working writer and have had pieces published in Micro Horror, Weird Year, The Midwest Literary Magazine, and the “Off Season” anthology. I currently reside in Montreal, Quebec.

Book preview

High Art

By Andre Farant

Copyright 2012 Andre Farant

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www.andrefarant.com

Also by Andre Farant

Frozen Dinner

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Deer Lake: A Novel

Table of Contents

High Art

Contact Andre

Deer Lake Preview

High Art

Though Cedric Brayford never appreciated my work, I had always found it possible to ignore his criticisms. As an art critic, it was his job to make his opinion known and, though I did not share or agree with his opinion, I did respect his right to voice it. It was when he stepped beyond simply criticising my work and dared to question my creativity that I found it impossible to wave his hateful words aside. This went far above and beyond opinion and into the dark realm of insult. I could not let such slander stand. And I would not.

I ran into Cedric at a party. It was one of those ghastly events attended by the so-called elite of the art scene. Painters, sculptors, even a few film-makers, mingled, laughed and flirted with critics, agents and gallery-owners for three solid hours, powered solely by wine and ego. Cedric was already drunk and he laughed as he draped an arm over my shoulders. He was wearing a horrendous lime green four-button suit with a white tie that was much too long. His breath smelled of gin, vermouth and olives. He waved an empty martini glass about as he spoke.

Heeeeeeyyyy, he said. I’m glad you’re here.

I nodded and smiled. Yes, yes I am glad to see you here as well.

He laughed inanely.

I allowed my smile to widen. You know, Cedric, I’ve just finished a new piece and I would love to get your professional opinion before I unveil it. Of course, if you’re too busy, I can always ask Gina Taylor to take a look at it.

Gina Taylor was second only to Cedric himself among the city’s art critics and cognoscenti.

He squinted at me, confused by the booze in which his thoughts now swam as much as by the words I spoke. Gina? Screw Gina. Actually, don’t; she’s a lousy lay. Ha! Naw, forget her. Where’s this piece of yours? I’ll tell ya what’s what.

With that, he grabbed me by a sleeve and pulled me toward the exit.

I smiled and followed.

*

In the elevator, Cedric leaned against the wall, drinking from the bottle of wine I’d filched from the party. I watched him, smiling.

You know, I said, creativity is a truly precious thing.

He nodded at the elevator’s low ceiling. ’Specially in this town, my friend. Creativity’s in short supply in this town.

Mm, I agree.

The elevator rumbled up and up. I had pressed the button for the top floor of the edifice. I